But he was spared the choice. Sussex stepped forward and flicked his wrist. The cane slashed down, cutting the man’s face. “The next time my friend speaks,” Sussex growled. “He talks with his pistol.”
The group of men slowly parted and Harrington crawled out. His face was a bloody mess, swollen almost beyond recognition.
Once he’d cleared the group, Sunderland and Pembrooke grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet and away from the melee. Coventry and Sussex backed away more slowly.
A fool on the end made to grab Sussex who, with a wide slash, laid open a gash down the man’s arm.
Another made a wild run for Coventry, who dropped his pistol and fired it into the man’s leg. Falling to the ground, he cried out as several others stepped back.
“Give our regards to His Grace,” Coventry sneered. “Tell him he’ll have to find another way.”
Dragging Harrington, the other earls made their way out of the alley and into the street.
“Get my carriage,” Coventry barked to Sussex, who moved at once to do so.
In minutes, the carriage was crammed with men making the journey back to the club.
Once inside, Coventry sent for the doctor and then Pembrooke made his way down to the kitchen for a slab of meat to cool Harrington’s face while a maid arrived with a bowl of water and a rag to wash some of Harrington’s wounds.
“What the bloody hell was that about?” Sussex spoke for the first time in nearly a half hour.
“Did I hear you mention my grandfather?” Harrington slurred out from his spot on the settee.
Coventry sighed. There was nothing to be done for it now, he’d have to tell them. “Aye, your grandfather was behind it. I got the impression that he wanted to scare you away from gambling and back into the fold.”
“Away from gambling?” Sussex quirked a brow. “You were winning.”
“Tonight I was winning. I haven’t been as lucky as that of late.” Harrington appeared to grimace, though it was difficult to tell with his face looking as it did.
“If you’re not careful, you’ll use up your inheritance—”
“Why should I care?” Harrington half rose from the settee before he laid back down wincing. “The beetle-headed bawbee has threatened to cut me off, but I welcome it. I don’t want his title or his money.”
Coventry grinned over at Sussex before addressing the boy. “You can spend all of the inheritance that isn’t entailed, but you’ll have to sustain yourself with something. When you’re ready, I’ll show you how to invest so you can live independently. Or Sussex can. He’s about to surpass me in wealth.”
Harrington gave both men a long look with the eye that wasn’t currently draped in steak. “You would help me? Why?”
“We’re a brotherhood.” Sussex rested his hand on the man’s shoulder, patting it lightly. “It’s the same reason we dragged you out of that alley.”
“Thank you for that,” Harrington replied as he closed his eye and shifted the steak to the other side.
Coventry cleared his throat. “Just be more careful, however you proceed. Sitting at a game with such men was foolish.”
Harrington gave a nod as the doctor entered the room. Coventry motioned to Luke to step out with him.
Making their way down the dark hall, he unlocked his office and stepped inside. Sussex followed, and Coventry discreetly shuffled the letters he was writing to the bottom of a pile. “Have a seat.”
Stepping around the desk, he took a seat as well, facing the man he’d called into his office. “Whatever is between you and Lady Ashford ends tonight.”
“How did you even—”
“It doesn’t matter. End it.” Coventry sat straighter.
Sussex followed suit, his back lifting off the chair. “It’s none of your concern.”
“It will be all of our concern when Lord Ashford finds out. The man is extremely jealous of his wife. Besides, you might have ruined your future tonight. That will be for you repair later, but if you want any chance at all, you must end this farce with Lady Ashford immediately.”
Sussex stood. “I don’t need advice from you on my private affairs.”
“Clearly you do. Your lack of discretion is likely to get you killed and you’ve no heir.”
Sussex curled his lip. “My father is doing an admirable job of pressuring me to marry. I don’t need you joining his ranks.”
Coventry took a breath. It was important to tread carefully. He was the only member of the club who was wed, and that was because he did not actually participate, he only oversaw the club’s inner workings. “You are like a son to me.”
Sussex gave him what could only be described as a glare. Then the man’s shoulders relaxed as he flicked his hand. “I tire of her, at any rate.”
“Why is that?” Coventry asked, his curiosity piqued. He thought he knew what might make Sussex happy. A woman with real intelligence and spirit, but he wondered if Sussex felt the same.
“She is very beautiful but…” Sussex paused taking a breath. “Beyond that, there is little substance.”
“I understand entirely.” He gave his friend a kind smile, the type he usually only bestowed upon his wife or his daughter. “What you need is a woman of passion and intellect.”
Sussex shrugged. “What I need is a drink.”
* * *
This is just the beginning…
Want to find out if the Earl of Sussex heeds Coventry’s advice? Can he redeem himself to Lady Tabitha? Will Harrington succumb to the pressures of the Duke of Southington? Does the Devil of Davenport meet an angel?
* * *
Find the answers to these questions and many more in our twelve Wicked Earls’ Club novellas.
* * *
The Earl of Sussex by Tammy Andresen
Earl of Westcliff by Meara Platt
Earl of Wainthrope by Collette Cameron
Earl of Sunderland by Aubrey Wynne
Earl of Basingstoke by Aileen Fish
Earl of Weston by Anna St. Claire
Earl of Davenport by Maggie Dallen
Earl of Grayson by Amanda Mariel
Earl of Benton by Madeline Martin
Earl of Pembroke by Lauren Smith
Earl of St. Seville by Christina McKnight
Earl of Harrington by Dawn Brower
Earl of Sussex
The Wicked Earls’ Club
USA Today Bestselling Author
Tammy Andresen
* * *
Prologue
* * *
London England, 1815
* * *
Luke Bentley, Earl of Sussex, strolled up to the nondescript brick front building, and stopped to glance at its exterior. He did this nearly every time he arrived. It was miraculous to him that something so outwardly plain could hold such delights within. The only indication of what this building held was the emblem emblazoned on the door, a single W inlaid in gold. The same symbol was pinned to the lapel of his waist coat.
A slow wicked grin spread across his lips. Just like the building front he’d learned never to judge a woman by her appearance. One never knew what woman might bloom in his arms. Revealing secret delights that her perfectly groomed exterior barely hinted at.
That was why he rarely turned a woman away. Well, one of the reasons, anyway. He had other, less noble, motivations for his endless parade of lovers. But he digressed.
Before him was his most favorite place in London, perhaps all of England… The Wicked Earls Club. It had once been The Earls’ Guild or some such foppery, but over the years it had turned into a haven for men like him. It allowed men of means and title to relax with a drink and some cards, perhaps a woman, without the prying eyes of society’s watchful presence.
The members never spoke of the club or its existence outside of these walls in order to keep the utmost secrecy. In this way, they could continue with their delicious debauchery for as long as they chose. Luke planned on gracing its walls forever.
The
re were a few rules, not written of course, but understood. Once a man married, for example, his invitation to the club was rescinded. At such a time, he could find a proper, public gentlemen’s club to drink his scotch. Luke ran a hand through his hair. But matrimony was an unfortunate state of affairs he planned never to find himself in and the reason for his visit.
The building was located at 276 Asher Street, on the outskirts of respectable London. It allowed for men of his guild to come here without worry for their safety while still being close to London’s less respectable delights.
He inserted his key into the lock and turned it with a resounding click. Each member had his own nondescript key for entrance any time, night or day. He entered the darkened foyer and closed the door, locking it behind him.
He knew this entrance like his own bedroom, and moved easily down the hall, despite the darkness.
As he turned the corner, a room opened to his left. Well-lit and extravagantly decorated, not in the way a woman might prefer, but perfect for a man. It was Luke’s second home. Rich leather chairs abounded, as did decanters of the finest scotch, brandy, and whiskey, the best a man could hope to drink. Several maître des stood at the ready to grant any whim he should seek.
Today he wished most to discuss a particularly vexing dilemma he had with two of his closest compatriots, Lord Gracon and Lord Harrington.
He found them seated in a quiet corner, perfect for private conversation. Though it was not yet ten in the morning, he stopped to pour himself a tall snifter of scotch. He’d already been to his boxing club this morning and could use the fortification for what he was about to say.
Normally, he boxed in the afternoons, his late night activities making noon his normal rising time. But his father insisted Luke stay in last night, so he had risen early and left the house as soon as possible.
While he loved his parents, their visits were often fraught with tension, this one being the most difficult yet. The Marquess of Winston was a man who demanded his own way.
“So what brings you here at such an early hour?” Lord Gracon took a sip of tea, eyeing him over the rim.
“You know my mother and father are in town.” Luke grimaced at the words.
“Are they staying at Clearwater?” Lord Harrington asked.
“No. They chose to stay with me instead.”
“How….” Gracon paused. “Unfortunate.”
Luke ran his hand through his hair again. It was a gesture he was not normally prone to. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Enlighten us.” Harrington grinned.
It was better to just say the words and have it be out. “They want me to marry.” He grimaced, went to take a swig of his scotch, and found his stomach couldn’t tolerate it. Setting the glass back down, he ran his fingers through his hair again.
“Well, that is most distressing.” Gracon raised his cup to his lips again but Luke had the distinct impression that he hid a smile with his teacup.
“It gets worse.” He took a breath, steadying himself. “They’ve made a match. Without my consent.”
Both men leaned forward then, cups set to the side, matching grins on their faces. “Who?” Gracon asked.
Damnation, they weren’t even trying to hide their glee. “Lady Tabitha Riley.” He spit the words. During the few balls his parents had forced him to attend, he had never seen the lady in question, though his father had assured him she was there. He had replied that if she were worth seeing, he would have, in fact, already met her.
“What’s to complain about there, old chap?” Harrington leaned over and slapped him on the back. “She’s quite pretty, well connected, very sweet. She’ll make an excellent wife.”
Gracon nodded in agreement but Luke slashed his hand through the air. “I don’t want a wife. And if I did, she’d be the last woman I picked.”
“Last…really? You’d marry Lady Millicent Dunphry first?” Gracon grinned.
Harrington, catching on to the game, laughed. “Or Lady Mildred Cleary?”
Luke stared at them unamused. “You’re supposed to be helping me. Not poking fun. She’s a first-rate wallflower. I bet she goes to bed by exactly eight every evening and rises with the sun. She most likely has excellent embroidery skills and talks endlessly about gossip. I will be dead by the age of forty, having perished from complete boredom.”
Gracon sighed and sat back in his chair. “If you married the type of woman you normally cavort with, you’d depart us at the ripe old age of thirty-five. My friend, you could stand with a little more stability.”
Luke made to protest but Gracon raised his hand.
“Besides, you are the one who is so fond of saying that the outside wrapping doesn’t reveal what is underneath. Perhaps you should meet Lady Tabitha first before you judge.”
Well, blast it all to hell… using his own words against him. Luke doubted any woman could convince him to marry. But, all the same, he supposed the man had a point.
* * *
Chapter 1
One week later:
* * *
Lady Tabitha sat perched on the end of her chair in her father’s study and attempted to keep her mouth from hanging open. She was fairly certain her father had just told her that marriage contracts were being drawn up with the Earl of Sussex.
“You can’t be serious?” she mumbled before she could stop herself.
“I can assure you, I am as serious as the plague, young lady,” her father, The Duke of Waverly replied.
Barreling headlong into disaster, she let the words tumble from her lips. “But Papa, he is a known rake and debaucher, drinking and gambling and…”
“Stop, darling. A lady does not say such things.” Her mother lifted a kerchief to her mouth.
“Of course, Mother. I apologize.” She took a breath. “I have no illusions of a love match, but I thought perchance, I might at least share some common interests with my future bridegroom.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you have common interests. You’re both members of the peerage, from excellent families, with a common goal to populate the next generation of—” Her mother was now waving the kerchief, apparently populating the next generation had her more excited than Tabbie had seen her in quite some time.
“Yes, dear. Thank you. We need not discuss that part yet.” Her father turned back to her. “I hear he is quite handsome. You should meet him before you dismiss him.”
“We’ve already met.” Her lips thinned into a straight line. That was to say, she had been introduced to him on two separate occasions but always his eyes had barely grazed her before they were following some other woman about the room. No man had ever made her feel so invisible and she was a first rate wallflower, or she would be if she weren’t the daughter of a duke. While it was not normally a point of pride for a woman, she worked rather hard to cultivate the talent of disappearing behind potted plants. It was the only acceptable way she could refuse to participate in society.
“Excellent. They are arriving this afternoon for a visit. I expect you to have your tea together.”
“I beg your pardon?” She stood, forgetting her manners completely. “Today?”
“Sit down.” Her father’s stern voice reverberated through the room.
She had no choice but to do as she was told. But her eyes narrowed. Her father must have known they were coming for some time. He’d intentionally kept this information from her. Most likely so that she didn’t have time to scheme her way out of it.
“You’ll be on your best behavior. You’ll be polite and agreeable. You will keep quiet or, if you speak, you will keep your tongue sweet.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Her own anger was rising.
“Tabbie darling, you have a tendency to make men feel lesser when you verbally…” Her mother paused but her father filled in.
“Assault them.” He gave a nod to emphasize his point.
“That is ridiculous. I don’t—”
“Oh darling
, you’re one of the kindest people I know. But you do have a bit of a temper. And the words that you speak when in those fits.” Her mother covered her mouth with her hand.
“To smart for your own good,” her father mumbled.
“Find someone else.” Tabbie stood again.
“There’s no one else. Your decision to stay next to the wall for every soiree we attend has made it difficult to find a suitor.” Her father stood too. “Be polite.”
“Fine,” she murmured. Tabbie lifted her skirts and exited the office with as much dignity as she could muster. She still had several hours before they were too meet. Surely she could come up with a plan before then.
* * *
Three hours later, she sat in the parlor awaiting the Earl of Sussex. The blasted man was late. He was supposed to have arrived at half past two but it was now three and he was nowhere to be seen. In want of something to do, she picked up a book sitting artfully on the table. History of Ducal England graced the spine and she tried not to roll her eyes.
“Interesting reading,” a baritone voice rumbled from the door. It was melodious in a way that struck a chord deep within her. But she ignored the feeling, preferring to focus on the issue at hand.
Appeal was not something he lacked, unlike herself. The few balls they both attended, she couldn’t help but see him. Dark wavy hair, longer than fashionable, was swept back to show strong cheekbones and piercing green eyes. Broad shouldered, he stood a head taller than near every other man she’d met. But she couldn’t let good looks distract her now. “Do you like it, my lord? I thought some light reading might temper my boredom. So kind of you to keep me waiting.”
The distinct clink of her chaperone’s embroidery needles knocking together filled the room then stopped completely. Her father would hear of her comment, no doubt. A second later, the needles resumed their tempo of work and a small chuckle fell from the earl’s lips.
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