Chapter One
Club Damnation
Mayfair, London
What the hell am I doing anymore?
James Shaw, current Duke of Blackhawke, tossed back the contents of his brandy glass, wincing as the liquor burned all the way down his throat. He’d come to the club tonight as a way to stave off boredom and find a distraction from his dark and intrusive thoughts.
The entertainments offered therein weren’t working.
Perhaps he should get pissing drunk. At least if he passed out, he could escape the inevitable nightmares that would come once he retired for sleep.
“You have the look of a man who is trapped, Blackhawke.”
The sound of the Duke of Eggleton’s voice wrenched him out of his thoughts.
The man’s blond hair was mixed with more silver than James remembered in the past, and there were a few more fine lines that framed his eyes and mouth.
From all accounts, the last several months had been interesting for Eggleton, but since he kept his private life just that, even to other club members, it was difficult to tell just what he’d struggled with.
The only thing James knew for certain was that it concerned Eggleton’s wife, for she’d left him for a brief stint around last Christmas, but then she’d returned.
Most interesting indeed.
He glanced at the older man who had founded Club Damnation, and he nodded. “In many ways, that is exactly what I feel like.” Yet being here at the club managed to give him a feeling of belonging that he could only find here.
“Are you still battling the darkness of depression, then?”
“More or less. It is a constant struggle, I’m afraid.”
They both sat at a grouping of furniture in a shadowy corner of the main room, and since it wasn’t a busy night, there was a certain expectation of privacy. When another member of the club joined them, a footman rushed over and replenished the brandy in all their glasses.
“What say you, Forsythe? How has life treated you recently? We haven’t seen you at the club for a bit.” Henry Alderman, tenth Duke of Forsythe was one of the newer members of the club, and because of that, James didn’t know much about him.
The newcomer nodded. His light brown hair was arranged in a popular style, and though he was dressed in the requisite formal attire, his loosened cravat spoke to a bit of stubbornness, a wont to defy societal conventions.
“It has been… arduous. Coupled with the wretched weather we’ve been enduring and the disruption of supplies, I am ready to throw up my hands in despair.
” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, there are too many people who would wish to see me fail, so I cannot do that.”
“Here, here,” Eggleton murmured. He lifted his glance in a silent salute. When the other two men did the same, he nodded. “It has been a trying period to be sure. I don’t foresee the current situation growing better any time soon. Horrid stuff, really.”
Silence followed the announcement.
Eggleton turned to James. Curiosity and compassion reflected in his eyes. “How have you been keeping yourself, Blackhawke?”
“Not well. Lack of sleep and worries weigh me down.” He shrugged, for many of the men at the club struggled with the same.
“However, I’m thinking about going back to my estate in the Lake District.
I miss walking the acreage, the sharp cold air, my red kite, my hunting dogs.
At least if we are to pass horrid weather, I’d rather do it there than in London, where I feel far too exposed. ”
“I understand that.” Eggleton took a sip of his brandy. “Unless I miss my guess, you also miss hiding from the world.”
“It isn’t exactly hiding. It is more that I am trying to chase peace.” Which had been elusive since his time in the war.
“Which is another phrase for hiding,” Eggleton added with a nod.
“Or sulking,” Forsythe said. “You are quite good at that.”
Hot annoyance rose in James’ chest. “Hardly. I have long ago accepted that I am no good for anyone.”
It wasn’t even the ongoing nightmares and guilt that made him feel that way.
It was his physical appearance as well. There was a jagged crescent-shaped scar on his left cheek given to him by a French soldier just before his commission expired.
In addition to that, he possessed a mangled left leg from his skirmish with an enemy during his stint at being a spy for England.
All of it together had given him a ferocious temper, which was why he was likened to a beast in society.
When he went out, he was forced to walk with a cane, but the limp was still quite noticeable.
Gossip held he only went out after dark like the beast he was, and that suited him just fine, for he didn’t care for his fellow man.
He had been betrayed and disappointed by them one too many times.
“Gammon,” Eggleton murmured before he took a sip of brandy.
“Truth,” James responded with a shrug. “I have hosted a couple of events in society in the past handful of months as favors to club members, but I wasn’t pleased about it. I don’t enjoy being gawked at, so I rather doubt I’ll do that again.”
Those favors were often how his fellow club members won the women they were currently with, and that stung a bit. To say he was too good a man not to feel a twinge of jealousy or perhaps envy about that was to lie. Yet he knew the truth; love wasn’t for him.
“I think you are largely defeating yourself.” Eggleton frowned at him. “Every man in this club has been where you are and some of them have been more or less redeemed. They still retain a dark streak, of course, but there is nothing wrong with that.”
James huffed out a breath. “I don’t know if I want that—redemption.”
Surprise jumped into Eggleton’s eyes. “Why?”
“Frankly, there is no forgiveness for what I’ve done.
” Truth to tell, he had killed far too many men—and women—both in the war and during his time as a spy.
He’d done horrible things in the name of King and Country, and those were the very things that haunted him now.
No man should have had to see what he did while on the battlefield or chasing down French sympathizers… or worse men.
I just want it all to end.
“Surely you know that the man you truly are isn’t a killer.”
“I can’t help but wonder now. Those things are in my very bones, my memories. Some days, I don’t believe there is anything else.”
Both Eggleton and Forsythe stared at him. Finally, Eggleton spoke.
“You’re telling me you have a taste for killing?”
The urge to retch took hold. He quelled it by downing the contents of his drink. “No. Not at all. I’m haunted by it. Chased by it. But if someone threatens me? I’ll put them down. It’s mostly instinct, and I will defend myself.”
Eggleton nodded. “I can see that, but someone would have to be a nodcock to threaten you.”
He snorted. “I’ve made enemies over the years.” Along with decisions that could have gone either way… except he’d chosen death every time.
“None of whom cares about you now. It’s been years.”
“People don’t forget.” James held his gaze as his fingers tightened on his cut-crystal glass. “I wouldn’t if the circumstances were reversed.”
“Perhaps.” Eggleton shrugged.
Summoning a footman for another few fingers of brandy, James heaved out a sigh. “Quite frankly, Eggleton, I’m tired. If I’m honest about things, I don’t wish to remain in this world any longer. It’s becoming more difficult to keep up appearances as time goes on.”
“Appearances?” Forsythe chuckled then drained his glass. Amusement danced in his brown eyes. “You are rarely out in public or society these days anyway.”
“I dislike being stared at.”
Eggleton shook his head. He exchanged a speaking glance with Forsythe. “That’s not good, Blackhawke.”
Much the understatement of the year. “Sometimes, there is no good. Not anymore.”
“So that’s your plan? Go back to the Lake District? Get lost in your tortured thoughts?” Annoyance mixed with outrage in Eggleton’s tone. “And then in the middle of the night, perhaps under the light of a full moon, you’ll walk into one of the many lakes up there and drown yourself?”
One side of his mouth tipped upward in a half grin. “That would require effort and will still be quite chilly there. I thought perhaps drinking a whole bottle of laudanum or putting a ball through my head was a more immediate and less painful way to go out.”
Eggleton gawked at him in shock. “You are serious.” It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t know.” After setting his glass on a nearby table, James put his head in his hands.
“There are times when I hope someone might care enough to come along and try to stop me, to save me, but then reality intrudes and I know that will never happen. And it’s stupid to expect that.
I am not a man who deserves any of the softer things in life. ”
“That settles it. You’re coming to stay with me.” Eggleton glanced at Forsythe. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a private word with Blackhawke.”
“Of course. I’ll catch up with you later.” The other man left the grouping of furniture with a nod.
Then Eggleton rested his gaze on James. “I need to keep an eye on you. I don’t want you alone, which is why you should either stay here or come home with me.”
“Get off it.” He shook his head. “I am… comfortable alone. Being around people makes me unaccountably… angry and annoyed.” Having had enough of the conversation, James stood.
“Keep your concern, Eggleton. I shan’t make a decision immediately, but perhaps come ‘round soon and look through my books and objet d'art to see if you’d like anything.”
It is better this way.
“I refuse to accept that.” Eggleton stood as well. He crossed his arms at his chest. “Absolutely not. What you need is a reason.”
“A reason for what? Death?” James huffed. “Getting on with it so I can know my eternal fate?”
“No, so you have motivation or at least the curiosity to continue to keep one foot out of the grave.”