A Romp with a Rogue

A ROMP WITH A ROGUE LORDS OF TEMPTATION LORDS OF SCANDAL SPINOFF TAMMY ANDRESEN Copyright © 2023 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. Created with Vellum 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 Chapter 16 Epilogue A Score with a Scoundrel About the Author Other Titles by Tammy Keep up with all the latest news, sales, freebies, and releases by joining my newsletter! www.tammyandresen.com Hugs! CHAPTER ONE Miss Abigail Wentworth sat as still as still could be as she waited for the tirade to end. She cocked her head thoughtfully to the side, clasping her hands together in her lap as her cousin went on and on… What was Clarence on about again? She tried to remember the thread, hoping her eyes hadn’t glazed in a way that would alert him she wasn’t listening. He didn’t like it when she stopped listening. The story had been long and dull, not that one could tell from his level of agitation. Quietly, she remembered the thread of his words. The tale about a man who had slighted him at his club that afternoon. Now that she thought about it, she distinctly remembered a few lines. They played back in her mind as she continued her pretense of listening and glancing about the second-floor drawing room. The room was unchanged from her childhood, soft pink silk curtains, cream pillows, highly polished wood. But everything felt different now. Cast in a darker light. “And then he’d informed me that I was not welcome at his table. Can you believe that?” Yes. Yes, she could. But she shook her head sympathetically, molding her features in a show of solace. “I’m the new baron,” he railed. “How dare that bastard say such a thing to me?” His hand flew up in the air as she forced herself to focus. The first time Clarence had gone on such a tirade, she’d been frightened out of her wits. He grew so animated, his face turning purple, his arms waving wildly. And when she’d asked a probing question about what he’d done to provoke such negative behavior from another, wham. The back of his hand had come down across her cheek so hard and so fast, stars had exploded behind her eyes. Even now, her fingers came up to stroke the skin along her cheekbone, which had been bruised for weeks. She’d been shocked and appalled that first time. What great offense had she committed that warranted such treatment? But no answer had become apparent. So she’d learned… Better to make sympathetic noises, say as little as possible. Give him the appearance of attendance while letting her mind drift far away. The problem was not in her method, it was sound. The issue now was how often she was forced to keep up this façade—almost daily. And how many more times she’d need to in the future. Clarence was her distant cousin and heir to her father’s title. When her father had passed five months prior, Clarence had been on a tour of France and it had taken some time to bring him back. But now that he was here, he was inescapable. In her present…but in her future as well. Clarence had decided that he and Abigail should marry. The new Baron Westphal wanted her as his baroness. And she was in no position to deny him. It was impossible. This was going to be her life. Her shoulders, held rigidly straight, began to curve forward at the thought as she attempted to hide the grief that always overwhelmed her at the idea of marrying her cousin. “He said I was sniveling drivel and that he’d had more masculine rags with which to clean his boots.” The words filtered into her thoughts. She tended to agree with whomever Clarence’s unnamed aggressor had been. But instead, she just made some outraged noise deep in her throat, tiredness pulling her shoulders down even further. She knew better than to allow her exhaustion to show. Her shoulders should be set in indignation. He turned toward her and stopped, his gaze narrowing. “Abigail,” his words cut through her, the sharp, dark tone of them, making her shoulders snap straight again. “Yes, my lord?” she asked, fear sliding down her spine as she swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. He might be short and thin but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a wiry strength that outmatched her in every regard. She’d been subject to a sharp hit from him on more than one occasion and she knew enough to do everything in her power to avoid being hit again. “Why do you look like that?” His lip curled in distaste. “Do I bore you?” She shook her head, thinking quickly. “I am frustrated on your behalf, my lord. That is all.” He gave a slow nod and then he reached out and lightly patted her shoulder. “Of course, my dear. That does make sense.” Abby swallowed again. She might not respect Clarence Westphal, a spoiled, lazy man who thought the world owed him every advantage, but she respected his backhand. Her father had never hit her; he hadn’t been the most affectionate or loving man, but he’d not openly abused her, she could say that. But Clarence had no such qualms. She twisted her gloved fingers together as she drew in a shuddering breath. There was nothing to do but allow him to rail out all his malice. “What else happened?” Clarence returned to pacing. “Let me see. He…” His lip curled again as he paused. “Was some dark-haired, hulking, untamed beast of a