The S*xually Frustrated Historical Romance Hero
Sometimes, you write a book and are very aware that it belongs to a particular, ahem, lineage. That is definitely the case for my newest book, THE SEDUCTION OF MR. ALFRED SAINTSBURY (which is now on KU!!). I knew when writing Alfred that he was joining these other self-denying, sexually frustrated heroes. Why do I love this type of hero so much?! Idk that’s a question for a psychoanalyst.
I also think the seed (no pun intended 🤦🏼♀️) of this character type/trope is incipient in the classic historical romance microtrope of the alpha hero who is so unexpectedly attracted to the heroine that he tells himself, well, “it’s just been too long time since I’ve taken myself in hand.” It’s not her, he thinks, it’s just that I haven’t jerked off recently!! In many ways, this type of self-denying hero is this concept taken to an extreme degree. There is just something hot about a hero who tries to deny himself to an unrealistic degree and then his love interest makes him face that this current state of affairs is unworkable?? For Alfred, being with Annabelle is so much better than adhering to the principles he has been taught and so he decides to change his entire life. And he is just SO sensitive to everything she does or says 🥵—he is feral basically from the jump.
As usual, tell me about YOUR favorite self-denying heroes….I’m always looking for more of this trope 👀👀 like the little fiend I am.
#historicalromances #historicalromance #regencyromance #regencyromancebooks #booktok
As an avid reader of historical romance, I've always been intrigued by the trope of the sexually frustrated, self-denying hero, and Lydia Lloyd's depiction of Alfred Saintsbury beautifully captures this archetype. What resonates strongly for me is how these heroes’ internal battles with desire create a deeply emotional and palpable tension in the story. This trope often stems from a strict moral or societal code the hero adheres to, whether it be religious conviction, family expectations, or personal principles—as seen in Alfred’s struggle with Victorian ideals and his father’s teachings. Yet, meeting the heroine disrupts this carefully constructed restraint, forcing him to confront his suppressed needs in ways that feel both authentic and raw. What I find especially compelling is their heightened sensitivity to the heroine’s presence and actions. This vulnerability adds depth that goes beyond mere physical attraction—it makes their romantic connection more layered and intense. In Alfred's case, his near-feral intensity upon encountering Annabelle reflects a release of long-held tension that many readers, myself included, find very captivating. In my reading experience, similar heroes like Henry Evesham from SCARLETT PECKHAM’s SECRETS OF CHARLOTTE STREET or Bennet from NICOLA DAVIDSON’s works also embody this conflict between bodily desire and moral restraint, enriching the narrative with emotional complexity and relatable struggles. This trope's appeal, I believe, lies in its exploration of human flaws and the journey toward emotional freedom. It invites readers to root for a character who wrestles with his own nature before ultimately embracing love and intimacy. For anyone fascinated by the interplay of tension, restraint, and eventual surrender in historical settings, these stories offer a deeply satisfying escape. If you’re like me and drawn to heroes who deny themselves only to be undone by love, Lydia Lloyd’s handling of Alfred Saintsbury is a must-read. It beautifully illustrates the power of this trope to balance heat, sensitivity, and heartfelt transformation, making the genre all the more compelling.
