He knew a man who needed his help even more.
His brother.
The Duke of Decadence.
He and Clarissa had stayed up late last night discussing that very topic.
His brother looked to all the world to be the happy-go-lucky duke, but they knew better.
The door clicked closed as Alnwick left and Mason rose from his chair. He’d go greet the guests. Introduce them to the new club. Then he’d leave at a respectable hour with the rest of the former Wicked Earls to return home to his wife.
Clarissa.
Even thinking about her now made him ache with need to hold her close.
He spent hours every night holding her in her arms, his hand covering her growing belly.
A child.
One he’d love with every fiber of his being. That child would grow up knowing that he or she was loved every day.
He pushed open the door, eager to greet the earls and then get home.
Back to his heart.
He barely made it an hour in the company of those men before he slipped out the back into his waiting carriage. The dark London streets surrounded him like a blanket as he made his way home.
He found Clarissa where he always did. In their favorite sitting room, a fire roaring in the grate.
She grinned as she saw him. “You didn’t make it very late.”
He shook his head. “We’ve got an orphanage to open tomorrow. I need my rest.”
She rose and wrapped her arms about his neck. “Natty is over the moon you’re going to allow her to cut the ribbon.”
He hugged her close, kissing his wife’s lips. “Are you sad you won’t be living with the orphans?”
“No,” she gave him a bit of a push. “I’ve already told you. What we’re doing, starting homes for children, is just as important.”
“I agree,” he murmured, holding her even closer. “And you were right. We’ll prove both our fathers wrong.”
She smiled at him cupping his cheek. “We already have.”
“We have indeed.” He kissed her then as he swung her into his arms.
Plans for his brother would have to wait.
Tonight was about him and his beautiful wife.
And their love.
Which would surely feed him for a long full lifetime.
* * *
Want to read the entire series?
Earl of Gold
Earl of Baxter
Duke of Decadence
Marquess of Menace
Duke of Dishonor
Baron of Blasphemy
Earl of Infamy
Viscount of Vanity
Laird of Longing
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You can also read the next installment of the Wicked Earls Club! The Earl of Tempest by Annabelle Anders:
WHEN A DO-GOOD DUKE'S DAUGHTER FALLS FOR A GRUMPY EARL, ALL WAGERS ARE OFF.
The Earl of Tempest told her to stay away from him. He was too old for her, his soul was too dark
And Even though he was wrong and even though he was breaking her heart, Lady Lydia Cockfield respected his wishes and walked away.
Until she stumbles on him a year later: lost and drunk, wagering his days away in London’s Wicked Earl’s Club.
He isn't the hero she was seeking, but the moment she she meets his wounded gaze from across the room, an idea takes root.
She will save him and hundreds of lost children at the same time. Because in saving the children, Lord Tempest can save himself. Light will flood his soul and heel his wounds. He can believe in goodness again—believe in himself.
He can believe that love is possible.
And if he can believe all that, then maybe, just maybe, he can open his heart to the one woman who will never give up on him and grasp the happiness he's deserved all along.
Duke of Decadence
Lords of Scandal Book 9
* * *
Miss Isabella Carrington sat in front of her sister’s dressing table mirror. They only had the fire burning in Eliza’s room, so she’d had to get ready in here or risk freezing half to death. It was dratted annoying.
Then again, it meant she and her sisters spent a great deal of time together.
Which was both a blessing and a curse. As the second oldest in her family, she loved her sisters with all her heart. They were her entire life.
But gads, she could use just a bit more space.
“Can you see? I’ll light a few more candles,” Emily called from the bed as she rose. Night was quickly falling, and a chill filled the air even with a small fire burning in the hearth.
To be fair, it might help if they’d been able to put more wood in the grate but even having the single fire, there was no money for such decadence.
Abigail didn’t look up as she stared in concentration at Isabella’s head. “That would be lovely. I can’t tell. Does she look like she has side whiskers?”
All three of her sister’s crowded about them. They had matching dark hair and eyes, exactly like their father’s.
Isabella nearly sighed as she thought of his handsome smiling face. Would that he were here. She said a silent prayer that wherever he was, he was all right. And still alive. His daughters needed him to be alive.
Eliza cocked her head to the side, her high cheekbones dancing in the flicker of candlelight. “It’s startling really, how real the side whiskers look. You’ve got a real talent, Abigail.”
Abigail gave a light snort. “A talent for making a woman appear like a man?” But she saw Abigail smile, nonetheless. “I’m going to use the tiniest bit of dust from the fire to make her look as though she’s got a shadow of a beard.”
Emily returned carrying another candle as she touched Eliza’s shoulder on her way past. “Where did you get the breeches and shirt again?”
Eliza waved her hand. “Some baron’s son.”
Abigail’s hands stilled on Isabella’s hair. Isabella felt a familiar jolt in her stomach. Eliza often bore the brunt of the danger in the effort to keep them warm and fed. Isabella narrowed her gaze at her sister in the looking glass. “And how did you get him to part with them again?”
Eliza had the decency to blush. A rarity in her older sister. “It doesn’t matter—"
“Let’s have it.” Abigail’s hands came to her hips. “How did you do it?”
Eliza let out a long drawn out sigh. “Fine. I may have suggested that we have a tumble in the hay of the barn…”
Isabella gasped, her hand slapping down on the top of the desk. “You didn’t—”
“Of course not,” Eliza snapped. “I’m not a fool. I also suggested that I was very eager to see his skin and that he might undress first. He was quite obliging. And then, of course, he couldn’t chase me when I ran off with his garments because he had no clothes…”
Abigail groaned as cold hard fear trickled down Isabella’s back. She gave her sister a sharp glare. “Oh Eliza. Why didn’t you tell us that was the plan? A hundred things could have gone wrong. One of us should have been there with you.”
Eliza waved her hand in the air, her back growing straight as a board. “Clearly, I had it under control.”
“Yes, but…” she started, her arms crossing over her silk shirt tucked into her trousers. Funny, she’d never considered how exposed men were in such clothing. She felt like anyone was free to assess the curve of her derriere.
Eliza stared at Isabella in the mirror, her chin notching. “Our plan tonight is far more dangerous. You ought to focus on that.”
Isabella’s mouth snapped closed. Her sister was right on that account.
Their plan was very risky.
And it began with Isabella dressing like a man.
There were two reasons they’d chosen her for the role. First, she was the most tall and slender of her sisters. She surpassed most men in height, since she’d been the one to inherit her father’s stature.
It made it easier to disguise herself as a man.
But the other, more import
ant factor was her unique ability to keep track of numbers.
She wasn’t just good at it. She was flawless.
Numbers had always stuck in her head and stayed there. They made sense to her.
She could remember all the cards that had been played in hand and the hand before it and the hand before that. Her skill made her deadly difficult to beat.
Which caused her sisters no amount of fits as children.
Until they’d been desperate for money. And now, now it appeared to be one of their greatest assets.
The problem was that her father had left two years prior to shore up a trade deal in the orient. His business finances had diminished greatly over the past several years though the family had struggled to discover why. In an attempt to restore their finances as his daughters came of age, he’d left to secure a new trade deal in far off lands.
Her mother had an inheritance, of course. A large one. The rest was plenty for them to live on. Except their mother had unexpectedly died last winter. All the money their mother had set aside for her daughters was still in their father’s care.
And several letters to their father to tell him so had gone unanswered. Which was odd. He travelled on known routes, with regular ships passing to and from India and the Orient. He should have replied. Or written.
Where was he? Why hadn’t he replied to their missives and returned home? They were running out of time. Because if their father was declared dead…
Her pulse stuttered in her veins. Well, that was a state of affairs they’d decided they couldn’t tolerate.
“Isabella, are you listening?” Abigail asked, taping her shoulder.
She blinked back to reality, looking at her sister through the speckled glass. “Yes. Of course.”
Eliza waved her hands. “You know she wasn’t. She’d only pay attention if we were doing math.”
“That’s not fair.” Emily stepped in, patting Isabella’s other shoulder. Emily was the kindest person Isabella knew. She reached for Em’s hand giving it a squeeze.
“It’s totally fair. Do you know she was doing some theoretical math problems the other day? What does that even mean? How can numbers be a theory?” Eliza crossed over to the fire. “Anyway, as I was saying. I talked with Lord Bastingcook. He said there are two types of games at this place, the Den of Sins. The ones in the front room are for lower stakes. But then there are more intimate games held in private rooms where far more money passes hands.”
“But you’d need money to enter those higher stakes games. That’s my guess.” Isabella pointed out as she lifted her chin to allow Abigail to dab dark powder on her chin.
Eliza let out a short exasperated huff. “Of course you do. Tonight we’ll play the main room tables. Make as much as we can and save the profits for tomorrow night and a high stakes game.”
Isabella gasped this time, which caused Abigail to jam the brush she’d been dusting Isabella’s face with into her chin, leaving a dark black smear of soot.
Isabella ignored the dark mark and the pulse of pain. “Tomorrow? This was supposed to be a one-time deception. I might be tall, but these men aren’t going to be fooled for long. I’m not very masculine.”
Eliza shrugged. “You’d be surprised. We’ll go late when they’ll be good and drunk. And I’m going as your paramour remember. I’ll be sure to hang off you like a harlot. They’ll never guess.”
Isabella’s mouth pinched. She hated this part of the plan.
Eliza would play the role flawlessly of course.
But if numbers made sense, people often didn’t.
Men, especially drunk ones, were…unpredictable. “You’re pushing our luck, Eliza.” She stood, going to stand next to her sister. “What if some man decides you should be draped across him and not me? What if someone accuses me of cheating? What if—”
“Isabella,” Eliza’s voice lost its sharp tone. She knew Isabella well enough to know when she was getting overwhelmed with people. “I’ve got a Derringer in my garter. Let me worry about keeping us safe. You just pay attention to the game. And don’t look at anyone. Understood?”
Isabella gave her chin a quick jerk.
“Now,” Abigail called from next to the mirror. “Come back over here. I need to fix your scruff. It looks like you wiped your face in ash, currently.”
“I did wipe my face in ash,” she replied as she dutifully turned back to her younger sister.
Emily wrung her hands. “You’ll be careful tonight, right? We’ve lost mother and father. If anything happens to the two of you, we’ll have to live with Uncle Malcolm for certain.”
“Emily,” Eliza said, her voice turning to silk for their second youngest sister. “Don’t worry. We’ll be just fine.”
Isabella dutifully sat down in the chair. She had doubts. Serious doubts. But they needed to eat and time to find out what had happened to their father. And so, she’d go tonight. They’d come too far to turn back now.
Bash, as most everyone called him, sat in a small annex off the main room of his new gaming hell, the Den of Sins. A thick black curtain hung in front of him that he parted periodically to peer out at the crowd that had already filled their tables.
It was nearly midnight, after all.
The drinks had been flowing for hours as had the money. There was the occasional man who came into the club and won but the house ended up with most of the profits.
First and foremost because he hired smart men to run the games. But even more importantly, those game masters were not allowed to touch the drinks. They kept their minds sober and sharp.
It was usually all the house needed to win. One of his most talented floor members currently ran the table closest to the curtain. He was one of their best game masters but tonight…tonight he was losing. Badly.
Bash frowned, as he looked at the man cleaning their clocks. He had to give the fellow credit. He didn’t celebrate his winning hands, just quietly continued to play and collect a pile of money in front of him. Which had grown quite large. Damn the man.
Nor did the lady behind him, smile or talk overly much. Strikingly beautiful, the woman glanced at several of the players, all who smiled back forgetting their cards.
Was she a distraction? Was the house being swindled?
He returned his gaze to the gentleman at the table. He was the sort who would have made an attractive woman. Thin shoulders, delicate cheeks and chin, large eyes that were fringed with long dark lashes.
If it weren’t for the scruff on his face…
Bash’s eyes narrowed. Something wasn’t adding up.
“What are you staring at so intently, Your Grace?” Menace asked, coming to stand behind him.
Bash let out a growl. In the real world, he was the Duke of Devonhall and Menace was the Marquess of Milton. But in the Den of Sins, they kept their real identities a secret. “You know that here you either call me the Duke of Decadence or just Bash.”
Menace gave his rakish grin but then the grin stopped suddenly as he let out a long whistle. “Take a look at that beauty.”
Bash knew to whom Menace referred. The woman in the low cut gown with the dark hair and classic features that might set a man to flame. She’d certainly attracted the attention of every man at the table and beyond. But Bash hardly looked at her as his gaze settled back on her male companion. “I’m more interested in her escort.”
Menace narrowed his gaze. “I didn’t think you went in for that sort of thing. But he is rather…pretty.”
Bash snorted. “Not interested in that way. He is currently raking up all the profits at that table. We’re losing. Soundly.”
“An occasional winner is good.” Menace shrugged. “People know we’re not cheating them, then.”
“True.” Decadence pulled the curtain back a bit wider leaning forward as he continued to stare. “But what if they are cheating us?”
Menace didn’t speak for a moment, but he shifted behind Bash. “If they are cheating, can I be the one who confronts the woman? I
could pat her down for weapons or do some light interrogation. They could be…interesting.”
Bash held back a growl of irritation. This was serious.
Then he realized he was letting intense anger take over and he paused, drawing in a deep breath.
He’d built a reputation as a carefree rake. A man who lived for excess and didn’t have a care in the world.
But moments like these, he felt his father rearing his ugly countenance from deep inside Bash. The elder Duke of Devonhall was a man with an iron will and a hard temper. Whose need for perfection meant that he was never satisfied and often cruel in his disappointment.
Bash had vowed never to be like his father but he also didn’t wish to be cheated.
He rose from his chair. “What should we do?”
“Let’s get Infamy and Vanity and see what they think. Perhaps they have a way to test them or catch them in the act of cheating. We wouldn’t want to accuse them if they aren’t actually doing anything wrong.”
Bash nodded. It was a good plan. This was why a man had partners. He didn’t need to worry or get upset. His friends would come up with a plan to deal with their potential thieves.
He was relaxed but he wasn’t a fool. And any gambler trying to cheat him would understand not to take advantage of the Duke of Decadence.
* * *
Want to keep reading? Duke of Decadence
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www.tammyandresen.com
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About the Author
Tammy Andresen lives with her husband and three children just outside of Boston, Massachusetts. She grew up on the Seacoast of Maine, where she spent countless days dreaming up stories in blueberry fields and among the scrub pines that line the coast. Her mother loved to spin a yarn and Tammy filled many hours listening to her mother retell the classics. It was inevitable that at the age of eighteen, she headed off to Simmons College, where she studied English literature and education. She never left Massachusetts but some of her heart still resides in Maine and her family visits often.
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