Page 1 of The Duke’s Indecent Scandal (Indecent Dukes #1)

G regory

The unlucky dukes. That’s what we should call ourselves.

Gregory Clarence, the Duke of Clarence, looked around the lavishly decorated private room at White’s, the gentlemen’s club where they’d congregated. The surrounds were such that they should have been completely comfortable. The furniture was heavy, masculine, the colors dark and rich, with every comfort provided.

Fit for a duke. Six of them, in fact, with a seventh on the way from the funeral services they’d all just attended together.

A funeral for who had been their eighth.

They had just come from the graveside of Sinclair Seymour, the Duke of Northumberland.

Eight friends down to seven, in the blink of an eye.

Perhaps fate thought that eight young, handsome, unmarried dukes in need of wives and heirs were too many at once and had thrown the storm in the path of his ship. Though Sinclair’s heir was also unmarried, to call him ‘handsome’ would be stretching things too far. He’d been on the unlucky ship, though below decks, when one of the sailors yelled, ‘man, overboard’. Sinclair’s body had floated away in the maelstrom, never to be recovered.

His heir, though now also a young and unmarried duke, would never truly be one of them.

They’d been bonded together by an explosion and fire at a hunting lodge that had taken their fathers’ lives. All eight of them at once, leaving a plethora of them to be assailed by the marriage-minded ladies of the ton this upcoming Season, now that they were out of mourning for their fathers.

Now, Sinclair was gone as well, lost to nature’s cruelty rather than man’s conniving, but dead all the same. His grave held an empty coffin as his body had been lost at sea. Dead was dead, though, whether in the ground or at the bottom of the ocean.

Lifting the cut-crystal glass of brandy to his lips, his gut aching from the thought of what Sinclair must have gone through on his way to his watery grave, Gregory downed it in one go.

When his pater had died, Gregory had known he’d eventually need a wife and heir. They all had. Given their youth, compared to their fathers, none of them had felt in any rush. They had the expectation of years ahead of them.

Sinclair’s death had thrown that cocky assurance into stark relief. Tomorrow was never a sure thing.

The burn of the alcohol down his throat did nothing to help, though it provided a small distraction, something for his overset mind to focus on.

Sebastian Graham, Duke of Bolton, came beside him, holding his own full glass of brandy. Sebastian was Gregory’s closest friend among the group. They had met at school years ago and had been friends before the tragedy that brought the rest of the group together. It had often been remarked that they looked enough alike to be brothers, both with similarly dark hair and eyes, broad shoulders, and brooding gazes. Normally, Gregory was not actually brooding; he just appeared to be. He was usually a cheerful fellow, next to Sebastian’s more serious nature. The contrast was often appealing to the ladies and one he used to his advantage when seducing his next target.

Not today, though. Today, he was as stalwart and grim as Sebastian.

Unlike Gregory, Sebastian did not seem inclined to drink his brandy. He merely held it in his hand, his dark gaze glinting as he stared at the painting above the fireplace. Gregory did not think his friend was actually seeing the painting of the hunting dog. Sebastian’s eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing.

“What is taking Zachary so long?” Sebastian murmured after a long moment, his usually even tone full of consternation.

“He will stay as long as he feels Isabella needs him to.” Gregory knew Sebastian’s question was likely rhetorical, but he felt compelled to answer. Though Zachary was not known for his timeliness, in this case, it was understandable. Laudable even.

Sebastian sighed, his impatience stifled at the reminder of Sinclair’s grieving fiancé.

“All our fathers gone at once… will we go one by one?” Sebastian appeared deep in morbid thought, the line of which mirrored Gregory’s own.

His stomach twisted.

“Sinclair was a tragic accident,” he reminded Sebastian. “Not murder.” Not like their fathers.

“We thought they were a tragic accident at first as well,” Sebastian reminded him, finally turning away from the painting to look at Gregory. His dark eyes were full of sorrow that Gregory did not feel as he reached up with his free hand to rake his fingers through his dark hair.

Sebastian mourned his father. Gregory did not have the same reaction. The news of his father’s death had come mostly as a relief.

But he was not sanguine about the loss of his father, either, if only because he worried it put himself and his mother in danger. They still did not know who had arranged the explosion at the hunting lodge that had ended their fathers’ lives. They did not know what the motivation had been… though Gregory had found threatening letters hidden away when he’d been going through his father’s things. Letters threatening his father’s life.

He had not shared them with his fellow unlucky dukes yet. Not even Sebastian.

It had crossed his mind that it was entirely possible one of them desired an early inheritance, and the rest of the dukes had been unfortunate bystanders. It was also entirely possible they would think the same of him.

He was not sure they would trust him. Unlike Sebastian, his relationship with his father had been cold, and many of the ton knew they were not on good terms. While several of their group truly mourned their progenitors, there were just as many who did not.

The door to the room opened, and all of them turned from where they were having their quiet conversations to see the new arrival. Zachary strode into the room, stiffly upright as always, his collar points poking at his structured jawline and short brown hair still perfectly styled despite the windiness of the day. He was even more proper than Sebastian, sometimes annoyingly so, in Gregory’s opinion.

Today, however, he was far more sympathetic to Zachary’s foibles. After all, if he’d been the one to lose Sebastian… he did not know if he would be able to keep the stiff upper lip the way Zachary had. Gregory was saddened by Sinclair’s death but not devastated the way he would have been if he’d lost his closest friend.

“My apologies for my tardiness,” Zachary said, stripping off his gloves and greatcoat to reveal his funeral dress. It felt odd to see Zachary in unrelieved black, as he normally preferred to have some touch of brightness about his personage. He appeared rather annoyed. “I was detained by Northumberland.” He glowered at having to call someone other than Sinclair by the title. Especially a fawning upstart like William Seymour. Sinclair’s heir was the definition of country cousin, and dealing with him was rather tedious, though Sinclair had said Seymour was like his brother.

Christian, Duke of Montagu and the only light-haired duke among them, who had been standing by the drinking cart, now approached with a glass of brandy for Zachary. They looked like Gabriel and Lucifer standing next to each other—Christian’s fair looks were often called heavenly, while Zachary’s dark hair and eyes made him appear akin to a fallen angel. Together, they made quite a pair. Zachary took the offered drink and downed it in one go.

“What did he want?” Christian asked, frowning, his blue eyes cold and sharp, unlike his normal bored ennui. He’d taken a deep dislike to Sinclair’s heir from the beginning, though he’d hidden it for Sinclair’s sake. It was not as though they got to choose their heirs, after all. Something that had been very much on Gregory’s mind from the moment he’d been informed of Sinclair’s loss at sea.

“To reassure me that he would assist Isabella in the manner he knew Sinclair would have wanted and that he would safeguard the estate.” Zachary made a face. “Also to toady up to me. He wanted to know where we were all gathering afterward.”

Immediately, everyone frowned.

“He is not one of us.” Sebastian shook his head, as if he could shake off the new Duke of Northumberland that easily. Being a young, new duke, William seemed to want to fit in with the rest of them, seeming not to understand that it was not only their youth that drew them together.

All of them had been trained to be dukes from the moment they were born, unlike him. All of them had lost their fathers, all together, unlike him. He might step into Sinclair’s title by dint of birth, but he could not fill his shoes in every way.

“He is not, but we will have to deal with him at times, regardless,” Zachary replied, though his deep frown indicated his own displeasure with the necessity. “He is Northumberland now, and there is nothing any of us can do about it.”

“We could get lucky,” Matthew replied. Not a surprising response from the Duke of St. Albans, who had been known to the ton as the Lord of Luck for years. He was legitimately the luckiest man Gregory had ever met. He wondered if Matthew considered the death of his father lucky… he’d had an even worse relationship with the man than Gregory had had with his.

“Lucky, how?” Christian asked cynically, shaking his head. “Another dead duke? At some point, it’s going to seem as though we’re cursed.” The ton’s acknowledged Adonis, blessed with the body and face of a Greek God, was rarely so serious. Sinclair’s death had shaken all of them.

“Maybe we are,” Gregory chimed in, rallying to the need he saw among his friends. “Cursed with good looks and good health.” Sadly, those things were not enough to save a man who fell overboard in the middle of a storm at sea. Poor Sinclair. The jest fulfilled its purpose, though, making most of his friends chuckle or at least smile. Only Zachary was still somber, though the corners of his mouth did lift for a moment.

“Christian has certainly been cursed with good looks,” Matthew said, making all of them laugh. All of them were handsome, but only Christian had the power to make the ladies swoon with a single wink. Literally swoon. Gregory had watched them fall into a faint with his own eyes, all because the ton’s “most beautiful man” had noticed them.

“I would like to request to be cursed with riches,” Nathanial joked.

“I believe you will be cursed when you find your riches,” Gregory said with a wink to ease the sting of his jest. Nathanial would have to marry for money, and they all knew it. It was the only way to secure the funds he needed to build the estate back up again. None of the creditors were willing to look twice at him after the way his father had left them high and dry. Luckily for him, his position meant there were many wealthy daughters whose dowries would save the estate and who would happily become a duchess in exchange for said dowry.

All he had to do was choose one.

“I believe we’re all going to be cursed soon unless we want a situation like Northumberland,” Zachary pointed out. “My mother and uncle have already been prodding me.”

The air seemed to go out of the room as they all looked at each other in dreary acknowledgment of the truth. Gregory had been doing his best not to think about it. They’d all known, of course, that a wife and heir were a requirement to carry on the family line. That fact had been drilled into them since birth.

But they’d all thought they’d have more time.

As much as Gregory had despised his father, the man had been a buffer between Gregory and his duties. He did not mind the running of the estate. One of the reasons he and his father had clashed was over how his father ran the estate, how he treated their people—and especially how he treated Gregory’s mother. But Gregory had been in no hurry to marry.

Even after his father’s death, he’d been in no rush. He was young, after all. Nearing thirty. Very young to inherit. There were things to do. The prescribed mourning to observe. Even if he was not mourning, Society demanded a certain ritual. Like the black armband tied just above his elbow to acknowledge the loss of Sinclair.

This upcoming Season was the first they were all out of mourning. Nathanial would not be the only one facing the marriage mart. If it were not for losing Sinclair, Gregory would be doing his best to hide himself away.

Sinclair’s death had made him face his own mortality. He did not know his heir, a second cousin to his father, and had never met the man. He could not trust a stranger with his mother’s care, not after all she’d suffered living with his father. He needed to ensure she was cared for. If his father’s cousin was anything like his father, Gregory did not want the man anywhere near his mother.

That meant finding a wife and siring an heir.

“How hard can it be to find a bride?” Sebastian asked. “We are dukes. It is the first Season we’ll be attending since being in mourning. We will likely be mobbed by debutantes and their mamas as soon as we step foot into the first ball. It is just a matter of choosing one of them.”

“It is the choice that is difficult,” Gregory replied, shaking his head. Sebastian had clearly not thought through the pitfalls. “It is not just a bride—it is a wife . The woman who will run your household, mother your children, and warm your bed. She’ll know your secrets, at least some of them.” Which was his largest concern.

“If she’s awful, you can pack her off to the country and warm your mistress’ bed,” Christian said. Leaning back in his seat, he tugged his maroon waistcoat down into place, rolling his shoulders to settle the fabric of his black jacket.

“Not until you’ve sired your heir.” Gregory had given it quite a bit of thought. “And if you do so, you risk someone else warming her bed.”

Christian opened his mouth, then closed it again, frowning as if the thought had not occurred to him. It had occurred to Gregory. In large part because he’d warmed quite a few lonely ton wives’ beds over the past decade. Fidelity was not an attribute the ton held in high regard.

One of the few points Gregory agreed with his father on was in wanting fidelity from his wife. He knew very well that his father had not considered himself beholden to the same standard, which was why Gregory had inherited the care of several younger half-sisters along with his estate. Whether or not he followed in his father’s footsteps in that way… he was unsure.

It would likely depend on his wife. He did know that he would be discreet. He would not hurt his wife by rubbing her face in any mistresses or affairs.

More to the point, though, he knew firsthand how many women were willing to loosen more than their stays when taking a lover. They had loose tongues as well, spilling secrets of their households and husbands over pillow talk, things they would not tell their closest friend but which were revealed in the dark of night when they lay in a lover’s arms.

No, he needed a wife to stay true to him, and he would ensure that he did not embarrass or distress her. How he would find such a woman was the dilemma.

“And yet we still need wives and heirs,” Zachary muttered. “As quickly as possible.” Or possibly end up like Sinclair, with a grieving fiancé, no heir, and a cousin taking his position. At least he did not have any dependents who the new Northumberland was now required to take care of.

The rest of them all did, in one manner or another.

“We can assist each other,” Christian said, looking around the room and meeting all of their gazes. “We can use this Season to find appropriate wives for all of us.”

“Speak for yourself.” The Duke of Ormonde, and the quietest of their group, finally spoke up from where he was seated in the corner, lounging in an armchair. Drake was an even bigger rake than Gregory; he was also the only one of them who was engaged. However, he’d been putting off the wedding for three years now. “I am already spoken for. I’ll be using this Season as a final run of merriment before I finally join the blessed institution .” The sarcastic spin he put on the last two words made clear his real feelings of being betrothed to the daughter of his mother’s best friend.

“We could trade situations,” Matthew offered from across the room, lifting his glass of cognac by way of recognition. “I’ll happily marry Lady Astrid rather than look for a bride.”

Rather than decide on a bride was more likely what he meant. The Lord of Luck tended to make his decisions by flipping a coin—and, strangely, following the coin always led to advantageous outcomes for himself.

“And you did not even flip a coin to choose her,” Nathanial joked.

“Oh, I did.” Matthew patted the breast pocket of his jacket, where he kept his lucky coin. “Just now. That’s why I made the offer. It said to.”

Drake scowled at him rather fiercely.

“Your coin cannot break the marriage contract, nor can it explain to my mother why said contract should be broken,” he said darkly. “Find your own bride.”

A rather vehement response, but then, the Duchess of Ormond was formidable. If she had chosen Gregory’s bride, he would not want to face her down, either. Especially on the flimsy basis of Matthew’s lucky coin. The Lord of Luck’s good fortune did not always extend to others.

“You can help us,” he told Drake. “Since you do not need to look for your own bride. Especially when it comes to knowing which debutante to choose. Perhaps Lady Astrid will drop a word or two in your ear about our choices?”

“Did you not hear me when I said I was going to be enjoying myself this Season?” Drake turned his scowl Gregory’s way, though it was not nearly as dark as when it had been directed at Matthew. “If I must be leg-shackled after it, I am going to enjoy myself during.”

“Just get yourself a mistress or a lover if it bothers you that much,” Christian told him with some exasperation. He’d warmed even more beds than Gregory. The ladies were happy to fall right into his arms when given the chance to claim the ton’s Adonis as their lover for a night. “If Lady Astrid turns out to be a cold fish, you can find someone else to warm your bed.”

“Right after he’s married?” Sebastian frowned at him. “That seems unnecessarily cruel.”

“I am not saying he should make an announcement, but one can be discreet,” Christian retorted.

“Are you going to keep your currant mistress?” Zachary asked him, sounding appalled. They all knew Christian had been playing bed games with an actress at the Royal Theater for the past few months. Zachary was the only other one of them with a regular lover; he’d been sharing his nights with the stunningly beautiful Dowager Baroness Ashfield.

“Of course.” Christian tilted his head curiously at Zachary. “Are you not?”

“Of course not! I will be courting a debutante for marriage. It would not be proper to have a mistress at the same time.” Zachary frowned at him.

“Why not marry the baroness, then?” Nathanial asked, causing Zachary to look at him, aghast.

Zachary made a face.

“My mother would have a conniption. Delilah is no virginal debutante. Even if she and my mother did get along…” Zachary shook his head. “Mother is most insistent that I not marry Delilah. She still has not taken off the black since Father’s death. I do not want to add to her pain. Besides, you know what people would say.” He looked distinctly uncomfortable with the admission.

It was true, there would be whispers that Zachary could not possibly know if his children were truly his if he married an experienced widow rather than an innocent. Taking the baroness as his lover before he was married or returning to her after he was married would be seen as perfectly acceptable, but actually marrying her?

Still, from what Gregory had seen, there were true feelings between the two of them. He was almost sorry that Zachary was going to bow to Society’s scripts rather than forging his own path with the baroness. But that was Zachary’s decision to make.

He also could not blame Zachary for being so sensitive to his mother’s opinions. Gregory’s mother had worn the black for his father’s death, but neither of them had truly mourned him. Zachary’s mother was still struggling with her grief, unfashionably long after her official mourning period had ended. She was fragile, more than physically. As protective as Gregory was of his own mother, he could only imagine how much worse it was for Zachary.

“Making a debutante a duchess is the proper thing to do,” Matthew agreed with Zachary. His hand rubbed at the pocket where his coin was, as if he was uncomfortable making such a definitive statement without flipping it first.

“You could still keep your baroness until you have your duchess,” Christian said. Then rolled his eyes when his statement was met with a round of head shaking from the others. “Well, I am going to keep my actress until I find my duchess. Perhaps even beyond.”

Hardly an uncommon occurrence, though Gregory hoped the man would be discreet. Though, with so many other dukes to bring up to scratch, it was possible he would find that it was not so easy to secure a bride this Season with a mistress in tow. Only time would tell.

“Well, then.” Drake unfolded his long frame from the chair, getting to his feet and raising his glass. “A toast. To everyone finding their duchess.”

“Hear, hear!”

There were only a few drops of brandy left in the bottom of Gregory’s glass, but he lifted it to his lips and let them slide onto his tongue. He needed to find a woman worth making his duchess this Season. One who would be faithful, keep his secrets, run his household, and make a good mother to his children. Being a pleasant bedwarmer would be a bonus. To ask that she tolerate his… preferences was probably too much to hope for, so a mistress was likely in his future regardless, though he would hold off until his wife was with child so as not to distress her.

It was not going to be an easy hill to climb. Perhaps he should spend more time with Matthew, because he was going to need all the luck he could collect.