Page 28 of Affair

“The point is, I recall your demeanor on that night quite clearly. You were cold to the touch. Your eyes were stark.”

Charlotte rubbed her temples. “I do not know what to say. I was terrified. I do not recall anything else about my emotional state.”

“Last night you had a scare, too. But you were not cold. Your eyes were anything but bleak. Indeed, you were excited and animated and almost exuberant.”

“Get to the point, Ariel.”

“The point is, I believe that Mr. St. Ives kissed you.”

Charlotte groaned and threw up her hands. “Very well, he kissed me. We were both overwrought and somewhat overstimulated by the night’s events. Danger sometimes has that effect on the senses, you know.”

“It does?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said very firmly. “The poets are always writing about the problem. Even the senses of a person who is cool and clearheaded and not inclined toward strong passions can be overcome by a thrilling experience.”

“Even a person such as Mr. St. Ives?”

“Actually, I was referring to myself.” Charlotte smiled ruefully. “Mr. St. Ives is cool and clearheaded also, of course, but it is obvious that he must employ a fine degree of self-discipline in order to achieve that serene state.”

Ariel’s lips parted in astonishment. “I beg your pardon?”

“Underneath that stern, steady exterior, he is a man of dangerously strong passions.”

“Strong passions? Mr. St. Ives?”

“I know that I expressed some concerns in the beginning but I no longer believe his temperament will present any great difficulties for us,” Charlotte said with a false heartiness. “I am convinced he will do very well in his position.”

“I’m glad you’re satisfied, but I’m beginning to have a few qualms. Charlotte, if Mr. St. Ives has kissed you, things have taken on a whole new aspect. How much do you really know about him?”

“What do you mean?” Charlotte gave her a searching look. “Mr. Marcle sent a glowing letter of reference.”

“Yes, but we have not done any research on St. Ives ourselves. We have not even made the sort of inquiries that we would have made if we were examining him on behalf of a client.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My instincts are perfectly sound in such matters. You know that.”

“My instincts are very sound, too. And I’m beginning to wonder about St. Ives.”

“There is absolutely no need to be concerned.”

“Charlotte, you allowed him to kiss you.”

“Well, what of it?” Charlotte clasped her hands together on her desk. “It was merely a kiss.”

“You are not given to entertaining yourself with gentlemen’s kisses,” Ariel retorted.

Charlotte knew she could not argue with that observation. Her mother’s experience with Lord Winterbourne and a career spent looking into the murky pasts of several callous gentlemen with so-called honorable intentions had left her with few illusions about men.

That did not mean that she did not have a few lingering romantic inclinations and the perfectly natural curiosity of a healthy young woman. Her memories of her parents’ marriage were good ones, after all, and there were times when she would have given a great deal to know the same kind of intimate happiness her mother had shared with her father.

But she was all too well aware that the risks of marriage were very great for a woman. She had no interest in the wedded state, which was just as well, given her age and circumstances, but she had toyed with the notion of a discreet affair.

Unfortunately, such things were easier to contemplate than they were to carry out. For one thing, it was difficult for a woman in her situation to find a suitable man.

She did not move in social circles. She did not receive invitations and introductions. The handful of respectable gentlemen who had entered her life over the years had failed to inspire any strong emotions in her. Many, such as Marcle, had been much too old. Others had simply been uninspiring.

It seemed rather pointless to have an affair unless one was infused with a truly grand passion, she thought. Why bother with the risks unless one expected to experience the stimulating emotions and exciting metaphysical feelings that the poets related?

The sort of feelings, for example, that had swept over her last night when Baxter had kissed her.

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