by Affair (lit)
11 1 am eager for something a bit different," Baxter said earnestly. "This post sounds as if it will be somewhat out of the ordinary. Indeed, I sense that it will offer me a certain challenge. 11
"Challenge?" Marcle closed his eyes. "I doubt that you know the meaning of the word yet, sit."
22
--h-0
Amanda Quick
23
"I have been told that I am in a rut. It has been suggested that I add an element of excitement to my life, sir. I am hoping that this post will afford me the opportunity to do that."
Marcie's eyes snapped open in alarm. "You say you seek excitement?" "Indeed, sir. A man of my nature gets very little of that commodity in the normal course of events." Baxter hoped he was not
overdoing it. "I have always lived a quiet life."
And what was more, he much preferred his peaceful existence, he thought glumly. This damnable mission that his aunt had
begged him to undertake was an unwelcome interruption in his placid routine.
The only reason he had allowed himself to be talked into it was
because he knew Rosalind well. She had a flair for the dramatic-
her greatest regret was that she had never gone on the stage-but she was not given to foolish fancies and feverish imaginings.
Rosalind was genuinely concerned about the circumstances sur-
rounding the murder of her friend, Drusilla Heskett. The authorities had declared that the woman had been shot by a housebreaker.
Rosalind suspected that the killer was none other than Charlotte Arkendale.
Baxter had agreed to look into the situation on his aunt's behalf
A discreet inquiry had turned up the information that the mysterious Miss Arkendale happened to be in need of a new man-ofaffairs. Baxter had seized the opportunity to apply for the post.
He reasoned that if he could talk his way into the position he would be ideally situated to conduct his investigation. With any luck he would resolve the matter in short order and be able to
return to the calm refuge of his laboratory.
Marcie exhaled heavily. "It's true that working for Miss Arkendale can sometimes produce an element of excitement, but I
am not altogether certain it is the type of adventure you would enjoy, Mr. St. Ives." "I shall be the judge of that."
"Believe me, sir, if it's excitement you crave, you would do
belicr to take yourself off to a gaming hell."
-) don't enjoy games of chance." Marcie grimaced. "I assure you, a lively hell would be infinitely
1,ss maddening than embroiling yourself in Miss Arkendale's af-
fal rs. "
Baxter had not considered the possibility that Charlotte Arkendale was a candidate for Bedlam. "You believe her to be M"td?" "How many ladies of your acquaintance require a man-of-affairs who can also undertake the duties of a bodyguard, sir?"
An excellent question, Baxter thought ruefully, The entire mat-
ter sounded more bizarre by the moment. "Nevertheless, I wish to apply for the post. It is obvious why she needs a new man-of-affairs.
You are retiring, after all, and she must replace you. But perhaps you would be good enough to explain why Miss Arkendale is in need of a bodyguard?" "How the devil should I know the answer to that?" Marcie tossed aside his pen. "Miss Arkendale is a most peculiar female. I have served as her man-of-affairs since the death of her stepfather, Lord Winterbourne. I can assure you, these past five years have been the longest years of my life."
Baxter eyed him curiously. "If you disliked your post, why did you continue in it?"
Marcie sighed. "She pays extraordinarily well." "I see."
"But I must confess that whenever I received a letter of instruction from her, I trembled in my shoes. I never knew what strange demand she would make next. And that was before she took a
notion to add the duties of a bodyguard to the post." "What sort of demands does she make in the normal course of affairs?"
Marcie groaned. "She has sent me to make inquiries of the oddest people. I have gone haring off to the North in order to obtain
24
-@D
Amanda Quick
information on a certain gentleman. I have interviewed the managers of the most appalling hells and brothels on her behalf. I have inquired into the financial affairs of any number of men who would
be shocked to learn of her interest."
"Odd, indeed." "And most unladylike. Upon my oath, sit, if she did not pay so handsomely, I would have quit my position after the first month of service. But at least I was never required to act as a bodyguard. I am
grateful for that much." "You have no notion of why she feels herself to be in danger?" "None whatsoever." Marcie's chair squeaked as he leaned back
in it. "Miss Arkendale has not seen fit to confide in me on that
score. In truth, there is a great deal Miss Arkendale has never seen
fit to confide in me. I am extremely vague about the actual source of
her income, for example."
Baxter was very good at controlling his expressions. A bastard, even one who was the by-blow of a wealthy earl, learned the skill early on in life. The talent served him well at that moment. He managed to convey only casual interest in Marcie's last statement. "I was under the impression that Miss Arkendale's mother, Lady Winterbourne, had a substantial income from her first marriage," Baxter said carefully. "I assumed the inheritance was passed on to
Miss Arkendale and her sister."
Marcie's brows rose. "That is what Miss Charlotte would have you believe. But I can tell you that Winterbourne squandered nearly every penny of the Arkendale inheritance before he had the grace to
get himself murdered by a footpad five years ago."
Baxter removed his spectacles and began to polish them with his handkerchief. "Just what do you suspect is the real source of Miss Arkendale's money?"
Marcie examined his nails. "I will be truthful, sit. Although I have assisted in the investment and management of her income for five years, to this day I have no notion of where the money
25
originates. I recommend that if you take this post, you follow my example. Sometimes it's best not to know all of the facts."
Baxter slowly replaced his eyeglasses. "Fascinating. I expect some distant relative died and left an inheritance that has made up for the one that Winterbourne frittered away." "I do not believe that to be the case," Marcie said slowly. "I succumbed to curiosity a couple of years ago and made some dis-
creet inquiries. There was no such wealthy Arkendale relative. I fear the source of her funds is simply one more peculiar mystery sur-
rounding Miss Arkendale."
It was no mystery at all if Rosalind was correct in her conclu-
sions, Baxter thought. The lady was a blackmailer.
A distinct tapping sound brought his thoughts back to the
present. He glanced at Charlotte, who had come to a halt near the
fireplace. She was drumming her fingers on the marble mantel.
"I do not see how Marcie could possibly have imagined you to
be qualified for this post," she said.
Baxter had had enough of arguing the point. "It is not as if
there are a great many men about who can meet your absurd re-
quirements, Miss Arkendale. 11
She glowered. "But surely Mr. Marcie can find me a gentleman w o is more suited to the position than yourself
Have you forgotten? Marcie is halfway to Devon. Would you mind telling me precisely what it is about me that is so unsuitable?"
"Other than your lack of skill with a pistol?" she asked much too sweetly. "Yes, other than that failing." "You force me to be rude, sit. The problem is your appearance." "What the devil is wrong with my appearance? No one could be more unprepossessing than myself."
Charlotte scowled. "Do not feed me that Banbury tale. You most certainly are not a potato
pudding. just the opposite, in fact."
20
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Amanda Quick
long sleeves and a white ruff. A pair of yellow kid slippers peeked out from beneath the severely restrained flounce that decorated the hem. He could not help but notice that she had very pretty feet. Nicely shaped with dainty ankles.
Appalled at the direction of his thoughts, Baxter looked away. "Forgive me, Miss Arkendale, but I seem to have missed your
point. "You will simply not do as my man-of-affairs." "Because I wear spectacles?" He frowned. "I would have thought that they rather enhanced the impression of potatopudding blandness." "Your spectacles are not the problem." She sounded thoroughly exasperated now.
"I thought you just said they were the problem." "Haven't you been listening? I begin to believe that you are
deliberately misunderstanding me, sit. I repeat, you are not qualified for this post." "I am perfectly suited to it. May I remind you that your own
man-of-affairs has recommended me for this position?"
Charlotte dismissed that with a wave of her hand. "Mr. Marcie
is no longer my man-of-affairs. He is even now on his way to a
cottage in Devon." "I believe he did say something to the effect that he felt he had
earned a long and peaceful retirement. I gained the impression that you were a somewhat demanding employer, Miss Arkendale."
She stiffened. "I beg your pardon?" "Never mind. Marcie's retirement is not the issue. What is of
importance here is that you called upon him one last time and gave him instructions to find his replacement. He has selected me to take over his responsibilities." "I make the final decision in this matter and I say that you will not do, sit." "I assure you that Marcie thought me eminently qualified for
_0 21
the Post. He was pleased to write the letter of recommendation that
I showed to you."
The silver-haired, dapper John Marcie had been in the midst of packnig, up his household when he had received his last instructions from his soon-to-be former employer. Baxter's timing had been perfect. Or so he had thought until he tried to persuade the dubious Marcie that he wished to apply for the position.
Rather than relief at the prospect of solving his last "Arkendale problem," as he termed it, the conscientious Marcie had felt compelled to discourage Baxter from the outset.
"Miss Arkendale is, ah, somewhat unusual," Marcie said as he
toyed with his pen. "Are you quite certain you wish to apply for the
post?" "Quite certain," Baxter said.
Marcie peered at him from beneath a solid line of thick, white brows. "Forgive me, sit, but I do not comprehend precisely why you wish to engage yourself to Miss Arkendale in this capacity." "The usual reasons. I'm in need of employment." "Yes, yes, I understand. But there must be other positions available."
Baxter decided to embroider his story a bit. He assumed what
he hoped was a confidential air. "We both know how mundane most
such posts are. Instructions to solicitors and various agents. Arrangements for the buying and selling of properties. Banking mat-
ters. All very uninspiring.11 "After five years as Miss Arkendale's man-of-affairs, I can assure
you that there is much to be said for the routine and the uninspiring." "I am eager for something a bit different," Baxter said earnestly. "This post sounds as if it will be somewhat out of the ordinary. Indeed, I sense that it will offer me a certain challenge. 11
"Challenge?" Marcie closed his eyes. "I doubt that you know the meaning of the word yet, sit."
24
Amanda Quick
information on a certain gentleman. I have interviewed the managers of the most appalling hells and brothels on her behalf. I have inquired into the financial affairs of any number of men who would
be shocked to learn of her interest."
"Odd, indeed." "And most unladylike. Upon my oath, sit, if she did not pay so handsomely, I would have quit my position after the first month of service. But at least I was never required to act as a bodyguard. I am
grateful for that much." "You have no notion of why she feels herself to be in danger?" "None whatsoever." Marcle's chair squeaked as he leaned back in it. "Miss Arkendale has not seen fit to confide in me on that
score. In truth, there is a great deal Miss Arkendale has never seen
fit to confide in me. I am extremely vague about the actual source of her income, for example."
Baxter was very good at controlling his expressions. A bastard, even one who was the by-blow of a wealthy earl, learned the skill early on in life. The talent served him well at that moment. He managed to convey only casual interest in Marcle's last statement.
"I was under the impression that Miss Arkendale's mother, Lady Winterbourne, had a substantial income from her first marriage," Baxter said carefully. "I assumed the inheritance was passed on to
Miss Arkendale and her sister."
Marcle's brows rose. "That is what Miss Charlotte would have you believe. But I can tell you that Winterbourne squandered nearly every penny of the Arkendale inheritance before he had the grace to
get himself murdered by a footpad five years ago."
Baxter removed his spectacles and began to polish them with his handkerchief. "Just what do you suspect is the real source of Miss Arkendale's money?"
Marcle examined his nails. "I will be truthful, sit. Although I have assisted in the investment and management of her income for five years, to this day I have no notion of where the money
25
..16116@111 cv@
originates. I recommend that if you take this post, you follow my
I
example. Sometimes it's best not to know all of the facts."
Baxter slowly replaced his eyeglasses. "Fascinating. I expect some distant relative died and left an inheritance that has made up for the one that Winterbourne frittered away." "I do not believe that to be the case," Marcle said slowly. "I succumbed to curiosity a couple of years ago and made some dis-
creet inquiries. There was no such wealthy Arkendale relative. I fear the source of her funds is simply one more peculiar mystery sur-
rounding Miss Arkendale."
It was no mystery at all if Rosalind was correct in her conclu-
sions, Baxter thought. The lady was a blackmailer.
A distinct tapping sound brought his thoughts back to the
present. He glanced at Charlotte, who had come to a halt near the
fireplace. She was drumming her fingers on the marble mantel.
"I do not see how Marcle could possibly have imagined you to
be qualified for this post," she said.
Baxter had had enough of arguing the point. "It is not as if
there are a great many men about who can meet your absurd re-
quirements, Miss Arkendale."
She glowered. "But surely Mr. Marcle can find me a gentleman who is more suited to the position than yourself." "Have you forgotten? Marcle is halfway to Devon. Would you mind telling me precisely what it is about me that is so unsuitable?"
"Other than your lack of skill with a pistol?" she asked much too sweetly. "Yes, other than that failing." "You force me to be rude, sir. The problem is your appearance." "What the devil is wrong with my appearance? No one could be
more unprepossessing than myself."
Charlotte scowled. "Do not feed me that Banbury tale. You Most certainly are not a potato pudding. just the opposite, in fact."
26
Amanda Quick
He stared at her. "I beg your pardon?" "You must know very well, sit, that your spectacles are a poor disguise." "Disguise?" He wondered if he had got the wrong address and the wrong Charlotte Arkendale. Perhaps he had got the wrong town. "What in the name of the devil do you believe me to be concealing?" "Surely you are not suffering from the illusion that those spectacles mask your true nature." "My true nature?" Baxter l
ost his grip on his patience. "Bloody hell, just what am 1, if not innocuous and unprepossessing.
She spread her hands wide. "You have the look of a man of
strong passions who has mastered his temperament with even
stronger powers of self-control." "I beg your pardon?"
Her eyes narrowed with grim determination. "Such a man cannot hope to go about unnoticed. You are bound to attract attention
when you conduct business on my behalf I cannot have that in my man-of-affairs. I require someone who can disappear into a crowd.
Someone whose face no one recalls very clearly. Don't you understand, sit? You give the appearance of being rather, well, to be quite blunt, dangerous. "
Baxter was bereft of words.
Charlotte clasped her hands behind her back and resumed her pacing. "It is quite obvious you will never be able to pass for a dull, ordinary man-of-affairs. Therefore, you must see that you would not
do at all for my purposes."
Baxter realized his mouth was hanging open. He managed to
get it closed. He had been called many things, bastard, 111mannered, and a great bore being among the more common epithets. But no one had ever labeled him a man of strong passions. No one had ever claimed that he looked dangerous.
He was a man of science. He prided himself on his detached, unemotional approach to problems, people, and situations. It was a
-ts.@
27
trait he had honed to perfection years ago when he discovered that, as the bastard son of the Earl of Esherton and the notorious Emma, Lady Sultenham, he would be forever excluded from his rightful heritage.
He had been a subject of speculation and gossip since the day he was born. He had learned early to seek refuge amid his books and scientific apparatus.
Although some women initially found the notion of an affair
with the bastard son of an earl somewhat exciting, especially when they learned that he was a very wealthy bastard son, the sentiment
did not last long. The weak flames generated in the course of his infrequent liaisons burned for only a very short time before sput-
tering out.
His affairs had become even shorter in duration since his return
from Italy three years ago. The acid burns on his back and shoulders
had healed but he was marked for life.