Earl of Baxter (Lords of Scandal 8)

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.