Page 72 of Affair

“You refer to the matter of Miss Post’s visit,” Charlotte said. “What do you intend to do?”

“Assure myself that there is no connection between her and Drusilla Heskett’s murder,” Baxter said. “The way to eliminate that possibility is to discover whether or not my half brother sent her to you in an act of deliberate mischief.”

“Hamilton?” Ariel’s mouth dropped open in outrage. “You cannot mean to suggest that Lord Esherton sent Miss Post to tell that outlandish tale to Charlotte?”

“He thinks Hamilton may have done it as a sort of practical joke,” Charlotte explained hastily. “I have told St. Ives that is highly unlikely.”

“Unlikely? It’s impossible,” Ariel declared. “His lordship is a gentleman. He would never stoop to such a nasty trick.”

Baxter raised his brows. “I see Hamilton has managed to make an excellent impression on this household.”

Ariel gestured toward the large vase of pink roses. “He sent those magnificent flowers this morning. His taste, as you can see, is very refined. He is not the sort to play a vicious practical joke.”

Baxter gave the roses a disgusted look. “It doesn’t take exquisite sensibilities or a noble character to conclude that it is appropriate to send roses to a lady the morning after a ball.”

“An interesting observation,” Charlotte said dryly. “One could certainly expect any gentleman, even one unaccustomed to the ways of Society, to know enough to send flowers to a lady following a particularly memorable evening.” She paused deliberately. “Or even after a memorablemorning, for that matter.”

Baxter shot her a disconcerted glance. Charlotte could have sworn that a hint of ruddy color appeared high on his cheekbones. She favored him with her brightest smile.

Ariel was distraught. “Mr. St. Ives, surely you do not believe that your own brother conspired with Miss Post?”

He gave a dismissive shrug. “As I said, I intend to learn the truth of the matter. Once we know how Miss Post is involved in all of this, we shall have some notion of how to proceed.”

Charlotte stepped quickly around the edge of the desk. “I wish to be present when you speak with your brother.”

“Not bloody likely,” Baxter said.

She gave him another smile, this one not quite so bright. “Let me put it this way, St. Ives. A bargain is a bargain. Either you take me with you when you confront Lord Esherton or I shall be forced to conclude that you wish us to pursue this investigation independently of each other. Ourpartnershipwill be at an end.”

He regarded her with a thoughtful expression that did nothing to mask the banked flames in his eyes. “Blackmail is it now, Miss Arkendale? The range of your talents never ceases to amaze me.”

The accusation hurt. She tried valiantly to conceal the pain behind a coolly amused look. “In my business, Mr. St. Ives, one learns to use whatever tools happen to be at hand in order to complete the task.”

“I see.” He inclined his head and turned to walk toward the door. “Well, I trust you enjoyed the tool that you used so very effectively less than an hour ago in my laboratory, Miss Arkendale. I assure you, that particular length of iron has never been so well heated in such a small, warm crucible.”

For an instant Charlotte could not believe she had heard right. And then outrage poured through her. “Of all the damnable nerve.” She snatched up the nearest hefty object, a vase of pansies.

Ariel gave a small cry of alarm. “Wait, those are some ofmyflowers.”

Her protest came too late. Charlotte had already hurled the vase. It struck the door, which Baxter had somehow managed to close very neatly behind himself as he stepped out into the hall.

Ahalf hour after midnight, Baxter sat in the shadowed depths of the carriage and studied the front door of The Green Table from the opposite side of the street.

A light fog cloaked the scene. Carriages came and went, depositing raucous gentlemen in various stages of inebriation at the foot of the steps. Baxter saw Hamilton, Norris, and several laughing companions erupt from one vehicle. They bounded toward the entrance of the establishment.

“Well?” Charlotte demanded. “Did you see your brother go inside?”

“Yes. He has managed to avoid me all afternoon and evening, but I’ve finally cornered him.” Baxter eased the curtain across the window and sat back in the seat. “I believe I recognize the premises. This house was once a popular brothel known as The Cloister.”

“I recall hearing of The Cloister.” There was sharp disapproval in Charlotte’s tone. “Some of the so-called gentlemen I researched at the beginning of my career were rumored to favor the place. What would you know of it, sir?”

Baxter hoped that the darkness concealed his quick, amused grin. “I assure you, I am aware of it by reputation only.”

“I see.” Charlotte cleared her throat. “I do not believe that I have come across any reference to The Cloister for at least two years.”

“It was closed some time ago. There has obviously been a change in management.”

“Yes. It may be a rather raffish gaming hell now, but that is certainly a step up from a brothel, if you ask me.”

---