Page 2 of Master of Games (The Duke Fraternity #4)

CHAPTER ONE

Birds chirped throughout the garden, the roses, now in full bloom, perfuming the air.

This was Tabbie’s favorite time to be in Dover. The ocean sparkled, the trees danced, the animals sang.

She drew in a deep breath, cleansing her lungs, the sound of construction disrupting her thoughts. She opened her eyes, frowning at the workers as they banged away on the new teahouse.

What a year it had been.

This summer had been a slow torture, when it was usually a welcome break from the ills of the season.

An image rose in her mind, instantly making her frown.

The Duke of Ironheart.

Dark blond hair, hazel eyes, lean-cut jaw, full mouth, broad shoulders…the man looked like a dream a young girl might have.

And a woman like herself could get caught up in that dream.

Good thing he barely disguised his rakish ways. He drank all the time. She very much doubted she’d ever seen him when he wasn’t drunk or hung over.

He flirted obsessively with every reasonably attractive woman. Except for Tabbie, of course. Then again, she wasn’t reasonably attractive.

She had been, once upon a time, before…Tabbie had been considered a great beauty, but not anymore. She looked down at the sleeves she wore even in summer to cover the scars on her arms.

And that was to her betterment. She was a stronger person, a person of substance.

And besides, she didn’t want Ironheart. She didn’t want any man. But somehow, watching her best friend Sophie marry Ironheart’s best friend Lord Maxwell it had stirred some dormant feelings she’d prefer stay hidden.

Feelings of the life she might have had if only her past had been different.

Sophie was so happy…

She had a husband who held her and kissed her like she was the most precious person in the world.

Sophie would have a family, a home of her own.

Tabbie made herself stop.

Even if she wanted those things, which she didn’t, they had little or nothing to do with Ironheart.

He’d marry eventually, Tabbie was certain of that fact. He was a duke after all, and so he’d marry for the title, and not just any woman. The debutante he chose would be the most perfect girl of the season, flawless in her appearance, and likely as morally bankrupt as Ironheart himself.

She lifted her skirts and strode back to the manor, her head high. She didn’t need the attention of a man like that.

She didn’t need any man’s attention.

Entering the house through the front-to-back grand entryway, her heels tapped across the marble floor.

Her father, as a marquess, had provided for Tabbie’s financial future. She was an independently wealthy woman and when he died, she was certain she’d be able to afford a home of her own. No man required.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t marry. Between the size of her dowry, her own wealth, her social status and connections, any number of men would choose her.

Second sons who didn’t have any financial means to support themselves. Perhaps a titled lord whose father had bankrupted the estate.

She stopped, looking up at the lavishly gilded ceiling.

How perfectly wretched it would be to spend her life with a man like that. He would both need her, perhaps he’d also pity her, but he’d certainly be resentful of her. That he had to settle for a woman like herself just to fill his coiffeurs.

She knew all this. She’d rehearsed it in her head a hundred times. And yet…

When she looked at Sophie and Max, a deep yearning pulsed in her chest.

“Is there anything I might do for you, my lady?” the housekeeper asked.

Tabbie turned, realizing the woman was in the entrance of the hall that led to the back stairs and down to the kitchen.

“I’m quite well. Thank you, Mrs. Banks.”

“It’s quiet without your father here,” Mrs. Banks replied, as though the words actually meant something.

Tabbie knew what the other woman hinted at. Tabbie spent most of her time alone when her father had to return to London for business. “Yes. It is.”

“And with the construction…” Mrs. Banks started.

While she appreciated Mrs. Banks’ care, Tabbie neither wanted nor needed advice from the housekeeper. She very well knew the emotional toll the construction was causing. Perhaps this year she should have gone back to London with her father. “I’m quite all right. Thank you, Mrs. Banks.”

The other woman gave a quick nod before she started down the hall.

Tabbie looked up at the ceiling again.

She’d given up most of her friends over the past three years. The only reason she’d become friendly with Sophie was because Sophie was unfailingly kind, and the warmest person Tabbie had ever met.

And now, Sophie was off to the north of England with her new husband. Was that how Tabbie’s life was going to be?

Make the occasional friend who then married?

Maybe Mrs. Banks had a point.

With a sigh, she turned left, heading to the sitting room that was always bathed in afternoon light.

She’d read, perhaps have a bit of wine.

When she’d given up courting, and as her mother was gone, she’d become a mistress of sorts, running the house, and keeping her father’s social calendar.

But perhaps it was time to find more. A hobby? She wasn’t much for needlepoint. She’d never been that sort of domestic creature.

She was dreadful at painting, and her piano skills were fair at best.

This past winter, she’d been embroiled in Sophie’s life, which had been terribly exciting.

Max and Ironheart had some club they belonged to and a lord by the name of Whitehouse had been attacking them.

They’d been on the hunt for this man and the danger and intrigue had been the most excitement she’d experienced in her entire life.

So perhaps the season, and even Ironheart, hadn’t been all bad.

Maybe that’s why she couldn’t stop thinking about Ironheart. Despite all his flaws—and there were many—he’d been brave in the face of danger… she’d seen it.

Opening her book, she tried to read, but Jane Austen held little appeal. Setting it aside, she picked up a new book she’d acquired by Mary Shelley.

Perhaps Tabbie could try her hand at writing…

Her head cocked to the side as she considered. She liked a busy mind, enjoyed stories. And lord knew she needed a distraction.

She’d had a few real-life adventures from which to draw inspiration.

But that was when she caught the distant sound of horse’s hooves coming up the drive.

Her father wasn’t due back for days, and she rarely had visitors. Was something amiss in the village?

Rising, she set her book aside and moved to the window, lifting the silk curtain to better see the front lawn.

A lone rider made his way up the wide dirt pathway, his horse moving at a slow cant through the shade of the trees that lined either side.

He slumped slightly to the left, but even from here, she could see the fine cut of his jacket.

There was something so familiar about the set of his shoulders…

“Ironheart?” she said to the room as though it would answer.

Dropping the curtain, she walked to the door with purposeful strides. Was something the matter with Sophie? Max? Sophie’s sister Abigail? Her heart pounded in her chest as, not waiting for the butler, she threw open the door, stepping out onto the granite stairs. “Ironheart?”

He stopped, several yards away, his body swaying. “Lady Tabetha,” he slurred back. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

For a moment she stared and then she pursed her lips. The man was drunk. Adjusting her neckline to make certain it fully covered her chest, she lifted her skirts and started down the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

He started his horse forward again, meeting her at the bottom of the steps. Her shoulders snapped back as she stared up at him, her glare hopefully enough to permeate his drunken fog.

But something wasn’t right. His face was ashen, dark circles under his eyes. And then she noted the blood.

Soaking his jacket all down his right side, his arm hung limply at his side.

“Ironheart?” she asked again, this time her voice just above a whisper and laced with fear.

“I need help, Tabbie,” he replied, sounding tired. “I didn’t know where else to go and you…” he leaned down, “are the most capable person I know.”

“I doubt that,” she answered. “Any number of—”

But her words were cut short as he tried to climb from his saddle, but didn’t quite get his leg over the animal and promptly fell to the ground.

With a cry she took the two steps to his side, dropping to her knees and reaching for him. “Ironheart?”

He didn’t answer.

Fear beat in her chest as she lifted her head. “Missus Banks!” she cried. “Help!”