Page 1 of His By Sunrise (Disreputable Dukes of Club Damnation #3)

––––––––

Denham House

St. James Place

Mayfair, England

Wallace Denham, 5 th Duke of St. Eggleton, gave the letter he’d just finished another cursory glance, and then once the ink had dried, he carefully folded it and put it into an envelope.

In April of this year, his mistress—a woman he’d not seen in six years—had written to him, telling him that she was dying and that he would need to take up the care of their five-year-old son for she probably wouldn’t live to see Christmastide.

Over the course of the past several months, he’d corresponded with the woman—and had clandestinely called on her once as proof of her illness—and now it was nearly time to have the legal documents he’d had drawn up for her to sign, which would give all rights of the child to him and that her family—if she had any—could not challenge him to that claim.

Had he told his wife of twenty years? Not yet.

As of today, Abigail remained blissfully ignorant of both his indiscretion and the child.

Did he plan to confess all to her before the child arrived at some point during the Christmastide season?

Yes, probably. How was he to do that? He had no bloody idea.

Perhaps creativity or courage would visit him soon, for he was certain the story would break his wife’s heart.

How could it not? Yes, they had been married twenty years this past April, but those first few years of the union had been rough; theirs had been an arranged betrothal, and they hadn’t known each other well in the beginning.

He’d been a spy for England and not in London that much.

During those three years, he’d had a liaison with the woman who was his mistress.

It had been easier that way, and he’d been a far younger, stupider man at that time.

But once his final mission had concluded, he’d come home to Abigail, and he’d been faithful ever since.

Except for one time six years ago.

The Home Office had called upon him for a sticky wicket of a situation that only he could take care of since it was a continuation of an old case of his.

He’d come out of retirement, for he’d been promised it wouldn’t go over a month, yet it required him to be away from home, away almost to Cornwall where he’d spent that last mission.

Once, during a moment of weakness and missing Abigail acutely, and after he’d been beaten bloody when he’d confronted his quarry, he’d sought out his former mistress.

She’d invited him in for dinner, and after quite a lot of wine and brandy, the inevitable happened, and he’d bedded her.

The next morning, he suffered from loads of guilt, but he finished the mission, took his man into custody, and then had made the long trip back to London, hating himself the whole time.

But he vowed that it was a one-off time.

He felt wretched about it and never had contact with his former mistress again.

There was no reason to upset Abigail and their union that had been rubbing along quite splendidly.

“Wallace?”

The sound of his wife’s voice wrenched him from his thoughts.

Quickly, he slipped the envelope into the middle of the stack of correspondence on his desk ready to go out in the morrow’s post. “Yes?” He glanced at the door where Abigail stood, and he frowned, for he’d forgotten how late it had grown.

Since she was clad in her night attire of a silk night dress and matching robe trimmed with lace, he’d wager it had gone far past time when he usually joined her in their shared suite.

“I called your title, but you appeared lost in thought, so I tried your given name instead.” She frowned as she entered the study. In the guttering illumination of the nearly spent candle on his desk, she seemed much like a wraith in the shadows.

“My apologies, sweeting. I’d come in here after dinner once you went up, and time got away from me while returning correspondence.

” Which wasn’t a lie. It was a chore he detested attending to, so it tended to pile up weekly.

“But it’s basically done now. I’ve accepted a handful of invitations through the autumn season.

One of which is a ball hosted by Ravenhurst of all people. ”

“That is a surprise.” In fact, delight flitted over her face. “He has been such a recluse since marrying earlier this year.”

“Indeed, he has. I suppose he’s quite wonderfully happy.”

Wallace wanted to preserve that in his own union for as long as he could.

Though he knew he should tell Abigail about what was happening, he didn’t know how to broach the subject of his infidelity let alone break the news about the child.

He and his wife had struggled the whole of their marriage to produce offspring, and since he’d fathered a child with his mistress, Abigail would think poorly of herself for not being able to give him that.

The last thing he wanted to do was cause her pain.

“I am so glad for him.” Abigail came over to his desk and then slipped between him and it. “So long Ravenhurst had been beneath ill luck. Now he has everything in the world to look forward to. There is something so lovely and magical about finding the right partner.”

His chest burned with hot guilt, but he tamped it down until he was allowed time to order his thoughts and beg her forgiveness.

What if she refused to have the bastard child in the house or allow him to raise the boy?

Dear God, what have I done? “I couldn’t agree more.

” The words felt pulled from a tight throat.

“It seems that some of the men from the club are now turning their interests into marriage... or at least concentrating on one woman.” As he spoke, he grasped her waist and lifted her onto his desktop.

“And well they should. With the success of the three you’ve told me about, perhaps they wish to follow in their footsteps.

” She bestowed a smile on him when he stood and nestled himself between her naturally splayed legs.

“Who do you think will be the next Disreputable Duke to fall into parson’s mousetrap? ”

“It is up to fate, I suppose, but it doesn’t matter.

I’ll keep an eye on whoever it is.” After cupping her cheek, Wallace leaned down and claimed her lips with his in a kiss that started off sweet and simple then quickly changed into frantic and needy.

“Regardless,” he whispered as he pulled slightly away, “I hope they are as satisfied in an eventual relationship as we are, and that no matter what comes up against it, they’ll work through the complications together. ”

She stared at him with a slight smile. “Yes, exactly.” One of her hands went about his nape. “If you are quite done here, why don’t you come upstairs with me? I’m feeling quite... cheeky this evening.”

“How can I deny you anything, my dove?” Then, because he was overcompensating for much just now, Wallace scooped his wife off the desk and into his arms, grinning when she squealed. “We needs must keep the relationship interesting, yes?”

And he hoped to God it would be enough to distract her from asking what was really on his mind.