by Amanda Quick
“Are you feeling ill, Miss Arkendale?”
“No, not at all.” Charlotte drew a deep, steadying breath. What on earth was the matter with her? she wondered. She reached out and braced herself by planting both of her hands flat on her desk. With an act of will she produced what she hoped was a businesslike smile. “My apologies. I shall summon my housekeeper to see you out.”
A sharp knock interrupted Charlotte just as she reached for the velvet bell pull. The door of the study opened.
Mrs. Witty’s majestic form loomed grandly. “Mr. St. Ives is here to see you, ma’am. Says he has an appointment.”
Charlotte’s morbid thoughts and unanswered questions vanished in a heartbeat. Baxter was there. She tried and failed to suppress the little burst of delight that flowered inside her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Witty. Miss Patterson was just leaving. Will you see her out, please?”
Mrs. Witty stood back and looked expectantly at Honoria. “Yes, ma’am.”
Honoria went out into the hall with a cheerful spring in her step that had not been present when she had arrived a short while earlier.
It occurred to Charlotte that she had just been presented with a golden opportunity to conduct another experiment on Baxter.
“Oh, Miss Patterson, a moment if you please.” Charlotte hurried around the corner of her desk and went to the doorway of the study. She peered out into the hall.
Baxter stood there, enveloped in the unshakable aura of limitless calm that Charlotte found both intriguing and disturbing. Others might interpret his self-possessed air as the patience of a naturally staid, rather boring individual, but she knew it was something else entirely. It was a manifestation of his inner strength and self-mastery.
She drew in a little breath at the sight of him. He was dressed in a severely cut dark blue coat that, although a bit wrinkled, nevertheless revealed the powerful line of his shoulders. His plainly tied cravat, conservative breeches, and boots suited him, she thought. Fashion was clearly unimportant to him. He was a man of deeper sensibilities.
His gaze met hers at that moment. His eyes glinted behind the lenses of his spectacles. She had the uncomfortable impression that he knew precisely what she was thinking. She felt the rush of warmth into her cheeks and was thoroughly annoyed. She was a lady of advanced years and far too much a woman of the world to blush, she told herself.
“Was there something else, Miss Arkendale?” Honoria asked politely.
Charlotte took a single step out into the hall. “Before you leave, Miss Patterson, may I present Mr. St. Ives?” She paused as Honoria turned toward Baxter. “He is my man-of-affairs.”
“Mr. St. Ives,” Honoria murmured.
“Miss Patterson.” Baxter inclined his head in a short, brusque manner.
Charlotte watched Honoria’s face very carefully. There was no trace of surprise or curiosity or anything else to indicate that she suspected Baxter of being something other than what he was supposed to be, an ordinary man of business.
Amazing, Charlotte thought. She caught herself just as she was about to shake her head and smiled at Honoria instead. “Mr. St. Ives is of great assistance to me. I do not know what I would do without him.”
Baxter’s eyes glinted. “You flatter me, Miss Arkendale.”
“Not in the least, Mr. St. Ives. You are invaluable.”
“I’m delighted to hear you say so.”
Honoria gave both of them a vague smile. “If you will excuse me, I have a number of calls to make.” She turned and went out the front door without a backward glance.
Charlotte waited until Mrs. Witty had closed the door. Then she stepped back into her study and waved Baxter into her sanctum. “Do come in, Mr. St. Ives. We have much to discuss.”
Baxter walked across the hall to join her. “You do not yet know the half of it, Miss Arkendale.”
She ignored the remark to glance at the housekeeper. “Would you please bring us a fresh tea tray, Mrs. Witty?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Witty went down the hall to the kitchen.
Charlotte closed the door and whirled around to face Baxter. “Miss Patterson did not even hesitate at the introduction. She obviously accepted you as my man-of-affairs without so much as a qualm.”
“I told you that I would have no difficulty playing the role.” His mouth twisted slightly. “You are the only one who has ever questioned my striking ability to masquerade as a potato pudding.”
The grim tone of his voice brought her up short. “What on earth is the matter, sir?”
He went to stand at the window. “Last night after I left you, I did a great deal of thinking.”
“So did I.”
“I doubt that we came to similar conclusions.”
“Mr. St. Ives, I do not understand what this is all about.”
“There are some things I must explain to you.”
“What things?” A coil of unease began to untwist within her. Perhaps he already regretted last night’s brief bout of passion. “Sir, you are behaving in a rather mysterious fashion today. Is something wrong?”
“Bloody hell. We are engaged in a hunt for a murderer. Of course something is wrong. For your information, Charlotte, this sort of venture is not a common occupation for ladies. Nor is it considered a gentleman’s sport, for that matter.”
“I see.” She took refuge in pride. “If you are having second thoughts, you may, of course, resign your position in my service.”
“I fear that I can no longer play the part of your man-of-affairs, regardless of how well suited I am to the role.”
It is finished. So soon. Before I have even gotten to know him. Baxter was going to walk out the door. The intense sense of loss that surged through her alarmed Charlotte. This was ridiculous. She barely knew the man. She must get a grip on her emotions.
“Perhaps you would be good enough to explain, sir?” she said crisply.
“It would be best to begin at the start of this affair, I suppose.” Baxter turned to face her at last. His eyes were unreadable. “It was no coincidence that I applied for the position you offered. I had already tracked down John Marcle with the intention of discovering everything I could about your finances.”
“Good heavens.” Charlotte felt a cold, prickling sensation on her skin. Slowly she sank down into her chair. “Why?”
“My aunt was a close friend of Drusilla Heskett’s. She asked me to make inquiries into the murder. The trail led immediately to you. In fact, it started with you.”
“My God.”
“She believed that you were responsible for Mrs. Heskett’s murder, you see.”
“Bloody hell.” Whatever it was she had braced herself to hear, this was certainly not it. For a moment Charlotte was bereft of speech.
“Yes, I know,” Baxter muttered. “I warned you this would be a little difficult to explain.”
“Let me be sure I have this clear. Your aunt believes that I killed poor Mrs. Heskett? But what could possibly have given her such a notion?”
“The fact that Mrs. Heskett had recently paid you a large sum of money.”
Charlotte was outraged. “But that was for my services. I told you, I made inquiries on Drusilla Heskett’s behalf into the background of some of the gentlemen who wished to marry her.”
Baxter shoved his hand through his hair. “I’m aware of that now. But my aunt did not know it. Apparently Mrs. Heskett honored your desire for confidentiality. She never told my aunt the nature of her business with you. After the murder, Rosalind assumed the worst.”
“I see. What exactly did your aunt make of the fact that Mrs. Heskett had paid me a large sum of money?”
“She assumed that you had blackmailed Drusilla.”
“Blackmail.” Charlotte groaned and dropped her head into her hands. Visions of her hard-won career in ruins due to ghastly rumors that she might be a villainess danced wildly in her brain. “This grows worse by the minute. We have moved from the incredible to the truly bizarre.”
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“Indeed.” Baxter walked slowly across the carpet to stand behind the chair in front of the desk.
Charlotte raised her head and watched warily as he gripped the polished mahogany chair. For some reason she found herself transfixed by his big, capable hands.
“Go on, sir. I have the feeling there is more to come.”
“Having decided that you were a blackmailer, it was no great leap for my aunt to arrive at the conclusion that you had also murdered Mrs. Heskett.”
“No, I suppose not. I can see how one false assumption would lead to the next.”
“You and my aunt will no doubt get along famously. The two of you obviously think in the same erratic manner.”
“Carry on, Mr. St. Ives. Finish the business.”
“As I said, logic led me to Marcle, your man-of-affairs.”
“How is that?”
He shrugged. “I reasoned that if blackmail was involved, it made sense to start with the financial end of things.”
Silently she acknowledged the brilliance of that line of reasoning. “How did you discover that I employed John Marcle?”
“It was not difficult. I have my own man-of-affairs.”
She winced. “Yes, of course.”
“I instructed him to consult with my bankers, who made inquiries of your bankers. I not only learned about Marcle, I also discovered that he was searching for someone to replace him.”
“So you applied for the position.” She exhaled slowly. “How bloody clever of you, sir.”
He hesitated and then added in a strangely neutral tone, “I have had some experience in this sort of thing.”
“Which sort of thing? Acting as a man-of-affairs or spying?”
“Both, actually.” He glanced down at his hands, which were clenched on the chair back. When he looked up again, his eyes were bleak. “As far as the business part is concerned, I have managed a sizable fortune for several years.”
“A fortune?” It was to be one shock after another today, she thought, dazed.
“Two, actually. My own and that of my half brother.”
“I see.” She swallowed. “And the spying bit?”
Baxter looked pained. “I prefer not to use the word spy.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Spies do have a rather unpleasant reputation, do they not? An unsavory, disreputable lot, completely lacking in honor.”
“Indeed.” The strong line of his jaw grew even more rigid. “The profession may be a necessary one, but it is not considered honorable.”
Charlotte felt terrible. He had deserved the cruel insult but for some reason she wished that she had not succumbed to the urge to level it at him.
“My apologies,” she said brusquely. “Gentlemen do not engage in spying.”
“No, they do not.” He did not even attempt to defend himself.
“A man of honor, however,” she added very delicately, “might make himself available to the proper authorities for a clandestine mission.”
“I assure you, I did not volunteer,” Baxter said dryly. “My knowledge of chemistry was what caught the interest of the authorities. A highly placed gentleman approached my father and asked if I would be willing to aid in the inquiries. My father came to me and I agreed to look into the matter.”
“Who, exactly, is your father?”
“The fourth Earl of Esherton.” Baxter’s hands flexed on the chair back. “He died two years ago.”
“Esherton.” Charlotte was dumbfounded. “Surely you are not about to tell me that you are the fifth Earl of Esherton? That would really be too much, sir.”
“No. I’m a bastard, Charlotte, not an earl.”
“Well, thank God for that much, at least.”
Baxter looked briefly startled by her reaction. “My half brother, Hamilton, is the current Earl of Esherton.”
“I’m relieved to hear that.”
Baxter’s brows rose above the rims of his eyeglasses. “Are you, indeed?”
“Most definitely. It would have made things ever so much more complicated, you see. The last thing I need is an earl running about the place.” A thought struck her. “What is your aunt’s name?”
“Rosalind, Lady Trengloss.”
“Good lord, another title.” Charlotte frowned. “Trengloss. I believe Drusilla Heskett mentioned her in passing.”
“As I said, Mrs. Heskett was a good friend of my aunt’s.”
Charlotte nodded wearily. “Quite natural that you would look into the matter of the murder on behalf of your aunt. I would have done the same in your place.”
Baxter smiled humorlessly. “Very understanding of you.”
“May I assume that you are telling me all of this because you have concluded that I am not a murdering blackmailer after all?”
“I was never convinced that you were a villainess in the first place.”
“Thank you for that much, at least.”
“But certain issues had been raised. My approach to such matters is to pursue the most logical line of inquiry until I discover evidence to the contrary.”
“It must be the scientist in you.” Charlotte studied the nib of her pen with great attention. “And what proof did you uncover that convinced you I was innocent, Mr. St. Ives?”
“For one thing, you did not seem to know your way around Drusilla Heskett’s house.”
Charlotte looked up sharply. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mrs. Heskett was murdered in her own home. Her bedchamber, to be precise.”
“Yes, I know.”
“When we reached the top of the stairs last night, you hesitated. You did not know which bedchamber was hers until we discovered the one that contained her personal possessions.”
“I see.” Charlotte swallowed. “Very logical.”
“Also, you did not appear to know what you hoped to find in the house. You stumbled across the watercolor sketchbook but other than that, you seemed uncertain about what constituted a clue. You were obviously not there to retrieve specific evidence that you knew might implicate you.”
No doubt she should have been pleased that his powers of logic had brought him to the conclusion that she was innocent of the crimes. But for some reason her spirits were still depressed. What had she expected to hear? That Baxter had taken one look at her and trusted her on sight? Ridiculous.
“So,” she said with what she privately thought was commendable aplomb under the circumstances, “having resolved the issue of my guilt in the matter, you naturally wish to resign your post and go about your own affairs.”
“Not exactly.”
“Perfectly reasonable, under the circumstances. After all, there is no need for you to continue your inquiries in my direction. You may as well—” She broke off as his words penetrated. “What do you mean, not exactly?”
Baxter released his grip on the chair and turned to walk across the room. He halted in front of the bookcase and stood with his back to her. “I wish to continue working with you on this matter, Charlotte.”
Her flagging spirits abruptly rallied. “You do?”
“The problem that brought us together still remains,” he pointed out. “There is still the matter of Mrs. Heskett’s murder to resolve. You and my aunt both want answers.”
“Yes.” She was suddenly feeling much more cheerful. “Yes, we do, indeed, sir. And there is certainly truth in the old saying that two heads are better than one.”
“But there will have to be a small change in our association.”
A frisson of wariness went down her spine. “A change?”
He turned around and clasped his hands behind his back. “I fear that I cannot continue to pass myself off as your man-of-affairs.”
“I admit I had my doubts about that, even after my sister and my housekeeper claimed that there was no cause for concern. But I think Miss Patterson’s reaction to you proves that you will, indeed, be able to continue on in that role quite successfully.”
“The problem,” Baxter said carefully, “i
s that our inquiries will likely take us into Drusilla Heskett’s circle of acquaintances.”
“Yes, of course. What of it?”
“Mrs. Heskett’s circle of acquaintances overlaps my aunt’s. And people in that circle know me.” His mouth curved coldly. “Those who don’t, know of me. I am Esherton’s bastard, after all. In the Polite World, it will be impossible for me to go about unnoticed.”
“I see.” Charlotte’s mind raced. “We must come up with another excuse for being seen frequently in each other’s company.”
“I spent most of the night considering the problem.” Baxter paused. “I believe that I examined all of the possibilities.”
She gave him an expectant smile. “And?”
“And I have come to the inescapable conclusion that there is really only one socially acceptable reason for the two of us to spend an inordinate amount of time together.”
“I am eager to hear it.”
“An engagement.”
She suddenly could not breathe for a few dazed seconds.
“I beg your pardon?” she finally managed to say very carefully.
“You and I shall announce that we are engaged to be married.” He gave her a wry, fleeting smile. “And in light of that situation, I really must insist that you start calling me Baxter.”
Six
Baxter braced himself for the explosion. But even with his extensive knowledge of volatile substances, he could not have predicted Charlotte’s initial reaction.
She went utterly still. Her eyes widened and then narrowed. Her mouth opened and closed twice.
And then she exploded.
“An engagement?” Charlotte erupted from her chair with more force than the legendary Vesuvius. She gazed at him in wild disbelief from behind the barricade of her desk. “Have you gone mad, sir?”
“Very likely.” Baxter wondered briefly why he was feeling so chagrined by her reaction. It was only to be expected. Why the devil should she be excited by the prospect of playing the part of his fiancée?
Nevertheless, given that he had spent most of the night in a state of semiarousal, it would have been pleasant to see a little less shock and dismay in her eyes. He was not the only one who had succumbed to a burst of passion last night.