by Affair (lit)
We will be nearly blind until we get back outside. Do not let go of
my arm. "Why don't we wait until we are back on the street before we
put out the lantern?" "Because I don't want to take the chance of having anyone
notice our departure." "But no one will be able to see us in the fog," Charlotte protested.
"The glow of the lantern will be visible, even if our faces are
not. Are you ready?"
She gave him an odd, searching look. He thought she was going to continue to argue about the lantern. But something she must have seen in his face apparently convinced her to let the subject drop. She tightened her grip on the sketchbook and nodded once, very quickly.
Baxter put out the light. The darkness of the kitchen enclosed them in an instant.
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RelYing on his memory of the room, Baxter led the way back to
the door. it opened easily, with only a small, betraying squeak. The dim glare of fog-reflected lamplight beckoned from the street above
the front area.
Charlotte put a foot on the first of the stone steps. Baxter seized her arm again and held her still. She obediently came to a halt,
waiting, for him to signal her that it was safe to continue on up to
the street
Mercifully, she did not ask any more questions. He was grateful for her continued silence. He stood listening intently for a moment.
The rattle of carriage wheels on the paving stones sounded from somewhere in the distance but there was no indication that anyone waited nearby.
Baxter nudged Charlotte gently. She hastened up the steps. He followed swiftly. When they reached the street he turned and drew
her toward the park, where the carriage waited.
The shadows in front of them shifted without warning. A massive figure loomed out of the mist. The heavily built man was garbed in a bulky coachman's coat and a low-crowned hat. The
glare of the nearby gas lamp glinted dully on the large, longbarreled pistol in his beefy fist. "Well, now, what 'ave we 'ere?" the man asked in a rasping voice. "Looks like a couple of gentry coves nosin' around in my business."
Baxter heard Charlotte draw a sharp, alarmed breath, but she did not cry out.
11 Stand aside," Baxter ordered. "Not so fast." There was enough light to see several large, dark holes in places where the villain's teeth should have been. "You just came out of my house and I ain't lettin' you leave with anything that belongs to me." "Your house?" Charlotte stared at him in amazement. "How dare you? I happen to know that particular house was recently "Ined by someone else."
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Amanda Quick
"Uh, Miss Arkendale," Baxter said softly. "This may not be a
good time-" "It's my house, I tell ye," the big man snarled at Charlotte. "I
spotted it three nights back and I been watchin' it real close ever
since. "Watching it for what reason?" Charlotte demanded. "Making sure the owner was gone for a good long while and weren't planning to come back unexpected-like in the middle of the
night, of course." "Good heavens, you're a professional housebreaker." "I am that, right enough. Real professional." The man grinned with pride. "Never been caught on account of I'm real careful.
Always make sure the owners are out of town before I go in and help meself. I was getting ready to make my move tonight and what do I see? A couple of the fancy trying to beat me out of my profits."
Baxter softened his voice. "I said, stand aside. I will not tell you
again.
Glad to hear that. Ain't got time for any dull lectures to-
night." The man dismissed Baxter with one last, mocking glance and turned his toothless grin back on Charlotte. "Now, then, Madam Busybody, just what did ye make off with? A bit of the silver, perhaps? A few trinkets from the jewelry drawer? Whatever it is, it belongs to me. Hand it over."
"We took no valuables from that house," Charlotte declared. "Must have taken something." The man scowled at the sketch-
book. "What's that?" "Just a book. It's nothing to do with you." "I ain't interested in no book, but I'll have a look at whatever ve got inside that cloak. I'll wager ye tucked a few nice candlesticks and maybe a necklace or two in there. Open that cloak." "I will do no such thing," Charlotte said with icy disdain. "Mouthy bitch, aren't ye? Well, here's a little illustration of what'll 'appen if ye don't give me my rightful earnings."
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The man whipped around with surprising speed. He brought the pistol up high as if it were a club and swung it in a short, savage arc airried at Baxter's head. "No," Charlotte gasped. "Wait, don't hurt him. He merely works for me."
Baxter was already moving, ducking swiftly to avoid the slash-
ing pistol. He yanked one of the glass vials out of the small box in
his pocket, snapped it open, and hurled it straight into his assailant's face.
The special phosphorous compound flashed into a harsh, startling light on contact with air. The villain roared in shock and rage and awkwardly leaped back, clawing at his eyes. The pistol clattered on the paving.
Baxter stepped forward and slammed a fist into the man Is jaw. Still partially blinded by the instantaneous light that had exploded in his face, the villain reeled. "Ye've blinded me, ye bloody bastard. I'm blind."
Baxter saw no reason to assure him that the effect was only temporary. He seized Charlotte's arm. "Come. I hear the carriage. 11
"It ain't fair," the villain whined. "I'm the one what spotted that vacant house. It's mine. Go find yet own house."
Charlotte glanced back at the outraged villain. "We're going to
inform the magistrate that you're skulking about in this neighborhood. You'd better leave at once." "That's enough." Baxter saw the carriage lamps in the distance. He hauled Charlotte forward. "We've got our own problems." "I don't want that villain to think that he can go into Mrs. Heskett's house and steal whatever he likes." "Why not? We just did exactly that." "Taking this sketchbook is a different matter entirely," she protested breathlessly. "Hmm." The carriage was almost upon them. "I must tell you, I was most impressed with the way you han-
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Amanda Quick
dled that situation, Mr. St. Ives. Very clever of you to think of using your instantaneous lights in that fashion. Very clever, indeed."
Baxter ignored the admiration in her words. He was too intent on watching the dark carriage materialize out of the fog.
The horses appeared first, a pair of gray phantoms coalescing Ota
of the mist. The bulk of the vehicle took shape behind them. T11(l coachman, hired from Severedges Stables along with the carria,,c
and team, had driven for Baxter many times. He was accustomed to
the eccentricities of his client.
Baxter had patronized the large livery stable for years. He foutid it more efficient and economical to send around to Severedges's whenever he required a carriage than to maintain his own stable. In
exchange for his long-standing business and prompt payment of accounts, he was assured of service and discretion.
"Anything wrong, sit?" the coachman inquired as he wheeled
the horses to a halt.
"Nothing that my companion and I could not handle." Baxter
yanked the carriage door open. He caught Charlotte around theT waist and tossed her lightly into the cab. "Take us back to Miss@
Arkendale's house."
"Aye, sir."
Baxter vaulted into the carriage, closed the door, and sank down on the seat across from Charlotte. The vehicle rumbled into motion.
He checked to make certain that the curtains were still drawn across the windows. Then he turned back to Charlotte. In the pale glow of the interior lamps, her eyes were very brilliant. "Mr. St. Ives, I cannot thank you enough for your actions to-
night," she said. "You were truly noble and heroic and terribly quick-
witted in the crisis. All of my doubts concerning your em-
ployment have been resolved. Mr. Marcle was quite right to send
you to me."
Anger surged through him without warning. She could h,,,,,e gotten herself killed tonight, he thought. And there she sat, glowing with enthusiasm and praising him as if he were a servant who
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had performed his duties particularly well. It was enough to make
any reasonable man want to lose his temper. "I am delighted that you are satisfied with my services, Miss Arkendale." "Oh, I am, sit. Most delighted. You will, indeed, make me an
excellent rrian-of-affairs." "But In my professional opinion," he continued very softly, "your reckless actions this evening were intolerable. There is no excuse for
such foolishness. I must have been out of my mind to allow you to
search DrUSIlla Heskett's house." "I do not recall asking your permission, sit." "You could have been hurt, perhaps even killed by that man
who accosted us." "I was in no danger, thanks to you, sit. Indeed, I do not know
what I would have done without you this evening." Her eyes glowed. "No man has ever come to my rescue, Mr. St. Ives. It was
quite thrilling, actually. just the sort of thing one reads about in Gothic novels or in one of Byron's poems." "Bloody hell, Miss Arkendale-" "You were wonderful, sit." Without warning, she launched herself across the short distance that separated them. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a quick, exuberant hug.
The folds of her cloak settled lightly around him. Baxter was
suddenly enveloped by a warm, tantalizing, indescribable fragrance. It was composed of the light flowery perfume Charlotte wore, the herbal essence of the soap she used, and the incredibly unique, utterly feminine scent of her body.
He felt as though he had been thrust into one of his own bell )ars- Some unseen air pump seemed to have sucked all of the oxygen out of the atmosphere. All that was left to breathe was the essence of Charlotte.
A searing awareness flashed through him with the speed of an electrical charge. It created a truly alchemical reaction. The ancients had believed that, with the aid of fire, it was possible to transmute
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base lead into glorious gold. Baxter knew now that it was possible for the heat in his blood to change his anger into intense sexual desire.
He wanted her. Now. Tonight. He had never wanted a woman so badly in the whole of his life.
He caught her face between his palms as she started to pull away from him. He gazed down at her, baffled by the force of his own nee'A
d.
"Forgive me, Mr. St. Ives." Charlotte looked flustered. Her smile was tremulous. Her eyes went to his mouth. "I did not mean to embarrass you. The excitement of the moment must have over-
come my senses.
Baxter did not respond. He could not think of a damn thing to say.
He did the only thing he could do. He kissed her.
For an instant, Charlotte did not understand what had happened. She knew only that Baxter's mouth was on hers and that he was kissing her. And then it dawned on her. He was making love to
her. Right there in the carriage.
The flames of the fierce, vital passion that she had seen in his
eyes at their first meeting had exploded. They dazzled her senses the
way instantaneous lights dazzled one's vision.
It was as though she had walked into a strange, bewildering room that glittered with too many mirrors and sparkled with an
unnatural number of massed candles. It was both thrilling and con-
fusing and a little frightening. She could not see the door. She was not certain how she would escape should escape prove necessary.
Baxter's mouth moved on hers, deepening the kiss. He gave a husky groan. His hands tightened gently on her face until she was acutely aware of the strength in him. She could feel the muscles in his thighs. They were taut and hard and unyielding against her leg.
A startling warmth invaded her. It pooled in her lower body and caused her to shiver from head to foot. She had never reacted to anything or anyone in such an odd manner. "Charlotte." Baxter's voice was low and infinitely compelling. It
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Amanda Quick
contained need and insistent demand and an aching sense of longing. "Charlotte."
She gripped his shoulders. Her lips parted of their own accord.
He tore his mouth free for a moment, raised his head slightly, and stared down at her with an intensity that should have terriE.,,l her. The lamplight glittered on the gold frames of his eyeglasscs. Fire burned in his amber eyes.
The eyes of an alchemist, she thought. With an abrupt, impatient movement, Baxter jerked off his spectacles and tossed them onto the opposite seat. "Bloody hell. What have you done to me?"
She shook her head, unable to look away. She realized she was clinging to his shoulders as though afraid she might fall into a
bottomless sea if she let go of him. "I was about to ask you the same
question. "Bloody hell." He lowered his mouth to hers once more.
She felt his hand slip inside the hood of her cloak to cup the nape of her neck. His fingers were strong and warm. The intimacy of the caress sent another wave of excitement through her.
He shifted his hold on her so that she was draped across his
thighs. He cradled her in the curve of one arm and bent his head to kiss her throat. He pushed aside the folds of her cloak.
Charlotte heard her own soft gasp as Baxter's hand closed over
her breast. She could feel the heat of his palm straight through the thin wool of her gown. But she could not bring herself to pull away. A stunning sense of urgency infused her entire body. She tugged at
the lapels of his greatcoat. "Mr. St. Ives-"
His hand moved slowly down over the curve of her breast and tightened on her hip. He squeezed carefully.
11 Dear heaven," she whispered, shaken. The solid, heavy length of his manhood pressed against hcr thigh. She closed her eyes as she sank beneath another wave of
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sensation. She felt as if she had slipped into a delicious trance.
Perhaps this was how it felt to undergo a session of mesmerism.
She put her hands inside Baxter's coat, desperate for the feel of
him. She was enthralled by what she found. Through the fabric of his linen shirt she could distinguish the sleek, powerful muscles of his chest. The heat and scent of him were intoxicating. She wanted more, so much more.
He gathered up her tumbled skirts and the flowing folds of the cloak. He lifted them above her knees. Charlotte shivered again when he touched the inside of her thigh. He stroked her bare skin above her neatly tied garter. A shock went through her.
The carriage slowed to a halt.
Charlotte froze. Reality returned in a rush.
"Bloody hell." Baxter straightened quickly. He leaned across
Charlotte and snatched his spectacles off the cushion. Then he moved a carriage curtain aside. "We have arrived at your house. How the devil did we get here so quickly? I had several things I wished to say to you tonight." "And I had much to discuss with you." Charlotte struggled to
collect herself She felt awkward and off balance. She also felt flushed and breathless and filled with a strange sense of anticipation. "We did not even begin to discuss the events of the evening." "No, we did not." He watched her with grim, narrowed eyes as
she scooted back to the opposite seat and composed herself. "I shall call upon you tomorrow."
His curt manner had the effect of lowering her spirits. The man had just been kissing her with great passion, she thought, and now he was speaking to her as if she had offended him. Then it struck her that he was no doubt deeply shaken by the emotions that had briefly overcome both of them.
In truth, she was just as disturbed by the tumultuo
us embrace. But as Baxter's employer, it was her responsibility to take charge of the situation. Baxter was no doubt castigating himself quite sav-
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Amanda Quick
agely for having succumbed to the more passionate elements of his
nature.
She leaned forward to touch his hand in what she hoped was a
reassuring fashion. "Do not concern yourself, sit. You are in no way to blame for what just occurred. That sort of intense emotion is often precipitated by excitement and danger. Our encounter with
that dreadful man outside Mrs. Heskett's house was the cause of our
heightened emotions."
Baxter gazed at her very steadily. "Do you think so?" "Yes, of course. It is the only explanation. The threat of violence can open a floodgate of intense passions." "You have had a great deal of experience with this type OC thing?" "Well, no, not exactly," she admitted. "But I have read enough Byron to know that what happened to us just now was not unusual.
When one faces danger, all of one's senses are aroused and and stimulated."
"Good God. You are basing your conclusions on the work of a
bloody poet?"
She was a little hurt by his obvious disdain. "Byron writes very convincingly of the darker passions. He appears to have a sound
comprehension of their effects. I feel that one can learn a great deal from his work and the work of the other romantic poets." "That would be laughable were it not so ludicrous."
"I am attempting to give you a logical explanation for an event that has clearly troubled you, Mr. St. Ives."
He glanced down at her hand, where it rested on his. When he
looked up there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "Thank You, Miss Arkendale, but I believe I will survive the experience without having to resort to your odd logic. The day I seek explanations and illumination from a damned poet will be the day that I comnlic myself to Bedlam."
She hastily removed her hand from his thigh. Baxter was in a
foul mood. There was no point attempting to soothe him tonight.
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"Very well, sit," she said, determined to sound cheerful and
