Affair (29 page)

She frowned. “Never say that you are truly angry with me simply because I came here without a companion?”

“Yes.” He whipped off his glasses and began polishing them with his handkerchief. “Yes, I am bloody furious with you. All the more so now that I know Hamilton was not the one who sent Miss Post to see you.”

“But, Baxter, it is broad daylight. There was no danger.”

“Bloody hell, woman, we are investigating a murder.” He shoved the glasses back onto his nose. He had lost his temper again. The knowledge appalled him. “The least you could do is display some common sense in the process.”

“There is no need to rail at me, sir. I must point out yet again that I do not take orders from you.”

If he possessed any common sense of his own, he would shut his mouth right now, Baxter thought. Hamilton was right; when it came to handling women and their damned delicate sensibilities, he was clumsy, ungracious, and ham-fisted.

He looked into Charlotte’s beautiful eyes and he knew again the powerful sense of dread that had descended on him earlier.
She might be at risk
. The dark wings of the recent nightmare stirred and fluttered at the edge of his mind. Anger was the only emotion strong enough to keep the fear at bay.

“Very well, Miss Arkendale,” he said, “we are agreed
that you do not take orders from me. If you have no concerns about your own safety, however, you might at least show some regard for my peace of mind.”

Her eyes widened with comprehension. “Yes, of course,” she murmured.

For some obscure reason, her sudden, calm, polite agreement did nothing to pacify him. Instead, he felt obliged to defend his foul mood. “It is not as though I don’t have enough to worry about as it is. My aunt is insisting upon answers that I do not have. Maryann expects me to keep out of trouble my wretched half brother, who will pay me no heed. I have not had any time for my chemical experiments since this whole affair began and I have just lost the fourth housekeeper in five months.”

“I quite understand, Baxter.” Charlotte gave him a brisk, bright smile. “I regret that your life has been so disrupted of late. But never fear. This will all soon be over and you will be free to return to your customary routine. Just think, when we have finished this affair, you need never set eyes on me again.”

Baxter had a sudden vision of himself hurtling toward the crashing waves far below the castle window. The old acid scars burned with cold fire. He fought an inexplicable surge of panic with all the powers of logic and reason at his command.

“Yes, I am well aware of that,” he said very quietly.

A terrible silence descended.

He turned and led the way back into the library. “So long as you are here, I may as well tell you that I think we must change the focus of our researches. Rather than investigate Drusilla Heskett’s other suitors, I believe we should look more closely at the members of Hamilton’s club.”

“Excellent notion. I quite agree with you.” She followed him into the library.

“We cannot overlook the fact that there is a connection to Lennox’s heir, young Norris.”

“Indeed. Mrs. Heskett was having an affair with his father. But I cannot envision Norris as a murderer.”

“Neither can I,” Baxter admitted. “But it is a place to start. I shall enlist my aunt’s assistance. We require an invitation that will get us inside the Lennox mansion as soon as possible.”

“That should not be difficult,” Charlotte said. “Ariel tells me that Norris’s eldest sister is giving a masquerade ball at the family home in two days’ time.”

Fourteen

Charlotte watched proudly as Ariel, costumed as a water sprite, was led out onto the dance floor by another in a long string of partners.

“Isn’t she spectacular?” Charlotte smiled fondly as she watched the dancers whirl beneath the jeweled lights of the colored lanterns that had replaced the chandeliers for the evening. “I vow, she has danced every dance since we arrived.”

“She’s just a blur to me,” Baxter said gruffly. “Especially in this dim light. Not wearing my spectacles, remember? They’re in the pocket of this damned domino cape.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot. You can hardly wear your spectacles with your mask, can you?” She glanced at him and felt a curious dread that had nothing to do with their plans for the evening.

The long, black, hooded cape and half mask of Baxter’s austere domino was indistinguishable from several other similar costumes in the crowd. She knew he had chosen the black domino because he thought that it would make him virtually anonymous in the thronged ballroom and he had been correct.

But she feared that the unrelieved darkness of the flowing cape and mask suited Baxter all too well. She had a sudden vision of Baxter disappearing forever into a dark cavern with his alchemical fire and crucible.

In a moment of whimsy, she had chosen to attend the masquerade as Diana the Huntress. As she had explained to Ariel, the costume seemed appropriate for a lady who was hunting a murderer.

“I detest masquerade balls,” Baxter grumbled. “Grown people running about in masks and costumes. Utter nonsense.”

“You must admit, this particular ball will be quite useful to us.”

“Indeed. I shall rely on you to tell me when Ariel takes the floor with young Norris,” Baxter said.

“She advised me a few minutes ago that she has made certain that Norris would have the next dance.”

The plans had been formulated that afternoon. It was Ariel who had suggested that she could provide an extra measure of insurance for Baxter. She had pointed out that it would be simple enough to make certain that Norris was occupied for at least some of the time Baxter needed to locate and search his bedchamber.

“We appear to have a few minutes to wait.” Baxter abruptly set his champagne glass down on a nearby tray. “May as well spend them on the dance floor.”

Charlotte blinked. “Are you asking me to dance, Baxter?”

“Why not? Supposed to be engaged, aren’t we? Engaged people do that sort of thing. I assume you can manage a waltz with that silly bow and arrow you’ve got dangling from your wrist.”

“They’re part of my costume. And, yes, I think I can manage the waltz.” She raised her brows behind her feathery mask. “I did not realize that you danced, sir.”

“It’s been some time. Several years, in fact.” He took her hand without waiting for a formal acceptance of his offer. “Expect it’s rather like riding a horse. Doubt that one forgets how to do the thing.”

She hid a smile as she allowed him to lead her toward the dance floor. “Let’s hope that is the case, because other than that gallop around the floor with Lennox the other evening, I have not had any practice in an age.”

He stopped at the edge of the crowd and took her into his arms. “We won’t try anything fancy.”

She chuckled. “We shall likely resemble a pair of rusty barges sloshing about on a lake filled with sleek sailing yachts.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Behind the openings in his black mask, Baxter’s eyes were intense. “You are the most graceful barge in the room.”

The awkward compliment should have amused her but instead warmed her to her soul. “Thank you, sir. That is the most charming thing anyone has said to me in a long while.”

Without another word, he tightened his arms around her and swept her out among the brilliant sails.

Just as she had anticipated, Baxter’s dancing was all power and control. But there was an underlying sensuality in his movements that reminded her of the way he made love. She gave herself up to the moment. There would not be many such, she reminded herself. She must
seize each one that came along, drain it of its memories, and store them up against the possibility of a long, lonely future.

As the strains of the waltz swelled around her, Charlotte briefly forgot the reason she was there with Baxter in the first place. She only knew that she was in the arms of her lover, the man whose face she would see in her dreams for the rest of her life.

The jeweled lanterns created a spangled pattern of lights on the dancers. The ballroom was transformed into a shadowy faerie land populated by costumed legends and masked myths. Gods and goddesses from ancient Greece mingled with the old deities of Rome and Egypt and Zamar. Highwaymen and pirates conversed with queens and elves. And on the surface of the bejeweled lake that was the dance floor, Diana the Huntress whirled in the arms of an alchemist.

When the music ended at last, Charlotte felt an inexplicable urge to burst into tears. Her affair with Baxter might not last any longer than this perfect dance, she thought. A moment out of time that she would cherish forever.

“Charlotte?” Baxter came to a halt and stood looking down at her. “Good God, what is it? Did I tread on your toes?”

She shook off the gloomy mood with an act of will. “No, of course not.” She managed a smile. “I thought we did rather well, sir. We did not disgrace ourselves by sinking to the bottom out here among the pretty yachts.”

His hand clenched fiercely around hers. “No, we did not. We managed to stay afloat.”

“That bodes well, don’t you think?” She heard the ill-concealed hope in her own voice. And then she caught sight of Ariel’s blond head, unmistakable with its garland
of delicate sea fronds. “Baxter, Norris has just gone over to Ariel to claim his dance. You had best be on your way.”

“Yes.” Baxter turned abruptly and hauled her quickly to a shadowed corner near the terrace. “Wait here. I shall not be long.”

“Be careful.”

He did not respond. He surreptitiously removed his pocket watch, glanced briefly through the glass cover to orient himself, and then turned and walked out onto the darkened terrace.

Charlotte watched him go, amazed at how easily he appeared to vanish into the night. She knew that he was headed toward the conservatory at the rear of the great house but she lost sight of the black domino before he had got as far as the stone steps. One moment she was aware of the outline of the black cape against the hedge and the next she could not see it.

A liveried servant appeared with a tray of glasses. Charlotte took some lemonade and then turned to watch Ariel and her new partner. Norris was dressed as an ancient Roman. He looked quite dashing in his toga but she noticed that he did not seem to be conversing with his usual enthusiasm.

The minutes ticked past. Charlotte grew restless. She should have accompanied Baxter, she thought. She should not have allowed him to convince her to stay down there.

She silently counted the seconds as she listened to the music and watched the dancers. Her uneasiness increased. She could only hope that Baxter had been able to locate Norris’s bedchamber quickly and that it would not take long to conduct the search.

She was attempting to follow Ariel and Norris as they swung into a long, whirling turn when a sudden whisper
of night air from the terrace stirred the flounces of her forest green gown.

Startled, she turned quickly and saw a familiar figure in a black domino standing in the shadows on the other side of the open French doors. In the darkness, it was difficult to see him clearly. The hood of his black cape was pulled down low over his masked face. The edges of the cape were closed, concealing his hands. The folds swirled around his black boots.

“Baxter,” Charlotte whispered.

She ought to be vastly relieved by the sight of him, she thought as she hurried through the French doors. He had obviously accomplished his goal quite quickly. She could not explain why little frissons of ice were jangling her nerves. Perhaps it was because the night air seemed several degrees colder than it had a few minutes ago. She was only steps away from the man in the black domino when she realized that something was wrong. She had made a mistake. It was not Baxter who stood there.

The figure in the cape and mask was too tall, too lean, too elegant. He lacked Baxter’s powerful shoulders and aura of solid strength. Intuitively, she sensed that this stranger was not someone she wished to meet.

“I beg your pardon, sir.” She came to an awkward halt. “I thought you were an acquaintance.”

The man said nothing. Beneath the edge of the half mask, full, sensual lips curved. The folds of the dark cape parted to reveal a single red rose gripped in a black-gloved hand. Silently he held out the blood-red blossom.

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.