A Duchess to Remember (Disreputable Dukes of Club Damnation #5)

Prologue

Denham House

St. James Place

Mayfair, England

He glanced over at his wife of over twenty years as she worked at some intricate embroidery. The silver strands in her blonde hair were more copious these days and soft wrinkles lined the delicate corners of her eyes and mouth, but that only meant she’d truly lived and enjoyed her life.

“You seem quite content with life just now.” And that state was always subject to change, especially with them, for they were working their way out of rough patch.

“I have learned to appreciate everything that this existence will give me,” she said in response, and the dulcet tones of her voice never failed to send eddies of need through his blood.

“Good or bad, up or down, in happiness or sadness, it is all my life and has worked together to make me into the woman I am today.”

“That is a damned decent way of looking at it.” Perhaps he should do that more in his own life. “Are you still determined to give our boy a grand education?”

It was daring—or perhaps stupid—for him to refer to Bartholomew as theirs.

Almost two months ago, he’d brought home a five-year-old boy he’d fathered with a mistress.

The reason that the boy was even in his custody was due to the fact that his mother had perished shortly before Christmastide last year.

But months before that, he’d admitted to Abigail the existence of the child and his brief infidelity while on a mission for the Crown.

That was when she’d promptly moved out of the house and left him to his misery, only to return shortly before Christmas when Bartholomew came to live with them.

Ever since then, they’d become a little family, although emotions were often at the surface and the foundation of their network was sometimes built on shaky ground.

However, Wallace was convinced that they would eventually work everything out, for he’d seen how the boy’s charm had worked on his wife, and she was already halfway smitten with him.

“Of course I am. An intelligent man, a man who has an appreciation for the artistic glories around him, a man who can speak in many languages will prove a valuable man in his future.” She flashed him a wisp of a grin.

“Besides, he is Viscount Doverson, and I intend to make certain he is a gentleman in the beau monde of some substance, regardless of his scandalous beginnings.”

“An endearing sentiment, of course.” It might have taken her some time to acclimate to the boy’s presence, but she was coming up to the mark admirably. “I, too, would like him to have the best of starts that he possibly can.”

She nodded. “Just now, I am embroidering his initials into one corner of each of these handkerchiefs. Everyone needs a handkerchief.”

“You are a good woman, Abigail.”

A half-stifled huff escaped her throat. “I am a strong woman. There is a difference, I think, at times.”

Fair enough. He wasn’t about to dig deeper into that. “You know, Valentine’s Day isn’t far off. We should make plans to do something romantic.”

Of course, things weren’t as they had been before Bartholomew came into their lives, but he still had faith he’d completely win his wife back.

“Such as?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Unfortunately, there has been too much snow recently to allow a trip to the seashore, but I shall come up with something. And then you won’t be able to resist me.” He waggled his eyebrows in an attempt to tease her. For after everything, she still held his heart.

“Goodness, Wallace, do have some pride in yourself.” Though she chastised him, she did so with a soft smile curving her highly kissable lips.

He grunted, and knots of worry pulled in his gut. “I thought you’d forgiven me.” That coming back together at Christmas a couple of months ago had been quite the benediction for him.

“I have, and Bartholomew is becoming so dear to me. However, there are still pockets of my thoughts that bring me around to why we have the boy to begin with.” With a sigh, she laid her embroidery in her lap as she rested her gaze on him.

“My heart breaks all over again to think you weren’t fully committed to me, that you would have sought out your mistress while you were bound to me with sacred vows, and then you returned home as if nothing had happened. ”

Heat crept up the back of his neck while he died a thousand deaths inside. “I was on a mission for Crown that I couldn’t tell you or anyone about. You remember when I was gone for a few months? Away from you?”

“Of course I do.” She nodded. “During that period, I spent that time at our country estate cultivating my roses. One variety even won a ribbon at the country fair.”

“I’m sorry I missed it.” And he would always feel sorry for that.

“It was the long and loneliest time of my life. I couldn’t write to you, had no one to talk to, feared that my identity would be compromised.

” Setting his folded paper on a small, round table at his elbow, he turned fully toward where she sat on a nearby sofa.

“Going down to the local tavern while in my disguise and pretend persona meant I couldn’t genuinely connect with anyone.

” He shrugged. The life of a spy wasn’t glamorous, and sometimes the general public reacted negatively to that knowledge if it because available.

“I was weak. I was in my cups. My path and my mistress crossed by accident. It was a bit of familiarity. I took her to my rented rooms. And that was it. I never sought her out since that day.” A sigh escaped him.

“But I have told you this many times already.”

Her blue eyes held a wealth of emotions. “Did you feel sorry about it?”

“Of course. You know I would never hurt you, that I’ve taken our vows seriously since we finally connected in the third year of our marriage.” He forced a hard swallow into his suddenly dry throat. “I have berated myself ever since, even more so when I discovered the child.”

“Hmm, you do seem genuinely broken about everything.” Nothing in her expression gave away her thoughts.

“I am. I’d be devastated if you wished to leave me after everything, after the strides forward we’ve both taken in the past two months.”

“Oh, Wallace, I rather think you’re too charming for your own good.

” After she dropped her handiwork into the willow basket at her feet, Abigail left her chair to resettle on the sofa beside him.

She curled the fingers of one hand into the folds of his cravat and pulled him closer to her.

“I am not going to leave you, and neither will I make you continue to grovel for months on end. There is no need for it, and it’s distasteful, doesn’t reflect well on me, besides. ”

Once again, the sense of lightness assailed him from her words. “I am so glad to hear you say that.” Then he took her into his arms and claimed her lips with his in a series of gentle kisses designed to say thank you as well as to tease.

Eventually, she stirred, but she remained in his embrace.

With gentle movements, she loosened his cravat then pressed her lips to the skin of his throat she’d uncovered, and he did his best not to shudder from the innocent touch.

“How are your friends at the club doing these days?” she asked as she manipulated the silver buttons of his bottle-green superfine jacket.

Trying to concentrate on her words instead of what she was doing to him was proving a challenge.

“As far as I can tell, the men who have married over the past year are still well and truly content. I’m glad for that, of course, for if anyone deserves to enjoy solid matches and endearing romances, it’s them.

” A soft chuckle left his throat. “Are they still disreputable? That depends on the day, but they are all better versions of themselves now that they’re married.

It’s a lovely testament to the power of love. ”

“Why?” The warmth of her breath sailed across the lower portion of his jaw.

When he reached for the laces at the back of her gown, she tsked her tongue and pulled slightly away and out of his grasp. “Because I am the same, or at least I was until our lives were interrupted by the knowledge of Bartholomew.”

She shoved the jacket from his shoulders and then off his body. “It is not his fault.”

“I know.” Despite wanting to toss her to the low sofa, he kept his hands still, one on her shoulder and one at her hip.

Her eyes darkened as she tugged the shirttails of his fine lawn shirt from the waist of his breeches. “We are still happy together, Wallace, it just has been tempered with real life, I think.”

“Is that bad?” God, after everything, would he still lose her?

“Not necessarily. It makes us stronger, gives us another opportunity to work together to overcome the challenges.” Then she moved slightly out of his arms, and when he would have protested, Abigail shoved him backward onto the sofa.

“Just now, though, I’m after something else entirely.

” As she spoke, she reached for his front falls.

If this was the nearest to heaven he could be, there would be no complaints from him. “So I can see, sweeting.” Seconds later, his front falls were down, and his engorged length sprang from the fabric. His groan of anticipation echoed in the silence of the room.

With a wicked glint in her eyes, Abigail slipped to the opposite end of the sofa and knelt between his splayed legs. “Which one of the dukes do you feel will fall to parson’s mousetrap next?”

Fucking hell. She wished to converse now? He could hardly concentrate as she gently wrapped a hand around his hardened length.

“I’m not certain. Could be Blackhawke or perhaps even Thornton. His wife has been causing scandal in London for the past two months. It’s starting to grate, from all accounts.”

“Mmm, well, it’s exciting, nonetheless. I adore when one of your club members is matched. It means there is hope for everyone because as you’ve said, there is much power in finding love and nurturing it.”

Then she took him in hand, and he ceased to think. His world went sideways the second she took his engorged length into her mouth, and she began to manipulate it as well as his stones in a variety of erotic and most pleasurable ways.

Damn, he was fortunate, after everything. His clubmates could manage their own lives for a while. Right now, he meant to enjoy his quite thoroughly.