First Prologue

When I first wrote Never Resist Temptation, the book began with the card game in which Anthony wins Jacobin at cards from her uncle Lord Candover. For various reasons the scene was cut and the book began when Anthony is waiting to take possession of his "prize." But the old scene still exists and I thought I'd share it with fans of the book.

London, 1816

Lord Candover stared at the last card in his hand then reluctantly placed the queen of hearts on the table. The gaudy lady lay on the green baize surface and frowned, defeated by the lowly two of spades.

“I kept the wrong one,” Candover murmured in disbelief. “I was certain you had a heart left.” Grasping the glass at his elbow, he tipped back his head and drained it. A few drops of brandy dribbled from the corner of his flaccid mouth, down his chin and onto the crimson silk waistcoat that covered his protruding belly. The glass had been almost full. Anthony had seen to that, as he had throughout the long evening. Candover was very drunk.

“That’s ten thousand, I believe,” Anthony said. “Another partie, perhaps? Double or nothing?”

A gleam entered Candover’s eyes, visible through the alcoholic haze.

“Damn you, Shorrington,” he slurred, “M’all in. Can’t do it.

“The cards have been with me this past hour but that will doubtless change,” Anthony said, cool but persuasive. “Let me give you a chance to recoup. No man in England can defeat you at piquet when fortune deals an even hand.”

Flattery played on the lust of the gambler. Anthony could see that Candover was tempted. He forced himself to remain still, not to reveal by so much as a twitch of a muscle how important the answer was to him. Even inebriated, Candover was a formidably skilled card player with an uncanny ability to read his opponent.

The man shook his head. “Can’t do it. Haven’t enough left. Wouldn’t be able to pay.”

Anthony had made it his business to know all about his opponent’s finances. His information indicated that while the extravagant life of a crony of the Prince Regent had done much to deplete the Candover estate, his lordship was by no means penniless.
“Perhaps you have something else you could wager. A piece of property, maybe?”

The older man stared down at the damp spots on his waistcoat. He seemed to be thinking. Anthony’s heart thudded with anticipation when Candover looked up, his eyes feverish and triumphant.

“A woman!” he rasped. “I’ll wager her against the ten thousand.”

Anthony swallowed his disappointment and shrugged dismissively. He kept his tone light and amused. “Really Candover, what woman is worth ten thousand pounds? Surely you’re joking?”

“Not just any woman. My niece.”

Anthony laughed. “What would I want with your niece? I’m not looking for a leg shackle.”

“Not to marry. You can do whatever you like with her. Have her as your mistress.”

He stared at Candover in disgust. The man was even worse than he’d thought. To sell his own flesh and blood into genteel prostitution!

The idea had possessed the other man and he was eager to make the sale. “Sh’ don’t look like me, y’ know, don’t take after m’sister. She’s a beauty. Looks like her father. He was the handsomest man in France.” His face darkened with anger for a moment, then he seemed to go into a trance. Ire faded into a faraway look and a foolish grin creased the weak mouth. “I knew your mother, y’know. She was the prettiest woman in England. The most beautiful woman I ever saw.”

Rage like a sheet of fire obscured Anthony’s vision. He wanted to leap up, haul the drunken sot to his feet and beat him into a pulp.

He forced himself to remain seated and smiled pleasantly.

“Very well, Candover,” he said. “Your niece – to do with what I will – against ten thousand pounds.”