Master of Games, page 1
part #1 of The Duke Fraternity Series
MASTER OF GAMES
THE DUKE FRATERNITY
TAMMY ANDRESEN
Copyright © 2025 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.
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CONTENTS
Master of Games
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Note to Readers:
Popular Series by Tammy
About the Author
MASTER OF GAMES
Master of Games
The Duke Fraternity
Tammy Andresen
The Duke of Ironheart is perfectly wretched…
Sarcastic. Rude. He’s intoxicated half of the time and hung over the rest. A handsome rake, he flirts with every woman in England—except for her.
Lady Tabetha had no choice but to be nice to him, since his best friend married hers, but it’s a relief when she leaves London to summer in Dover. Good riddance.
Which is why she can hardly believe her terrible luck when he arrives at her home, shot through the shoulder. She’ll help with his recovery and send him on his way. Because even as she sees the softer side of the duke, she knows two things for certain.
One: No man would love her with the scars she bears. Least of all, him.
And two: It doesn’t matter that he might be redeemable after all. Because trouble is nipping at his heels and it’s coming for them both.
PROLOGUE
Six months prior…
The Guiltmore Ball
Tabbie tapped her toe, remaining in the shadows of the candlelit ballroom.
Ballgowns covered less skin, and she was still sensitive about the scars that spidered over hers, so she remained in the shadows as much as possible.
This hadn’t always been true. Once upon a time, she’d spun about the floor with the rest of the debutantes, dancing in the light.
Her chin automatically notched. She didn’t wish to be one of those silly chits.
But it dipped again when a couple stumbled toward her. One of the unfortunate side effects of having a good hiding spot, is that sometimes others wished to use it too.
Not wanting the awkward conversation, Tabbie stepped into the large fronds of the nearby fern.
In the light of day, it would never conceal her, but in the shadows, she was certain they’d not notice her.
The woman let out a soft giggle as the man pressed his chest to hers, her back coming to the wall in the very spot Tabbie had just leaned.
“Ironheart,” she whispered as his lips nipped at the skin of her neck. “We shouldn’t.”
“We should, my sweet,” he rumbled back, kissing lower.
Tabbie’s eyes grew wide for a moment before she snapped them shut.
She knew the Duke of Ironheart through a mutual friend, had even admired his good looks and charm…before tonight.
Not that she had any designs on him or any other man. She’d simply noticed…
“Oh, but my father,” the lady cooed back, a breathlessness tinging her voice. “If he were to find out…”
“But he won’t.”
That seemed to sober her up a bit and her voice grew far less breathless. “You’d marry me if he did, though, would you not?”
“Marriage? Let’s not get hasty, Clara.”
“Clarissa,” she corrected, her voice rising into a cry.
“That’s what I mean, Clarissa. We’re just having a bit of fun. No need to involve fathers or discuss marriage.”
The crack of a palm against skin had Tabbie’s eyes popping open again. She caught the snap of Ironheart’s head as the slap reverberated through his skin. “I should have known. My friends warned me.”
“What did they warn you about?” He asked, not sounding the least bit offended. If anything, his voice held an amusement that nearly made Tabbie gasp.
“That you are a rake.”
He laughed then, a warm chuckle that somehow left Tabbie cold. “That I am. I assumed that was understood, Cassie.”
“Clarissa,” she said, stomping her slippered foot. “My name is Clarissa.”
He waved his hand. “Back to daddy with you, Cassandra. Stay away from rakes if you’re still worried about marriage.”
“Clarissa!” she practically screeched before she stomped away.
But Ironheart didn’t leave. He leaned against the wall, laughing as he watched her disappear into the crowd.
“That was truly dreadful,” she found herself saying out loud before she could hold her tongue back.
“A talking fern?” he turned toward her. “Does your daddy want to marry you off too, Fern?”
She stepped out of the fronds, glaring at the ridiculous duke. “My name is Lady Tabetha, though I hope you do not remember it in the morning. It will prove awkward if you do. And my father has given up marrying me to anyone.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“Because, whatever I am, I’m far pricklier than any fern.”
He tossed his head back and laughed. “A Rose then. With thorns.”
She shrugged. No one considered her a rose. Not anymore. “My nickname is Tabbie. And it suits me just fine. Far less fussy than a rose, while still signifying that I’ve got claws. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Are you leaving?” he asked, quirking a brow.
“No, Your Grace, I was here first.”
“All right?”
“That means you’re to go. Quickly. We wouldn’t want my father to think he’d finally found some marriage loophole for me.” And then she made a shooing motion with her hands. “May we never meet again.” Though she knew they would. They were both guests at her best friend Sophie’s wedding.
He straightened then, his gaze sliding down her. “Oh, I think we might.”
Her nose lifted in the air. She didn’t need the attention of arrogant, rakish dukes.
And even if she did, the shadows surely hid her imperfections. If he’d seen them, he would not say such things…
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
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!”
CHAPTER TWO
Tabbie grabbed the sides of Ironheart’s face. “Dear lord, please don’t be dead.”
“I am a god among men, but praying to me is hardly necessary.” His gray-green eyes opened to meet hers, his lips tugging at the corners.
Despite her fear, she huffed out a breath. “You’re all right then.”
“Hardly,” his eyes closed again, pain pulling at the edges. “But if anyone can see me through, it’s you.”
“You’ve that much confidence in me?”
“I have a great deal of faith in your stubbornness and tenacity,” he answered. His eyes remained closed, but one corner of his mouth tugged up in an attempt at a smile.
“You are incorrigible.”
“But you still love me?”
Tabbie clucked her tongue even as she wrapped an arm under his shoulders. “All the world loves you, Ironheart. You don’t need my affection.”
“I disagree. There is never enough.” His hand lifted up to cover hers, which belatedly, she realized was resting on his chest.
His fingers closed in around the back of her hand and despite the dire situation, she felt her pulse skip at his touch.
“Oh my goodness, gracious!” Mrs. Banks cried from the stairs.
“Missus Banks,” she said, her head snapping up. “Please gather as many footmen as you can to bring His Grace inside and send one of them to fetch Dr. Merigold as quickly as possible.”
“His Grace?” Mrs. Banks cried, her eyes going wide.
“Quickly,” she replied, knowing that time was of the essence and she’d wasted enough of it.
Mrs. Banks spun on her heel, lifting her skirts as she rushed back into the house.
“See,” Ironheart murmured through pale lips, “I feel better in your care already.”
But Tabbie didn’t answer as she trailed her eyes over his body looking for the cause of all the blood.
