Page 22 of Affair

“I don’t want that villain to think that he can go into Mrs. Heskett’s house and steal whatever he likes.”

“Why not? We just did exactly that.”

“Taking this sketchbook is a different matter entirely,” she protested breathlessly.

“Hmm.” The carriage was almost upon them.

“I must tell you, I was most impressed with the way you handled that situation, Mr. St. Ives. Very clever of you to think of using your instantaneous lights in that fashion. Very clever, indeed.”

Baxter ignored the admiration in her words. He was too intent on watching the dark carriage materialize out of the fog.

The horses appeared first, a pair of gray phantoms coalescing out of the mist. The bulk of the vehicle took shape behind them. The coachman, hired from Severedges Stables along with the carriage and team, had driven for Baxter many times. He was accustomed to the eccentricities of his client.

Baxter had patronized the large livery stable for years. He found it more efficient and economical to send around to Severedges’s whenever he required a carriage than to maintain his own stable. In exchange for his long-standing business and prompt payment of accounts, he was assured of service and discretion.

“Anything wrong, sir?” the coachman inquired as he wheeled the horses to a halt.

“Nothing that my companion and I could not handle.” Baxter yanked the carriage door open. He caught Charlotte around the waist and tossed her lightly into the cab. “Take us back to Miss Arkendale’s house.”

“Aye, sir.”

Baxter vaulted into the carriage, closed the door, and sank down on the seat across from Charlotte. The vehicle rumbled into motion.

He checked to make certain that the curtains were still drawn across the windows. Then he turned back to Charlotte. In the pale glow of the interior lamps, her eyes were very brilliant.

“Mr. St. Ives, I cannot thank you enough for your actions tonight,” she said. “You were truly noble and heroic and terribly quick-witted in the crisis. All of my doubts concerning your employment have been resolved. Mr. Marcle was quite right to send you to me.”

Anger surged through him without warning. She could have gotten herself killed tonight, he thought. And there she sat, glowing with enthusiasm and praising him as if he were a servant who had performed his duties particularly well. It was enough to make any reasonable man want to lose his temper.

“I am delighted that you are satisfied with my services, Miss Arkendale.”

“Oh, I am, sir. Most delighted. You will, indeed, make me an excellent man-of-affairs.”

“But in myprofessionalopinion,” he continued very softly, “your reckless actions this evening were intolerable. There is no excuse for such foolishness. I must have been out of my mind to allow you to search Drusilla Heskett’s house.”

“I do not recall asking your permission, sir.”

“You could have been hurt, perhaps even killed by that man who accosted us.”

“I was in no danger, thanks to you, sir. Indeed, I do not know what I would have done without you this evening.” Her eyes glowed. “No man has ever come to my rescue, Mr. St. Ives. It was quite thrilling, actually. Just the sort of thing one reads about in Gothic novels or in one of Byron’s poems.”

“Bloody hell, Miss Arkendale—”

“You were wonderful, sir.” Without warning, she launched herself across the short distance that separated them. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a quick, exuberant hug.

The folds of her cloak settled lightly around him. Baxter was suddenly enveloped by a warm, tantalizing, indescribable fragrance. It was composed of the light flowery perfume Charlotte wore, the herbal essence of the soap she used, and the incredibly unique, utterly feminine scent of her body.

He felt as though he had been thrust into one of his own bell jars. Some unseen air pump seemed to have sucked all of the oxygen out of the atmosphere. All that was left to breathe was the essence of Charlotte.

A searing awareness flashed through him with the speed of an electrical charge. It created a truly alchemical reaction. The ancients had believed that, with the aid of fire, it was possible to transmute base lead into glorious gold. Baxter knew now that it was possible for the heat in his blood to change his anger into intense sexual desire.

He wanted her. Now. Tonight. He had never wanted a woman so badly in the whole of his life.

He caught her face between his palms as she started to pull away from him. He gazed down at her, baffled by the force of his own need.

“Forgive me, Mr. St. Ives.” Charlotte looked flustered. Her smile was tremulous. Her eyes went to his mouth. “I did not mean to embarrass you. The excitement of the moment must have overcome my senses.”

Baxter did not respond. He could not think of a damn thing to say.

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