Once Upon a Broken Duke (Disreputable Dukes of Club Damnation #7)

Prologue

Denham Hall

Near Bedfordshire,

England

Birdsong from outside drifted to his ears because the window glass had been pushed open regardless of the desultory rain.

Though the temperature was on the chilly side, a gentle breeze intermittently ruffled his hair and fluttered the edges of papers on his desk.

On that breeze came the redolent scents of mud and rain.

After all, this year had been heralded as the Year Without a Summer due to a volcano erupting on a faraway island months ago which had led to cloud cover and wretched weather, even more than England usually had.

Still, removing to the country had been the right decision merely for a change of scenery.

Sitting back in his leather chair, the springs creaked a bit.

Early last month, he and his family came out to Denham Hall for a slower pace of life and to get away from the dullness and pollution in Town.

Yes, it was overcast and raining most of the time, but in many ways, it was easier here.

He hadn’t been at his country seat for a couple of years, and definitely not last year when he’d been having issues with Abigail, his wife.

But now that they had a child—a son by way of a mistress who’d died and implored him to take the boy—he wished to show his son every part of his estate.

As well as various entertainments fit for a young boy of six.

“I believe I have all the pertinent information I need to draw up these documents. It will take a few weeks to work their way through the courts, but I don’t foresee any difficulties.”

The sound of his solicitor’s voice tore Wallace from his musings.

“Ah, thank you, Holcomb. I appreciate you coming out here to work with me and to revise some of these things.” He gave the solicitor what he hoped was a friendly grin.

“It was no bother, Your Grace. Though the day is rain-soaked—when hasn’t it been this year?—I wouldn’t mind being stranded here. The estate is beautiful regardless of the missing sun.”

“Agreed about Denham Hall. I always forget how idyllic it is out here.” He leaned forward in his chair to rest his hands on his desk. “It was about time to make my son official by altering the will and other things.”

“It’s quite noble, what you’re doing.”

Mr. Charles Holcomb was a contemporary of Wallace’s.

They’d been at Eton together then had both gone on to Cambridge.

While Wallace had then entered the military and had ultimately become a spy, Charles had worked at learning law and apprenticing under a couple of storied solicitors.

By the time Wallace had returned home to London to take up his title when his father died, Charles was well on his way to becoming a trusted and valued solicitor in his own right.

Once Wallace discovered that, he’d immediately hired his services.

They’d been together business-wise ever since.

“I don’t know if it’s that, but I do feel responsible for the lad.

” Of course, he was fond of the boy, his own flesh and blood.

Even though it had taken months for his wife to come ‘round to accepting Bartholomew into their household, he wanted the child taken care of and to feel that he was loved within a family.

Under no circumstances could he bear to think of Bartholomew being farmed out to a strange couple or worse, being sent to an orphanage. “I want the best for him.”

“He will have much success with what you’ve done for him,” the solicitor said as he gathered a couple stacks of papers he’d written contracts as well as a will upon.

“Let us hope so.”

Yes, Bartholomew was prevented by English law from taking the ducal title when he was of age, and he couldn’t inherit some of Wallace’s holdings, but there were certain parcels of land that could be given to him through inheritance.

Also, Wallace had set aside monies for him and made it so that the boy would always have an income regardless of who would ultimately become the next Duke of Eggleton.

“With you as his father, he has nothing but possibilities to look forward to in his future. In a perfect world, the heir to your title and estates won’t contest your will or prevent Bartholomew from inheriting what you’ve set out for him.”

“God, I hadn’t thought of that.” Would the boy always have to prove himself? Fight his way through the beau monde because he was a bastard? There was nothing Wallace could do about that.

“You’ll raise him well and to be strong in who he is.” Once the paperwork was safely stowed in a leather valise, Charles stood up from his chair. “Will there be anything else today, Your Grace?”

“I can’t imagine there would be, but you’re welcome to stay on if you’d like. The company would be most welcome.” That was one of the drawbacks in removing from Town. All his friends and contemporaries weren’t available to visit.

“If I didn’t have other clients to call upon the rest of this month, I’d take you up on the offer.” Charles grinned. “But one needs to collect an income. London is expensive.”

“Indeed, it is, but say you’ll come out for the Christmastide season. My wife and I are tossing around the idea of hosting a few festivities here this year. Perhaps revitalize some of the old traditions.”

“I will put it on my schedule. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Stay for dinner?”

“I must be off, I’m afraid.” The solicitor took up his valise. “Keep well, my friend.”

“You also.” Once Charles left the room, Wallace returned to his thoughts.

One of the reasons he and Abigail had remained in London so long was due to the war coming to an end.

During the last several years of that military engagement, he’d founded his Club Damnation.

Many of the men who were members happened to be former soldiers and had come to the club with various levels of injury in body and spirit and mind.

They had become some of Wallace’s dearest friends; he couldn’t just leave them to their own devices when they’d needed sorting.

Now, just a mere two years later, after the club had truly found its footing, some of the members were fighting personal demons alongside the aftermath of the war and extraneous circumstances: revenge, forced engagements, sudden titles, childhood matches, estranged families, strained marriages, wedding out of convenience.

The list was endless. What was more, these men weren’t disreputable dukes for nothing.

Their behavior often bordered on the shocking and scandalous.

That required his intervention and counsel to urge them toward a resolution that might end in love and romance with the women at the center of those maelstroms.

And he considered that a positive change for society.

However, after recent years and far too many scandals, he needed to put space between himself and all of that.

Now that he and Abigail were rubbing along well again, he wanted to pay attention to his own twenty-three years of marriage, wanted to romance his wife for a second time.

It was already a boon that she’d accepted his son and even let Bartholomew call her mama.

That had been a large step forward, and Wallace wasn’t about to take that for granted.

Time away from London to enjoy his family without interruption, to draw them closer had been just the thing for all of them.

The thoughts made him grin as he turned his attention back to his ledger where he made a record of his investments. There was nothing more important than Abigail and Bartholomew… not even his found family at the club. They were grown men and could make their own decisions for a few months.

If they couldn’t, there were plenty of other club members who could lend a hand.

Hopefully.

“What are you thinking about, Eggleton?”

He glanced up from his work as his wife came into the room.

How was it possible she grew more beautiful with each passing year?

Silver strands mixed with the gold in her hair, but her blue eyes were still as bright as they always were.

To say nothing of how her form still managed to arouse him beyond sanity most times.

“What am I thinking about?” He couldn’t help his grin. “Nothing beyond how good it’s been being here even with the rain, but I do worry about the men at the club. What if things fall apart while I’m away?”

“Then they will.” Amusement twinkled in her eyes. “Those men are perfectly able to guide their own paths.”

A snort escaped him. “Do you truly believe that?”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “While I’ll admit that some of their romances were rather harrowing and even I had doubts as to whether they would find romance, everything came out right in the end.”

“There is that, yet there are more men at the club who have remained unmatched than those who have.” He rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

“However, I remain concerned. They are like brothers… or sons depending on their ages.” A chuckle left his throat as her peered at her.

“I’m especially worried about Darkemore.

He’s in London from Cornwall, and that hasn’t happened for two years.

Nothing good will follow. Mark my words.

The man is a recluse, and there is a very good reason for that. ”

The man had visited the club a couple of times and hosted a society event—in order to help another club member—but knowing him, there had to be a reason he’d done any of it. Darkemore never put himself in public for various reasons, least of which was the disfigurement he’d suffered during the war.

“Oh?” A frown tugged the corners of Abigail’s kissable lips downward. “I thought he’d gone back to Cornwall after the event in February?”

“He did, and we assumed that was the end of it, but Ravenhurst wrote to me a couple of months ago telling me Darkemore had returned to London in the pursuit of a foe who’d eluded him in the war.

” That was disturbing in and of itself. “I don’t like it.

Especially with the duke’s dark temper.” This had the capacity to prove an issue with deadly consequences.

Already, the Crown didn’t favor him. Which was part of the dark mood, no doubt.

“Ah, Wallace.” She came near and laid a hand on his shoulder. “What comes will come. Nothing is ever gained without a fight or a struggle. You know this.”

“I wish I could have your optimism, but this is a tad more disturbing than that.” What would he come back to? There was no way of knowing.

She met his gaze. “You will return to Town soon enough, and you are charming. You can smooth over rough edges if there proves to be some.”

“We won’t travel until the end of September; parliament be damned if it opens early. Most of the first weeks are spent gossiping and catching up about summer things, and I don’t believe we have an important vote right away.” In the meantime, he was glad he had her undivided attention.

“Then don’t borrow trouble.” When she brushed a shock of hair from his brow, awareness rippled over his skin. “It is good you’ve put some distance between parliament, your club, and you. I worry over your health.”

“I appreciate that, but there is no need. I’m well enough, just wish to protect everyone in my life.” With a sigh, he shoved those thoughts from his mind. “Where is Bartholomew?”

“He went out with his governess, a maid, and one of the footmen to meet Viscount Tetterman’s two sons at their manor. We received an invitation the other day, and since the maid knows one of the servants in that household, a meeting was swiftly arranged.”

“Ah.” The viscount’s property bordered his. “I hope the boy will make some friends.” It was good for Bartholomew to socialize with boys his own age, for hopefully, when the time came and he went away to Eton, he would already know a few fellows.

“I do too.”

Then, feeling particularly randy, Wallace took one of her hands, tugged her close, and he lifted her onto his desk.

“What are you doing?” Though she sounded shocked, the look in Abigal’s blue eyes suggested otherwise as she settled on the edge of his desk with her legs hanging over the side. In fact, anticipation lay stamped in her expression. She was never one to shy away from any of his moods.

“Making good use of our time together,” he said with a wink as he rested his hands on her knees.

Though she tried to seem shocked, she failed miserably. “But the door is open.”

“I’ll close it soon enough.” Seconds later, he gently pulled her in and kissed her.

Immediate need slammed into her. When that bit of contact wasn’t enough, he stood up from his chair to deepen the embrace so that she lounged across the desktop, scattering papers and ledgers, which fell unheeded to the floor.

Abigail peered into his eyes, and already, hers were clouded with desire.

“Oh, Wallace, you haven’t lost your charm or your own pursuit of romance.

” She tugged on his cravat, encouraged him closer until he came more firmly over her body.

As he fitted his hips between her naturally splayed legs, he hooked his fingers into the bodice of her dress.

Easily, it came down to bare her breasts.

This time in the country was for him and his wife.

Just because a man was married to the same woman for twenty-three years didn’t mean they couldn’t have moments of burning passion.

Besides, he would discover what was happening at the club through the post, no doubt.

Abigail was right; they could take care of themselves without setting the ton on fire.

Hopefully.