Page 90 of Affair

“Baxter? Is that you?” Hamilton’s voice came from the far side of the terrace. “I’ve been searching for you.” He hurried forward. “I must speak to you at once.”

“Well, you have found me. What is it?”

“This is a … a personal matter.” He glanced uneasily at Charlotte. “I beg your pardon, Miss Arkendale. I must be private with Baxter.”

“Whatever you have to say can be said in front of Charlotte,” Baxter muttered.

“Do not concern yourselves,” Charlotte said quickly. “I’ll wait inside the ballroom while you have your conversation.”

“Bloody hell.” Baxter had had enough of trying to peer through the mask. He untied it and dropped the black cloth into his pocket. Then he located his spectacles, put them on, and glared at Charlotte’s retreating figure. The light glinted on her little golden bow and arrow. It also revealed the rose she carried in one hand.

He started to ask her where the rose had come from and then closed his mouth when he realized that she had moved out of earshot.

“Baxter, this is important.” Hamilton stepped in front of him. Baxter reluctantly focused on him. He saw that Hamilton was not attired in a costume. He wore an elegantly tied cravat, a perfectly cut evening coat, and fashionably pleated trousers. His unmasked face was set in grim lines.

“I’m somewhat occupied at the moment, Hamilton. What is this all about?”

“The day before yesterday—” Hamilton swallowed heavily and tried again. “The day before yesterday, you advised me to be careful. You warned me that there might be some danger connected to my club.”

Baxter gave Hamilton his full, undivided attention. “Has something happened?”

“Not to me,” Hamilton said quickly. “But I am worried about Norris. We conducted an experiment in mesmerism the other night.”

“Yes, I know. Young Norris was the subject.”

Hamilton searched his face. “How is it that you are aware of that?”

“Never mind. What of it? Did Norris make an ass out of himself in someone’s ballroom earlier this evening? I doubt that Lennox will be pleased, but I hardly think that whatever happened will prove to be a disaster. The Lennox fortune is capable of overcoming the ill effects of virtually any outrage, including Norris’s bared arse.”

Hamilton stared. “I do not know how you could possibly have learned the details of our experiment but that is not important now. The thing is, in the end the magician—”

“Magician?”

Hamilton’s mouth thinned impatiently. “The person we employ to conduct the experiments. We call him our magician. It was all very amusing, you see. At any rate, the magician did not instruct Norris to cluck like a chicken or lower his trousers in a ballroom. It is much worse than that.”

“What did he do?”

“He used mesmerism to persuade Norris to call out Anthony Tiles.”

“Norris challenged Tiles to a duel? I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true,” Hamilton whispered. “Tiles has been involved in at least three duels during the last two years. He has an astonishing temper. And he is a brilliant marksman. He always draws blood.”

“Yes, I know.”

“At least one of his opponents is said to have died from his wound. Another took the bullet in his shoulder and can no longer use his left arm. And the third simply disappeared. No one knows what happened to him but some say that he was so badly injured he must continually dose himself with laudanum to kill the incessant pain.”

“I agree that Tiles has carved out a formidable reputation for himself.”

“They say he practices daily at Manton’s. A deadly shot. No sane man would challenge him.”

“Precisely. It makes no sense that Norris would do so.”

Hamilton’s expression twisted. “But that is just what he has done. It is all so unlike him, Baxter. Norris is the most good-natured of all my acquaintances. He has never been quick to anger. He is my best friend and I fear that he has signed his own death warrant.”

“Instruct your magician to undo the effects of his experiment.”

“We cannot locate him.” Hamilton’s air of desperation increased. “We do not know where he lives or how to reach him.”

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