Affair (32 page)

He glanced up, startled by the vehemence in her voice. For an instant the expression in her eyes distracted him from the note in his hand. He cleared his throat. “I doubt that any female would send me a posy.”

“Hah. Don’t place any wagers on that, St. Ives. It is a wonder that I do not have to fend off my competitors with a stick. I suspect that the reason is that you have kept yourself out of Society for so long that no one knows you very well. It’s fortunate for me that you prefer to spend your time in your laboratory.”

Baxter felt the heat rise in his face.
Bloody hell, now she’s put me to the blush. Is there no limit to her power over me?
“You need not concern yourself with competitors. There aren’t any.”

“Excellent.”

He forced his attention back to the note in his hand. He read it quickly and then read it through a second time in growing disbelief.
Your alchemist lover seeks the Philosopher’s Stone of vengeance.… He will use whatever means … including your affections.… Do not become his victim
.

“Bloody hell.”

“It is not important now, Baxter. You must deal with the duel first. Then I will tell you about the note and the rose.”

He crushed the paper in one hand and met Charlotte’s eyes across the room. “Who gave you this?”

“I do not know who he was. He wore a black domino. When I saw him, I assumed it was you. But his voice …” She hesitated, as though searching for the words. “It was all wrong. Broken.” She glanced at the clock. “You must go. I promise to tell you everything later.”

“This is the second time that someone has attempted to turn you against me.”

“A useless exercise.” She shook out her skirts as she went to open the study door. “Hurry, Baxter. Hamilton will be waiting. He is depending upon you to save his friend’s life.”

She was right. There was no time now to get the full story from her. First things first, Baxter reminded himself.

“Damnation.” He went out into the hall, picked up his hat, and opened the front door. He looked back at her as she watched anxiously from the entrance of the study. “You have been up all night. Go to bed. I shall call upon you this afternoon. We shall discuss this matter of the note at that time.”

“Very well, but you will send word about the outcome of the duel?”

“Yes.”

“And you will be careful?”

“As I keep reminding you”—he turned to go down the steps—“I’m not the one who is scheduled to meet Anthony Tiles at dawn.”

“I know. And as I keep reminding you, Baxter, I comprehend your true nature too well to believe that you will be as careful as I could wish.”

“I don’t know where you gained the notion that I’m
the reckless, neck-or-nothing type. Not only do I lack the temperament for that sort of dashing behavior, I also lack the proper tailor. Good night, Charlotte.”

D
awn arrived with a light, drifting fog that cloaked Brent’s Field in a swirling gray shroud. An appropriate atmosphere for such a grim and stupid affair, Baxter thought.

He stood with Hamilton and watched as the paces were counted off by a young man with an air of dissipation that would have done credit to a confirmed rake twice his age.

“One, two, three …”

Pistols pointed toward the sky, the blank-faced Norris and the feral-eyed Tiles paced away from each other. “… eight, nine, ten …”

“Are you sure this will work?” Hamilton asked in a low voice.

“That is the twentieth time you have asked me that question,” Baxter muttered. “And for the twentieth time, all I can tell you is that it ought to work.”

“But if it doesn’t—”

“Be quiet,” Baxter ordered very softly. “It is too late to alter the plans.”

Hamilton subsided into nervous silence.

Baxter cast him a swift glance as the deadly cadence was called. Hamilton was a good deal more anxious about this business than his friend on the field. Norris was definitely not his usual self. Baxter had studied him covertly as he had gone through the preliminaries.

Norris had the air of an automaton. He answered direct questions but he would not discuss the situation in any detail. He seemed oblivious to most of what was going
on around him. When Hamilton had pleaded with him one last time to give Tiles the apology that would halt the duel, Norris had appeared not to have heard him. “… fourteen, fifteen, sixteen …”

Hamilton shifted and gave Baxter another quick, searching glance. Baxter shook his head once, silently warning him not to speak.

He had done his best to give Norris the best possible odds in the event that his plans were unsuccessful. He had negotiated with Tiles’s seconds for a distance of twenty paces rather than the fifteen that had been suggested. The additional space between the opponents would make accuracy more difficult, even for a man of Tiles’s skill.

“… seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.” The dissipated young man grinned with unpleasant anticipation. “Make ready.
Fire.
”

Baxter heard Hamilton catch his breath. On the field, both men turned. Norris made no attempt to aim carefully. He simply pointed the pistol in Tiles’s general direction and pulled the trigger.

The explosion boomed loudly in the fog.

Tiles did not even flinch. He smiled coldly and raised his pistol.

Norris lowered his weapon very slowly. A perplexed expression passed over his face. He stared at Tiles, who was taking careful aim, and then he looked at Hamilton. Baxter could see the gathering shock and horror in his eyes. He turned back to Tiles. His mouth worked but no words came. A mouse confronting a snake.

With chilling calculation, Tiles fired his pistol.

A second explosion echoed in the fog.

Norris blinked several times and then looked down at himself as though expecting to see his own blood.

He was not the only one who looked surprised. All of
the men gathered to witness the duel gazed at the still-upright, uninjured Norris in astonishment.

“Damnation, Tony missed his man,” someone finally said.

The doctor who had been paid to attend the duel emerged from one of the carriages with an expectant, businesslike expression. He came to a halt when he saw that Norris was still standing.

Baxter stepped forward. “One shot each. That was the agreement. It’s finished.” He watched Tiles, who was examining his pistol with great attention. “Honor has been satisfied. You know how quickly rumors of this sort of thing spread. Let’s all go home before the authorities get word of this meeting.”

There was a general murmur of agreement. The prospect of being arrested for participating in a duel was enough to add a lively spring to everyone’s step. The men headed for the various carriages parked beneath the trees on the side of the field.

Baxter frowned at Norris, who still looked scared and confused. The glazed expression was gone from his eyes, however. He was once again fully aware of his surroundings.

“I’ll take Norris to the carriage.” Hamilton started toward his friend.

Baxter touched his arm briefly. “I want to speak to both of you later. This morning. Before you take Norris home.”

Hamilton hesitated. Then he nodded. “I don’t know what we can tell you, but we owe you some answers. Norris and I shall accompany you back to your house.”

Baxter started toward his carriage. Anthony Tiles stepped into his path.

“St. Ives, a word, if you don’t mind.”

Baxter stopped, removed his spectacles, and began to polish them with his handkerchief. He did not need his eyeglasses to see the penetrating inquiry in Tiles’s gray eyes.

For all his notoriety, Tiles was not yet as dissipated or as debauched as his companions. Baxter sensed that the festering rage that was eating him from the inside out still provided a sense of purpose. When it had devoured too much, Tiles would be destroyed. Charlotte was right. Anthony was crafting his own bad end.

“What is it, Tony?”

“It has been a long time since Oxford, has it not?”

“Yes.”

“I have not seen much of you in recent years. I have missed your companionship.”

“Our interests have diverged.”

Anthony nodded pensively. “Indeed. You always did have a peculiar penchant for your laboratory. And I have always preferred the hells. But we still have one thing in common, do we not?”

“Yes.” That both of them had been born bastards had drawn them together for a time at Oxford, Baxter knew. Perhaps some remnants of that friendship still survived.

“I confess that I was surprised to see you here this morning. I would not have thought that this was your sort of sport.”

“It isn’t.” Baxter replaced his spectacles. “And if you had any sense, Tony, you’d find something more useful to do with your time than engage in dawn meetings. One of these days you’ll find yourself facing someone whose aim is more deadly than your own.”

“And perhaps one whose powder has not been tampered with?”

Baxter smiled faintly. “I trust you are not making any
accusations of fraud. After all, your own seconds witnessed the loading of the powder.”

“Yes, but neither of my seconds is a chemist.” Anthony’s expression was surprisingly wry. “They would not have known if a very clever scientist substituted altered gunpowder.”

“Come now, Tony, everyone heard the powder explode when you pulled the trigger.”

“There was certainly a great deal of sound and fury,” Anthony agreed. “But it signified nothing. The ball is still in my pistol.”

“You don’t need the blood of young Norris on your hands. We both know he’s not your customary quarry. He was not himself when he challenged you.”

“I will grant that it was out of character for him.” Anthony looked thoughtful. “And I will agree that there would have been no great satisfaction in lodging a bullet in him.”

“I am pleased to hear that.” Baxter made to move toward the carriage.

“One more thing, St. Ives.”

“Yes?”

Anthony eyed him from beneath half-closed lids. “You are here this morning, I suspect, because the new Earl of Esherton asked you for help in saving his friend’s life.”

“What of it?”

“Rumor has it that the old earl left you in charge of his fortune and told you to keep an eye on young Hamilton.”

“Your point, Tiles?”

“Your half brother got what should have been yours. You are in an ideal position to destroy the inheritance that
was denied to you.” Anthony’s hand tightened into a fist. “Why have you not done so?”

Charlotte’s words echoed in Baxter’s head.
Anthony Tiles has obviously allowed the facts of his birth to set him on a path that is almost certain to destroy him. Thank God you have carved out a different destiny for yourself
.

He looked at the man who had once been his companion, perhaps even a friend, and sensed a truth that he had never before confronted. His father had not bequeathed him the title but he had given his bastard son something of himself. Anthony had not been so fortunate.

“I will not say that I have not reflected on the past at times,” Baxter said slowly. “But perhaps I have avoided the temptation to dabble in serious vengeance because I discovered a more absorbing interest.”

“Ah, yes, your passion for chemistry.” Anthony’s mouth curved derisively. “But to my mind there is nothing so interesting as revenge.”

“Take some advice from an old acquaintance. See if you cannot find something more amusing than the gaming hells and dueling field. You grow too old for this kind of thing, Tony.”

“I pray you will not lecture me. It is bad enough that you have interfered with this morning’s entertainment.”

“No need to play the complete cynic.” Baxter glanced toward the carriage, where Hamilton and Norris waited. “I’m well aware that you took the noble path in this fiasco. I doubt that you are concerned with my thanks, but you have them.”

“Excellent.” Anthony’s smile was distinctly wolfish. “I may find a use for your gratitude. But I assure you that it is misplaced. I never trouble myself with noble behavior. No profit in it for a bastard.”

“Then perhaps you have simply grown more weary of your current pursuits than you know.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“From where I stood it was possible to see that you aimed slightly high and to the left. Had your pistol not failed you, the bullet would likely have gone past Norris’s ear, not through his chest.” Baxter raised his brows. “I do believe that my involvement in this affair was unnecessary.”

Anthony gave him an odd look. Then, without a word, he turned and walked back toward his phaeton and his self-imposed loneliness.

Baxter watched the other man mount the stylish vehicle and drive off into the fog. He had a sudden image of Anthony gradually becoming a ghost.

Baxter’s insides clenched.
That could be me
.

On the surface he and Anthony seemed very different. Tiles filled his life with feverish excitement and risk. Baxter preferred the orderly, self-contained world of his laboratory. But they had each in their own way built walls to seal out the emotions that could make them vulnerable.

Those same walls ensured that they would be alone the whole of their lives.

Always in the past Baxter had resented and resisted those who had dragged him temporarily out of his laboratory to undertake some irksome family obligation. When his tasks in the outside world had been accomplished, he had been relieved to retreat back into the predictable, well-regulated gloom of his personal realm.

But this time he was not so eager to return to the comfort of his flasks and crucibles and blowpipes. He no longer wanted to be entirely alone.

• • •

C
harlotte studied the plump, rosy-cheeked, gray-haired woman seated at the planked table in front of the kitchen fire. “It was very good of you to come here today, Mrs. Gatler.”

“Mrs. Witty promised me that it would be worth my while.” Mrs. Gatler narrowed her robin’s egg blue eyes. “She also promised that you’d never tell a soul that I talked to you about what happened that night.”

“You have my word on it, I have a reputation for confidentiality.”

“That’s what Mrs. Witty said.” Mrs. Gatler slanted a sidelong glance at Mrs. Witty, who was busying herself with bread dough on the other side of the room.