Affair (16 page)

A woman’s low, anxious voice brought Charlotte to a halt. There was another couple on the far side of the high hedge on her left. She was about to continue on her way when she heard Baxter’s characteristically brusque response.

“I do not know what the devil you expect me to do about the matter, madam. Hamilton is two-and-twenty.” Baxter hesitated briefly before adding very dryly, “And he
is
the Earl of Esherton, after all.”

“He is still a boy in so many ways.” The woman’s words were laced with desperation. “And so like his father. You must do something, Baxter. Ever since his lordship died, Hamilton has grown increasingly headstrong. I
thought it was a stage that would pass when he recovered from his grief But lately he and his closest friend, Norris—”

“Lennox’s heir?”

“Yes. The two of them have taken up with new associates and I fear the worst. They no longer go off to their old clubs in the evenings. Hamilton tells me they prefer a new one they have discovered. A place called The Green Table.”

“A lot of young men prefer the clubs that cater to them, rather than to the men of their fathers’ generation.”

“Yes, but I believe that this place is nothing more than a gaming hell.”

“Calm yourself, Maryann. Hamilton cannot lose the Esherton fortune in a night of deep play. I have control of the funds for another three years, if you will recall.”

“I never thought I’d live to thank God for his lordship’s foresight in that matter, but I must admit it is a good thing that Hamilton does not yet have access to his fortune. Nevertheless, there are so many risks awaiting a young man of his temperament.”

“Such as?”

“I do not know.” Maryann’s voice rose. “That is the worst of it, Baxter. I do not know the extent of the risks he takes. One hears things, dreadful things about the activities that take place in some of those hells.”

“You are overwrought, Maryann.”

“I am not overwrought, I am terrified. There are stories involving depravity and debauchery among the young bloods of the ton these days that would alarm any mother. I have heard tales of people who deliberately partake of too much opium in order to induce dreamlike trances, for example.”

“A few poets may choose to amuse themselves in that
fashion, perhaps, but I believe it’s a fairly limited number.”

“Who knows what is really going on at Hamilton’s new club? I tell you, my son is not himself these days. He will not listen to me. You must speak to him.”

“What makes you think he will listen to me?”

“You are my only hope, Baxter. Your father charged you with the responsibility of guiding Hamilton until he has gained maturity. Do not deny it. We all heard his lordship’s dying instructions.”

“It is astonishing, is it not?” Baxter said in an oddly reflective tone of voice. “Even from beyond the grave, my father is still capable of creating turmoil in all our lives. I wonder if he is enjoying himself as he watches the little dramas he continues to stage.”

“Do not speak of his lordship with such disrespect. Baxter, I am depending upon you. You must stop Hamilton before he gets into serious trouble.”

Charlotte heard what sounded like a muffled sob. There was a rush of silk skirts and the soft thud of slippers on the grass. She stepped hastily back into the shadows as Maryann emerged from behind the far end of the hedge. Charlotte watched the other woman walk swiftly back toward the lantern-lit terrace.

There was a short pause and then Baxter spoke from the opposite end of the hedge. “Did you hear enough or do you want me to summarize the pertinent details of the conversation for you?”

“Mr. St. Ives.” Charlotte whirled around.

For a moment she could not make him out in the darkness. Then she saw him detach himself from the deep shadows of the high hedge and walk toward her. When he moved through a swath of weak moonlight she caught a glimpse of his harsh, unyielding expression.

“One of these days you really must start calling me by my given name, Charlotte.”

“My apologies, sir. I did not mean to eavesdrop.”

“But you do it so well.”

“I could not help but overhear the last of your conversation with Lady Esherton.”

“Do not concern yourself.” He came to a halt in front of her. “We are partners, are we not?”

“Well, yes, but that does not give me the right to intrude on your private family business.”

“Intrude all you wish. Society has been entertained by my family’s business for years. Have you finished your interrogation of poor Lennox?”

Charlotte sighed. “I think I have got all the information I am going to get this evening. I did learn that he had an invitation to visit Mrs. Heskett the night she died but he received a note telling him that she was ill and would not be able to receive him.”

“Hmm. I doubt he would have admitted that much if he was guilty.”

“True. I cannot envision him as a killer.”

“I agree. If you are satisfied, let’s be on our way.” Baxter took her arm and started back toward the big house. “I have had enough of the social whirl. If I indulge in any more of this sort of excitement, I am likely to expire from boredom.”

“I understand, but Ariel is enjoying herself so much. I hate to ask her to leave. It’s only midnight.”

“True, and for the ton the evening has just begun. Don’t worry about your sister. I have a plan. We shall pack her off with my aunt, who will keep her out until dawn.”

Charlotte glanced at him. “Do you think Lady Trengloss will mind?”

“Not in the least. Between announcing our engagement and introducing Ariel to the Polite World, she is enjoying herself immensely.” He drew Charlotte up the terrace steps and back into the brilliantly lit ballroom. “Give me a moment to locate Rosalind and make the arrangements.”

“I shall find Ariel and tell her that she is free to go with your aunt. She is no doubt out on the dance floor again. I vow, she has spent the entire evening there.” Charlotte stood on tiptoe to search the crowd.

“I see her,” Baxter said.

“Oh, yes, there she is.” Charlotte smiled at the sight of Ariel moving elegantly to the notes of a waltz. “Dancing with that very handsome young man who is wearing the impossibly complicated cravat. I wonder who he is.”

“His name is Hamilton,” Baxter said dryly. “The Earl of Esherton. My half brother.”

H
alf an hour later, the carriage shuddered to a halt in front of the Arkendale town house. Baxter roused himself from the moody thoughts that had overtaken him during the short journey. He looked at Charlotte, who was seated on the opposite cushion, and wondered what had possessed him to suggest that they end the evening so soon.

True, he’d had no wish to remain at the ball, especially after the unpleasant discussion with Maryann, but he certainly did not want to bid Charlotte good night.

Now they were at her house. The evening was concluded and there was no more time for conversation or anything else.

He had done a fine job of wasting the past half hour,
he thought. For a man who prided himself on his powers of logic and intellect, he could be a bloody idiot at times.

Charlotte glanced out the window. “It would seem we have arrived, Mr. St. Ives.”

Baxter heard the coachman descend from the carriage box. “Bloody hell.”

Charlotte raised her brows but she offered no comment. He wondered exactly what it was that she was thinking. At times such as this, he was acutely aware of his poor understanding of the opposite sex. The only thing he knew for certain was that he did not want to say good night.

“Uh, Charlotte …”

The carriage door opened. Baxter could not think of an excuse to delay the inevitable.

With a soft rustle of her skirts, Charlotte descended from the carriage. Baxter followed reluctantly. He took her arm to guide her up the steps to her front door.

Fool. Bloody damn idiot. A whole half hour wasted
. He could have passed the time in the carriage with Charlotte in his arms. Instead he had spent it contemplating morose thoughts of the past and the present. It was Maryann’s fault. She had ruined his mood and his evening. Typical.

Charlotte took her key out of her beaded reticule. “Would you care to come in for a brandy, Mr. St. Ives?”

Baxter, fixated on his own gloomy thoughts, was certain that he had not heard correctly. He realized that she was watching him with a quizzical expression.

“A brandy?” He took the key from her hand and opened the door with fingers that had suddenly become clumsy.

“I realize it is late but we have a great deal to discuss.” She stepped briskly into the darkened hall and turned to face him. “What with the rush of preparations
to enter Society, I have not yet had an opportunity to show you the small picture I discovered in Mrs. Heskett’s sketchbook.”

She wanted to discuss business with him
.

“Is something wrong, Mr. St. Ives?”

He realized he was still standing on her front steps. “Whatever gave you that notion?”

“Oh, dear, I’ve outraged your sense of propriety, haven’t I?” She gave him an apologetic look. “I assure you that you need have no qualms about your reputation. Absolutely no one except your coachman will know if you come in for a few minutes. Mrs. Witty has gone to visit her cousin for the night. She will not be home until tomorrow.”

“I see.”

She gave him a laughing smile. “And we are supposed to be engaged, if you will recall. In short, Mr. St. Ives, your virtue is quite safe with me.”

She was laughing at him.

“I believe I could use a brandy. A large one.” He stalked into the tiled hall and closed the front door very deliberately.

There was enough moonlight pouring in through the windows that surrounded the door for Baxter to see Charlotte slip out of her evening cloak. She hung it on a wall hook.

He watched as she reached up to light a wall sconce. He could not take his eyes off the curves of her breasts as they rose gently in response to her movements. A moment later light flared warmly, spilling across her smooth skin. With alchemical magic the lamp revealed the fire buried in her dark hair and transmuted her yellow satin gown to gold. When she turned to look at him, her eyes were fathomless jewels.

“Shall we go into my study, Mr. St. Ives? I will show you Mrs. Heskett’s little picture.”

“By all means,” Baxter heard himself say.

A great longing gripped him as he watched her walk toward the darkened room. The graceful sway of her hips beneath the golden skirts heated the blood in his veins.

“The brandy is on the table near the window,” Charlotte called from inside the study. Light flared again as she lit another lamp inside the small room.

The glow from the doorway of the study beckoned Baxter with the compelling power of a sorcerer’s spell. He hesitated a moment longer.

Entering the study was probably not a sound notion.

Definitely not a sensible, logical act.

“Bloody hell.” He yanked savagely at the knot of his cravat and crossed the hall to enter the dream world that lay on the other side of the study door.

“What did you say?” Charlotte asked as he entered the room.

“Nothing of any importance.” He went to light the fire. Then he straightened and headed for the brandy table.

Charlotte walked around behind her desk and bent down to open a bottom drawer. “I tore the page that contained the little picture out of the sketchbook. As far as I can tell, none of the other watercolor drawings in the book have anything to do with the small sketch and they were very distracting.”

“Indeed.” Baxter eyed Charlotte’s nicely rounded bottom as she stooped to fumble in the low drawer. “Very distracting.”

“Every time I tried to discuss the picture with Ariel, her attention kept straying to the nude figures. And Mrs. Witty was no better.”

“What of your own attention, Charlotte? Were you distracted by the nude figures, too?”

“I have a talent for keeping my mind on business.” Charlotte straightened and put a sheet of neatly torn paper on the desk.

“Indeed.” He concentrated hard on pouring two glasses of brandy. “It is one of my own great skills.”

He turned, brandy glasses in hand, and looked at her. She was seated behind her desk. He wondered if she had any notion of how the lamplight warmed the curves of her breasts and deepened the mystery of her eyes.

“I was disappointed in the results of my questioning of Lennox.” Charlotte frowned. “He seemed more concerned with the risks awaiting the younger generation of gentlemen these days than he did with Drusilla Heskett’s death.”

Baxter put one glass down in front of her. He ignored the page from the sketchbook. “Sounds as if Lennox and Maryann have something in common.”

“I suspect that parents of every generation have worried about the dangers that their offspring must face.”

“No doubt.” He realized that if he stood there drinking in the sight of Charlotte’s bare shoulders and gently swelling breasts for one more minute he would not be able to keep his hands off her.

He made himself walk to the window, hoping that the sight of the moonlit garden would lower the temperature of his overheated blood. But all he saw when he looked into the glass was Charlotte’s reflection.

“Speaking of Lady Esherton,” she said gently, “what will you do about your brother, Hamilton?”

He stilled. “That is the last thing I wish to discuss tonight.”

“I see. I only brought up the subject because it appeared
to be preying upon your mind during the ride home in the carriage.”

“Do not concern yourself with my personal problems, Charlotte. I shall deal with them.”

“Yes, of course.” Charlotte hesitated and then, as if she could not help herself, she added softly, “They are right, you know.”

He watched her reflection as she picked up the brandy glass and took a swallow. “Who?”

“Lennox and Lady Esherton.” She set the glass down very slowly. “The younger generation faces many dangers.”

“No offense, Charlotte, but you are in no position to talk when it comes to the subject of danger. May I remind you that you are the one who felt it necessary to hire a man-of-affairs who could also function as a bodyguard.”