Earl of Baxter (Lords of Scandal 8)

Clarissa sat facing forward with a child on either side, the oldest girl facing back.

He sat down next to the child, pulling the door shut behind him and tapping his cane on the back wall for the driver to start. No turning back now.

The reins snapped and the carriage started to roll.

“What are you doing?” Clarissa gasped.

The girl on the seat next to him jumped up and scurried to the other bench, squeezing herself next to the other girls.

Inwardly, he winced. If he were attempting to woo her into a deal, like he did in business, he would have considered this a very poor start. “We need to talk.”

She stared at him, blinking several times. “What is it you wish to say, huntsman?”

What on earth was happening?

Clarissa stared at the earl across from her. “Clearly you’re mad,” she said, her heart beating against her ribs. Was it fear? Somehow, she didn’t think it was. “Why would you jump in here with everyone watching?” So much for avoiding worldly sins. Now she’d be considered close to ruin thanks to the Earl of Baxter.

He cocked his head. “Are you married?” Then he winced.

Did he regret the question? Why?

She willed herself to breathe, quieting down the thrumming in her veins. His actions and questions were getting ridiculous and completely inappropriate. “You should know that I have a pocket in my dress.”

It was his turn, finally, to look confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“In that pocket is my derringer,” she lied, but she’d always been good at the bluff. It’s why she’d made a decent thief. And was even better at protecting herself. “Which happens to be pointed directly at your chest.” Leaning forward, she gave him a long look. “These girls mean the world to me.”

His brow creased. “You do know that I donated a large sum to your orphanage, correct? And that I helped Goldthwaite secure a new home for all of you. A very nice one.” He held out his hands in front of him. “I’m here to help you.”

His words eased some of her tension. She’d forgotten that he’d been one of their donors. She’d have to talk to Penny. Had they collected enough funds to keep the place running? Perhaps she could stop worrying about her father’s secrets and her own misdeeds. Finally. “Thank you?”

He combed his fingers through his hair. “You’re welcome.”

“You climbed into my carriage to share that?” she asked, still trying to decide what to do. Did she scream and have the driver stop? Did she find out why the earl was here? She still couldn’t shake the feeling she knew him.

Without a word, she reached for his cane and plucked it from his hand and then swung it up and tapped on the wall. “Stop,” she called, and the carriage immediately drew to a halt.

“I thought you might hit me,” he said, gently pulling his cane from her grasp.

His fingers brushed hers and the strangest tingling of nerves shot all through her body. “It was one possible plan.” She sat back down and slid her hand back in her pocket. “I believe it’s time for you to exit.”

He leaned forward, the intensity of his gaze making her heart race and her blood rush in her veins. “But I have so much more to say.”

“Such as?” she huffed, her chest tightening. He made her nervous, and not just because he’d jumped in her carriage. There was something about him that was…exciting. And familiar. Which was ridiculous. She didn’t know this man. He couldn’t be her captain. And she wouldn’t ask. Any minute now he’d leave the carriage and her life forever. Logan would follow the carriage and the rest of the party would overtake them.

“Did you live in a church in Dover six years ago?”

His voice remained even, though she was dimly aware of his hand tightening on the top of his cane. Her own breath ceased in her throat. A jolt of pure energy shot down her spine.

It was him. Her soldier from all those years ago sat across from her now. And more than that, he’d tracked her down, jumped i

n her carriage. He’d remembered her and she’d recognized him, even all these years later. It was a miracle.

The Captain. The one man to whom she’d spilled her darkest secret. Despite the cold winter air heat made her flush. What would he do with the information he knew about her? Why was he here and why had she told him so much? He’d looked so vulnerable then.

But the truth was, she didn’t know a thing about him.

And then there were the letters. Three in the last six months, all from a person in her past, dead set on revenge. The writer hadn’t given his identity but he’d said he knew things about her. Things that would destroy her life. He wanted money in exchange for his silence.