Page 47 of Affair

Charlotte took her key out of her beaded reticule. “Would you care to come in for a brandy, Mr. St. Ives?”

Baxter, fixated on his own gloomy thoughts, was certain that he had not heard correctly. He realized that she was watching him with a quizzical expression.

“A brandy?” He took the key from her hand and opened the door with fingers that had suddenly become clumsy.

“I realize it is late but we have a great deal to discuss.” She stepped briskly into the darkened hall and turned to face him. “What with the rush of preparations to enter Society, I have not yet had an opportunity to show you the small picture I discovered in Mrs. Heskett’s sketchbook.”

She wanted to discuss business with him.

“Is something wrong, Mr. St. Ives?”

He realized he was still standing on her front steps. “Whatever gave you that notion?”

“Oh, dear, I’ve outraged your sense of propriety, haven’t I?” She gave him an apologetic look. “I assure you that you need have no qualms about your reputation. Absolutely no one except your coachman will know if you come in for a few minutes. Mrs. Witty has gone to visit her cousin for the night. She will not be home until tomorrow.”

“I see.”

She gave him a laughing smile. “And we are supposed to be engaged, if you will recall. In short, Mr. St. Ives, your virtue is quite safe with me.”

She was laughing at him.

“I believe I could use a brandy. A large one.” He stalked into the tiled hall and closed the front door very deliberately.

There was enough moonlight pouring in through the windows that surrounded the door for Baxter to see Charlotte slip out of her evening cloak. She hung it on a wall hook.

He watched as she reached up to light a wall sconce. He could not take his eyes off the curves of her breasts as they rose gently in response to her movements. A moment later light flared warmly, spilling across her smooth skin. With alchemical magic the lamp revealed the fire buried in her dark hair and transmuted her yellow satin gown to gold. When she turned to look at him, her eyes were fathomless jewels.

“Shall we go into my study, Mr. St. Ives? I will show you Mrs. Heskett’s little picture.”

“By all means,” Baxter heard himself say.

A great longing gripped him as he watched her walk toward the darkened room. The graceful sway of her hips beneath the golden skirts heated the blood in his veins.

“The brandy is on the table near the window,” Charlotte called from inside the study. Light flared again as she lit another lamp inside the small room.

The glow from the doorway of the study beckoned Baxter with the compelling power of a sorcerer’s spell. He hesitated a moment longer.

Entering the study was probably not a sound notion.

Definitely not a sensible, logical act.

“Bloody hell.” He yanked savagely at the knot of his cravat and crossed the hall to enter the dream world that lay on the other side of the study door.

“What did you say?” Charlotte asked as he entered the room.

“Nothing of any importance.” He went to light the fire. Then he straightened and headed for the brandy table.

Charlotte walked around behind her desk and bent down to open a bottom drawer. “I tore the page that contained the little picture out of the sketchbook. As far as I can tell, none of the other watercolor drawings in the book have anything to do with the small sketch and they were very distracting.”

“Indeed.” Baxter eyed Charlotte’s nicely rounded bottom as she stooped to fumble in the low drawer. “Very distracting.”

“Every time I tried to discuss the picture with Ariel, her attention kept straying to the nude figures. And Mrs. Witty was no better.”

“What of your own attention, Charlotte? Were you distracted by the nude figures, too?”

“I have a talent for keeping my mind on business.” Charlotte straightened and put a sheet of neatly torn paper on the desk.

“Indeed.” He concentrated hard on pouring two glasses of brandy. “It is one of my own great skills.”

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