Page 1 of The Cursed Duke (Wayward Dukes' Alliance #19)

July 10, 1815

Denham House

St. James Place

Mayfair, England

Wallace Denham, 5 th Duke of St. Eggleton, glanced across the dining room table at his wife, Abigail. After so many years of marriage, he was still in love with her, and he hoped that would never change.

“Did you know what I found out at the club last night?”

“I couldn’t imagine, since your club is full of interesting men as well as developments.” She smiled at him then took a delicate forkful of the chicken poached in a cream sauce. “Please, tell me. I enjoy your stories.”

He cut into his breast of chicken while nodding. “Well, Steppingford came into the club last night. Recently back from India, you see, and trying to acclimate to life within the English ton . Something happened to him while he was on the subcontinent, but he refused to talk about it. Left him changed, though.”

“Changed how?” When she cocked her head to one side, the diamond chips on her hair combs glittered in the candlelight.

“Well, it’s as if he’s more bitter, I suppose, or even withdrawn. Though he’s always been an intense person, he is even more so now, as if he’s shuttered a part of himself.” Wallace had founded the Club Damnation years ago so he and his friends would have a private place in London to talk freely about whatever subjects they chose. Originally for his ducal counterparts, he soon opened membership to other friends who were interesting and unique, and those men were given honorary “ducal” titles, but named after popular characters in literature.

Surprisingly, it had worked quite well to have that mix of men.

“Oh, then that sounds as if there was a woman involved at some point.” She daintily dabbed her linen napkin at the corners of her mouth. “Some men do not take rejection well.”

“If it was rejection. It could have been a death, for that was the reason he went to India in the first place.”

Abigail chuckled. “You are bored, my love.”

“How so?”

“Well, since Ravenhurst and Averly are both now safely and quite happily married, you wish to play secondhand matchmaker again, and Steppingford is your next target.”

How could he deny it? His wife always knew things about him before he did. “Perhaps that is true. And you must admit, it has been quite entertaining dabbling in matchmaking.” He shrugged then took another bite of his chicken. “Steppingford could prove problematic, though. He’s a rather unyielding man. Likes everything just so.”

“Some men do; it’s not a crime.” She sliced through a stack of thin, tenderly stacked scalloped potatoes. “Shall we pair him with a woman with like opinions or someone completely different in temperament and point of view?”

“Truth to tell, I’m not certain.” He couldn’t wait until the many courses of dinner were over so he could retire abovestairs with her, and help her remove that gown. Though the peacock green color was magnificent against her pale skin, he wished to see her hidden charms. “Steppingford is rather a curmudgeon, and he has much silver in his hair. Been like that from an early age that anyone we select will seem ages younger.”

Abigail nodded. “Living in India probably didn’t agree with him.” She gave into a little shiver. “Was he there in a military capacity?”

“Not that I’m aware of. His father was deeply invested with the East India Company and racked up quite the fortune. When he died ten years ago, Steppingford went out there to settle his affairs and then found that he enjoyed the country, among other things.” Wallace finished with his chicken and laid his knife and fork across the china plate. “He adores tea, fine brandy, Arabian horseflesh, and exotic women.”

She waved a hand as a footman entered the room to clear the dishes for that course. “Yet he’s back in England, so something must have prompted his return.”

“A failed relationship? Perhaps, but not everything hearkens back to love.”

“Most does, though.”

A snort of derision escaped him. “I believe he’s bored if his increased visits to the club are any indication.”

“Then perhaps he’ll benefit with a young bride. Give him a second wind so to speak.”

“Ah.” But he winced. “I wouldn’t wish him on a wide-eyed innocent though. As far as I know, he’s not into kink like Averly, but I don’t know where his preferences lie.”

A smile curved his wife’s lips, and he couldn’t wait to have her alone for kissing. “You fellows at the club all lean quite dark and questionable at times. Not that that is necessarily wrong. Perhaps there is a young widow who wishes to be schooled in all things carnal by Steppingford, but let us hope he isn’t violent in such undertakings. I have heard too many stories of late regarding that sort of behavior.”

“So have I, yet I don’t believe he is that. Reckless, perhaps. In horseracing, cards, and endeavors of that vein. He also enjoys a good fuck, but I don’t think he’s marriage minded.”

“Don’t use such vulgar language at the dinner table,” she reminded him in a soft voice as the next course arrived at the table in the form of a collection of fruits and cheeses. “I’m sure something will come along. We didn’t have much to do with Ravenhurst’s match or even Averly’s. They both stumbled upon them.”

“True.” He popped a slice of pear into his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. “However, I did try to steer at least Ravenhurst into the direction of love and romance when I talked with him. With Averly, I talked briefly with him, but it was one of the other men who really changed his thinking.”

She smiled as she cut a piece of cheese into a small triangle. “If anyone could convince Steppingford that he needs to fall in love, it’s you.” She frowned. “I do wonder how Averly’s marriage is progressing since he’s at his country estate instead of in Town.”

“I am curious too, but the ducal pair will return soon.” He shrugged. That particular nuptial ceremony occurred just last month around Midsummer, and though that engagement had been arranged in both parties’ childhoods, the two of them hated each other and didn’t get along at all in the beginning.

Until they’d both nearly died at a picnic, or so the story went from the snatches of letters a couple of the other members of the club shared with him.

Such was life. A man didn’t know what he didn’t know… until he was shown.

“Well, it doesn’t do much good to fret over things we have no control over. Either Steppingford will marry or he won’t, and if he falls in love, all the better, but it is his life.” He popped a piece of rather pungent cheese into his mouth and chewed. The honey drizzled over it helped enhance the flavor immensely. “Still, I am interested, and cannot wait to see what unfolds for him.”

“I am too,” Abigail said with a nod. “He is a man who needs a woman, I think. Let us hope for the best, and do ask him to dinner soon. I would like to talk with him myself.”

“I will issue an invitation. Now who is trying to matchmake?” He winked.

A faint blush stained her cheeks. “It is quite an engaging pastime, and I would like to think if our union ever broke down that one of your club members would help put us back together.”

Knots of worry tugged in his gut, for there was always that fear. “Fortunately, our marriage is in no danger.” He hoped.

Dear God, how he hoped.