Earl of Gold (Lords of Scandal 7)

She shushed him with a soft pat and a gentle stroke on his arm. “That’s very kind.” Then her fingers stilled, her grip tightening on his arm. “But death isn’t the worst this world brings. I know that for certain.”

A wave of anger washed over him. “What’s happened to you that makes you say such things?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Tell me,” he grit out. Somehow it was important to know.

She shrugged. “My father wasn’t a good man.”

Dear Lord. He knew about bad fathers. He’d suffered at the hands of a father who’d been callously cruel. But somehow, this girl seemed even more vulnerable. “Why not?”

She shook her head. “He gambled away every shilling we had. The money from his family, my mother’s money. Even the money she left me. He told me he’d replace it but…” She trailed off, clasping her hands in her lap. “Then he took his own life. The priest here says he’ll go to Hell for it.”

Her voice shook, and he tried to lift his fingers once again and stroke her face. He almost succeeded.

“My father will join him. Perhaps they’ll be friends.”

She shook her head, her eyes growing wide with a fear he didn’t understand. “Do you ever worry that you’ll go there too?”

He narrowed his gaze, lifting his head. “You are an angel. Hell is not the place you’ll go.”

“I might,” she whispered. She’d stopped grooming him and her small fingers slipped into his larger hands. “I have to leave this place. But the things I’ve done. The things I am going to do…” she shivered. “God forgive me.”

He wanted to ask her what she planned. What terrible sins she’d committed that had her so worried. More than that, he wished to assure her that she needn’t worry. Of course, God would forgive her. She was helpless child just trying to—

“Clarissa,” a voice boomed across the basement. Her hand dropped from his and she scrambled to her feet. Only then did he realize she’d been sitting on a narrow strip of cot, her hip pressed to his. He felt cold without her heat.

“Yes, Father?”

For a moment, his thoughts jumbled. His father, here? The voice of the other man had reminded him of his own patriarch. Cold and cruel. But that was nonsense. How could the duke have come here? He realized he’d used what little energy he’d had talking with this girl.

But he pushed his eyes open again. Fear for Clarissa washed through his body and he started to sit up too, but a small hand pushed him back down.

“What have I told you about sitting idle?” the angry voice drew closer.

“It’s the devil’s work,” Clarissa answered. She folded her hands in front of her and bowed her head.

“That’s right.” Footsteps approached as robes swished. “If I catch you being idle again, it’s the switch for you.”

“But he needed attending,” she said, her voice rising as an edge of defiance crept in.

Mason watched as her chin tilted up and her folded hands curled with tension. The air whistled and then a crack rang out. He opened his eyes, shocked. Clarissa hadn’t made a sound, but she’d tucked her hands behind her back, and he could clearly see a red welt forming across her ivory skin.

His body jerked on the cot as rage welled inside him. His little angel was being punished for those brief moments of comfort she’d given him? The injustice made him want to scream a battle cry. But his body refused to cooperate.

And then she lightly touched his fingers again. Looking down, past her simple dress of serviceable fabric, he noted that her feet were bare.

The priest must have seen it too because he demanded, “Where are your shoes?”

She dropped into a curtsey. “I shall get them.”

The other man’s lip curled. “What have I told you about not wearing them?”

He felt her slight tremble. “That only harlots and—”

“Enough,” Mason’s voice ripped from his chest. “That is enough.” Something deep inside him stirred. He had to live. This little angel needed protecting and there didn’t seem to be anyone else to do it.

“Mind your business, Captain, or you’ll have to find another place to recover.”