The Wicked Earls’ Club
Tammy Andresen
Maggie Dallen
Contents
The Wicked Earls’ Club
Earl of Sussex
The Wicked Earls’ Club
The Earl of Coventry had a secret.
* * *
Some days this secret proved to be a burden, but tonight…well, tonight it amused him to no end. The next stage of his plan would be begin as soon as he completed his correspondence. Sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, he signed his name with a flourish as the voices of several men and a few women wafted through the halls of the Wicked Earls Club. He couldn’t make out any individual words, just the tone, but the conversation seemed pleasant, the mood light, his earls content.
Many of them had already left the club for the evening to participate in the social gatherings of the ton, but this club was for the activities best kept out of the public’s eye and quite a few were still in attendance. He’d bet his fortune he knew who was still there, lingering over their whiskeys and settling in for one last round of cards before heading off to fulfill their social obligations. It was always the same crowd who lingered here until the last possible moment. The worst of the worst, the most wicked of them all.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the Earl of Davenport appeared in the doorway to his study. Coventry laughed softly at the sight of him. “Speak of the devil.”
The other man glowered at the jest. The Devil of Davenport. That was how the ton referred to him behind his back and the young earl seemed to go out of his way to live up to the name. “You requested I inform you when the clock struck nine,” Davenport said.
Coventry smiled. Ah yes, he’d nearly forgotten. Of course, Coventry had a pocket watch. But for reasons that were his own, he’d wanted Davenport close tonight. Davenport, like all the rest of the earls who haunted the halls of this club, was not used to doing favors or following orders. But when Coventry asked something of one of them, they were sure to comply.
Why? Because he was the man who’d given them salvation. With this club, he offered these nefarious gentry refuge. A place where they could revel in freedom and operate beyond the strictures of society.
Or so they thought, his simple foolish boys.
Coventry hadn’t founded this club—oh no, this elite society had been around long before he was born. Originally formed as a guild of earls, it was intended to be a place where the country’s most prominent and powerful could meet in secret, to make deals and curry favor without facing the public’s judgment. But somehow over the years, the club had turned corrupt. The earls who graced its halls no longer came for business, but solely for pleasure.
No, Coventry had not founded the club, he’d merely changed its title. He renamed it for what it had become rather than what it should have been. A society for the wicked. A refuge for rakes and scoundrels with too much unchecked power and too little love.
The earls in his club were not evil, but they needed guidance. A helping hand, a nudge from someone who saw their true potential.
Someone like him.
Coventry had given them their moniker, just as he’d taken the defunct guild and turned it into a brotherhood. After all, if there was honor among thieves, surely there could be loyalty among earls. But creating a safe haven, a place where these powerful men could find the support and solace they so often lacked—that had merely been the start. Coventry had more in mind for these gentlemen, and that…that was his greatest secret and his most important undertaking.
His earls would flee like rats from a fire if they knew what he had in store for them. He nearly laughed aloud at the thought but tamped his enthusiasm as he rose from his desk.
“Thank you, Davenport.” Standing behind the desk, he donned his tailcoat. “I’ve hired a lovely new girl, Miss Hart.” Coventry reached for his walking stick that hid a knife just beyond the handle. “I am sure she could use a turn about the property.”
Davenport gave him a cold smile that would have made another man cower with fear, but Coventry knew better. With a final salute, Davenport turned and exited the room. Coventry’s eyes followed him down the hall. His errant earl would remain here this eve, just as he’d wished. For this one night, at least, his wayward young friend would stay out of trouble. Soon enough, he would find Davenport the right woman to tame his dark side, but until then he’d settle for keeping the beast in his cage.
Leaning over his desk, Coventry took one last look at the letters he’d been drafting. The first was to the Marquess of Rangely, the parents of the Earl of Sussex. The second was to the Duke of Waverly, father to one Lady Tabitha Riley. In the contents of these letters held his true aim for the wicked earls… redemption.
The word alone would make his earls recoil. For these men were powerful beyond belief, and that sort of entitlement had skewed their priorities. Each earl in his club had an overwhelming sense of duty but no clarity of purpose, an abundance of land but no true home, plenty of money but no loving family with whom to share it.
Coventry planned to change all that. Locking his office, he made his way down the darkened hall, passing the large sitting room where the earls congregated. Several of them sat in small groups, drinking their beverage of choice, talking amongst themselves.
The ladies that served within the club joined the conversations, adding wit and charm to the atmosphere. Only one man sat alone, Luke Bentley, the Earl of Sussex, surveying the scene just as Coventry was.
He didn’t seem himself this evening. Normally he was the first to partake in liquor or women, most likely both. While it was out of character, Coventry allowed himself a small smile. It was a good sign, indeed.
Coventry gave the other man a nod and he rose to join him.
“Our fearless leader.” Sussex gave him a dashing grin as he lithely crossed the room. No wonder the ladies found him so appealing.
“Good evening.” Coventry returned the greeting. “It’s unlike you to be alone on a night such as this.”
Sussex grimaced, a shadow passing over his face. “It is, but I find myself alone nonetheless.”
Coventry raised his eyebrows, wondering if his friend might finally be ready to settle down. It was a question best not answered now, however. They had other business to see to. “I’ve an event I must attend. Would you care to join me?”
Sussex gave him a questioning gaze but nodded his affirmation and fell in step beside him. “I must admit my curiosity is piqued.”
Coventry raised one eyebrow. “It is a mundane party, like every other of its kind. Hardly worth mentioning.” He was never one to give much detail. It colored others’ opinions. Better for them to experience. Besides, it was at the home of Lord and Lady Ashford. If Sussex had one weakness, it was for beautiful women who were unhappily wed. “But a brother of ours may be in need of our assistance.”
“Well that certainly doesn’t raise more questions than it answered,” Sussex replied drily, but he continued to walk down the hall towards the door.
A chuckle escaped Coventry’s lips. Little did Sussex know, but the lady Coventry had chosen to marry the errant earl was also quick-witted. He thought again to the letters he’d left on his desk. It was most decidedly time to send those.
Climbing into the carriage, the two men rode in silence as they crossed to a more respectable part of London and joined in a line of carriages waiting to usher the most elite of society to the Viscount of Ashford’s home.
The gala was in full swing when he and Sussex entered the foyer. Coventry frowned. Perhaps he should have come earlier. Aside from taking care of one of the wicked earls, he had a meeting of an illicit variety, and the fairer sex did not like to be kept wa
iting.
Gesturing to the side, he and Luke skirted the crush. “I am not fond of these events,” Sussex muttered.
Coventry was inclined to agree. The room was uncomfortably warm in a way the Coventry could barely tolerate. Moving to the side, he nearly stepped into the path of the Duchess of Waverly and next to her, her daughter, Lady Tabitha Bentley.
His eyes flitted over the girl. Men were fools not to see how attractive she was. Beautiful, well endowed, and intelligent, she would make a fine wife. It was the perfect opportunity for Sussex to see the same.
Known to her mother, he made his greetings and turned to Sussex. “Lord Sussex, may I introduce Lady Tabitha Bentley.”
“Charmed,” Sussex replied halfheartedly, his tone implying none of the interest Coventry would have expected.
Coventry blinked. How could the man not see the beauty in front of him? But as his eyes followed Sussex’s gaze, Coventry realized the man hadn’t looked at Tabitha at all. Instead, he was ensnared by Lady Ashford’s coquettish gaze.
Lady Tabitha cleared her throat. “We’ve been introduced previously.” Coventry watched as her fan flicked in her hand, tapping her hip in annoyance. “It was a remarkably similar introduction.”
Coventry met her clear blue eyes. It seemed they too had taken note of Lady Ashford’s gaze upon Sussex.
Coventry dropped his voice. “Lady Ashford was there, I take it?”
Sussex seemed none the wiser, his attention focused across the room on the other woman.
Lady Tabitha sighed. “No, another lady entirely. Same experience, however. Good evening, Lord Coventry.” Then he watched as she disappeared into the crowd.
With a notable sigh, Coventry pulled on Sussex’s arm. “We’re here for a purpose, if you’ll recall.” His words were sharper than intended. Sussex had just ruined what could have been the most important event of his life. Fool.
But tonight wasn’t about Sussex, not really. If Luke had opened his eyes and seen what was right in front of him without further interference, he would have been lucky indeed. But Coventry hadn’t expected this to be easy. His wicked earls were nothing if not stubborn.
He let go of Sussex’s arm. If his friend wanted to make a fool of himself over Lady Ashford this evening, so be it. He had other priorities this evening. Leading the way through the crowd, Coventry found the man he was looking for. Lord Harrington sat exactly where Coventry would have expected him: at the gaming tables.
The young earl had only just come into his inheritance and was intent upon pissing away whatever was not entailed. Most likely to spite his grandfather, The Duke of Southington.
While he understood the motives, Coventry simply couldn’t allow that to happen. Harrington had potential, a capacity for giving, and an edge hard enough to make him a leader, if he chose to embrace those qualities.
“Coventry,” Harrington slurred. “What are you doing here?”
Coventry took a quick sweep of the table. Despite his intoxication, Harrington appeared to be winning. What was curious were the guests who had joined him for the game. Two of them did not belong at the party. They were rough-looking men, more suited to a gaming hell than a soiree. In addition, they appeared sore at the idea of losing, and even more put out by the prospect of losing to a drunk.
Coventry turned back to Harrington. “My wife insisted I come. I should find her, make an appearance, but Sussex will take a seat at the table.”
He heard Sussex grumble behind him. “I’m to be strapped with an infant earl?”
Coventry turned to face away from the other men. “I have sent a fellow club member to your aid on more than one occasion, Sussex. Be a good man, and see that he stays out of trouble.” Coventry would return shortly. Sussex, an excellent gambler, was the perfect choice to keep an eye on Harrington until then.
The truth was, his wife was not in attendance. She was home with their daughter as she desired. Most evenings he was with them, preferring their company over any others. But tonight, his earls needed him. Harrington, in particular.
Winding his way through the party, he found the entrance to the servants’ stairs and climbed down them, making his way toward the kitchen. It was slow going, mostly because he didn’t want to be seen by any of the servers. It would start tongues wagging if he was found. But as he ducked into an alcove, a tiny hand lightly touched him on the back. He turned to find Lady Ashford’s maid just behind him.
“My lord,” she whispered.
“Miss Pennywinkle,” he replied. “How was the visit to the Duke of Southington’s estate?”
“Most beneficial, my lord.” She gave him a small courtesy.
“What did you learn?” He stepped closer so he might here every word.
She, for her part, whispered a string of details that she had collected while visiting her cousin, a maid at Southington. Much of it interesting. Miss Pennywinkle had a knack for spying and even more so for gleaning which information she had collected was important.
“Very good, Miss Pennywinkle, my thanks,” he murmured, anxious to return to Harrington.
“There’s more,” she rushed out. “Three ruffians came to the estate not a week ago. It seemed as though Southington hired them to watch his grandson, Lord Harrington. They were to attempt to engage him in cards this very evening and then…” She trailed off, her face scrunching in concern.
“Please continue, Miss Pennywinkle.” Coventry didn’t have time for a woman’s delicate sensibilities tonight. A feeling of unease was growing as he thought of the game he’d just seen Harrington at and the men who sat at the table with him. There was no doubt those were the men hired by the duke. No wonder they’d gained entrance.
“They’re supposed to corner him and scare him back to Southington Estate by any means necessary, short of taking his life.” She covered her mouth with her hand.
Coventry handed her an envelope, her reward for services rendered, and said his goodbyes. Returning to the gaming room was infuriatingly slow, thanks to the sizeable crowd, and he had ample time to ponder Miss Pennywinkle’s words. The Duke had hired men to likely beat his grandson. It made his stomach turn. How could a man be so cruel to his own family? How did the duke not understand that it was that very behavior that had likely pushed his grandson away in the first place? “Bloody bullocks,” he muttered to himself. His thoughts, and the pace with which he moved making the trip near intolerable.
He hadn’t known Harrington long, but the young lad brought out his patriarchal instincts in a way he rarely experienced, save for his own daughter.
Finally, he pushed his way back to the gaming room only to find both Harrington and Sussex gone, as were the ruffians who’d been at the table.
“Blast it all to hell,” he cursed, unheard over the din of the party. He turned back the way he had come. As he skirted the ballroom, he caught sight of Sunderland and Pembrooke, members of the club, standing near the corner. Catching their eye, he waved them forward.
Both men came without hesitation.
“I’ve lost Sussex and Harrington,” he barked.
“Saw them not five minutes past, walk out into the garden,” Pembroke answered. “They were with several other men.”
“Follow me.” He patted his chest, feeling for his pistol and the security it brought as he pushed his way through the patio doors. A quick search of the garden revealed nothing, but the gate leading to the alley was ajar.
That was when he heard it. The distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh.
“Bloody hell,” Sunderland snarled.
“I wish I’d brought my Queen Anne,” Pembrooke muttered.
Sunderland reached into his tailcoat and handed a pistol to Pembrooke. “I brought a spare.”
“Thanks, old chap. I’ll be sure to return the favor.” Pembrooke tested the weight of the weapon in his hand.
Sunderland withdrew a second weapon, charging to the front of the group.
Coventry smiled. He could always count on his earls. The noises
grew louder, grunts and moans penetrated the dark and Coventry reached for Sunderland’s arm. It was tempting to charge into the fray, but entering cautiously now could save lives.
A group of seven or eight men stood clustered in front of them. Sussex was on the fringe, fighting off three of the men and doing a damn fine job of it. But then again, he was a regular at the boxing club. No wonder the man was in such fantastic shape.
There was no sign of Harrington until a boot jutted out from the middle of the group. It landed a hard kick on one of the ne’er-do-wells, knocking him out of the circle. Coventry felt a moment of pride. Harrington was holding his own against five opponents. Another man lifted his fist in the air and Coventry heard it make contact as Harrington let out a groan.
It was a risk, each of these men could be armed and then his group of earls would be outmanned, but this had to stop. So he called out, “Enough!” in a voice that rang with authority as he, Pembrooke, and Sunderland continued to move toward them.
All three men raised their pistols. Sussex saw his opening and with one more punch, made a dash toward them.
Coventry tossed the man his cane. “Twist it,” he commanded.
Sussex obeyed without question and the cane split in two, revealing a long dagger. Turning, he faced the group of men he had just been fighting. The four now stood in a line only feet from the cluster of men.
Coventry stared down several of them. “Return our friend at once.”
One of the ruffians took a step toward him, spitting on the ground. “We’ve got unfinished business with this one, we do.”
“It will remain as such.” Coventry cocked back the hammer of his pistol, taking aim. “I won’t ask again.”
“One even bigger than you wants this kid. You can’t ‘ave him.” The man spit again, tucking his thumbs in the waist of pants and puffing out his chest.
They were outnumbered two to one, but none of those men had drawn a pistol. While Coventry didn’t relish taking a man’s life, he would if he had to.
The Wicked Earls' Club Page 1