Earl of Tempest

by Annabelle Anders

  Earl of Tempest

  The Wicked Earls Club

  Annabelle Anders

  Copyright © 2021 by Annabelle Anders

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  Annabelle Anders

  www.annabelleanders.com

  Editing by Amanda Martinez and Tracy Mooring Liebchen

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Names, characters, places, and plots are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Created with Vellum

  Earl of Tempest

  A Wicked Earls Club Book

  But also

  Part of Annabelle Anders’

  Regency Cocky Gents Series

  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

  Epilogue

  Earl of Kendal

  Regency Cocky Gents

  About Annabelle Anders

  Chapter 1

  “Are you sure it’s okay for both of us to go in, Clarissa?” Lady Lydia Cockfield, daughter of the Duke of Blackheart, had never in a million years imagined she’d enter such an establishment as the Wicked Earls’ Club—a Gentlemen’s club, frequented by earls.

  And if the name was anything to go by, she could only assume they were wicked ones.

  Lydia tilted her head back to stare up at the mostly unimpressive building, her arm locked with that of her friend and mentor, the Countess of Baxter.

  “You’re not afraid to enter vacant warehouses on the docks in East London, but you’re reluctant to enter my husband’s gentlemen’s club?” Clarissa teased, looking extraordinarily pretty despite wearing a plain gown for today’s errands. The married countess, not quite a decade older than Lydia, smiled impishly as she pounded on the door a second time.

  “Bully for you, Clarissa. As Lord Baxter’s wife, you’ve had years to get used to—” Lydia waved her hand in front of the door and then lowered her voice. “—all of this wickedness.”

  “Not quite eight years.” Clarissa sighed and then the heavy door swung open for them, revealing a giant of a man. Although he was dressed impeccably, he was obviously not one of the members. It showed in his bearing, as well as the scars on his bald head and the watchfulness in his eyes.

  Upon seeing the countess, he bowed. “My apologies for keeping you waiting, Lady Baxter.”

  “Not at all, Ben. Lady Lydia and I only just arrived.” Clarissa smiled. “We’ve come to have a word with my husband. Is he busy today?”

  “No more than usual. May I take your coats before showing you up?”

  Lydia squashed down her nerves as she handed over her coat and scarf. If either of her two older brothers discovered that she’d come here, they would banish her to Crescent Park for the rest of her life.

  Thank heavens Blackheart was on holiday with his new wife, and Lucas and Naomi were residing at his estate in Kent, preoccupied with their little family.

  When Lady Baxter had written to her at Crescent Park, suggesting Lydia travel to London to volunteer at one of the orphanages she and her husband had founded, Lydia had leapt at the opportunity. It had been precisely what she’d needed to get over… well, to move on with her life.

  And as she’d become more aware of the lost childrens’ plight, she had not been able to settle for such limited involvement.

  Which led her to the Wicked Earl’s Club today.

  A strand of dark hair had slipped out of her chignon, and she brushed it back.

  Not even Lucinda, her twin sister, was here to question any of her decisions.

  Dismissing any guilt, and curious now that she was actually inside, Lydia trailed behind Clarissa, awed by the dark wood paneling, the rich and gleaming tables, and the ornate sconces and chandeliers. Contradictory to her expectations, most of the gaming tables were occupied.

  Even early in the afternoon, it seemed, gentlemen of the British aristocracy wagered and drank.

  A few curious eyes followed her suspiciously at first, but she was quickly forgotten when a scantily clad woman stepped onto the floor bearing a tray of drinks.

  What would it be like to be so composed, dressed so provocatively in a room filled with nothing but men?

  “She’s not a prostitute,” Clarissa whispered over her shoulder.

  “I didn’t think she was!” But Lydia had wondered…

  “The men aren’t allowed to touch her without permission. If they do, they are given only one warning; after that, their membership is revoked. This is a gentlemen’s club, not a brothel.”

  “So they aren’t allowed to be completely wicked?” Lydia’s question was only half-joking. She’d always heard otherwise but supposed Clarissa likely wouldn’t approve of her husband overseeing that sort of establishment.

  Recognizing a few of her brother’s acquaintances standing at a table with a large spinning wheel, she couldn’t help asking in a hushed voice, “Is Blackheart a member?”

  Even though he was married now, that didn’t mean he hadn’t been wicked once.

  “Members’ names are never shared, not even with family—or should I say, especially not with family. To be honest, it’s likely the main reasons they pay—anonymity and confidentiality.”

  “So he is?”

  “Be good, Lydia.” Clarissa’s blue eyes twinkled as she wagged a finger over her shoulder.

  So he was. But would he remain a member now that he’d married?

  Lydia smothered a grin and slid her hand along the smooth wood of the rail as they climbed a wide carpeted stairway.

  Most of her earlier trepidation had vanished. She’d expected the club to be darker somehow, with smoke-filled rooms and garish décor.

  Instead, everything was both refined and luxurious. A perfect design, incorporating the masculine simplicity of dark wood with tasteful art on the walls and plush tapestry-like carpet.

  And if wealth had a smell, this would be it. Mahogany, expensive cologne, and cigar smoke.

  “They pay for more than that,” she murmured quietly.

  But she was forgetting why they’d come here in the first place. She increased her pace to catch up with Clarissa and… Ben.

  With Blackheart away, the only approval she’d needed for this endeavor was from her dear aunt Emma and that had been easily obtained. Even so, she and Clarissa were going to require additional funds to help pay for operations and some of the renovations. She didn’t have time to imagine the goings-on behind the closed doors of the Wicked Earls’ Club.

  “Do you really think Baxter will help? He hardly knows me.”

  “Oh, but he knows me,” Clarissa all but sang. “And since I am your partner in this project, I’m confident he’ll offer up a significant donation.” She stopped behind their giant guide, who was peering inside a small opening of a particularly ornate door, and Lydia halted behind her.

  * * *

  “I might consider investing, Tempest. But I can’t speak for Bash or Gold. You have to know that neither is fond of you. Have you never considered trying to be the slightest bit personable?” The Earl of Baxter, a gentleman of not quite forty, known for his cha
rm and charisma, leaned back in his plush leather chair. The two were meeting in Baxter’s corner office on the second floor of the club he managed.

  Jeremy didn’t find Baxter’s comment at all amusing but brushed it off. Because he had, indeed, come to discuss procuring investors to go in on the purchase of Ludwig Bros. Shipping, and the earl hadn’t turned him down outright.

  “Doesn’t matter if they like me or not, so long as the investment turns a pretty penny.” And in the end, when their estates didn’t fall into disrepair for lack of funds, they would thank him.

  Even if they did consider him an ass.

  “It shouldn’t matter, no, and yet it does.” Baxter leaned forward again to peruse the documentation provided.

  Jeremy could practically recite each page from memory. He’d turned every stone before putting this deal together and was determined Ludwig Bros. Shipping would be in his control in a matter of days. He’d have unfettered access to everything: records of past shipments, past customers, and…

  Past payments. He would clear his brother’s name once and for all.

  The fact that he stood to profit significantly from the deal didn’t hurt either.

  “I suppose—” A knock on the door cut Baxter off.

  Without being granted permission, one of Baxter’s employees pushed the door open just enough to stick his head inside. “Your wife, here to see you, My Lord, along with another lady.”

  Baxter had been married nearly a decade, which made it rather embarrassing to see his eyes light up like a lovesick fool. “Send her in, Ben.”

  Jeremy glanced at his fob watch just as the door opened wide, allowing Lady Baxter, a lovely young blond woman to enter, followed by…

  Oh, hell.

  Even with her ebony hair tied back in an austere knot, cheeks pink from the cold and wearing clothes that had seen far better days, Lady Lydia Cockfield was more beautiful than ever.

  Unresolved emotions ambushed him.

  If he’d wanted to meet up with members of the Cockfield family, he’d have lingered at Galewick Manor, his country home in Sussex. Ignoring his instinct to stiffen in his chair, Jeremy remained seated. To do otherwise would imply that he cared one way or another.

  The earl rose and moved around his desk, taking both of the countess’ hands in his with a welcoming smile. “Clarissa, my love, you’re a sight for sore eyes today.” For a moment, Jeremy wondered if the man was going to actually kiss his wife in front of him.

  “Working hard today, Mason?” The petite lady moved closer to the club owner as Baxter’s arm slipped around her waist. In Jeremy’s present state of mind, practically nothing annoyed him more than a happily married man.

  God might as well open his wounds and rub salt in them.

  “I never do.” The besotted man obviously wasn’t at all annoyed with the interruption.

  Feeling almost voyeuristic, Jeremy slid his gaze away from the couple to Lydia, who hovered near the door, her dark lashes fanning out beneath her eyes as she stared down at the floor.

  He didn’t need to stare into her eyes to know that they were the most brilliant cobalt that existed and felt sucker-punched when she peeked up and caught him watching her. Pink tinged her cheeks before she quickly glanced away.

  “Lady Lydia and I are here on business, Mason.” Lady Baxter stepped away from her husband and clasped her hands together primly at her waist.

  Baxter turned his attention to his wife’s companion. “Hello, My Lady. You are acquainted with Lord Tempest, are you not? But of course, you are. Galewick Manor and Crescent Park border one another.”

  She nodded. “My brother’s and Lord Tempest’s estates neighbor one another’s. Only a small stream separates their land.”

  “We’re practically related.” The words rolled sardonically out of Jeremy’s mouth. “Hello, Lydia.”

  The last time he’d seen her, he’d ordered her to stay away from him. Along with the rest of her backstabbing family.

  “My Lord.” She flicked her eyes in his direction for only a second, the blue flashing like the hottest fire, before settling them back on Baxter.

  “Lady Lydia and I have a proposition for you, darling,” Lady Baxter lounged on her husband’s desk as she fluttered her eyelashes up at him. “There is a warehouse that begs to be turned into an orphanage.”

  “Another one?” Baxter cocked a brow, albeit quite enjoying his wife’s flirtation.

  “As long as there are orphans,” she answered.

  “And where is this warehouse?”

  “Near the docks, at the intersection of Wapping and Tuesday Street,” Lydia answered.

  “The old fish-packing plant,” Jeremy mused. He knew the area well.

  It was also dead center of one of the most dangerous districts in all of East London.

  Baxter’s eyes narrowed. “Please, don’t tell me you’ve been traipsing around alone down there, Clarissa.”

  “Not traipsing, inspecting. And most definitely not alone. We had Wiggs and Drake in tow.”

  “Even so…”

  “It’s quite sound and large enough to house up to three hundred children.” Lydia was all business now, not looking nearly as demur as when she’d first entered the gentleman’s office. “And what better place to open an orphanage than where most of the orphans are?”

  “You mean thieves and pickpockets,” Jeremy corrected her.

  She pinned her stare on him. “I mean children. Some aren’t much older than five or six. With workhouses as their only other option, the poor innocents fall victim to the gang bosses. But what if they had another option? An option that would provide them with a safe place to live that wasn’t under the thumbs of criminals? And food and shelter? And, depending on their abilities, education? Doesn’t everyone stand to gain?”

  “How so, My Lady?” Baxter asked.

  “If we deprive the gang bosses of cheap labor, they’ll have to go elsewhere. That makes for safer offices and docks for the entire district. And less crime means more legal commerce.”

  In theory, she had the right of it. “Gang bosses don’t relinquish their resources easily,” Jeremy countered. Having investigated some of the Ludwig Bros. more questionable practices, he knew this all too well.

  Crime would always be present on the docks. Battles would always be fought over who controlled commerce.

  Lydia lifted that chin of hers and swung her attention back to him. “I’m not naïve, Jer—My Lord. I quite understand that there will be difficulties. But we are here to speak to Lord Baxter, if you don’t mind.”

  “No, no.” Baxter rubbed his hands together, looking rather like the cat who’d eaten the canary. “Lord Tempest, here, might be an even better person to help you.” The bastard grinned at Jeremy. “Something like this would help attract those investors. Show your more charitable side. Soften your reputation, so to speak. It could be an opportunity to show that you aren’t simply a machine who crunches numbers.”

  “We don’t need help purchasing it,” Lydia said. “I have funds to do that, myself.”

  “But we need help financing day-to-day operations,” Clarissa explained.

  “Until we can attract other benefactors.” Lydia appeared quite serious.

  “Tempest, what do you say?” Baxter eyed him. “In the meantime, I could meet with Gold and my brother to discuss your little project. Perhaps even a few others.”

  The club manager had him between a rock and a hard place. If Jeremy didn’t have support, purchasing the shipping company could prove more difficult than he’d hoped.

  Money to finance operations for an orphanage was a drop in the bucket compared to what Baxter and his friends could bring to the table.

  “I’ll have my engineers take a look at it,” he conceded.

  “It’s been declared sound.” Lydia didn’t appear at all happy with this turn of events.

  Well, that made two of them.

  “By whom? The seller?” Judging by the look on her face, he’d assumed co
rrectly. “I’ll check it out myself.”

  “Perhaps the two of you could discuss the details while you escort Lady Lydia to my wife’s carriage. If you both wouldn’t mind excusing me a moment, I’d like a private… moment or two with Her Ladyship.”

  “Not at all.” Jeremy crossed to the door, not acknowledging the dark-haired beauty when he passed her. Hell and damnation, even her fragrance still affected him—something sweet but also floral. He opened the door and turned around. “Are you coming, My Lady?” He cocked one brow in her direction, noting her curves were even more voluptuous than they had been before.

  She joined him at the door and then tilted her head back, smiling brilliantly. “How could I refuse?”

  He hated it when she did that. He narrowed his eyes and frowned. “I don’t suppose you can.”

  Chapter 2

  Lydia’s lips trembled when she smiled at him, but she refused to be anything other than professional. She had come here today on business and would not allow her emotions to get the better of her. Even if her knees did, nearly give out on her, when she skirted around him.

  He stiffened and scowled, and the part of her heart that had finally started to heal broke open again. Just a hint of his scent, spicy with a hint of cedar, had her remembering other times that they’d walked together.

  He assumed she was unhappy because he’d refused to trust her judgment regarding the condition of the warehouse. He assumed she was not happy that she was going to have to work with him, rather than Lord Baxter.

  But he was wrong. Her unhappiness came from seeing him this way—dearest Jeremy—hardened and jaded.

  Jeremy Gilcrest was an earl, and by nature, had never been an overly demonstrative gentleman, even before his brother’s death the year before. He’d been reserved and his smiles had been rare. Duty had always come first. And because of this, many had considered him unfeeling.