Page 1 of The Duke of Pain

Prologue

February, 1898

London

Boredom. That was the word that had summed up Gideon Broyles, the Duke of Watford’s, life for decades. Turning forty years old two weeks past should have him utterly depressed. But the only emotion he felt—and had felt—for as long as he could remember—was boredom. It was the only emotion he allowed himself to feel.

However, annoyance had started to creep in.

As Gideon looked around the table, his mouth curled slightly. It was the monthly meeting of The Rakes of St. Regent’s Park. The gatherings used to be weekly, but with a shift in membership and leadership, they were monthly now.

Gideon used to be the leader of this motley crew back in the day. Back when there had been twenty-one members. He was the only original member left. Rather pathetic that he was still sowing oats that had long grown stale and moldy.

“Brookton, either call the meeting to order or dismiss us. I’ve better things to do than sit here for hours on end,” Gideon declared.

The room grew silent.

Damon Cranston, Marquess of Brookton and heir to the Duke of Chellenham, gave Gideon a sly smile. “Perhaps you would like to take over.”

“I’ve done that, thank you. Can’t be bothered.”

“Before I take the roll call, Allenby has an opportunity he wishes to lay before us. I said we would take a vote. There are shares available in the Daimler Motor Company Limited, and he wanted to give us first option to buy,” Brookton concluded.

The prospect appealed to Gideon. Those motorized vehicles were the wave of the future. Even though he didn’t show it outwardly, Gideon admired Christian Bamford, Duke of Allenby. Or he never would have handed over leadership of this group to him some months back. But Allenby had recently married and moved on.

Allenby was also a man of vision. He kept his dukedom afloat by investing in the burgeoning auto industry, which was good enough for Gideon.

“I am all for it,” Gideon stated. “All in favor?” A series of grunts and affirmatives came from the other men. “So carried. Have Allenby come in next week; the sooner, the better.”

“Very well. Then let us take the roll call.” Brookton dipped his pen in the inkwell. “Tolwood.”

“Here.”

Gideon rolled his eyes. Why Brookton insisted on a roll call when there were only seven in the current group was beyond him.

Merritt Redfern, Viscount Tolwood, was busy looking for a bride and not having much luck. In the past four months, three members—or former members—had married and left the group except for the occasional dinner or game of cards.

Which reminded him.

“I’ve heard from Brandon Knight. He will not be returning to London or this group,” Gideon declared. “He is off to Canada for two years, where he will be married. When he does return, he will be taking up residence in Herne Bay, though he will be setting up an office here in London. We may see him on occasion.”

“Oh, I say,” Tolwood exclaimed. “Who is the lucky lady?”

“A widow, late wife of the Earl of Oakby,” Gideon replied nonchalantly. “He will also be stepfather to the young earl. A lady he knew in his past. Let’s move on.”

Gideon did not want to answer questions about Brandon. Or about the recently deceased Oakby and the scandal surrounding his lurid death.

To say he was hurt and disappointed about Brandon’s new life would be admitting he had feelings. Though Gideon wished his friend well, he would miss him. Brandon had been the closest friend he’d ever had, and even Brandon wasn’t all that close.

Brookton ran a line across the paper. “Knight is out. Shinwell?”

Troy Buckingham, Viscount Shinwell, grunted in response.

“Linton?”

No reply.

“Rome Linton had another engagement,” Gideon replied. “As does Gregory McFadden. If you looked up from your papers, you would see that.”