Page 42 of Affair

“Coward.”

He was left to face his father’s widow alone.

Maryann was fifty-two years of age. She had been eighteen when she had married Baxter’s father. The earl had been forty-three. It was his second marriage. His first had been childless and he was desperate for an heir.

The reigning belle of her Season, Maryann had had her pick of the eligible men of the ton but, at the prodding of her ambitious parents, she had set her cap for Esherton. He, in turn, had needed a virgin wife with an unblemished reputation and an impeccable family background. Their wedding had been the match of the Season. Everyone, including the earl’s long-standing mistress, Emma, Lady Sultenham, had attended the festivities.

With her petite figure, gray eyes, and honey-colored hair, Maryann was Emma’s opposite in almost every way. Baxter sometimes wondered if his father had selected her to be his countess because she did not resemble his dashing dark-haired, dark-eyed mistress or simply because he liked the variety.

Two years after the marriage, Emma, who was thirty-seven and considered herself safely past childbearing age, gave birth to the earl’s first son. Esherton had been very pleased with Baxter. He had thrown a huge party to celebrate the event. Unfortunately, nothing could alter the fact that Baxter was a bastard and therefore unable to inherit the title.

Another ten years had passed before Maryann had finally managed to produce an heir for her lord. Baxter was well aware that those years had not been easy for her. The earl had never bothered to conceal his affection for his illegitimate son or his intense passion for Emma.

Baxter did not like the grim determination in Maryann’s expression tonight. It did not bode well. As always when he was obliged to meet with her, he recalled the deathbed vows that had ensured that they could never ignore each other no matter how fervently each wished to do so.

His father had bound them together until Hamilton turned twenty-five. The scene was as vivid in his mind tonight as if the events had transpired yesterday. He had stood on one side of the massive four-poster bed. Maryann and Hamilton had stood on the opposite side.

“The time has come for me to say farewell to my two fine sons.” Arthur, the fourth Earl of Esherton, had gripped both Baxter’s and Hamilton’s hands. “I’m proud of both of you. You’re as different as night and day but you each carry my blood in your veins. Do you hear me, Hamilton?”

“Yes, Father.” Hamilton looked at Baxter, his eyes simmering with resentment.

The earl’s eyes switched to Baxter. “You’re Hamilton’s older brother. Never forget that.”

“I’m not likely to forget the fact that I’m related to him, sir.” Baxter was overcome by a strange sense of unreality. It was impossible to believe that the big, vital, larger-than-life man who had sired him was dying.

Esherton’s trembling hand tightened briefly on Baxter’s. “You’ve got a responsibility to him and his mother.”

“I doubt they’ll need anything from me.” Baxter felt the weakness in his father’s once-powerful fingers and had to blink back the dampness that threatened to film his eyes.

“You’re wrong,” Arthur whispered hoarsely. “Set it out in my will. You’ve got the sort of steady temperament it takes to handle money, Baxter. Damnation, son, you were born steady and reliable. Hamilton’s too young to handle the estates. You’ll have to deal with things until he’s twenty-five.”

“No.” Maryann was the first to realize the full significance of what her husband had said. Her hand went to her throat. “My lord, what have you done?”

Arthur turned his head on the pillow to look up at her. In spite of his weakened state he managed to produce a shadow of the wicked Esherton grin. “You’re prettier now than the day I married you, m’dear.”

“Esherton, please. What have you done?”

“No need to fret, Maryann. I’ve put Baxter in charge of the family finances until Hamilton gets a bit older.”

Maryann’s shocked gaze met Baxter’s. “There is no need for such an arrangement.”

“Afraid there is. Hamilton’s got my hot blood in him, my sweet. He needs time to learn how to control it. Don’t know how my two sons turned out so damned different, but there you are.” Esherton broke off on a racking cough.

Baxter felt his father slip a little further away into the waiting darkness. “Sir—”

Arthur recovered from the coughing fit and fell back, exhausted, against the pillows. “I know what I’m doing. Hamilton’s going to need your guidance and advice for a few years, Baxter.”

“Father, please,” Hamilton whispered. “I don’t need Baxter to handle my money and make decisions for me. I’m old enough to take care of the Esherton lands.”

“Just for a few more years.” Arthur gave a hoarse chuckle. “Give yourself a chance to sow your wild oats. Who better to keep an eye on you than your older brother, eh?”

“But he’s not really my brother,” Hamilton insisted. “He’s just my half brother.”

“You’re brothers, by God.” For a moment a measure of the earl’s old strength burned in his amber eyes. He looked fiercely at Baxter. “Do you understand me, son? You’re Hamilton’s brother. You have a responsibility to look after him. I want your oath on it.”

Baxter gripped his father’s hand. “I understand. Please, calm yourself, sir.”

“Your oath, by God.”

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