by Amanda Quick
Charlotte took a step back. She glanced at the rose and then at the masked face beneath the hood. “I fear you have confused me with someone else, sir.”
“No.” The voice was a raw rasp of sound that lacked any trace of warmth. “There is no mistake.”
She shivered. There was something in the ragged words that called up old terrors. Impossible, she thought. She had never heard this voice. No one could forget such an unnatural sound.
She struggled to suppress her wholly irrational reaction. The poor man had no doubt suffered an injury to his vocal cords, she told herself. Perhaps he had been born with a deformity of the throat or mouth.
She managed a weak smile. “I do not believe that we have met, sir. Please excuse me, I must go back inside. Someone is waiting for me.” She turned to flee.
No, she was not running from him, she thought, irritated. She was merely chilled and anxious to return to the warmth of the ballroom.
“In all your researches into the lives of men, have you ever given consideration to the subject of destiny?”
Charlotte stumbled and nearly fell. She caught herself on the terrace wall.
No, it could not be the monster. The voice was not the same.
She would never forget that other voice. It had been a dark, oily thing that had slithered through the night. This voice was harsh and broken.
She turned slowly to confront the figure. She must not allow her imagination to run riot. Logic and reason, not old fears, were the tools needed to deal with this.
“I beg your pardon. What did you say?” she asked with a calm she did not feel.
“It’s not important.” The masked figure held out the rose. “This is for you. Take it.”
“I do not want it.”
“You must take the rose.” The rasping voice lowered until it was no more than a whisper. “It is for you and no other.”
There was a strange, compelling quality about the ruined voice. It beckoned and fascinated.
“Come. Take the rose.”
The lights and music from the ballroom receded into the distance. She was alone out there in the night with this man. “We do not know each other. Why do you want to give me a flower?”
“Take the rose and see.” The words were slivers of frost on a grave.
She hesitated, but she knew that she could not turn and run. Danger did not disappear when one turned one’s back on it. She had to know what this was all about.
Reluctantly, she took one step forward and then another. The figure in the flowing black domino waited with seemingly infinite patience.
When she was within reach, the black-gloved fist opened in a disturbingly graceful gesture. Only then did she see that a folded piece of paper was impaled on one of the thorns.
She seized the flower. The stranger bowed exquisitely, turned, and swirled away into the night.
She hurried back toward the jeweled lights, pausing just inside the ballroom to unfold the note. She read the message beneath an emerald-colored lantern. Eerie green light dappled the words.
Your alchemist lover seeks the Philosopher’s Stone of vengeance. He is obsessed with destroying his brother. He will use whatever means he believes will transmute the past, including your affections. But he will never succeed in his goal to turn the base metal of his bastard status into the gold of true nobility.
The bastard once betrayed one who trusted him. He will not hesitate to betray again. Take heed before it is too late. Do not become his victim.
Charlotte drew in a sharp breath and crumpled the note in her hand. She turned quickly to search the shadows, but the stranger in the black domino had disappeared.
Baxter removed his eyeglasses, stuffed them into his cape pocket, and quickly retied the mask. He stepped out into the corridor, closed the door of Norris’s bedchamber, and headed quickly down the hall to the rear stairs.
He did not use his spectacles or the watch glass to make his way down the steps. The wall sconces were unlit and it was too dark to see in any event. He relied on his sense of touch and the memory of the even spacing of the treads.
He did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed in the results of his hasty search. He had found nothing that proved helpful. The most obvious connection between Drusilla Heskett’s death and The Green Table was through Lennox’s heir. But perhaps in this case the obvious link was not the right one.
He could hear the muffled strains of the waltz from the ballroom as he descended the stairs. At least his timing was good, he thought. The dance was just ending. He was anxious to return to Charlotte.
He recalled the waltz they had shared before he had set off on his fruitless task. She had been warm and graceful and full of feminine vitality in his arms, just as she was when he made love to her. The scent of her had aroused the hunger that always seemed to seethe just beneath the surface of his awareness these days. It was becoming increasingly difficult to envision his life without her in it.
Her words of the previous afternoon echoed in his brain as he slipped through the shadowed conservatory. Just think, when we have finished this affair, you need never set eyes on me again.
Moonlight filtering through the glass panes lit Baxter’s path. The rich smells of earth and growing plants assailed him. It occurred to him that Lennox might be interested in participating in some agricultural chemistry experiments. He made a mental note to inquire. Then he recalled the barren sweet pea pots sitting on his laboratory windowsill. Perhaps there was no point in such experiments.
He used the eyeglass in his watch to make certain that he did not trip over a pot or a stray hoe as he headed to the far door.
A moment later he was safely back in the gardens. He made his way toward the blurred glow of colored lights that was the ballroom.
When he reached the terrace a familiar, slightly unfocused, figure loomed in his path.
“I thought I told you to wait inside, Charlotte.”
“Baxter, is that you?”
“Of course it is. Who the devil did you think it was?”
“Never mind, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. Something more important has come up. Hamilton is desperate to find you.”
“Hamilton?” He frowned as she moved closer. The concerned expression on her face sharpened as she came into focus. “What does he want?”
“Baxter? Is that you?” Hamilton’s voice came from the far side of the terrace. “I’ve been searching for you.” He hurried forward. “I must speak to you at once.”
“Well, you have found me. What is it?”
“This is a … a personal matter.” He glanced uneasily at Charlotte. “I beg your pardon, Miss Arkendale. I must be private with Baxter.”
“Whatever you have to say can be said in front of Charlotte,” Baxter muttered.
“Do not concern yourselves,” Charlotte said quickly. “I’ll wait inside the ballroom while you have your conversation.”
“Bloody hell.” Baxter had had enough of trying to peer through the mask. He untied it and dropped the black cloth into his pocket. Then he located his spectacles, put them on, and glared at Charlotte’s retreating figure. The light glinted on her little golden bow and arrow. It also revealed the rose she carried in one hand.
He started to ask her where the rose had come from and then closed his mouth when he realized that she had moved out of earshot.
“Baxter, this is important.” Hamilton stepped in front of him. Baxter reluctantly focused on him. He saw that Hamilton was not attired in a costume. He wore an elegantly tied cravat, a perfectly cut evening coat, and fashionably pleated trousers. His unmasked face was set in grim lines.
“I’m somewhat occupied at the moment, Hamilton. What is this all about?”
“The day before yesterday—” Hamilton swallowed heavily and tried again. “The day before yesterday, you advised me to be careful. You warned me that there might be some danger connected to my club.”
Baxter gave Hamilton his full, undivided attention. �
�Has something happened?”
“Not to me,” Hamilton said quickly. “But I am worried about Norris. We conducted an experiment in mesmerism the other night.”
“Yes, I know. Young Norris was the subject.”
Hamilton searched his face. “How is it that you are aware of that?”
“Never mind. What of it? Did Norris make an ass out of himself in someone’s ballroom earlier this evening? I doubt that Lennox will be pleased, but I hardly think that whatever happened will prove to be a disaster. The Lennox fortune is capable of overcoming the ill effects of virtually any outrage, including Norris’s bared arse.”
Hamilton stared. “I do not know how you could possibly have learned the details of our experiment but that is not important now. The thing is, in the end the magician—”
“Magician?”
Hamilton’s mouth thinned impatiently. “The person we employ to conduct the experiments. We call him our magician. It was all very amusing, you see. At any rate, the magician did not instruct Norris to cluck like a chicken or lower his trousers in a ballroom. It is much worse than that.”
“What did he do?”
“He used mesmerism to persuade Norris to call out Anthony Tiles.”
“Norris challenged Tiles to a duel? I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true,” Hamilton whispered. “Tiles has been involved in at least three duels during the last two years. He has an astonishing temper. And he is a brilliant marksman. He always draws blood.”
“Yes, I know.”
“At least one of his opponents is said to have died from his wound. Another took the bullet in his shoulder and can no longer use his left arm. And the third simply disappeared. No one knows what happened to him but some say that he was so badly injured he must continually dose himself with laudanum to kill the incessant pain.”
“I agree that Tiles has carved out a formidable reputation for himself.”
“They say he practices daily at Manton’s. A deadly shot. No sane man would challenge him.”
“Precisely. It makes no sense that Norris would do so.”
Hamilton’s expression twisted. “But that is just what he has done. It is all so unlike him, Baxter. Norris is the most good-natured of all my acquaintances. He has never been quick to anger. He is my best friend and I fear that he has signed his own death warrant.”
“Instruct your magician to undo the effects of his experiment.”
“We cannot locate him.” Hamilton’s air of desperation increased. “We do not know where he lives or how to reach him.”
Baxter frowned. “How did you first encounter him?”
“He contacted us. Offered to instruct us in special techniques that would enable us to make direct contact with the forces of the metaphysical world. It was all very interesting and great fun. But now something has gone wrong.”
“Indeed,” Baxter said softly.
“Things have got out of hand. I fear Norris will likely get himself killed at dawn.”
“Are we talking about this coming dawn?” Baxter asked warily.
“Yes. Tomorrow morning. Everything is moving so quickly.”
“Have Norris make an apology to Tiles. I suspect it will be accepted.”
“I tried to convince Norris to make an apology but he will not hear of it. He is not himself, Baxter. A few minutes ago he danced with Miss Ariel as if he had not a care in the world. Yet at dawn he will be facing Tiles. It’s madness.”
Baxter contemplated the lights of the ballroom.
“Baxter?” Hamilton scowled. “Did you hear what I said? Norris is going to risk his neck at dawn. We have got to stop him.”
“Whom did Norris name as his seconds?”
“He said that, as I am his best friend, I must be one of them. He instructed me to choose the other. He says he cannot be bothered.”
“And have you selected the other second?”
“No. For God’s sake, the last thing I want to do is plan this damned duel. I came directly here to find you. You’ve got to help me, Baxter.”
“Well, if you haven’t got another second yet, that simplifies the situation,” Baxter said calmly. “I shall assist you.”
Hamilton looked horrified. “But I want to stop the duel before it takes place.”
“That may not be possible. The mesmerism practiced by your magician appears to be quite powerful.”
“What will we do? We cannot allow Norris to get himself killed.”
“There may be a way to control the results of this experiment.”
The knock on the front door came at three-thirty in the morning. Charlotte was alone in her study, busily scribbling notes to calm herself. Ariel was not home yet and Mrs. Witty was sound asleep in her bedchamber at the top of the stairs.
Charlotte had been unable to rest. She had been restless since she had returned home from the masquerade ball. She did not know whether it was the encounter with the stranger in the black domino or Hamilton’s desperate expression that worried her the most. Perhaps it was a combination of both.
At the sound of the knock, she got to her feet and hurried out into the hall. When she peered through the glass she saw Baxter standing in the shadows on the front step.
She wrenched open the door and smiled tremulously up at him. “I was hoping that you would find time to stop by before you went home. I have been most anxious to speak to you.”
“I did not know if you would still be awake.”
Charlotte stood back and watched as he tossed his hat onto the side table with an absent movement of his hand. There was an abstracted, preoccupied air about him. She knew that his keen intellect was focused on whatever problem Hamilton had brought to him.
“Is it serious?” She closed the door.
Baxter walked toward the study. “At dawn this morning, Norris is scheduled to meet one of the most infamous duelists in all of London.”
“Oh, no.” She hurried after him. “How on earth did poor Norris get into such a terrible situation? He seems so mild-mannered and friendly and likable. Not at all the type to get involved in a duel.”
“He isn’t.” Baxter went to the brandy tray and picked up the decanter. “He had a little help.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember the magician who was entertaining Hamilton and his friends at The Green Table?”
“Of course. What has he got to do with this?”
“After we took our leave, he apparently used mesmerism to persuade Norris to go out and challenge a man named Anthony Tiles.”
“How dreadful.”
“Hamilton and the others were unable to stop Norris. After the deed was done, they were unable to make him offer an apology. They tried to locate the magician so that he could break the trance but they do not know his whereabouts.”
“Dear God.” Charlotte sank slowly into a chair in front of the fireplace. “So Hamilton came to you for help.”
“Yes.” Baxter’s eyes gleamed briefly over the top of the brandy glass. “Strong evidence that he was at the end of his tether and did not know where else to turn. Hamilton has never come to me for help in the past.”
“What will you do?”
Baxter shrugged. “I have concocted a plan that, if it is successful, will end the thing without bloodshed.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Someone may get killed.”
Charlotte folded her hands very tightly together. “Your plan will work.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence. Hamilton certainly entertains doubts.”
“Precisely what is your plan, Baxter?”
He smiled wryly. “Nothing very bold or exciting. It is based on my knowledge of chemistry.”
“Then I’m certain that it will prove very bold and exciting. Indeed, it will be quite brilliant.” She paused. “It would be interesting to witness the results.”
He raised one hand in a gesture that was both a warning and an appeal. “Don’t even consider the possibility of a
ttending the duel. I will have enough to worry about as it is.”
“I suppose that is true. What sort of man is this Anthony Tiles?”
Baxter sipped his brandy. “He’s a bastard.”
She smiled wryly. “Which sort? Born or made?”
“Both. His father was a viscount. Heir to the Coltrane fortune. Anthony was born on the wrong side of the blanket, as they say. The result of his father’s affair with the family governess. There were no legitimate sons. A nephew got the title and the estates. The knowledge of all that could have been his has eaten at Tony for years.”
“You sound as if you know him.”
“We were acquainted at Oxford.”
“If he was a friend once, can you speak to him?”
“It wouldn’t do any good.” Baxter went to stand at the window. “Tony clings to an extremely rigid code of honor. He will tolerate no slight of any kind.”
“I see.”
“He spends his time in the gaming hells and stews looking for trouble. He encounters it with amazing frequency. He has at least three duels under his belt. Probably more.”
“No wonder Hamilton is terrified for his friend.” She tightened her hands. “This Anthony Tiles started life in much the same way you did.”
Baxter braced one fist against the mantel and gazed into the fire. “We are both bastards, if that is what you mean.”
“But he has become a bastard by deed as well as by birth,” she said quietly. “You, on the other hand, have made yourself into a true gentleman.”
He looked up swiftly. Firelight glinted on the lenses of his eyeglasses. “What the devil does that mean?”
“Anthony Tiles has obviously allowed the facts of his birth to set him on a path that is almost certain to destroy him. Thank God, you have carved out a different destiny for yourself.”
“Hmm.”
“Your father knew that you had become a man of integrity. He realized that he could entrust the family fortune and the safety of his younger son to you. He must have been exceedingly proud of you, Baxter.”
Baxter said nothing. He watched her for a long while and then, without a word, he turned away from the fire and dropped down onto the sofa. He kept one booted foot on the floor and angled his other leg across the cushions. Wearily he shoved his fingers through his hair.