you?”
“I’m twelve.” She took a wet rag and wiped down his face with a gentle touch, light as her soft fingers brushed back his hair to make way for the damp cloth. No one had touched him like this in ages. “How old are you?”
“That is young,” he answered, closing his eyes again. This time in pleasure. It would be nice to die with such a tender hand at his face. “I’m twenty and one.”
“Twenty and one?” she said, undoing the ties at his chest, bathing his neck and then collarbone. “You’re young too. At least, that is far too young to die.”
He shook his head. “I watched men far younger lose their lives,” he said to himself, then wondered if he should have shared such darkness with someone so young.
She ceased bathing him. The words were on the tip of his tongue to ask her to begin again but then the soft bristles of a brush touched his hair and he nearly groaned aloud the brush felt so good on his scalp. She was exquisitely gentle, and his fever-ravaged body reveled in the touch.
She sighed in answer. “I’m sure you did. I’ve had to watch that too, I’m afraid. You and I, we don’t get the luxury of naiveté, do we?”
He wished he could cry out in protest. He was a man after all. The world was meant to be hard on him. But she, she was still just a girl. Her blue eyes should dance with delight, not death. “It isn’t fair.” His fists clenched in the sheet at his side and some measure of strength returned to his body. It was as though she were breathing life into him. “A girl as innocent as you should not have to see the darkness of the world.”
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.”
His little angel was already backing away. “No need, father. I’ll get them on right now.” And then she scurried away.
Mason stared at the priest, who watched Clarissa’s retreat, his back stiff and straight, his expression unyielding. He made a promise to himself, right then and there to get better. She needed him. Clarissa. And he would rescue her if it was the last thing he did.
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Find Earl of Baxter on Amazon! Earl of Baxter
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Also coming in the Lords of Scandal series:
Duke of Decadence
Marquess of Menace
Duke of Dishonor
Baron of Blasphemy
Earl of Infamy
Viscount of Vanity
Laird of Longing
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About the Author
Tammy Andresen lives with her husband and three children just outside of Boston, Massachusetts. She grew up on the Seacoast of Maine, where she spent countless days dreaming up stories in blueberry fields and among the scrub pines that line the coast. Her mother loved to spin a yarn and Tammy filled many hours listening to her mother retell the classics. It was inevitable that at the age of eighteen, she headed off to Simmons College, where she studied English literature and education. She never left Massachusetts but some of her heart still resides in Maine and her family visits often.
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Find out more about Tammy:
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Other Titles by Tammy
Romancing the Rake
When only an Indecent Duke Will Do
How to Catch an Elusive Earl
Where to Woo a Bawdy Baron
When a Marauding Marquess is Best
What a Vulgar Viscount Needs
Who Wants a Brawling Baron
When to Dare a Dishonorable Duke
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Lords of Scandal
Duke of Daring
Marquess of Malice
Earl of Exile
Viscount of Vice
Baron of Bad
Earl of Sin
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The Wicked Wallflowers
Earl of Dryden
Too Wicked to Woo
Too Wicked to Wed
Too Wicked to Want
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How to Reform a Rake
Don’t Tell a Duke You Love Him
Meddle in a Marquess’s Affairs
Never Trust an Errant Earl
Never Kiss an Earl at Midnight
Make a Viscount Beg
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Wicked Lords of London
Earl of Sussex
My Duke’s Seduction
My Duke’s Deception
My Earl’s Entrapment
My Duke’s Desire
My Wicked Earl
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Brethren of Stone
The Duke’s Scottish Lass
Scottish Devil
Wicked Laird
Kilted Sin
Rogue Scot
The Fate of a Highland Rake
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A Laird to Love
Christmastide with my Captain
My Enemy, My Earl
Heart of a Highlander
A Scot’s Surrender
A Laird’s Seduction
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Taming the Duke’s Heart
Taming a Duke’s Reckless Heart
Taming a Duke’s Wild Rose
Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady
Taming a Rake into a Lord
Taming a Savage Gentleman
Taming a Rogue Earl
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Fairfield Fairy Tales
Stealing a Lady’s Heart
Hunting for a Lady’s Heart
Entrapping a Lord’s Love: Coming in February of 2018
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American Historical Romance
Lily in Bloom
Midnight Magic
The Golden Rules of Love
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Boxsets!!
Taming the Duke’s Heart Books 1-3
American Brides
A Laird to Love
Wicked Lords of London