Earl of Sussex (Wicked Lords of London 0.50)

Prologue

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. This same mark was pinned to the lapel of his waistcoat.

A slow wicked grin spread across his lips. He loved that this building could appear so nondescript but be full of decadent sin. Such was true for females as well. One never knew what woman might bloom in his arms, revealing secret delights at which her perfectly groomed exterior barely hinted.

That was why he rarely turned away a woman. 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.

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 halls forever.

There 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 Once a man married, for example, his invitation to the club was rescinded.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 he planned never to find himself in. It was also the reason for his visit.

The building was located at 276 Bedford Place, on the outskirts of respectable London. It allowed for men of his guild to come here without fear of being seen in an unseemly place while still being close to other delights of London’s less upstanding variety.

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. It was 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 waiters and a maître d’ 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 to which he was not normally prone. “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 down again, 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.