Earl of Baxter

by Tammy Andresen

  He felt her tightening around him, her breath coming in short quick gasps and he groaned, his own end making every muscle in his body taut.

  And then when he wasn’t sure he could stand another moment, she broke apart in his arms, crying out her finish.

  He came too, his seed filling her even as he collapsed back against the bed. They’d had today and that had to be enough.

  Chapter Twelve

  Clarissa woke as the sun began to set. How long had she been asleep?

  After being awake for most of the night, she’d fallen into a deep sleep. Her body was snug against Mason’s side and she blinked to realize she was naked and warm. Too warm.

  Her eyes widened as she pushed up looking down at her sleeping husband.

  His skin was pale and clammy.

  Fear trickled down her back as she lifted her hand to touch his forehead. He was burning hot.

  “Mason?” she asked, wrapping an arm about him. Was she warming him or trying to control her own trembling which had begun deep in her core and was spreading through her body? “Mason. Can you hear me?”

  He moaned softly, his head sliding back and forth across his pillow.

  She let out a soft sob. She’d made a terrible mistake. She should have never allowed the wedding and certainly not their activities after.

  But she’d wanted him to be happy.

  She loved him.

  And he’d wished to be with her.

  Her earlier thoughts came back. His almost fatalistic attitude. Like he expected this to be the end.

  Was he planning to leave her? Or had he just known that infection was coming?

  She winced. She should have seen this fever coming. And she should have done more to protect him.

  This was why she hadn’t wanted to marry. She never could get it right.

  She choked back a cry as she rose from the bed and tucked Mason tight in the covers. Then she hurriedly dressed and stoked up the fire. Working quickly, she got fresh water and slowly dripped some into his mouth.

  Gently, she sponged down his face, ridding his skin of its clammy appearance.

  She wanted to check his wound, but she’d wait until the room was warmer.

  But waiting made her insides frantic and so she sat down at the dressing table, tapping her toe as she stared at him. Her mind worked through everything he’d told her. About his father wishing him dead. About his own attempt to throw his life away on the battlefield.

  His choice to dedicate his life to her.

  It was almost as though he were throwing his life away now that he’d accomplished the one goal he’d set out to do.

  Though he said he was over his father’s words, Clarissa wondered if Mason actually valued his own life.

  She straightened. He was going to start caring for himself, not just her.

  Because she’d never forgive herself if he died.

  She clenched her fists. If he wouldn’t live for himself, he’d live for her. She stood again. It was time to make her husband well.

  Working through the evening, she kept him warm and dry and hydrated as best she could.

  At one point, he partially woke, and she had him sip a tea infused with ginger root to aid in bringing down the fever.

  She heard the clock strike one in the wee hours of the night when she climbed into the bed next to him and pressed her body to his.

  He was still hot but as she touched his forehead, hope bloomed in her chest. He was cooler than he’d been this afternoon, and this was often the time of day when fever was the worst.

  There was hope.

  With that in mind, she pressed closer, wrapping her arm about his chest. If there was a problem, she’d feel it.

  With that in mind, she closed her eyes.

  Then, she fell asleep.

  Mason woke to the early morning light, which still burned his eyes. It told him several things.

  First, he was still alive.

  A small smile spread across his lips. He’d thwarted death once again.

  His father would be so disappointed. But he also shifted and felt the warm solid form of his wife pressed next to him.

  His wife.

  At his movement, her eyes snapped open. “Mason?”

  “Yes,” he croaked. Everything hurt.

  She raised her hand to his forehead, her fingers pressing against his skin. They felt warm and achingly soft.

  “Thank God, you’re nice and cool.” Her breath blew across his cheek, fanning his skin with warm air.

  “Truth be told, I’m nice and warm with you next to me.”

  She frowned, her brows drawing together. “How long have you been fever-free?”

  “I don’t know. I just woke feeling less cold and achier.”

  Her frown deepened. “We need to discuss some things.”

  “What things?” But she was already rising from the bed and he grimaced as her heat left him. She crossed the room and pulled the bell cord.

  “Things like how you were prepared to give up,” she said as she gave a good hard tug. “How you were preparing to die.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t actively want to die. But I’ve been close before and that changes a person. You have to be prepared for the possibility.”

  “You lied to me about how well you were feeling.” Her arms crossed over her chest.

  He winced. “Sorry about that, love. There were just a few things I wanted to accomplish just in case…”

  “But those things endangered your life.” She crossed over to him again, even as her voice grew louder. “Did it ever occur to you that losing you would be devastating? I’m in love with you…”

  He shuddered as he looked up at her hurt expression. Damn. He should have thought of that. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, sweetheart. I just assumed…”

  “What did you assume?” she asked, her voice dropping low again.

  He closed his eyes. “That I was already on borrowed time. That this was the end.”

  “You know how you told me my father was wrong?” Her weight sank into the mattress next to him and she reached for his hand, slipping her fingers against his palm.

  “Yes,” he answered, bringing the back of her hand to his lips.

  “That he was selfish, and I didn’t ruin his life, he ruined his own with his bad decisions.”

  “That’s right.”

  She drew in a deep breath, then leaned down and rubbed her cheek against his. She whispered close to his ears. “You were never meant to die. Your father pushed you to take risks the first time and nearly succeeded in ruining your life. But that’s because he was only thinking of his own mistakes. They’ve nothing to do with you. You deserve a full, happy life.”

  He swallowed down a lump. She’d hit that note deep within him that he rarely acknowledged. “I took my mother’s life with my own. I’ve done nothing for this world.”

  “Not true,” she breathed, her chest pressing to his. “Together, we will make a difference. We’re going to open orphanages alongside Penny and Logan. Start a family of our own. Children who will continue to do good in this world. You’ll do far more than he ever did.” Then she sat up. “We both will.”

  His throat clogged with emotion. “What if I don’t? What if that selfish bastard’s legacy is deep within me? You heard me yesterday. I…”

  “Stop,” she said, pressing her hand to his cheek. “You were trying to take your very last pleasures, which I understand. I just don’t want you to think like that. Think like your life is the most precious gift in all the world. Because it is to me.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, to argue but then he thought about what he’d say to her if the conversation was reversed and he closed his mouth again. “We’re going to have to teach each other how to value ourselves.”

  She grinned at them. “That’s an excellent way to think about it.”

  He shook his head. “I won’t regret yesterday. It was the best day of my life.”

  “Oh Mason. You’re insufferabl
e. You nearly put yourself into an early grave.”

  “But at least this time it was with love instead of worry and regret.”

  She laughed then. “Never again. Do you hear me?”

  “I’ll try.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “You’ll help me when I need it, won’t you.”

  “I will. Always.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mason sat in a chair next to the fire, watching his wife read.

  It had been a week of wedded bliss. He’d never been happier.

  He was recovering nicely, though he needed to sleep a great deal. Fortunately, Clarissa was excellent at keeping him company during his naps and at night, and in the early morning hours. He grinned.

  “What are you staring at?” Clarissa gave him a mock look of annoyance.

  He chuckled. “My beautiful wife, of course.”

  She sighed, setting down the novel. “It still seems like a dream.”

  He reached for her hand. “Do you miss Natty and the other girls now that you’re here with me?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I do. But I’ve seen them nearly every day and I’m excited to begin my own journey. As a countess, I won’t be working in an orphanage day to day like I planned…”

  He winced. He was so happy with her at his side but she’d given up a great deal to make that happen. “You’re not disappointed, are you?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not. I married the best negotiator in England, I’ve been told. And he will certainly start acquiring properties for more orphanages while I begin hiring staff and supplying goods for children in need.”

  “I think I can do that,” he grinned as he gave her hand a squeeze.

  “Once you are recovered.”

  A knock sounded at the door as the butler entered. “The Earl of Goldthwaite is here to see you, my lord.”

  “See him in,” Mason let go of Clarissa’s hand, rising.

  Logan entered, a frown marking his jaw.

  Mason skipped the formalities. “What’s wrong?”

  Logan stepped forward. “When the orphanage first caught on fire, I put out a call in the neighborhood. I’d pay handsomely for information.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “A woman has come forward. Says that the men who attacked us were always coming in and out of a place on Fletcher Street.”

  Mason straightened as Clarissa stepped up next to him. “What does that mean? Is that where my blackmailer—”

  He slipped an arm about her. “Perhaps.”

  Logan cleared his throat. “There is only one way to find out.”

  Mason gave Clarissa a squeeze as she let out a gasp.

  “You’re not going to go there, are you?” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with fear.

  He hated to worry her but this was his job. “I’ll be fine, love.”

  “But you’re still recovering.” She looked to Logan. “Send the Bow Street Runners. You needn’t go.”

  Mason stepped away from his wife. He hadn’t wanted to worry her, but he’d had a suspicion about who had sent those letters and he wanted to confirm or deny those fears. “We’ll take them with us for certain. Whoever did this, should be arrested and prosecuted.”

  She reached up and touched his face. “We’ve only just put my past to rest. Why do this now?”

  He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Sweetheart, I promised to protect you always. Remember?”

  His statement was met with silence.

  “Logan will keep me safe.”

  “I will,” Logan answered. “But he’s right, Clarissa. This man has been threatening you for months. It’s time we took care of it.”

  “Bring Bash too,” she said as she looked down at the floor.

  “Fine,” he replied. His brother was damn good with a pistol. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  And then he slipped away from his wife.

  An hour later the carriage rolled up to the front of a dingy-looking building.

  “This place looks about right,” Bash said from his seat next to Mason.

  “The woman who came forward said they were in and out of the first floor. The residence on the left.”

  “That’s amazingly specific,” Bash replied, craning his neck to look out the window.

  Logan pushed back his curtain as well. “She lives just above. Said she saw the man who stays there in a priest’s collar on more than one occasion.”

  Mason’s fist clenched as he let out a low rumble. “It’s him. Father Byron. I’m sure of it.”

  “So what’s next?” Bash asked. “Are we going in there and pummeling a priest?”

  “We’ll wait for the Bow Street Runners,” Mason answered. Not because he didn’t wish to race in and plant his fist directly in Byron’s face but because he’d promised Clarissa.

  And he’d always keep his promises to her.

  “Seriously? You dragged me from the club to sit in the carriage?”

  “Clarissa insisted he bring you for assistance.”

  Bash chuckled. “That’s because my sister-in-law is extremely intelligent.”

  Mason didn’t respond. A carriage pulled up behind him and two men stepped out. The Runners.

  As silently as they could, they climbed out of the carriage. Quickly, introductions were made. Jensen was large with fists like anvils while Hastings was wiry and had the look of a man who could get out of any scrape.

  Mason allowed the two men to move to the head of the group as they all stepped into a narrow hall.

  “The first door on the left,” Logan whispered.

  Jensen gave a swift knock on the door.

  “Who is it?” a voice called from inside. Haughty and cold, Mason knew the sound of that voice anywhere. Byron.

  “It’s me,” Jensen called back.

  “Who?” Byron snapped and then the door swung open.

  It was over before it had even begun. In a matter of seconds Jensen and Hastings had the priest pinned to the floor. Mason didn’t even look at the man as he stepped into the filthy stinkhole. Scattered on the desk were various pieces of parchment. Picking one up, his hand closed into a fist. He’d been attempting to write another letter to Clarissa. This one detailing an exact drop location for the money.

  Mason let out a cold laugh. “This is all the proof you’ll need, gentleman.”

  “Proof?” Byron shrieked. “I’m only asking for what’s mine. She stole from me. I—”

  Mason let out a snarl of protest. “Never speak of the countess like that.”

  “Countess?” Byron’s eyes widened from his spot on the floor. “You married her?”

  “I did.” He drew up to full height despite the ache in his side. “I told you five years ago you’d pay for your crimes. He had me shot. He was attempting to extort money from my wife. Before that, he abused the children under his care.”

  “That’s enough for me,” Jensen said. He pulled Byron from the floor and began escorting him outside. “You’re coming with me.”

  Hastings looked over at Mason. “What did he mean that your wife owed him?”

  The room stilled as both Logan and Bash looked over at him. But Mason gave an easy smile. “I sent him to a tiny Scottish island after what he did to her. Since then, he’s created some wild story about her stealing from him. This woman is the same one who’s been running an orphanage in London. Plans to open several more. He’s attempting to denigrate her character in revenge.”

  Hastings gave a quick nod. “Been harassing her since her friend married the Earl of Goldthwaite?”

  “That’s correct,” Logan answered. “Tried to burn down the orphanage with the children inside.”

  “Scum.” Jensen spit. “Probably thought he’d found his golden goose.”

  Mason nodded, relief making his shoulders dip. It was over. Clarissa was safe now and forever.

  The rest of their life could begin.

  Epilogue

  April 1822

  Eight months later…

  *
* *

  Mason sat behind his desk at the new location of the Wicked Earls’ Club, a satisfied smile gracing his lips as he assessed his latest handiwork. The interior of the new location was nearly identical to the previous location. Dark wood paneling lined all the walls, rich and gleaming.

  His office was near the large ballroom that graced the second floor. Tucked in a quiet corner, it allowed him to observe the happenings of his Wicked Earls while being mostly unseen.

  A knock sounded at the door and the Earl of Alnwick entered, his flashing grin reminding Mason how wicked many of the men were. That was fine. They didn’t know what was headed their way.

  “The earls are all here.” The man said. “They barely fit, even in that large room.”

  Mason tipped back in his chair. He’d invited all the members, old and new, to see the new location. The old members were essential to his plan. “Excellent. I’ll be out in just a moment.”

  Alnwick paused. “I wasn’t sure about moving the club. We’d operated in the old location for a long time.”

  Mason nodded. “It was my hesitation too. But this place…”

  “It’s perfect.” Alnwick glanced around him, beaming with approval. “I agree.”

  Mason smiled back. He hadn’t actually said the words out loud, but they were in agreement. “It is. Tucked just enough off the beaten path to keep us anonymous while still keeping us and our guests…safe.”

  Alnwick gave a jerk of his chin and then turned to leave. Just before he stepped out the door, he turned back. “I like that you invited the old members, even if they did give up on our way of life.”

  Mason chuckled. “We’re all earls. Every one of you will marry eventually.”

  Alnwick cocked a brow. “Not if I can help it, I won’t.”

  Mason’s grin broadened. Perhaps one of the old earls could think of a potential bride for Alnwick. The man was in desperate need of reforming.

  But that project could wait.