Affair (10 page)

Whatever else could be said about the night’s events, one thing was clear. There was danger afoot and Charlotte was in the midst of it.

I
n the black and crimson chamber the coals on the brazier burned low. The rich, spicy vapors of the incense had opened his senses. His mind was attuned to the forces of the metaphysical plane. He was ready.

“Read the cards, my love,” he whispered.

The fortune-teller turned over the first card. “The golden griffin.”

“A man.”

“Always.” The fortune-teller looked at him across the low table. “Beware. The griffin would stand in your way.”

“Will he be able to alter my plans?”

She turned over another card, hesitated. “The phoenix.” She reached for the next card, placed it faceup. “The red ring.”

“Well?”

“No. The golden griffin may prove difficult but ultimately you will prevail.”

He smiled. “Yes. Now tell me about the woman.”

The fortune-teller turned over another card. “The lady with the crystal eyes. She searches.”

“But she will not find.”

The fortune-teller shook her head. “No. She will not find what she seeks.”

“She’s only a woman, after all. She will not be a problem.”

And neither would the fortune-teller be a problem when this was finished, he thought. He would dispose of her when the time came. She was useful at the moment, however, and it was a simple matter to hold her in thrall with the bonds of her own passions.

W
hat do you make of this curious design, Ariel?” Charlotte pushed Drusilla Heskett’s watercolor sketchbook across her desk. “You are more conversant with current fashion than I. Have you ever seen anything similar?”

Ariel paused in the act of pouring another cup of tea. She glanced at the sketchbook, which was open to a page near the middle. Her eyes widened as she gazed at the picture of a nude statue that decorated the left side of the paper.

“Uh, no,” Ariel said dryly. “I do not believe that I have ever encountered anything similar to that particular design.”

Charlotte gave her a reproving glare. “Not the picture of the statue. The little drawing in the corner. It appears to be a circle with a triangle inside. And there are little tiny figures around the edges and in the center of the triangle.”

“Yes, I see.” Ariel shook her head. “It bears no resemblance to any of the fashionable motifs I have seen in
La Belle Assemblée
or
Ackermann’s Repository of the Arts
. Perhaps one of the other ladies’ magazines contains such a design.”

“Perhaps it is Egyptian or Roman.”

“I do not believe so.” With the tip of one finger, Ariel traced the poorly drawn pattern. “Heaven knows there are any number of decorative designs that have been copied from Egyptian and Roman antiquities. Every modiste and decorator in London uses them. And since ancient Zamar has come into fashion we have seen a great many dolphins and shells. But this design is not familiar to me. Why is it of interest?”

“For some reason Drusilla Heskett saw fit to copy it onto this page in her watercolor sketchbook. A sketchbook she appears to have devoted entirely to pictures of nude statues.”

Ariel glanced up with an inquiring look. “But this is not a watercolor picture. It is a drawing made with pen and ink.”

“Yes. And it is completely unlike all of the other scenes in the sketchbook.”

“Indeed.” Ariel smiled faintly. “I wonder if Mrs. Heskett is typical of the sort of client you hope to attract from the fashionable circles. She appears to have had a lively interest in the male figure.”

“Yes, well, I suppose her tastes are no longer very important. What bothers me is that I cannot help but wonder why she chose to add this extremely strange design to her book.”

“What is that reddish brown stain on the binding?” Ariel asked. “Spilled watercolor paint?”

“Perhaps.” Charlotte touched the stain with her fingertips. “But what if it is dried blood?”

“Dear heaven.”

“What if Mrs. Heskett lived long enough after she was shot to shove this sketchbook under the wardrobe?” Charlotte whispered.

“You will likely never know for certain.”

“No, I suppose not.” Charlotte nibbled on her lower lip, thinking of the possibilities.

Ariel picked up her teacup and regarded Charlotte over the rim. “You have many questions to answer, but I have some of my own.”

“Such as?”

“What, exactly, happened last night when you went out to search Drusilla Heskett’s house?”

Charlotte sat back in her chair. “I gave you the entire tale last night. Mr. St. Ives and I discovered the sketchbook and then were accosted by a housebreaker as we left the house. That is all there was to it.”

“Do you know, it is your description of St. Ives’s role in the affair that sticks in my mind this morning.”

Charlotte smiled with deep satisfaction. “As I said, Mr. St. Ives was magnificent.”

“Magnificent is not a word that you are accustomed to use, especially not when you are describing a member of the opposite sex.”

Charlotte cleared her throat. “Well, there really is no other word that suits in this particular situation. Mr. St.
Ives was clever, resourceful, quick-thinking, and astonishingly brave. I shudder to think what might have happened had he not accompanied me.”

“All in all, quite the perfect man-of-affairs, would you say?”

“Perfect. Mr. Marcle was absolutely correct to recommend him for the position.”

“He kissed you, did he not?” Ariel asked softly.

“Good lord, what a strange thing to say. Why on earth would I kiss John Marcle?” Charlotte reached for her tea. “He’s a very nice man, but he’s at least thirty years older than I am and I do not think that he’s particularly interested in females.”

“You know very well I meant Mr. St. Ives, not Mr. Marcle.”

Charlotte felt the warmth rise furiously into her cheeks. “You believe that Mr. St. Ives kissed me? Wherever did you get such a crazed notion?”

“When I came to your bedchamber last night to inquire into your adventures you looked …” Ariel hesitated, clearly searching for the right word. “Different.”

“Different?”

“Overheated. Very bright. Practically glowing.” Ariel waved one hand in a vague gesture. “A little disheveled, too. There was an odd look in your eyes.”

“Really, Ariel, this is too much. I had just had a very disturbing encounter with an extremely violent villain. How the devil is one supposed to look after such an occasion?”

“I don’t know how the average lady looks after she has had a near miss with a villain but I know how you look.”

“What on earth do you mean? I have not had any other direct encounters with villains.”

“You have had one that I recall quite distinctly.” Ariel put her cup down gently on its saucer. “Five years ago. The night before Winterbourne got his throat slit by a footpad. I heard you in the hall that night. You used Papa’s pistol to drive Winterbourne and one of his gaming cronies from the house.”

Charlotte stared at her. “I did not realize that you understood what had happened that night.”

“I did not comprehend matters entirely until I was much older. But even then I understood that you had dealt with a very dangerous situation. And I saw the expression in your eyes afterward. It was not the same look I saw there last night.”

“I’m sorry. I did not mean for you to ever learn just how evil Winterbourne was.”

“His companion was infinitely worse, was he not?”

Charlotte shuddered at the memory. “He was a monster. But that was a long time ago, Ariel. And we both came through it safely.”

“The point is, I recall your demeanor on that night quite clearly. You were cold to the touch. Your eyes were stark.”

Charlotte rubbed her temples. “I do not know what to say. I was terrified. I do not recall anything else about my emotional state.”

“Last night you had a scare, too. But you were not cold. Your eyes were anything but bleak. Indeed, you were excited and animated and almost exuberant.”

“Get to the point, Ariel.”

“The point is, I believe that Mr. St. Ives kissed you.”

Charlotte groaned and threw up her hands. “Very well, he kissed me. We were both overwrought and somewhat overstimulated by the night’s events. Danger sometimes has that effect on the senses, you know.”

“It does?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said very firmly. “The poets are always writing about the problem. Even the senses of a person who is cool and clearheaded and not inclined toward strong passions can be overcome by a thrilling experience.”

“Even a person such as Mr. St. Ives?”

“Actually, I was referring to myself.” Charlotte smiled ruefully. “Mr. St. Ives is cool and clearheaded also, of course, but it is obvious that he must employ a fine degree of self-discipline in order to achieve that serene state.”

Ariel’s lips parted in astonishment. “I beg your pardon?”

“Underneath that stern, steady exterior, he is a man of dangerously strong passions.”

“Strong passions? Mr. St. Ives?”

“I know that I expressed some concerns in the beginning but I no longer believe his temperament will present any great difficulties for us,” Charlotte said with a false heartiness. “I am convinced he will do very well in his position.”

“I’m glad you’re satisfied, but I’m beginning to have a few qualms. Charlotte, if Mr. St. Ives has kissed you, things have taken on a whole new aspect. How much do you really know about him?”

“What do you mean?” Charlotte gave her a searching look. “Mr. Marcle sent a glowing letter of reference.”

“Yes, but we have not done any research on St. Ives ourselves. We have not even made the sort of inquiries that we would have made if we were examining him on behalf of a client.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My instincts are perfectly sound in such matters. You know that.”

“My instincts are very sound, too. And I’m beginning to wonder about St. Ives.”

“There is absolutely no need to be concerned.”

“Charlotte, you allowed him to kiss you.”

“Well, what of it?” Charlotte clasped her hands together on her desk. “It was merely a kiss.”

“You are not given to entertaining yourself with gentlemen’s kisses,” Ariel retorted.

Charlotte knew she could not argue with that observation. Her mother’s experience with Lord Winterbourne and a career spent looking into the murky pasts of several callous gentlemen with so-called honorable intentions had left her with few illusions about men.

That did not mean that she did not have a few lingering romantic inclinations and the perfectly natural curiosity of a healthy young woman. Her memories of her parents’ marriage were good ones, after all, and there were times when she would have given a great deal to know the same kind of intimate happiness her mother had shared with her father.

But she was all too well aware that the risks of marriage were very great for a woman. She had no interest in the wedded state, which was just as well, given her age and circumstances, but she had toyed with the notion of a discreet affair.

Unfortunately, such things were easier to contemplate than they were to carry out. For one thing, it was difficult for a woman in her situation to find a suitable man.

She did not move in social circles. She did not receive invitations and introductions. The handful of respectable gentlemen who had entered her life over the years had failed to inspire any strong emotions in her. Many, such
as Marcle, had been much too old. Others had simply been uninspiring.

It seemed rather pointless to have an affair unless one was infused with a truly grand passion, she thought. Why bother with the risks unless one expected to experience the stimulating emotions and exciting metaphysical feelings that the poets related?

The sort of feelings, for example, that had swept over her last night when Baxter had kissed her.

The thought stopped Charlotte cold. Was she actually considering the possibility of having an affair with Baxter St. Ives?

She looked at the strange design that Drusilla Heskett had drawn in the watercolor sketchbook. The pattern was an enigma. Not unlike her feelings for Baxter.

Five

“A lady in your position cannot be too careful, Miss Patterson.” Charlotte smiled at the woman seated across from her. She had a theory that it was good business to compliment a client’s foresight and caution. “You were wise to verify the impression Mr. Adams made.”

“I told myself I must be careful.”

“Indeed. But I am happy to inform you that our inquiries produced no reason to doubt either Mr. Adams’s credibility or the security of his financial situation.”

“I do not mind telling you that I am enormously relieved to hear that. I do not know how to thank you.” Honoria Patterson, a pleasantly rounded woman with a pretty face and warm eyes, visibly relaxed her fierce grip on the reticule that rested on her lap.

There was an air of sweet, soft femininity, almost a maternal quality about Honoria, which made her appear a
trifle fragile. Charlotte was not deceived. She knew full well that any woman who had kept her spirits strong and optimistic after nearly ten years as a governess was no delicate flower.