Page 121 of Affair

“So we are properly introduced at last, my little avenging angel.” The shattered-glass voice conveyed icy amusement with remarkable clarity. Morgan inclined his head in a gesture of mocking grace. “I have looked forward to this meeting for some time.”

“Where is Baxter?”

“My staff will signal me when St. Ives awakens.” Morgan produced a pistol from the pocket of his pleated trousers. He held it rather carelessly in one hand as he walked across the crimson and black carpet to the brandy table. “I fear he got a rather heavy dose of the incense. My men are not skilled in its use.”

“Dear God.” Another layer of fear unfolded inside Charlotte. What if Baxter never awakened? She could not forget how near Juliana had come to death.

A small frown marred Morgan’s brow. “I really must experiment a bit more with the mixture. It is still much too unpredictable.”

She would not think about all the terrible possibilities, Charlotte told herself. She would concentrate on the matter at hand. Baxter would be all right. He had to be all right.

She schooled her voice to a tone that dripped with scorn. “I hardly think you need to brandish your pistol, Mr. Judd.” She indicated her tethered wrists. “Or do you gain some sort of pleasure from waving it about?”

“Forgive me, Miss Arkendale.” Morgan poured a measure of brandy and turned to her with a faint smile. “It is not because of you that I prefer to keep my pistol at the ready.”

Comprehension dawned. “You fear St. Ives so much, then?”

A flicker of annoyance lit the reptilian eyes. “I do not fear him, but I have learned the hard way to take precautions. He is a deceptive man. Much more dangerous than he appears.”

“I quite agree.” Charlotte fixed him with what she hoped was a commanding stare. “Why have you brought us here?”

Morgan sipped his brandy. “I would have thought it obvious to a woman of your admirable intellect. I am weaving a destiny for myself, and for some inexplicable reason, you and St. Ives are apparently fated to appear in the pattern. I tried to work you both out of the design, but when that failed, I concluded I must reweave that portion.”

There was a movement in the doorway.

“Still working on your grand destiny, Judd?” Baxter asked dryly.

Morgan smiled slowly. “St. Ives.”

“Baxter.” Charlotte’s heart leaped at the sight of him.

He was there, looking just as he had when he left the ballroom several hours earlier. Just as Baxter was supposed to look, she thought. A little out of fashion, slightly rumpled, and much too staid for a man of thirty-two. But the disguise he had adopted was no more effective than Morgan Judd’s. She could see the true nature of both men quite clearly.

Baxter walked into the chamber with a pistol in his hand. His greatcoat was draped over one arm as if he had just returned from a ride in the park. But the firelight glinted on the lenses of his spectacles and his eyes burned with ruthless promise.

Morgan aimed his pistol at Charlotte as he set down his brandy glass. “My staff has failed me, I see. Really, it is so bloody difficult to get reliable help. I was supposed to receive a signal when you awakened, St. Ives.”

“Don’t blame your staff,” Baxter said. “I cut the bell pull on my way here. In fact, I located the closet where all of the signal bell pulls connect and severed the lot. None of your people will hear a thing if you try to use the mechanism. An ingenious design, by the bye. But quite useless now. Amazing how one small weakness can destroy the most clever scheme.”

Morgan’s jaw hardened but he merely shrugged. “Do not be so certain of yourself, St. Ives. I survived Italy and I shall triumph tonight.” He motioned slightly with his hand. “Put the pistol down, or I will blow your lady’s brains across the wall. We both know the damn thing won’t do you any good from that distance. You were never a decent shot.”

“Quite true.” Baxter set his pistol on a nearby table. Then he looked at Charlotte. “Are you all right, my dear?”

His voice was as calm and emotionless as ever but his eyes blazed hotter than the flames of the pit. Charlotte had to swallow twice before she could answer.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m unhurt. What about you, Baxter?”

“Perfectly fit, as you see.” He turned his attention back to Morgan. “What the devil is this all about?”

Morgan sighed. “Your interference in my affairs was a nuisance at first but then I began to view it as a most intriguing challenge. One can hardly ignore the workings of one’s own destiny, after all.”

“Indeed.” Carrying his coat over his arm, Baxter walked slowly across the carpet to the nearest window. He stood gazing out into the night with a thoughtful expression. “Interesting subject, destiny. The ancient philosophers believed that one’s character is the key to one’s fate.”

“Indeed,” Morgan murmured. “I am in complete agreement.”

Charlotte watched him with tense anticipation. Although he kept the pistol aimed in her general direction, his attention was entirely upon Baxter.

Baxter turned his head at that moment and glanced at her over his shoulder. His face was unreadable but there was an intensity in his gaze that riveted her. He was trying to convey some message. She sensed that he wished her to do something.

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