AmandaQuick-Affair.txt

by Affair (lit)

  unruffled. "I'm sure that by morning we shall both have forgotten all about the entire affair."

  He said nothing for the space of several seconds. A couple of thuds outside announced that the coachman had jumped down from the box. "That remains to be seen," Baxter said finally.

  Charlotte drew a steadying breath. "Tomorrow when you call, we shall compare our observations of Mrs. Heskett's house." "Yes." "I will have had a chance to look through her watercolor sketchbook. Perhaps I shall discover something useful in it." "I doubt that." Baxter leaned forward and caught her chin on

  the edge of his hand. "Listen to me and listen well. I shall see you safely inside your house tonight. You will make certain that every window is locked and the doors securely bolted before you retire to bed. "

  She blinked. "Of course, Mr. St. Ives. I always check the locks before I retire. It is a very old habit, I assure you. But I doubt that there is any cause for particular alarm tonight. That villain who accosted us was in no condition to have followed this carriage through the fog." "You may be correct, but you will do exactly as I tell you, nevertheless. Is that clear?"

  Charlotte sensed intuitively that it would not be a sound notion to allow Baxter to gain the upper hand In their association. She must stay in command. "I appreciate your concern, but I am your emPloyer. While I am willing to listen to your advice, you must cornPrehend that I form my own opinions and make my own decisions." "You will do more than listen to my advice, Charlotte," Baxter said with an infuriating calm. "You will heed it."

  The carriage door opened at that moment. Very much aware of the coachman standing politely in the shadows, Charlotte contented herself with a raised brow. "You proved yourself an excellent assis-

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  tant tonight, sit, but there are no doubt other qualified persoiis available who could replace you. If you wish to retain your post, you will do well to exhibit at least a modicum of deference to yotir employer. "

  Amusement glittered briefly in his eyes. "Are you threatening to dismiss me, Charlotte? After all we have been through tonight-) I am crushed. "

  His silent laughter was so infuriating that she did not trust

  herself to respond in front of the coachman. Without a word, Charlotte collected her skirts and prepared to descend from the carriabre.

  The coachman handed her down with grave politeness. In the weak glow of the carriage lamps she could not be certain of the expression on his carefully blank features but Charlotte could have sworn that she saw a flicker of amused sympathy on his face.

  Baxter followed her out of the carriage, took her arm, and walked her up the front steps to her door. He took the key from her hand and inserted it into the lock. "Good night, Mr. St. Ives .11 Charlotte stepped into the hall and

  turned to face him. She summoned the sort of cool, authoritative smile that was proper for an employer to bestow upon a person in her service who had done a good night's work. "I must tell you again how very pleased I am with the dramatic demonstration of your professional skills that I witnessed this evening." "Thank you." Baxter planted a broad hand on the door frame

  and regarded her with a considering expression. "There is just one

  th ing. "

  11 What is that, sir?" "Perhaps you should consider calling me by my given name. I

  see no point in attempting to maintain a great deal of formality between us under the circumstances."

  She stared at him, speechless. Apparently satisfied with her reaction, he reached out wid

  gently pulled the door closed in her face.

  Owl,

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  @Twenty minutes later Baxter was still seething as he strode through the door of his library. He could not believe his stunning loss of self-contro,1. "Bloody hell. 11

  He crossed the room to the small table near the fireplace and picked up the crystal decanter that sat there. He was the master of his own emotions, he told himself savagely. He was a man of science. He had worshiped at the altar of logic and reason and control all of his life.

  He splashed brandy into a glass. He could not even remember when he had learned to keep all of his feelings under a strict rein. It was something he had always understood, something he had always known how to do. Even in the midst of his brief sexual liaisons he never allowed passion to overwhelm common sense. He had seen firsthand the damage that could result.

  He took a deep swallow of the potent brandy and savored the fire.

  To make matters worse, Charlotte had had the unmitigated nerve to inform him that the explanation for his behavior could be found in Byron's overheated, melodramatic poetry.

  It was enough to make a man lock himself in the sanctuary of his laboratory and never emerge.

  He threw himself down into his favorite reading chair and contemplated the flames on the hearth. They reminded him of Charlotte. Both produced extremely volatile chemical reactions of the sort that could burn an unwary man.

  He closed his eyes but the threat of the fire did not vanish. In his mind he saw again the flames that glowed red in Charlotte's lanternlit hair. He wanted to sink his fingers deep into their dangerous warmth. His hand tightened violently around the brandy glass.

  He had not been the only one who had lost control in the carriage, he reminded himself Charlotte's response to him had been unmistakable. If the coachman had not halted the vehicle, the even1rig would have had a different ending.

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  He had a vivid image of Charlotte's soft thighs wrapped around his waist, her small nails pressed deep into his back.

  He took another swallow of brandy, aware that he could still

  taste Charlotte. His head was filled with her scent. His palm re-

  membered the shape of one exquisitely rigid nipple.

  It was going to be a long night. Logic and sound reasoning would do him little good this eve-

  ning. He knew he would not be able to banish the memory of Charlotte in his arms. It was too riveting, too compelling.

  But the next time he saw her, he would be in command of himself. He would not allow his self-control to slip again.

  He glanced at his glass and saw that he had already emptied it.

  He made to set it down on the table beside the chair. A folded and sealed sheet of foolscap was in the way. He recognized it immediately. It was a note that had been delivered earlier, shortly before he had left the house to meet Charlotte.

  It was from his father's widow, Maryann, Lady Esherton. It was

  the third message she had sent this week.

  "Bloody hell." With a sense of resignation, Baxter picked up the letter and broke the seal.

  The message was almost identical to the other two notes Mary-

  ann had dispatched to him during the past few days. It was very

  short and to the point.

  Dear Baxter:

  I wish to speak with you. The matter is most urgent. I request that you call upon me at your earliest convenience.

  Yours very truly,

  Lady E

  Baxter crumpled the note and tossed it onto the fire just as he

  had the earlier notes from Maryann. Her notion of a crisis did not

  equate with his own. Maryann's gravest problems tended to revolve around money, specifically the Esherton fortune. Baxter's father had

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  I.ft hirn in charge of the inheritance until Maryann's son, Hamilton, reached the age of twenty-five. Maryann was not pleased with the arrangement. Nor was Hamilton, for that matter.

  Baxter had a few more years of the thankless task to endure

  before he could dump the entire responsibility Into his half

  brother's lap.

  irripatiently, he pushed aside his old problems and considered the new set he had acquired. He propped his elbows on the leather arms of the chair, steepled his fingers, and gazed into the fire.

  Whatever else could be said about
the night's events, one

  thing was clear. There was danger afoot and Charlotte was in the midst of it.

  n the black and crimson chamber the coals on the brazier burned low. The rich, spicy vapors of the incense had opened his senses. His mind was attuned to the forces of the metaphysical plane. He was ready. "Read the cards, my love," he whispered.

  The fortune-teller turned over the first card. "The golden gri ffin.

  I IA man."

  "Always." The fortune-teller looked at him across the low table. "Beware. The griffin would stand in your way." "Will he be able to alter my plans?" She turned over another card, hesitated. "The phoenix." She reached for the next card, placed it faceup. "The red ring." "Well?" "No. The golden griffin may prove difficult but ultimately you Will prevail."

  He smiled. "Yes. Now tell me about the woman." The fortune-teller turned over another card. "The lady with the crystal eyes. She searches." "But she will not find."

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  The fortune-teller shook her head. "No. She will not find what

  she seeks."

  "She's only'a woman, after all. She will not be a problem."

  And neither would the fortune-teller be a problem when this was finished, he thought. He would dispose of her when the tirne came. She was useful at the moment, however, and it was a simple matter to hold her in thrall with the bonds of her own passions.

  What do you make of this curious design, Ariel?" Charlotte pushed Drusilla Heskett's watercolor sketchbook across her desk.

  "You are more conversant with current fashion than 1. Have you

  ever seen anything similar?"

  Ariel paused in the act of pouring another cup of tea. She glanced at the sketchbook, which was open to a page near the middle. Her eyes widened as she gazed at the picture of a nude

  statue that decorated the left side of the paper. "Uh, no," Ariel said dryly. "I do not believe that I have ever

  encountered anything similar to that particular design."

  Charlotte gave her a reproving glare. "Not the picture of the statue. The little drawing in the corner. It appears to be a circle

  with a triangle inside. And there are little tiny figures around the edges and in the center of the triangle." "Yes, I see." Ariel shook her head. "It bears no resemblance to

  any of the fashionable motifs I have seen in La Belle Assemblie or

  Ackermann's Repository of the Arts. Perhaps one of the other ladies'

  magazines contains such a design." "Perhaps it is Egyptian or Roman."

  "I do not believe so." With the tip of one finger, Ariel traced the poorly drawn pattern. "Heaven knows there are any number of decorative designs that have been copied from Egyptian and Roman antiquities. Every modiste and decorator in London uses them. And since ancient Zamar has come into fashion we have seen a great

  many doll)hlns and shells. But this design is not familiar to me.

  i . I Why is I[ of interest?" "For sorne reason Drusilla Heskett saw fit to copy it onto this

  page in her watercolor sketchbook. A sketchbook she appears to

  have d evoted entirely to pictures of nude statues."

  Ariel glanced up with an inquiring look. "But this is not a

  watercolor picture. It is a drawing made with pen and ink." "Yes. And it is completely unlike all of the other scenes in the sketchbook." "Indeed." Ariel smiled faintly. "I wonder if Mrs. Heskett is

  typical of the sort of client you hope to attract from the fashionable

  circles. She appears to have had a lively interest in the male figure." "Yes, well, I suppose her tastes are no longer very important. What bothers me is that I cannot help but wonder why she chose to

  add this extremely strange design to her book."

  "What is that reddish brown stain on the binding?" Ariel asked. "Spilled watercolor paint?" "Perhaps." Charlotte touched the stain with her fingertips. "But what if it is dried blood?"

  "Dear heaven."

  "What if Mrs. Heskett lived long enough after she was shot to shove this sketchbook under the wardrobe?" Charlotte whispered. "You will likely never know for certain." "No, I suppose not." Charlotte nibbled on her lower lip, thinking of the possibilities.

  Ariel picked up her teacup and regarded Charlotte over the

  6111. "You have many questions to answer, but I have some of my own."

  "Such as?" "What, exactly, happened last night when you went out to search Drusilla Heskett's house?"

  Charlotte sat back in her chair. "I gave you the entire tale last night. Mr. St. Ives and I discovered the sketchbook and then were

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  accosted by a housebreaker as we left the house. That is all there v_[,@

  to it."

  "Do you know, it is your description of St. Ives's role in tl,, affair that sticks in my mind this morning."

  Charlotte smiled with deep satisfaction. "As I said, Mr. St. Ives was magnificent." I "Magnificent is not a word that you are accustomed to use, especially not when you are describing a member of the opposite

  sex.

  Charlotte cleared her throat. "Well, there really is no other word that suits in this particular situation. Mr. St. Ives was clever, resourceful, quick-thinking, and astonishingly brave. I shudder t,

  think what might have happened had he not accompanied me." "All in all, quite the perfect man-of-affairs, would you say?" "Perfect. Mr. Marcle was absolutely correct to recommend him

  for the position." "He kissed you, did he not?" Ariel asked softly. "Good lord, what a strange thing to say. Why on earth would I

  kiss John Marcle?" Charlotte reached for her tea. "He's a very nice

  man, but he's at least thirty years older than I am and I do not think

  that he's particularly interested in females."

  "You know very well I meant Mr. St. Ives, not Mr. Marcle."

  Charlotte felt the warmth rise furiously into her cheeks. "You believe that Mr. St. Ives kissed me? Wherever did you get such a

  crazed notion?"

  "When I came to your bedchamber last night to inquire into your adventures you looked . . ." Ariel hesitated, clearly searching for the right word. "Different." "Different?" "Overheated. Very bright. Practically glowing." Ariel waved one hand in a vague gesture. "A little disheveled, too. There was an

  odd look in your eyes." "Really, Ariel, this is too much. I had just had a very disturbing

  , -A

  --A

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  h an extremely violent villain. How the devil encounter wit i is one

  1upposed to look after such an occasion?"

  "I don't know how the average lady looks after she has had a

  near miss with a villain but I know how you look." "What on earth do you mean? I have not had any other direct encounters with villains."

  -You have had one that I recall quite distinctly." Ariel put her cup down gently on its saucer. "Five years ago. The night before WinterbOUrne got his throat slit by a footpad. I heard you in the hall that night. You used Papa's pistol to drive Winterbourne and one of his gaming cronies from the house."

  Charlotte stared at her. "I did not realize that you understood what had happened that night." "I did not comprehend matters entirely until I was much older. But even then I understood that you had dealt with a very dangerous situation. And I saw the expression in your eyes afterward. It was not the same look I saw there last night." "I'm sorry. I did not mean for you to ever' learn just how evil Winterbourne was." "His companion was infinitely worse, was he not?"

  Charlotte shuddered at the memory. "He was a monster. But that was a long time ago, Ariel. And we both came through it safely. "

  I IThe point is, I recall your demeanor on that night quite clearly. You were cold to the touch. Your eyes were stark."

  Charlotte rubbed her temples. "I do not know what.to say. I was terrIfied. I do not recall anything else about my emotional state."

  11 Last night you h
ad a scare, too. But you were not cold. Your ,yes were anything but bleak. Indeed, you were excited and ani- ,ated and almost exuberant." "Get to the point, Ariel." "The point is, I believe that Mr. St. Ives kissed you." Charlotte groaned and threw up her hands. "Very well, he kissed

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  me. We were both overwrought and somewhat overstimulated by the night's events. Danger sometimes has that effect on the sen4,,,,, you know." "It does?"

  "Yes," Charlotte said very firmly. "The poets are always writing about the problem. Even the senses of a person who is cool

  clearheaded and not inclined toward strong passions can be civercome by a thrilling experience." "Even a person such as Mr. St. Ives?"

  "Actually, I was referring to myself." Charlotte smiled ruefully. "Mr. St. Ives is cool and clearheaded also, of course, but it is obvioUs that he must employ a fine degree of self-discipline in order to

  achieve that serene state."

  Ariet's tips parted in astonishment. "I beg your pardon?" "Underneath that stern, steady exterior, be is a man of dangerously strong passions." "Strong Passions? Mr. St. Ives?" "I know that I expressed some concerns in the beginning but I no longer believe his temperament will present any great difficulties for us," Charlotte said with a false heartiness. "I am convinced lie

  will do very well in his position." "I'm glad you're satisfied, but I'm beginning to have a few

  qualms. Charlotte, if Mr. St. Ives has kissed you, things have taken on a whole new aspect. How much do you really know about him @ " "What do you mean?" Charlotte gave her a searching look. "Mr. Marcte sent a glowing letter of reference." "Yes, but we have not done any research on St. Ives ourselves.

  We have not even made the sort of inquiries that we would have

  made if we were examining him on behalf of a client."

  "Don't be ridiculous. My instincts are perfectly sound In Such

  matters. You know that."

  "My instincts are very sound, too. And I'm beginning to wonder

  about St. Ives."

  "There is absolutely no need to be concerned."

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  "Charlotte, you allowed him to kiss you." "Well, wl,.,,t of it?" Charlotte clasped her hands together on her

  desk. "it was werely a kiss."

  "You are riot given to entertaining yourself with gentlemen's kisses," Ariel retorted.