Page 36 of The Duke of Pain

A scuffle ensued, with Asher holding Brookton back while Christian held Gideon.

“Easy, lads,” Christian yelled. “Perhaps we should have set up a boxing ring in here instead of card tables.”

“Maybe we should have,” Gideon ground out. He made another lunge toward Brookton, who growled in return.

“Enough,” Christian said firmly.

Brookton broke from Asher’s grip. “You are not the leader any longer, Christian.” He dabbed at the few drops of blood that had accumulated on the corner of his lips. “That is the best you can do, old man?” he scoffed.

“I was aiming for your nose. Give me another chance. I will get it right this time,” Gideon snarled in response.

“Let’s have another drink,” Asher suggested. “Gideon?”

“Why not? Release me, Allenby. I am calm enough.”

Already this heated exchange had rattled him. An emotional outburst—how not like him. At. All.

Seated once again and with fresh drinks, the men all looked to him as if waiting for an explanation. Brookton’s lips were curved into a slight sneer.

Gideon honestly did not know what to say.

He wished Bran was here, but he had recently departed to Canada with his new wife and stepson. He would be gone for two years; Gideon could hardly confess to him of his feelings. And what of the rest of this group of men?

“Whether you believe it nor not, we are your friends,” Christian said as if reading his mind. “Inasmuch as you try to stay above the fray, emotionless and detached, we care about you. That is why we are here. Tolwood told us you were in dire straits, and we did not hesitate to give our support.”

“He didn’t come with you?” Gideon asked as he sipped his scotch.

“He’s always been a little afraid of you,” Asher interjected. “And a little in awe.”

Brookton rolled his eyes. “Jesus. Well, don’t include me in that pathetic group.”

Gideon shot him a warning look, then took another sip of alcohol. Asher had refilled his glass. His whiskey-soaked brain struggled to sort through his churning emotions.

To hell with it. He pushed the glass away.

“Damon, I’m sorry I hit you,” Gideon began.

“Damon? You have never called me by my given name. Why now?”

Why? Because he felt empathy toward the man for the first time ever.

“Did you come here to offer friendship or stick the knife in, knowing my misery?” Gideon said, aiming the question squarely at Damon.

Damon shifted uncomfortably. “Since you apologized, let’s say friendship.”

“Then friendship it is, to all of you. I appreciate you coming here.”

“Is that all you want, Gideon?” Damon asked.

“I want so many things,” Gideon said, his voice low. “I want my empty life to cease being so bloody barren. I want to give a damn about something—or someone. Having just turned forty, I assumed it would never happen. Believing my heart was dead and buried, I continued on with my hollow life, always reaching for the next meaningless encounter. Until—her.”

“Ah,” Christian said. “Her. I believe Asher and I know of what you speak.”

“Tell us about—her,” Asher encouraged.

“Feelings I have never felt before bubbled to the surface in those first few intense hours with her. I want to protect and care for her. Hell, perhaps I want to love her, though I am not capable.”

“Yes, you are capable, Gideon. Even you, the most jaded rake among us. Well, outside of Damon,” Christian smiled.