Queen of Hearts: Lords of Scandal

  QUEEN OF HEARTS

  LORDS OF SCANDAL

  TAMMY ANDRESEN

  Copyright © 2022 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

  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

  Chapter 17

  Baron of Clubs

  Other Titles by Tammy

  About the Author

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  www.tammyandresen.com

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  Hugs!

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Marquess of Hartwell had gone mad.

  Miss Arabella White let out a few choice words as she stared at the missive in her hands. Candles flickered around her as they prepared to open the club’s doors for customers. Friday nights were always busy, and she should be out on the floor, helping the dealers prepare, but she found herself staring at a piece of paper instead. “Hart,” she pushed out through gritted teeth as she dropped the note back on her desk.

  Her good friend and fellow club owner, Lord Easton, otherwise known as East, sat in front of her, his feet propped up on the desk.

  He raised his brows as he leaned forward and grabbed the missive, scanning the contents himself. “He can’t be serious,” he finally mumbled as he too tossed the paper back onto the center of the cherrywood top.

  “Hart isn’t much for jesting, so I doubt it’s a joke,” she said as she glared at the page.

  East let out a half laugh as he tipped back into his chair. “So true. He’s not only overly serious but generally grumpy.”

  “Why do we like him again?” Arabella asked, not really meaning the words, despite her anger.

  Without Hart, East, and their friend Chance, Arabella had no idea what might have become of her. They had picked her up out of more than one scrape and had seated her fairly high up in London society considering her lowly origins.

  Still, she’d be inclined to punch Hart if she saw him tonight. Which she wouldn’t. He’d retired with his new bride to his country estate in Bristol.

  Where he was glowingly happy, apparently. She personally couldn’t picture Hart being anything other than surly but that was beside the point. Clearly, he had experienced some sort of transformation because what he’d proposed in this missive was just…ludicrous.

  “I don’t know why we’re friends with him,” East said with a grin. Then he looked down at the paper. “But seriously, I expected him to want to leave the Den of Sins. He’s newly married. He wishes to spend his nights in bed with his bride and not here with a bunch of drunken gamblers. I understand that. But…” East picked up the page again, rereading.

  Arabella didn’t need to see Hart’s words again to remember them. He’d alluded to the fact that he likely would not return to the club despite his financial stake, but he’d gone on to inform them that he was going to give his stake away to another man.

  That alone was ridiculous, but his choice of candidates had Arabella actually questioning his sanity. “He can’t think to make Lord Edgemere a partner.” Her lips pursed around the last word.

  Arabella didn’t care for most of the elite. Entitled, superior, and to her mind, next to useless, she had little use for most lords unless they wanted to spend their money to line her pockets.

  Hence, it should come as no surprise that she wasn’t thrilled to work with a new one. Not that she was unreasonable. The first round of fellow owners they’d brought in had proven to be decent men.

  Lockton, Clubs, and Ace were hard working and stayed out of her way most of the time. She could tolerate them for now. Eventually, she’d like to buy them all out and be exclusive owner of the club, but she hadn’t the funds yet and so she had to have partners.

  But, Edgemere…

  He was the exact kind of man she hated.

  She knew his kind. In fact, she’d almost married a man just like him.

  Titled and handsome, he assumed the world owed him wealth and power. Arabella could see, even from a distance, he thought he had the right to take whatever he needed, regardless of whom he hurt, to make certain he was provided for.

  Not a month prior, he’d attempted to ruin her best friend—Hart’s sister, no less—Daisy. Edgemere’s intent had been to marry Daisy and use her dowry to fund his earldom. Worse yet, he’d pretended to love her and tricked her into the match. Fortunately, Chance had stepped in, or Daisy’s life would have been destroyed.

  Which was why Hart’s choice made no sense and had Arabella questioning his mental faculties. Who gave a gift like this to the very man who’d attempted to ruin his sister?

  He hated Edgemere more than any of them.

  Why would he invite him into their literal club and then gift him his shares?

  She lowered her head into her hands as a swift knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” she called without looking up.

  The door swung in, crashing against the wall, and bouncing back with a force that had Arabella’s head up in a moment and reaching for the loaded pistol she kept tucked on a shelf of her desk.

  But it was only Chance who stood in the now-open doorway, his breath shallow and his jaw granite hard as he looked back at her. “Did you get a note from Hart?”

  Her lips curled up in a smile. Good. Hart had shared his plan with Chance and the duke would surely be able to put a stop to this nonsense. “Marriage has addled his senses.”

  Chance didn’t even smile as he strode in, slamming the door shut again. The room was small. Barely big enough for the three of them and the desk. Arabella didn’t mind the tight space, didn’t need a large display to prove her power, but the small space did make meetings like this difficult. A fact that was even more evident as the angry duke filled the last remaining space.

  “He’s been a real pain in the arse lately, but this is the final straw,” Chance growled.

  “Lockton’s Scottish accent has been rubbing off on you,” East said, rising to shake Chance’s hand. “Which is surprising considering how little we’ve seen you lately.”

  Chance grimaced, shaking East’s hand in return. “Are you two getting on all right here?”

  “We’re mostly fine,” Arabella answered, rising too. “We still haven’t managed to catch Sir Thomas, but there haven’t been any more thefts.” Arabella straightened. “Of course, I’m here almost every night. At some point, we’re going to have to discuss the profit split.”

  Chance gave a curt nod, “You’re right. I’m not holding you to our original bargain considering I’m not keeping up my hours. What did you have in mind?”

  East returned to his seat, crossing his arms. “I take it you returning to the club is not an option?”

  Chance stared down at East, not answering right away.

  Arabella didn’t need him to explain, even if East did. He’d married Daisy and fallen in love. He too wanted to spend his nights in bed with a loving bride instead of here.

  And Arabella was happy for both of them. She was. But their happiness seemed to shin
e light on something missing in her own life. Not that she’d ever attempt to marry again. She’d had enough of that for one lifetime.

  Chance shook his head. “It isn’t.”

  “I’ll think on it then. Bella?” East asked looking at her.

  “I’m fine if Chance would like to become a silent partner. And I know he staked my claim so I’m not in a position to demand too much, but I would like a larger percentage for my extra time.”

  East frowned as he stared at her as though he tried to solve a puzzle. Which she didn’t understand at all. They’d been friends forever. What was left to discern? But perhaps, he wanted to know her motivations for her extra shares.

  The truth was, she had all the money she needed, especially with this club. She had a fine home, lovely clothes, and even a few servants.

  And she had a successful dress shop as well. She’d run the place herself before the club, but now Madame LaFleur, her dressmaker extraordinaire, operated the business. And the other woman hoped to one day buy Arabella out completely. Which Arabella fully supported.

  Besides the fact she’d like to support another businesswoman, she’d be able to use that money to buy more shares of the club.

  But in the meantime, she’d like more profit for all the extra work she did here. A woman didn’t learn to provide for herself without demanding her due. And she didn’t work with men she knew took advantage of women. Ever.

  She needed to find a way around this deal Hart was attempting to make with Lord Edgemere.

  Period.

  East nodded. “And our new friend, Lord Edgemere? What did Daisy call him? Edge?”

  Chance sat on the corner of the desk. “Yeah. Edge. I’d like to add a few more edges to his face.”

  East let out a low laugh as he punched his fist into his palm. “I’m not opposed to the idea.”

  Arabella shook her head. “Whether we use fists or words, I think we ought to make it clear to his lordship that he isn’t welcome, no matter what Hart thinks.”

  “Good plan,” Chance said as he rose. “I happen to know where he resides. We can visit him right now.”

  Now? That was fine with her. The sooner she put a man like Edge out of her life, the better. Still, a small voice warned her to think all of this through. Ignore the anger and explore every angle. Hart must have had some reason for making such a request. He was normally savvy when it came to business. He wouldn’t jeopardize the club, would he?

  “All three of us?” East asked, his smile growing wicked.

  But the gleam in Chance’s tawny eyes was not to be undone. “I saw Clubs out on the floor too. Let’s bring him along as well. Nothing like some extra muscle to intimidate a man into behaving.”

  She ignored that nagging voice, as she moved around the desk. When else did a woman like her have a chance to put a lord in his place?

  Edge sat in the parlor of his dilapidated home looking down at the fourth glass of cheap brandy he’d poured for himself.

  He was wallowing. He knew that.

  Just as he understood that his self-indulgent pity party was sure to cause a terrible headache in the morning. Better liquor would likely help, but this was the best he could afford.

  Upstairs, his sister Lizzie was sleeping, blissfully unaware of both his drunkenness and his recent failures.

  Thank the Lord for that.

  He supposed she was old enough now to know such things. At nearly nineteen, some women were married at her age, but still. Did she have to learn how wretched the world was from him?

  He took another large swallow of the overly sweet drink, wincing as several quick throbs bounced inside his head as though anticipating the hangover that was sure to come tomorrow.

  Stretching his hand across his face, he rubbed his temples with his thumb and his forefingers, he allowed his thoughts to wander to Daisy. Again.

  She seemed to be all he thought about of late. Every time he looked at a ledger, every time he stared at his dingy walls, every time Lizzie mentioned her first season in a rush of excited air.

  He’d be the first to confess that he hadn’t been in love. He knew himself well enough to know that.

  But Daisy had been different from every woman before her and he was certain that once they’d married, love would surely grow between them.

  She was beautiful, kind, smart, funny, and exceedingly patient. His attraction to her had helped as had the knowledge that she’d make an excellent sponsor for Lizzie when his sister entered into Society.

  Daisy was the sister of a marquess. As well connected as she was gracious, she would have helped Lizzie immeasurably to be a successful debutante.

  And now his plans to marry her had evaporated.

  She had slipped through his fingers and been caught in the able hands of the Duke of Danesbury.

  A god damned duke.

  Chance his friends called him. They ought to call him Luck instead.

  Edge was fairly certain he hated that man.

  Already rich, he got to steal Daisy right out from under Edge.

  Though, to be fair, Edge had made a few very large errors.

  Even he could admit that.

  The first was rushing. As Daisy had declared her feelings for him, he’d seen the answer to his problems tied up in a lovely chiffon bow. And Daisy in his bed…that would have been the extra gift to make the whole thing sweeter.

  The second mistake had been attempting to work around her brother. He’d been afraid, rightfully so, that the Marquess of Hartwell would never approve of his suit and so he’d tried to publicly ruin Daisy with a heated kiss in a rather busy garden.

  His plan had backfired, and in the process he’d hurt not only Daisy, whom he cared for, but he’d destroyed his chances at the match that would have secured his sister’s future.

  His head sank into his open palm. Not only was he in hell, but he was likely staying there for eternity. He’d been a cad and now he was paying the price.

  He needed another drink.

  A pounding once again sounded through his head, pulsing waves making his stomach lurch.

  He’d sunk to a new low if brandy was having this sort of effect on him already. But the pounding sounded a third time and this time, he realized the sound wasn’t just in his head. The noise was coming from his front door.

  It had to be close to midnight. Had he heard the bellman cry the hour?

  He scrubbed his face, attempting to focus. This wasn’t his first late-night caller.

  In his younger years, he’d had his fair share of ladies who’d come in the evening hours. Of late, however, the only time he’d had a night call was when Daisy’s brother had come to call him out.

  He’d brought Daisy with him to prove his point that Edge wouldn’t marry her without the dowry.

  And he’d also brought along the duke, who’d proposed in front of Edge, just to drive the knife home.

  He’d deserved the cut, he knew that, but it didn’t make the wound hurt any less.

  Rising, he started for the door.

  When he’d received word that he’d become an earl, he’d been elated at first. A distant cousin had left him the title and he’d assumed it was the answer to a prayer. It turned out, the earldom had been a nightmare, but he digressed.

  The point was, he’d moved into the decrepit entailed townhouse of the earldom but very few actually knew his address.

  Not surprising, he didn’t entertain much.

  But it begged the question, who was at the door?

  Sliding over the cover to the peep hole, he swore softly as he caught sight of Chance staring back at him. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he grumbled, wondering if his words had even been intelligible.

  “We need to talk.” Apparently, they had made sense after all.

  “Come back in the morning,” he said, swaying on his feet as he closed the peephole cover once again. He had drinking to do. And whatever Chance wanted, it was sure to be bad for Edge. And if he was being honest, he was
in no state to maneuver such a meeting.

  “Now,” Chance said, banging on the door again.

  “Go away,” he answered with a wave of his hand and then remembered that Chance couldn’t see him.

  “Open the door, Edge or I’ll kick it in and that’s going to create quite a ruckus with your neighbors.”

  Edge didn’t care a pig’s ass what any of his neighbors thought but his door was another consideration entirely. If Chance kicked it in, how would he pay for a new one?

  With a sigh, he shuffled back toward the door. “All right. You can come in. But if you break anything you’re replacing it.”

  “What?” Chance asked, his voice muffled but clear.

  “You heard me, Duke. Anything that gets broken, I have your word, you’ll replace it.”

  “Fine. You have my word.” Then Chance pounded on the door again. “Now open the door.”

  It took him two tries, but he finally managed to slide the lock back and then swing the door in. Only the moment it was open, he knew he’d made a mistake.

  Because behind Chance, standing at the bottom of the crumbling stone steps, were two other men and a woman that Edge immediately recognized. Arabella White.

  As lethal as she was beautiful, Edge knew they hadn’t come here for anything good.

  Apprehension trickled down his spine. In fact, he suspected he’d landed in a great deal of trouble.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Arabella stared at the dangerously handsome lord, a sneer pulling at her top lip.

  She’d seen handsome men before.

  She knew every type. Arrogant, selfish, silently deadly, rakish devils to name a few. And her experience was certainly vast enough to categorize the one before her.