Earl of Baxter

by Tammy Andresen

  “I don’t know. Perhaps six the first time. Eighteen the last. It was the very last thing he said to me before I left for the war and I did my best to fulfill his wishes.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Now that I think on it, I was about your age now when I threw myself in front of a bayonet, sure that I’d make his wish come true.”

  She swallowed hard. Because something in his words rang with such familiarity that she ached.

  “And then you came to the church.” Her heart hammered out of her chest so quickly she was sure he could feel it.

  “That’s right. And a girl touched me and spoke to me so gently that I was sure I was supposed to be here on this earth. That there were reasons to live and love after all.”

  She stiffened and he felt it because he tightened his arms too. “I didn’t do—”

  “Don’t say anything. You’ve no idea what you did.” His other arm wrapped about her too and she was crushed against his chest. “So tell me what he said to you and then we can decide whose father is more awful.”

  She shook her head. Because his father was awful, but she had the sinking feeling that her father had been right. “I can’t.”

  And because he had a beautiful memory of her. And that was the way she wanted him to remember her. A girl who’d saved him. Not this tainted, compromised person she’d become.

  And then with one great pull, she wrenched herself away and threw open the door, sprinting down the hall.

  She didn’t stop until she reached the front steps. Clarissa blinked in the grey light, her eyes still needing to adjust as she heard the front door click behind her.

  Chapter Seven

  The sound of the door jolted Clarissa from her panic. She blinked several times, glancing up and down the darkening street.

  Why had she just run away? And why had she let herself out into the evening? Alone. With no carriage in sight.

  She turned back toward the door. She’d head back inside, apologize to Baxter for being such a ninny and ask him to kindly fetch her carriage.

  Penny’s words about not travelling alone echoed through her thoughts as she pulled on the knob to find the door locked.

  She tugged harder as though the door might give. What did she do now? Drat.

  Raising her hand, she grasped the brass knocker and gave it a few sharp claps against the plate. This was not the most dignified reentrance back into the club, but her pride would have to wait. She wasn’t walking about this neighborhood searching for her carriage as it likely circled the block. It would likely return any minute but Clarissa had lived in this section of town and she knew what sort of men lurked in the shadows.

  Which were growing longer by the moment.

  As if conjured by her thoughts, the distinct sound of footsteps behind her made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

  She rapped on the knocker again.

  “I don’t think anyone’s coming,” a voice cackled behind her.

  She held her breath while reaching into the pocket of her gown. This time, she’d remembered her derringer. And she’d use it if necessary.

  A tiny gun, it fit into her hand, its weight a reassuring friend as she turned to face the man who’d spoken.

  Only when she’d made the half circle, she realized there were three.

  Her derringer would only take care of the one.

  Her fingers shook but she tightened them on the butt of the weapon. Worst of all, she recognized one of the men. Clarissa didn’t know his name, but she remembered his face.

  Missing teeth, filthy hair. He was one of the men who’d harassed Penny and tried to burn down their home.

  Well, she knew which one she’d aim at. If she were going to die tonight, he was dying too.

  “Lovely to see you gentlemen on this fine evening,” she called, straightening.

  All three stopped. “What does that mean?” the shortest on the end spit as he asked. “We’re not making a social call.”

  She slowly pulled the weapon from her pocket. “Really? I thought certain you’d come to taste the delights behind this door.”

  “Delights?” a tall thin man in the middle asked. “What sort?”

  “Don’t let her trick you,” the third barked. “We’re getting paid to do a job.”

  Paid? Were they part of the blackmail plot after all? She smiled at him, cold and humorless, but it was the best she could muster under the circumstances as she swallowed, trying to silence the blood rushing in her ears. “Tell me, fine sir,” she looked at the third man. “You seem excessively intelligent. I must know your name.”

  He squinted, dirt showing in the lines on his face. “None of your business.”

  “Just tell her, Carter,” the middle one chortled. “She’ll not be able to repeat it after we’re done with her.”

  “Carter,” she murmured. “Good to know.” Then she raised her pistol. “The Earl of Goldthwaite is looking for you.”

  Just then the door clicked open behind her.

  The sound made her breath hiss from her lungs, relief nearly making her limp.

  But as the man she’d just addressed raised his own gun, she didn’t think as her muscles tightened again and she fired, smoke filling the air.

  Mason stiffened as he watched Clarissa run from his office. From what little he knew of Clarissa she wasn’t a quitter. He was surprised she’d run from this conversation.

  But that was a topic to mull over later.

  He heard the front door click closed and knew it would only open again with a key.

  She hadn’t called her carriage back, which meant she was on the street alone.

  While she was familiar with this neighborhood, he also knew she was now dressed as a lady and not as a simple woman.

  He started down the hall after her, but the Earl of Darling stopped him as he made his way down the hall. One of the earls who frequented the club, Mason attempted to shrug the other man off, but Darling stopped Mason with a hand at his arm. “You’ve had a great many female visitors today.” The man cocked his head to the side. “Most unusual.”

  A knock sounded at the door. Likely Clarissa. “One is a married woman,” he muttered, shrugging off Darling’s hand and starting down the hall again.

  Darling shrugged. “Doesn’t stop most of the men in this place.”

  “True,” he said. “But the other is soon to be my wife, so I’d prefer if we don’t speak of what happens in this place.”

  Darling gave a stiff nod. “Wife? Why’d you have her here then?”

  Mason let out a quick sharp breath. Darling was far more decent than most of the men here but now was not the time for discussion. Another knock sounded at the door. “I’ll explain another time, excuse me.”

  Darling gave a quick nod as Mason started down the hall once again. But Darling’s question stuck. Because the man was right.

  Mason should have bundled her back in her carriage and seen her home. She’d be far safer and unable to escape their conversation as she’d just done.

  Voices filtered from outside, sharp male calls made Mason barrel toward the door.

  Talking long strides for the last two steps, he twisted the lock in the door. “Earls,” he called out. “You’re needed at the front door.”

  He didn’t wait to see who heard. Instead he wrenched open the large wood barrier and stepped out onto the landing. His heart nearly stopped. Clarissa stood just in front of him with a small pistol raised in her gloved hand.

  Just as another man fired, she shot too and the entire world slowed for a moment.

  He watched her bullet hit its mark. Heard the whistle of the lead as the other shot whizzed toward them. It had been like this in battle too. Every move played out in his mind. He knew exactly what to do.

  Grabbing her waist, he thrust her to his right just as a ripping pain collided with his left side.

  He drew in a sharp breath. He’d been hit. But that didn’t matter now as long as Clarissa was safe.

  Men poured from the
house, brandishing ash shovels, swords, pistols.

  “I want them all captured,” he bellowed as he clasped Clarissa closer to his side.

  Without waiting to see what happened, he moved her toward the back alley where his carriage surely waited. He needed to get her out of here. Now.

  “Baxter?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “Mason,” he corrected.

  “Mason?” Her hand fluttered to his chest. “Did I kill that man?”

  He looked over at her, her normally pink cheeks gone pale. “No, love.” He likely lied. If the man wasn’t dead, he would be soon. “But he’ll rot in prison.”

  Clarissa nodded tentatively. “He’s one of the men who tried to burn down our orphanage right before Logan took us in. If he’s still alive, he can be questioned.”

  That made Mason smile. There was his brave girl. “You’re glorious, you know that, don’t you?”

  They reached the line of carriages waiting and he spotted the Earl of Goldthwaite’s. Heading for the conveyance, he snapped open the door and pushed Clarissa inside. He grunted, his side beginning to ache terribly.

  But he hefted himself in and then sat on the bench across from her. “You did wonderfully.”

  She shook her head. “I did horridly. I just shot a man. And I caused the trouble to begin with. I should never have run out. Don’t you see? That’s exactly what my father meant.”

  “Meant?” he asked, squinting his eyes into the shadowy carriage.

  “He said that I had the curse. Exactly like him. And that everything I touched would turn to ash in my hands.” Her voice trembled as she raised them to her cheeks. “I’ve done terrible things.”

  “He’s wrong and nothing you’ve done could have been that bad.” He wanted to touch her, hold her close.

  “He isn’t,” she whispered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked out the window rather than at him. Her hands slid to her temples as her eyes closed.

  Mason’s voice was gentle but firm. “Tell me then. Explain it to me.”

  She slipped off her bench and came to sit next to him. “Do you know the priest who took me in?”

  Sick dread filled his stomach. He was weakening and he couldn’t hold his body against it. He slumped down in his seat. “What about him?”

  “Ended up on an island that’s nearly deserted.”

  “Clarissa,” he said, his voice cracking. How did he explain he’d arranged the priest’s exile?

  “I think they sent him there because money was missing.” His gut churned as he caught an inkling of where this was going and how he had contributed to her fears.

  “He was sent there because he was a mean man who didn’t deserve a flock.” He squeezed his eyes shut but then opened them again because he needed to see her face and know that she understood. “And if you are the reason that money is missing, good for you. Not everyone is strong enough to do what’s necessary to get themselves out of Hell.”

  She let out a small cry and in the darkening carriage he didn’t know what it meant. Had his words hurt? Helped? But then she pressed her hand to his stomach, leaned over, and kissed his lips.

  Longing and love coursed through him as he raised a hand to her cheek. No kiss had ever been sweeter. Her lips were warm pillows of comfort and his mouth clung to hers. “None of those things were your fault.”

  But she jerked back and lifted her gloved hand. The white of the fresh glove marred by a startling amount of blood. “Mason?”

  Chapter Eight

  Cold fear gripped her as she stared at her hand.

  “Mason?” she said again, her voice sounding strangled. “From where are you bleeding?” And then she began pulling at his clothes.

  It wasn’t hard to find the wound. On his left side, blood oozed down his shirt. He reached a tentative hand behind his back. “Good news, the bullet went clean through. It’s really just a flesh wound in my side. A graze.”

  “How is a flesh wound considered good news?” she cried, ripping off her cloak and balling it up, then pushing it against his skin to apply pressure to stop the flow of blood.

  He hissed. “You know I’m right. You’ve got a great deal of practice in caring for wounds. I can attest to that. It just hurts.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I need to slow the bleeding.”

  “No. It’s good.” He covered her hands with his. “We need to continue talking.”

  “You can’t be serious.” She looked into his ashen face then. “Why did you let me blather on while you were hurt?”

  “Because you’re hurt too.” He lifted his hand and placed it over her heart. The feel of his fingers on her chest made her ache. She wanted to rest her forehead against his and close her eyes. Forget the rest of the world. “Your father was wrong and you’re wrong too. And you need to know that. You are not bad. You’re one of the best people I know.”

  “Mason,” she huffed as she leaned over and brushed her lips against his again. “You were shot while standing next to me. You don’t think that proves I bring destruction to those around me? That I am not good?”

  A small smile touched his lips. “No, I don’t. The club is in a neighborhood that’s gotten increasingly rough over the last decade. Perhaps it’s time to move.”

  She shook her head. “You’re not listening to—”

  “You’re not listening.” He grabbed her arm. “I sent that priest away. I’m so sorry that I caused you guilt with my actions. But I couldn’t allow more children to be under his care. And I chose to protect you today.” He coughed then, wincing as he did, and fear made her shiver.

  “Mason?” Part of her wanted to be angry with him. He’d sent Father Byron from the church? But all she could feel was worry. He was hurt. What if something happened to him? He was the one person in the world to whom she’d confided all her secrets. She needed him. More than that…

  “Listen,” he said as the carriage slowed, reaching Logan’s house. “We’re marrying tonight or tomorrow.”

  “What?” Her stomach fluttered. Had he lost his mental faculties?

  “I’ve had one goal all these years. Find you and keep you safe. You have to let me do this just in case.”

  At those last words, tears once again sprung to her eyes. He was worried he would die and his last wish was to see her cared for? “You’re going to live.”

  “We both know I might not. It’s a gunshot.” The carriage stopped and for a moment they both held still. “I wanted to die, Clarissa. Right up to the moment I saw your blue eyes staring back at me and then…I wished to live again. You’ve grown into a beautiful woman whom I admire and…” He gave her a gentle smile as his fingers stroked her cheek. “Whom I think about all the time. Let me provide for your future. Whether I live or die, as a countess, you’ll be protected from his accusations. Whoever he is. He won’t be able to touch you.”

  Her throat closed as emotion overwhelmed her. A sob broke free of her lips as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’re not going to die. I won’t allow it. And I know you’ll keep me safe whether or not I’m your wife.”

  He closed his eyes at that, his head falling back on the seat. “We’ll discuss it after I see the doctor.” He shifted, wincing. “But let’s get inside.”

  She straightened, realizing he was right. She drew in a deep breath. She had to clear out the emotion and allow her brain to begin working.

  With that, she snapped open the door. “Help,” she called, sliding out of the carriage and racing up the stairs. “I need help.”

  Logan and his butler came rushing out the door. Within minutes they had Mason settled into a bed. The doctor had been sent for and Clarissa set to work dressing the wound.

  She’d cut away his shirt and as she stared at the muscular ridges of his chest, she pressed her lips together to keep from whimpering.

  This man had to be all right. How had they circled back to this?

  And since they’d only just found each other, there was
so much to say. She’d love for him to convince her that she’d been wrong all these years and there was a chance they might be happy together.

  And she wanted to hear more about his father, his childhood. She wanted to wash away his fears the same way she now washed blood from his abdomen.

  Quite without meaning to, she began to sing as she worked. Amazingly, the pressure had stemmed the bleeding and she was careful not to interrupt the clotting as she wiped.

  The hole was smaller than she’d imagined, and hope began to creep in. He might be all right.

  “We’re back,” Logan called from the door. A doctor stepped in behind him.

  “Thank goodness,” Clarissa breathed.

  Logan, however, gave her a hard glare. “Penny told you not to go out alone. What were you thinking?”

  “Logan,” Mason said from the bed. “That discussion can wait until later.”

  Logan’s jaw clenched but then he gave a stiff nod. “Fine.”

  Mason looked at Clarissa, his eyes pleading. “Give Logan and I a moment, love.”

  “The doctor might need help.” She knew she should go as Mason wished, but she didn’t want to leave his side.

  “Wait in the hall. It will only take a minute.”

  With a deep breath, she turned and headed to the door. She hadn’t knelt in prayer since she’d left Dover but as soon as she reached the halls, she dropped to her knees and clasped her hands.

  Please let Mason be all right.

  Mason winced as the doctor gently rolled him over.

  “At least the bullet went clean through,” he murmured. “And the bleeding has slowed significantly. Both good signs. The risk going forward is infection.” He looked toward the door. “Did I hear that Miss Hershel did a stint caring for soldiers?”

  “Yes,” Mason gritted out. “I was one of them.”