Page 13 of The Big Bad Duke

Yes, her. Caroline.

The Duchess of Kensington. The late Wolverstone’s unofficial goddaughter, and the niece of his friend—and traitor—the late Earl of Roth.

He blinked the thought away.

He didn’t care about her. If she wanted to read about the depths of her uncle’s betrayal in her hero’s own words, she was welcome to do so.

He had only one care in the world—to burn the Brotherhood to ash.

Every member. Every record.

Until nothing was left for anyone to follow.

And when that was done…

He would end The Shadows, too.

No more secrets. No more rot passed down disguised as legacy.

He would bury it all.

A loud crash came from outside. Gideon turned his head, his ears perking at the sound. Was it thunder? The rain pelting against his window confirmed that as a possibility.

Then came the sounds of horses and shouting.

Not thunder. Just man-made chaos.

He stepped toward the window and watched the dark outline of a person struggle with the door of an overturned carriage—or at least, that’s what it looked like through the rain-streaked glass. The storm had turned brutal, lashing the cobblestones with sheets of water.

Gideon shrugged and went back to bed. He gathered the papers strewn across the mattress, righted them, and walked to his safe.

He tucked everything away except for his notebook and locked the safe with an ornate key. He dropped onto the mattress, picked up the notebook, and hurled it onto the dresser.

Then he lay there, staring at the canopy overhead.

These were the moments he relished… and the moments he feared.

When he was one-on-one with his thoughts.

When he allowed himself to remember Sarah and the girls.

To remind himself that he didn’t have them anymore. That he was alone.

That there was nothing left for him.

What would Sarah think of him now?

He’d spent over fifteen years trying to live up to her expectations—and still fell short.

But now… he fell even further.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

Loud, insistent knocking came from the front door.

Gideon cursed, grabbed his silk banyan, threw it over his shoulders, and made his way downstairs.

In the foyer, his butler Hobbes was speaking with a man in unfamiliar livery—dark red with silver trim. Expensive, but not from any house Gideon recognized.