A Duke's Temptation by Jillian Hunter

the duke losing himself in the darkly passionate tales. He appeared to be leading an enthralling life of his own.
    “It depends,” he said.
    “On what?”
    “On my mood. Or the story’s flow.”
    That didn’t make sense to her. But then, he had pleasantly muddled her thoughts from the start, and she still couldn’t decide whether he was only pretending to be as devoted to Wickbury as were she and a legion of other readers.
    “I wonder who will win in the end,” she mused.
    “Isn’t it supposed to be Wickbury? I mean, they are his tales.”
    “For now, perhaps, but Sir Renwick happens to be Wickbury’s half brother, and even though it isn’t explained, he could be a Wickbury himself.”
    He looked at her. His books had started out simply enough. Wickbury was heroic and handsome. His adversary was vile and had been disfigured during an alchemical experiment by an erupting brew.
    “It’s happened in stories before,” she said. “And Lord Wickbury could have children who might end up being little monsters.”
    “Don’t you like Lord Wickbury?”
    “Of course I do. Everyone does. But I suppose that’s why I feel sympathy for Renwick.”
    “ He is a monster. Why pity him?”
    “It would be horrible to grow up in Wickbury’s shadow.”
    Samuel was fascinated with her insight. Perhaps he should have sought out an honest reader’s opinion all along. Perhaps her perception would enable him to finish the last chapter of Book Seven that was tormenting him. “I don’t know what you mean, exactly.” But he did, and he wanted to hear it explained in her appealing voice.
    “Sir Renwick,” she said. “If only he had another chance . . .”
    Samuel glanced off in contemplation.
    He had debated the same issue at his desk too many times to argue with her. Did a man always choose to enact evil? Did the why of it even matter in the end if he destroyed others? Should he be offered compassion or simply be stopped?
    Samuel concluded that he must have some inherent capacity for evil or he would not have been able to create the fiendish characters who challenged his protagonists.
    “Everyone expects Wickbury to win,” she said. “Shouldn’t it be a little harder this time?”
    She had a point.
    But who could predict what the future held?
    A surprise revelation about two sons of the same sire? The black sheep could become a savior.
    The two men could encounter an enemy that would force a temporary truce for a book or two.
    Would it not make for an interesting twist?
    Samuel’s publisher would not think so.
    Still, in recent months Samuel had concluded that a writer should be unpredictable. Within a liberal framework of a certain predictability, that was. He did not want to betray his readers.
    But who was Lord Anonymous to determine that an unwholesome character like Sir Renwick could not repent of his sins? He could always take another dark turn in the next book.
    Lovely young ladies like Lily thought it was possible.
    Samuel and Lord Anonymous, who infrequently acted as one, would like to make her happy.
    He glanced up, appraising the topiary figures. “We will have to leave the story up to the author. I take it that you are impressed by the garden.”
    “It’s wonderful. Except . . . where is the woman they both want?”
    “The most desirable lady in England?”
    “Yes.”
    “She’s here.”
    She glanced around in curiosity, wondering how she could have missed the provocative heroine. “Is she in the grotto? I don’t see her.”
    “I do.”
    The low insinuation in his voice sent a sizzle of impending danger down her spine. He was going to kiss her. And she was not discouraging him. She had not made a single move to dissuade him. He wrapped one arm around her waist. His other hand caressed a path from her wrist to her throat. The garden lights that danced above them grew dim. A dark warmth enveloped her.
    This was the moment to resist. Chloe would come to her rescue. Lily had been warned. Which did not