Page 52 of Affair

She heard her own scream echo in the study as she fell from an impossibly high cliff.

Baxter held her while she floated down through a liquid atmosphere in which he was the only solid object. She knew a dazed sense of wonder that robbed her of speech.

Gradually she once more became aware of the crackle of flames on the hearth and the feel of the sofa cushions beneath her back.

Baxter’s weight still rested along the length of her body. When she finally opened her eyes she found him gazing down at her with glittering intensity.

“That was amazing,” she whispered. “Quite wonderful.”

He smiled and kissed her brow. “Yes, it was.”

She touched his jaw. “But you did not experience the same sensation.”

“Not this time.” He straightened, carefully extricating himself from her tumbled skirts. “But there will be other times.” He paused to touch the edge of her mouth with one blunt finger. “At least I hope that will be the case.”

“Baxter, wait. Where are you going?”

“We must talk.”

He got to his feet and walked across the room to where his shirt lay on the floor. The firelight flared on the acid scars that marked his back and shoulders. So much pain, Charlotte thought. Thank God the acid had not struck his eyes. He would surely have been blinded.

She watched as he picked up his shirt and shrugged into it with quick, practiced movements. Leaving it unfastened, he went to the desk, found his spectacles, and shoved them onto his nose.

Without a word he crossed to the hearth to stand in front of the fire. He stood gazing down into the flames.

Alarmed by the change in his mood, Charlotte sat up slowly. She fumbled with the bodice of her gown. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” He took a poker from the stand and leaned down to stir the flames. “But I would have an understanding between us before we go any farther down this road.”

She stared at him. His dark hair was tousled from where she had raked her fingers through it. The glow of the flames cast fierce shadows on the blunt planes and sharp angles of his forbidding features. She knew again the disturbing sense of wariness that she had felt the first day she met him.

“What sort of understanding?” she asked carefully.

“Will you have an affair with me, Charlotte?” The quiet words were spoken without inflection. Baxter’s voice was stripped of all emotion.

“An affair?” She suddenly felt so clumsy that she could barely finish fastening the tapes of her gown. “With you?”

“It would seem that we are attracted to each other.”

“Yes, but—” She broke off, not certain what to say. After all, she reminded herself, she had been considering just such a possibility.

“In my experience this sort of emotion is not unlike an illusion,” Baxter said. “It seems real for a time and then it fades.”

“I see.” She could not deny his claim. Passion alone was not to be trusted. She knew that better than most. She had established a career on the foundation of that simple principle. Only true love could add some element of safety and certainty to the dangerous brew. “You believe that the fires that warm us now will soon burn themselves out.”

“From my observation of such matters, boredom and ennui eventually turn the hottest flames to ashes.”

“Has that been the fate of your past liaisons?”

“I’m a chemist, not a poet.” Baxter clasped his hands behind his back. “Over time the distinction becomes more pronounced.”

“I do not understand.”

“To put it more plainly, women tend to find me somewhat dull once the initial physical attraction has passed.”

“Women find you dull?” That was too much. Anger flared in Charlotte, temporarily swamping the unhappiness that had been welling up inside her. “How dare you, sir. Do not try to fob me off with that sort of nonsense. If you have no great interest in a long-term connection, then at least have the decency to say so. Do not expect me to believe that your previous affairs have all ended because you bored your paramours to death.”

He glanced at her, startled. “I assure you, it is the simple truth.”

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