Page 89 of Affair

“It’s not important.” The masked figure held out the rose. “This is for you. Take it.”

“I do not want it.”

“You must take the rose.” The rasping voice lowered until it was no more than a whisper. “It is for you and no other.”

There was a strange, compelling quality about the ruined voice. It beckoned and fascinated.

“Come. Take the rose.”

The lights and music from the ballroom receded into the distance. She was alone out there in the night with this man. “We do not know each other. Why do you want to give me a flower?”

“Take the rose and see.” The words were slivers of frost on a grave.

She hesitated, but she knew that she could not turn and run. Danger did not disappear when one turned one’s back on it. She had to know what this was all about.

Reluctantly, she took one step forward and then another. The figure in the flowing black domino waited with seemingly infinite patience.

When she was within reach, the black-gloved fist opened in a disturbingly graceful gesture. Only then did she see that a folded piece of paper was impaled on one of the thorns.

She seized the flower. The stranger bowed exquisitely, turned, and swirled away into the night.

She hurried back toward the jeweled lights, pausing just inside the ballroom to unfold the note. She read the message beneath an emerald-colored lantern. Eerie green light dappled the words.

Your alchemist lover seeks the Philosopher’s Stone of vengeance. He is obsessed with destroying his brother. He will use whatever means he believes will transmute the past, including your affections. But he will never succeed in his goal to turn the base metal of his bastard status into the gold of true nobility.

The bastard once betrayed one who trusted him. He will not hesitate to betray again. Take heed before it is too late. Do not become his victim.

Charlotte drew in a sharp breath and crumpled the note in her hand. She turned quickly to search the shadows, but the stranger in the black domino had disappeared.

Baxter removed his eyeglasses, stuffed them into his cape pocket, and quickly retied the mask. He stepped out into the corridor, closed the door of Norris’s bedchamber, and headed quickly down the hall to the rear stairs.

He did not use his spectacles or the watch glass to make his way down the steps. The wall sconces were unlit and it was too dark to see in any event. He relied on his sense of touch and the memory of the even spacing of the treads.

He did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed in the results of his hasty search. He had found nothing that proved helpful. The most obvious connection between Drusilla Heskett’s death and The Green Table was through Lennox’s heir. But perhaps in this case the obvious link was not the right one.

He could hear the muffled strains of the waltz from the ballroom as he descended the stairs. At least his timing was good, he thought. The dance was just ending. He was anxious to return to Charlotte.

He recalled the waltz they had shared before he had set off on his fruitless task. She had been warm and graceful and full of feminine vitality in his arms, just as she was when he made love to her. The scent of her had aroused the hunger that always seemed to seethe just beneath the surface of his awareness these days. It was becoming increasingly difficult to envision his life without her in it.

Her words of the previous afternoon echoed in his brain as he slipped through the shadowed conservatory.Just think, when we have finished this affair, you need never set eyes on me again.

Moonlight filtering through the glass panes lit Baxter’s path. The rich smells of earth and growing plants assailed him. It occurred to him that Lennox might be interested in participating in some agricultural chemistry experiments. He made a mental note to inquire. Then he recalled the barren sweet pea pots sitting on his laboratory windowsill. Perhaps there was no point in such experiments.

He used the eyeglass in his watch to make certain that he did not trip over a pot or a stray hoe as he headed to the far door.

A moment later he was safely back in the gardens. He made his way toward the blurred glow of colored lights that was the ballroom.

When he reached the terrace a familiar, slightly unfocused, figure loomed in his path.

“I thought I told you to wait inside, Charlotte.”

“Baxter, is that you?”

“Of course it is. Who the devil did you think it was?”

“Never mind, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. Something more important has come up. Hamilton is desperate to find you.”

“Hamilton?” He frowned as she moved closer. The concerned expression on her face sharpened as she came into focus. “What does he want?”

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