Affair (18 page)

There
had
to be a release.

She would surely shatter if something did not give. This relentless, driving force could not go on forever.

Without warning she came undone in a series of deep, convulsive shudders.

“
Baxter.
”

She heard her own scream echo in the study as she fell from an impossibly high cliff.

Baxter held her while she floated down through a liquid atmosphere in which he was the only solid object.
She knew a dazed sense of wonder that robbed her of speech.

Gradually she once more became aware of the crackle of flames on the hearth and the feel of the sofa cushions beneath her back.

Baxter’s weight still rested along the length of her body. When she finally opened her eyes she found him gazing down at her with glittering intensity.

“That was amazing,” she whispered. “Quite wonderful.”

He smiled and kissed her brow. “Yes, it was.”

She touched his jaw. “But you did not experience the same sensation.”

“Not this time.” He straightened, carefully extricating himself from her tumbled skirts. “But there will be other times.” He paused to touch the edge of her mouth with one blunt finger. “At least I hope that will be the case.”

“Baxter, wait. Where are you going?”

“We must talk.”

He got to his feet and walked across the room to where his shirt lay on the floor. The firelight flared on the acid scars that marked his back and shoulders. So much pain, Charlotte thought. Thank God the acid had not struck his eyes. He would surely have been blinded.

She watched as he picked up his shirt and shrugged into it with quick, practiced movements. Leaving it unfastened, he went to the desk, found his spectacles, and shoved them onto his nose.

Without a word he crossed to the hearth to stand in front of the fire. He stood gazing down into the flames.

Alarmed by the change in his mood, Charlotte sat up slowly. She fumbled with the bodice of her gown. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” He took a poker from the stand and leaned down to stir the flames. “But I would have an understanding between us before we go any farther down this road.”

She stared at him. His dark hair was tousled from where she had raked her fingers through it. The glow of the flames cast fierce shadows on the blunt planes and sharp angles of his forbidding features. She knew again the disturbing sense of wariness that she had felt the first day she met him.

“What sort of understanding?” she asked carefully.

“Will you have an affair with me, Charlotte?” The quiet words were spoken without inflection. Baxter’s voice was stripped of all emotion.

“An affair?” She suddenly felt so clumsy that she could barely finish fastening the tapes of her gown. “With you?”

“It would seem that we are attracted to each other.”

“Yes, but—” She broke off, not certain what to say. After all, she reminded herself, she had been considering just such a possibility.

“In my experience this sort of emotion is not unlike an illusion,” Baxter said. “It seems real for a time and then it fades.”

“I see.” She could not deny his claim. Passion alone was not to be trusted. She knew that better than most. She had established a career on the foundation of that simple principle. Only true love could add some element of safety and certainty to the dangerous brew. “You believe that the fires that warm us now will soon burn themselves out.”

“From my observation of such matters, boredom and ennui eventually turn the hottest flames to ashes.”

“Has that been the fate of your past liaisons?”

“I’m a chemist, not a poet.” Baxter clasped his hands
behind his back. “Over time the distinction becomes more pronounced.”

“I do not understand.”

“To put it more plainly, women tend to find me somewhat dull once the initial physical attraction has passed.”

“Women find you dull?” That was too much. Anger flared in Charlotte, temporarily swamping the unhappiness that had been welling up inside her. “How dare you, sir. Do not try to fob me off with that sort of nonsense. If you have no great interest in a long-term connection, then at least have the decency to say so. Do not expect me to believe that your previous affairs have all ended because you bored your paramours to death.”

He glanced at her, startled. “I assure you, it is the simple truth.”

“Rubbish.” She scrambled off the sofa and shook out her skirts. “You seek to make excuses. I expected better of you, sir.”

He swung around to confront her. “I am not making excuses. I am attempting to be practical.”

“Indeed.” She drew herself up proudly. “And what of your precious reputation, Mr. St. Ives?”

“It so happens that this charade of an engagement we have concocted provides us with the perfect cover for an affair.”

Charlotte seethed. “This charade, as you call it, was created by you and is designed to last only as long as it takes us to find the villain who murdered Drusilla Heskett.”

“There is no reason it cannot continue after we have achieved our primary goal.”

“The usual engagement lasts a year, at best.”

“I would not presume to estimate the lengths of your
previous liaisons, but mine, on average, have lasted about two months or less.”

“That is no great recommendation, sir.”

“It’s the bloody truth. Well?” He narrowed his gaze. “What is your answer? Are you interested in having an affair with me or not?”

She was trembling, not from passion this time, but from outrage. She lifted her chin. “Surely you do not expect an immediate response? I shall give you my decision after I have had an opportunity to study the matter more closely.”

“Bloody hell.” Baxter swept out a hand to indicate the sofa. “After what just took place, you tell me that you must give the matter further study?”

She smiled coolly. “As I often advise my clients, one must not make important personal decisions in the heat of passion.”

His jaw tightened. Without a word, he started toward her, his booted feet soundless on the carpet.

Charlotte braced herself. Pushing Baxter to the edge of his self-control was a risk, albeit not a physical one. She knew deep in her bones that he would never hurt her. But there was a strong element of unpredictability in this situation.

Before she could discover what he intended, one of the floorboards in the hallway outside the study gave out a groan. She froze.

Baxter halted, too. He glanced at the door and then frowned at Charlotte. “One of your staff?”

“No.” She whirled around to stare at the closed door of the study. “I told you, my housekeeper is gone for the entire night. It cannot be Ariel. We would have heard your aunt’s carriage arrive.”

Footsteps thudded in the corridor. Charlotte realized
that someone was running down the hall toward the door at the rear of the small town house.

“Bloody hell.” Baxter launched himself forward. “Stay here.” He yanked open the door and raced out into the front hall.

Charlotte picked up a heavy silver candlestick in one hand, grabbed her skirts with the other, and ran after him.

Darkness greeted her. Someone had extinguished the wall sconce that she had lit earlier. The only light was that which spilled from the study.

Footsteps echoed from the back of the house. Two sets. Baxter’s and the intruder’s.

She plunged into the inky depths of the hallway.

A cold draft told her that the back door was open. She could see the dim glow of moonlight at the end of the corridor. The intruder was already outside. He had fled into the garden.

She came to a halt in the doorway, straining to see into the shadows. There was no sign of anyone slinking through the bushes.

“Baxter? Where are you?”

There was no response.

Panic welled in Charlotte. The housebreaker had no doubt been armed. She had heard no pistol shots but many footpads preferred the silence of the blade. Visions of Baxter wounded, perhaps dying in the vicinity of the rose bushes, impelled her forward into the night.

“
Baxter
. Oh, my God, where are you? Speak to me, Baxter.”

“I thought I told you to wait inside.” Baxter materialized out of the intense darkness. One moment he was not there and the next he was standing directly in front of
her. Moonlight glanced off the side of his face and glimmered on his spectacles.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” He took her arm and steered her back toward the house. “But I failed to catch him. He disappeared into the alley behind the garden. He knew his way around. Must have studied the house and planned his escape route before he undertook this night’s work. He seemed to know exactly where he was going.”

“Thank God you did not catch him. He might have had a knife or a pistol.”

“Kind of you to be concerned about my health.”

“There is no call for sarcasm.”

“Sorry.” He urged her back through the doorway. “I occasionally resort to sarcasm when I have had too much excitement in one evening.”

Charlotte chose to ignore that remark. Baxter had had a near brush with a villain. He had every right to be in a foul temper.

“Good heavens,” she whispered as he closed the door. “Something has just occurred to me. We heard no sound in the hall or on the stairs earlier. That means that the intruder must have been in the house when we arrived home.”

“Very likely.”

“What a ghastly notion.” Charlotte shuddered. “To think that he was there, listening, all the while you and I were … were …” She could not bring herself to finish the sentence.

“I suspect he was upstairs when we interrupted his plans.” Baxter lit a wall sconce. “He no doubt decided to wait until he was certain that we were well occupied before he fled.”

“Do you suppose he overheard us?”

Baxter lifted one shoulder in a disinterested movement. “Possibly.” He bent to examine the lock on the door. “But I suspect he was far more interested in making good his escape than he was in playing the voyeur.”

“I wonder if he managed to make off with anything.” She frowned at Baxter, who was fiddling with the door. “What are you doing?”

“Attempting to determine precisely how he got inside. The front door was locked when we returned so he must have entered the house through this entrance.” Baxter straightened, a thoughtful expression on his face. “But this lock has not been damaged and there are no broken windows. It would appear that our man knew what he was about.”

“How dreadful. A professional member of the criminal class was right here in my house.” Charlotte rubbed her hands over her chilled arms. “I must have a look around to see what is missing. I do hope that he did not steal the silver tea service or the ormolu clock.”

“I’ll walk through the house with you.” Baxter strode toward the stairs. “I caught only a glimpse of his coat in the darkness but he did not appear to be carrying anything heavy enough to slow him down. With any luck we shall discover that your possessions are still here.”

“Baxter?”

He glanced impatiently back over his shoulder, his whole attention clearly riveted on the matter at hand. “What is it?”

“Thank you.” Charlotte smiled tremulously. “It was very brave of you to chase that villain off tonight.”

“All in a day’s work, Miss Arkendale.”

• • •

T
he incense burned low in the black and crimson room. His senses were open. It was time.

“Read the cards, my love.”

The fortune-teller placed the first card on the table. “The golden griffin.”

“He is persistent.”

She turned over the next card. “The lady with the crystal eyes.”

“A nuisance.”

The fortune-teller plucked another card from the deck. “The silver ring.” She looked up. “The griffin and the lady have formed an alliance.”

“It must be severed. I shall deal with it.” He leaned forward. “What of the phoenix?”

The fortune-teller hesitated. Then she placed another card faceup on the table. “The phoenix will triumph.”

“Yes.” He was satisfied.

When the fortune-teller shivered with longing, he pushed her down onto the carpet. He knew the golden griffin’s weaknesses well. And one of them was the lady with the crystal eyes, the woman who now belonged to the griffin.

There could be no more satisfactory way to destroy a man of honor than to savage one whom such a man felt honor bound to protect.

A
housebreaker?” Ariel paused in the act of helping herself to the scrambled eggs and turned to look at Charlotte in amazement. “I do not believe it. You say he was right here in the house when you returned home with Mr. St. Ives?”

“Yes.” Charlotte busied herself with her napkin while she mentally reviewed the portions of the tale that she did
not intend to relate. There was no need to tell Ariel exactly what she and Baxter had been doing prior to the intruder’s untimely interruption. “Mr. St. Ives and I went into the study to discuss the results of the evening’s inquiries and we heard someone in the hall. You know how that floorboard near the kitchen creaks whenever it is trod upon.”

“Yes, I know. What happened? Was anything taken?”

“No, thank heavens. Mr. St. Ives pursued the villain and chased him off through the garden.”

Ariel tipped her head to one side. “St. Ives gave chase?”

“Yes. He is extraordinarily brave and quite fleet of foot. But the intruder had a head start and disappeared into the night.”

“Fleet of foot?” Ariel looked briefly intrigued by that observation. “I would not have thought of Mr. St. Ives as fleet of foot. Oh, well, do go on. Tell me the rest.”

“There is not much else to tell. Mr. St. Ives and I walked through the entire house after the villain fled. We checked the silver and other things that a thief might have wanted to carry off but nothing seemed to be missing. Mr. St. Ives feels that we interrupted the intruder before he could complete his work.”

“Thank God.” Ariel sat down with a bemused expression. “This is absolutely amazing. Some footpad must have noticed that the house was empty last night and decided to take advantage of the opportunity.”

“That’s how it appears.”