Duke of Chance: Lords of Scandal Read online

  Duke of Chance

  Lords of Scandal

  Tammy Andresen

  Copyright © 2021 by Tammy Andresen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Marquess of Diamonds

  Other Titles by Tammy

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  Prologue

  Chance, better known as the Duke of Danesbury, kicked his feet onto the table as he stared at the fifteen men pressed into the small room at the back of his new gaming hell, the Den of Sins.

  This was their interview.

  He grabbed the whisky in front of him and took a swig as he looked about the group of men.

  The Marquess of Hartwell and the Earl of Easton sat directly across from him. Both Hart and East were friends and had already bought into his little venture.

  There were others, of course. The Baron of Purewater. Mysteriously silent, he could make a man nervous with just a glance of his penetrating gaze.

  And then there was the Laird of Lockton, a giant of a Scot, he was known for his comfort with skirting the law.

  Were these men he could trust?

  Next to him, Lord Smith, second son of a marquess, flipped a coin over his knuckles, moving the flash of gold up and down his fingers. “So, we’re to buy in, and then we each get one share of the profits?” he asked, the coin flashing without interruption.

  “Exactly,” he said, scanning the group. “We’re looking for men who are willing to work, who don’t mind skirting a few laws, but can uphold a certain amount of honor.”

  “Even among thieves?” Lockton asked with a deep chuckle that the other men joined.

  Chance gave him a sidelong glance, trying to decide what those words meant exactly.

  But Lockton leaned forward, meeting Chance’s eye. “I’m pulling yer leg.” He tapped his finger on the table. “We have to trust each other to make something like this work.”

  Chance gave a stiff nod, appreciating the words. In his mind, he moved Lockton into the category of possible partners. But his wasn’t the final say. “The former owners have left us an established and bustling business. Profits will be quick and guaranteed.”

  “And who are the former owners?” a man in the back asked. Chance couldn’t quite remember but he thought his name was Sir Thomas Houndsworth. A third son of a baron, the man had the hard edge of someone who’d truly suffered. He stood half in the shadows, his sharp features made even harsher by the way they were partly marred by the darkness.

  “That is something we’ll never tell you,” Arabella said from behind Chance, resting her hand on the back of his chair. “Just as, if you join us, we’ll never share your identity with anyone.”

  There was a murmur among the men. Chance couldn’t be certain if they were curious about her words or just her presence.

  Arabella was the closest thing he had in the world to a sister. Her mother had been his governess and they’d been raised together.

  It was she who’d connected him to the club in the first place, though she still hadn’t shared how she’d procured a gaming hell.

  He looked back at her. An unmatched beauty, Chance wouldn’t be surprised if the damned thing had been gifted her by a suitor or lover.

  While she’d never been married, Arabella lived her life as her own woman. She answered to no man, not even him.

  A fact he admired about her greatly.

  “And who are you, sweetheart?” one of the men called.

  Chance didn’t recognize the man, but he knew that Arabella had just crossed the bloke’s name off the list. No one called her sweetheart. Ever.

  “You may call me Queen,” she murmured, turning back to the curtain and lifting it to watch the games beyond in the main room.

  “Queen?” Another scoffed.

  Chance hid his smile. He’d allow these men all the rope they needed to hang themselves. Some had to be cut from the list and pissing off Arabella was as good a method as any.

  “You look more like a princess to me.”

  Chance glanced back at her mane of shimmering strawberry blonde hair hanging down her back. She did look like a fair maiden in a fairy tale. Across the table, one of the Marquess of Hartwell’s shaggy dark brows rose as his gaze met Chance’s. He knew Arabella as well as anyone, and the man was skirting within an inch of his life by calling her princess.

  Arabella glanced back, arching one perfectly curved brow. Clear blue eyes stared at the most recent speaker, ice in their depths. They pulled back at the corners in a seductive tilt that brought her from beautiful to rapturous.

  Chance had spent a few years as a teen in love with Arabella. He suspected that Hartwell and Easton had as well, but now…they were just friends. The very best. And besides, they wouldn’t jeopardize their bond over a woman who likely wasn’t interested in any of them.

  She smiled blandly at the man, despite the coldness in her gaze. “I am the Queen of Hearts.”

  A beefy fellow from the left side of the table gave a bawdy laugh as he leered at her. “You can have my heart.”

  With a flick of her wrist, a knife sailed through the air, shaving close to the man’s head and nicking his ear before sticking into the wall just behind him. “I don’t want your heart. Just your money. And I’ll cut out the heart and tongue of the next man who calls me princess.”

  The room went quiet as Chance ducked his head to hide the grin already splitting his face. He just caught Easton’s bright green gaze before the other man placed a hand over his mouth to cover his own look of amusement. If Arabella couldn’t see her threat through, Chance would do it for her. So would East or Hart.

  He flexed his neck, a crack breaking the silence. “Right. There are four of us already. We’d like there to be eight in total. That means one of the eight will be here every night of the week with one floater. On the night you’re here, you’ll see that the club runs smoothly, the accounts line up, and the interests of all owners are protected. Any questions?”

  “Is she a partner?” the man with the now-bleeding ear asked.

  Chance took another swallow of whisky. “She’s the boss of the whole operation.” Not the entire truth. Arabella did not have the funds to support such a venture, and he, Easton, and Hartwell had staked her claim for her.

  But they’d never have this chance without her, and this was Arabella’s opportunity to truly change her fate.

  A murmur of dissent rolled through the group, and a few men rose, clearly not willing to take orders from a woman. “Let’s go, boys,” the bleeding man said as he held his ear. “We don’t need to work with a mad bitch.”

  Chance said nothing as he watched the three of them leave.

  This had been Chance’s intent to begin with.

  Arabella was the key, and he’d not have men here who
couldn’t accept that fact. “Anyone else?”

  Another rose, followed by another.

  Arabella looked back, realizing the two men who’d called her sweetheart and princess were still at the table. She waved her hand at them. “You’re both dismissed.”

  One man lifted up his hand to protest, but Chance gave a pointed look, indicating to the guards to escort the other two out.

  That left six men. By night’s end, they’d have to eliminate two more.

  He rose, gesturing for the remaining men to do the same. “Shall we take a tour?” Pushing a small pile of coin to each of the men, they entered the room. “Pick a game and have a turn.”

  Lockton, his pile jingling in his hand, immediately joined the nearest table as the other men slowly began to find empty chairs to participate.

  Lord Smith stopped next to him. “If she’s the Queen of Hearts, what are you?”

  “The Duke of Chance,” he said with a wink. Smith still rolled the coin on his knuckles. “And you? If you join, what should we call you?”

  Smith gave him a wicked smile. “How about Ace?”

  “I like it,” Chance said as he lifted his hand to gesture toward the games. “Now, our Ace of Lords. Go have fun.”

  Chance ran a hand through his blond hair as he looked back at Arabella still tucked behind the curtain. She gave a quick nod of approval. They’d chosen their first partner.

  Over the course of the next hour, she chose Lockton and Purewater as well. Finally, she pointed to one more fellow, Sir Thomas.

  Chance grimaced. Thomas was the one man he wasn’t certain of, but he nodded, trusting Arabella to make the right choice.

  They had their owners.

  The Den of Sins would continue on, and, with some luck and solid management, this little venture might make them a decent income.

  As the club closed its doors to patrons, he turned to the potential candidates. “Anyone not like what they see and wish to take themselves out of the running?”

  He looked about the group as they stared back at him. Easton, tall and broad, came to stand on one side, his blond hair waving away from his face while Hartwell’s dark visage joined him on the other side. “Will you tell them tonight?”

  Chance shook his head. “Those that are here now will be invited back tomorrow.”

  Hartwell gave him a nod, his brow knitting as he leaned closer. “That’s good, because we’ve got a problem.”

  Chapter One

  A problem?

  Lady Daisy Longrove wished she only had the one.

  She blew back the errant curl that had managed to work itself from her coif as she stared into her aunt’s mutinous face. “You’re wrong about the baron’s intentions,” she said.

  “You silly, foolish, naïve girl.” Her aunt spluttered as they stood in her drawing room, several candles lighting the room from the inky night beyond. Just a few hours ago, that darkness had been a shroud of romantic intimacy.

  Aunt Mildred had a temper. That was for certain. And her aunt was rather prone to dramatics. Any minute now, she’d likely fall on the settee in a dead faint.

  But all the same, she’d been a second mother to Daisy since her own had passed away, and so Daisy brushed off her harsh words like one might brush away cobwebs. “Try to understand, Aunt Mildred. We’re in love.”

  “Love?” Aunt Mildred scoffed. “Love? You call what half of London just witnessed in the garden love? You should have heard Lady Sheppard’s description. Disgraceful.”

  Daisy winced, inwardly acknowledging that her aunt had a point. Being caught with the front of her dress down as the Baron of Edgemere kissed every inch of her exposed skin might not have been the best method to share their relationship with the rest of society.

  But what they had was a relationship.

  And they were in love.

  And they were going to get married.

  He’d already asked, and she’d accepted.

  The fact that he’d yet to speak to her brother, the Marquess of Hartwell, mattered little to Daisy. She knew it defied convention, but theirs had been a whirlwind courtship and they’d hardly had time.

  She ignored the little voice in her head, likely put there by her aunt, that said Edgemere exposed their relationship in this way because he’d been afraid her brother would say no. With her near ruined, how could her brother refuse?

  But Edgemere wouldn’t do that. He loved her. He’d told her so over and over. “But, Aunt Mildred, we’re all but engaged. I swear it. He just needs to ask Hart and—”

  “Hart,” her aunt whispered. “I need to speak with him immediately.” And with a flourish of skirts, her aunt spun and started toward her writing desk.

  Daisy instantly realized her mistake and went after her aunt, picking up her own skirts to keep up. Hart should hear all of this from her and Lord Edgemere. Not from her aunt. Because once her aunt started in with words like ruined and scandalous and rake…Hart was liable to lose his temper, and who knew what would happen then?

  And then there was the fact that her brother had ridiculous notions about how innocent Daisy was and should remain and didn’t think anyone good enough for his younger sister. And with the rumors that swirled regarding Edge’s past…

  Her brother was a good man, and he’d done such an admirable job of taking over the marquessate, but he also had a temper and… She shivered. “Please, Aunt Mildred. Lord Edgemere will speak to Hart first thing in the morning. That’s soon enough.”

  Her aunt snorted. “Hardly.”

  Daisy licked her lips. “But he’ll get the wrong impression if you tell him—”

  “What? The truth? That you were alone in the garden with a known rake and this season’s most-desperate-for-a-dowry lord? That you were discovered not only kissing the man, but in such a state of dishabille that you cannot possibly recover from the scandal?” Her aunt shook her head, rubbing her temples. “Your brother needs to hear about it from us before it’s too late and he learns of your behavior elsewhere.”

  Daisy knew enough about her brother to understand his reputation was nearly as bad as Edgemere’s. She doubted his circle would hear about this any time soon. “But I will recover. We’ll marry and I’ll be a baroness, and all will be well.”

  Her aunt spun then, clasping Daisy’s hands in hers as she looked her niece in the eye. “And what will you do when he spends all your dowry and then returns to his rakish ways? Or even worse. Has he told you what happened to his first wife?”

  Daisy opened her mouth and then closed it again debating what to say. That tiny seed of doubt was sprouting inside. “His first wife?”

  “There are dark rumors about her death.”

  Daisy frowned. She’d hardly base her future on a rumor. “Aunt Mildred, that’s silly. Gossip is hardly a viable source of information.”

  Her aunt shook her head. “That may be, but he is destitute. He just happened to fall in love with a marquess’s sister? You don’t think he’s a dowry hunter?”

  Something tightened in her chest. Was he really after her for her money, after all? Perhaps it was the way Edge had looked relieved when Lady Westmoreland had discovered them. “He loves me,” she finally whispered.

  “Bah,” her aunt returned, letting go of her hands again and spinning once more to make her way to the desk.

  Daisy didn’t follow this time, instead she stood with her hands covering her mouth as her aunt reached the desk.

  Not even bothering to sit, Aunt Mildred pulled out a quill, her writing instrument flying over the parchment as she hurriedly penned the words that would summon Daisy’s brother. Her heart beat wildly. Would it reach him tonight? Would he not receive the message until morning?

  Hope filled her chest as she dropped her hands. If Edgemere could just explain before Hart heard the rumors… “Please, Aunt Mildred. Allow me time to—"

  Dusting the letter, her aunt folded the note, sealed it, and then crossed the room once again to summon a servant. It had to be one in the mo
rning, but a footman arrived immediately with instructions to see the missive in the hands of the marquess at any costs. Tonight.

  Tears formed in Daisy’s eyes, blurring her vision. She covered her mouth as she looked at her aunt.

  What would Hart do when he got the note?

  A tear slid down her cheek, and her aunt’s shoulders sagged for the first time since she’d dragged Daisy from the Winchester’s ball. “Try to understand, Daisy,” her aunt said softly, her hand coming to rub her forehead. “Contacting Hart was necessary. He’s the head of the family.”

  “Understand?” Daisy choked. “What if he refuses Edge’s suit?”

  “That,” her aunt said, straightening a bit, “is something you should have thought of before you broke the rules.”

  It was pointless to repeat that she was in love. That argument brokered no sympathy from her aunt. Her aunt, never having been married, had rather idealistic notions about love and marriage. Instead, Daisy pressed her hands down her slightly rumpled skirts as she blew that errant curl from the front of her face once again and then swiped at the tears.

  She could only pray she’d have more luck with Hart. But that thought made her stomach flutter wildly again, her thoughts going in a million directions. Would Hart be furious? Would he allow Edge to marry her, or would he call her fiancé out in a duel? The very idea of it made her knees go weak.

  But as she heard the carriage depart the drive and start down the street in search of her brother, she leaned against the wall, praying that the worst didn’t happen.

  Where was Edge now?

  When would he come tomorrow?

  And perhaps, just perhaps, her aunt had been correct. She wasn’t sorry she’d fallen in love, but maybe she shouldn’t have let him pull her out into the garden.