Earl of Baxter (Lords of Scandal 8)

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’ve got you and I’m not going anywhere.”

She trembled. Somehow he pulled his mouth away and words bega

n to tumble from her lips. “He told me that I was to blame. That I was no good and that I never would be. Don’t you see. Those letters. They only prove it’s true. I bring pain to the people I love.”

“Blame for what? How can you be anything but good?” he asked. “Whoever sent those. That is the villain. Not you.”

A door banged in the distance and the laughter of men and women filtered down the hall and into the room.

The noise reminded her that they were not alone. That the safety she felt was an illusion.

She backed up a step, or she tried. “I should go.”

“No,” he said, splaying his hands out on her back. “We’ve barely begun talking. You were going to explain to me why we can never see each other again. Remember? Not many women turn down an earl’s proposal, so I am curious to know why.”

She cocked a brow. “Proposal?” But she relaxed against him again. He just felt so…right. “As far as I know, you proposed to Penny. Complicated since she’s already married.”

He chuckled and then placed a light kiss on her neck just below her ear. The tickly brush made her gasp and her eyes fluttered closed.

“Well, I’d rectify that, but you’ve already sworn the answer will be no.”

That made her smile. “I did indeed.”

“Which leads us back to your explanation. What did your father say was wrong with you?”

She swallowed. She couldn’t. Without realizing it, she shook her head back and forth.

“My father was the Duke of Devonhall but my mother…” He paused, his thumb sweeping across her lips. “Was not the duchess.”

“Oh,” she gasped, drawing him closer.

“My father hated the very sight of me. I was a reminder of his weakness, his lack of perfection.” He began to massage her scalp. “In fact, he told me on more than one occasion the world would have been a better place if I were never born.”

She choked on her indignation. How could a father be so cruel? Wanting to give him comfort, Clarissa threaded her gloved hands into his hair. She wished she could take them off and feel the texture of his hair. Were the locks as inviting as they looked? “How old were you?”

“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.