Seven

“I have heard that you were well acquainted with poor Mrs. Heskett.” Charlotte realized to her chagrin that she sounded a trifle breathless. It was not easy keeping up with Lord Lennox. He set a demanding pace on the dance floor and she was definitely out of practice. “Dreadful thing, her murder. Makes one wonder what the world is coming to, does it not?”

“It certainly does. A shocking incident.” Lennox whipped Charlotte around in a grand, gliding turn that took them halfway across the floor. “You knew her also, did you?”

“We were not terribly close, but we had several conversations. She, uh, mentioned you, my lord.”

“Very fond of her, I was. Wanted to marry her, doncha know. But, alas, she turned down my offer. Couldn’t believe it when I heard she’d been felled by a damned villain. Quite chilling.”

“Indeed. You said you were fond of her?”

“Drusilla? Lord, yes. Enjoyed her company immensely. A real goer, Drusilla was. That woman had stamina, if y’know what I mean.”

“She used to say much the same about you, my lord.”

“Did she now?” Lennox looked briefly pleased. “Glad to hear it. I’m going to miss the lady, even if she did reject my offer of marriage.” He winked. “Dru made it clear that she wouldn’t be averse to the occasional bounce in bed after she settled on the business of a husband, doncha know.”

“I see.”

“I was to call on her that very night, you know.”

Charlotte looked up quickly. “You went to see her the night she was killed?”

“No, no. I was supposed to pay a visit that evening. Got a message at the last minute informing me that she was ill and would not be able to receive me. Often wondered what would have happened if I’d gone to her house that evening.”

“Indeed.” Charlotte saw that Lennox had her on a collision course with an elderly man in a blue coat and a woman gowned in pale lavender silk. “Lord Lennox, perhaps we should—”

“Dru had a head on her shoulders.” Lennox executed a nimble move that narrowly avoided the other dancers. “Understood that marriage didn’t have to interfere with a spot of fun now and again.”

“Indeed.” Charlotte caught a flash of lavender silk out of the corner of her eye. She gave Lennox a smile of relief and tried to think of how best to pursue her inquiries.

The problem was that Lennox gave every appearance of being exactly what her earlier investigations had indicated, good-natured and financially stable. She could not envision him as a murderer. Yet Drusilla had specifically mentioned his name in her last note.

“I see your fiancé headed toward the gardens with Lady Esherton,” Lennox announced as he swung Charlotte into another galloping turn. “Don’t envy him. The old man left St. Ives in a devil of a fix when he put him in charge of the family purse strings.”

Charlotte recalled what Baxter had said about managing his half brother’s income as well as his own. She had assumed the situation existed simply because Baxter was good at finances. “You mean the old earl actually stipulated in his will that Mr. St. Ives was to control the fortune?”

“It’s no great secret that old Esherton made Baxter his executor until Hamilton is five-and-twenty. Sound thinking on Esherton’s part, if you ask me. Anyone can see that young Hamilton needs some time to settle. Takes after his father, he does. The old earl was a neck-or-nothing rakehell in his youth.” Lennox paused. “Come to think of it, he didn’t change much over the years. He was a rakehell until the day he died.”

“I see.”

“But he wasn’t foolish when it came to the fortune,” Lennox continued. “By the time he inherited it, he was nearly thirty and he managed the estates nicely, indeed. Baxter’s got his father’s head for that sort of thing and the old man knew it. But it does put St. Ives into an uncomfortable spot. Bound to be a lot of resentment in a situation such as that.”

“Indeed.”

Lennox’s expression grew unexpectedly troubled. “Hamilton ain’t the only young man who’s runnin’ a bit wild these days. Seems as if the whole lot of the young bloods are feeling their oats. Don’t mind telling you that my own son, Norris, has given me a few shudders of late. He and Hamilton are friends, doncha know.”

“I suppose they’re both into the usual bloody-minded occupations of young males,” Charlotte said carefully. “Driving too fast, drinking too much, risking their necks in silly dares?”

“Wish that were the whole of it,” Lennox said. “Mind you, I’m all in favor of a young man sowing his wild oats early in life. The devil knows, I got into my share of trouble when I was that age. Nearly got myself killed in a duel over a little high-flyer of an opera dancer on one occasion. Went a few rounds with a bruiser named Bull Keeley. Smuggled a bit of French brandy. That sort of thing.”

“I see.”

“Just the old-fashioned, innocent pleasures of youth.” Lennox sent them whirling into another turn. “But these days becoming a man seems to be a riskier business than it was when I was a lad.”

“What do you mean?”

“The gaming hells are more dangerous for one thing,” Lennox said very seriously. “Friend of Norris’s lost his estates in a place called The Green Table the other night. Young Crossmore went home and put a bullet in his head.”

“How terrible.”

“Warned Norris that if he didn’t watch his step, I’d send him on an extended tour of the Continent.”

“Has your threat worked?”

“Norris knows I won’t tolerate any nonsense. Unfortunately for young Hamilton, his father ain’t around to pull in the reins. Left the job to St. Ives along with the responsibility for the fortune.”

With a final flourish, the music stopped. Charlotte was panting. She gave Lennox another curtsy and a bright smile. “Thank you, my lord, I needed the exercise.”

“Builds stamina,” he assured her as he led her off the floor. “Can I fetch you a glass of lemonade or champagne?”

“No, thank you, I believe I’ll go find Lady Trengloss.”

“Ah, yes, the lovely Rosalind. Charming woman.” Lennox looked briefly wistful. “Imagine she misses her sister.”

“Mr. St. Ives’s mother?”

“Yes. Emma died four years ago. In their younger days, she and Rosalind kept things lively in Society. Never a dull moment. Emma was always the wilder of the two, though. Her affair with Esherton lasted until the day she died. I tell you, it’s damned hard to believe that St. Ives is the offspring of that pair.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Young Baxter’s temperament is the complete opposite of his parents’. Oh, he takes after Esherton in some ways. No mistaking those eyes, of course. And he got his mother’s dark hair. But he lacks Emma’s sense of humor and dash and he didn’t get even a modicum of the St. Ives style, sad to say.”

“The St. Ives style?”

“You know what they say about the men of the St. Ives line. They do everything with style. Hamilton’s living up to the family heritage but, I vow, Baxter looks as if he makes his livin’ as someone’s man-of-affairs.”

“Looks can be deceiving, sir. Please excuse me.”

“Of course, of course. Enjoyed the dance.”

Charlotte turned and walked toward the French doors, which stood open to admit the evening air into the overheated ballroom.

Outside she found the wide terrace lit with colorful lanterns. Here and there couples murmured and laughed discreetly in the shadows. Beyond lay the night-darkened expanse of the gardens.

There was no sign of Baxter in the immediate vicinity but Charlotte was almost certain that he had not come back into the ballroom.

There was just enough moonlight to make out the looming shapes of clipped hedges and thickly clustered bushes. Baxter was out there somewhere. He had no taste for Society. It would be just like him to retreat to the solitude of the gardens until it was time to leave.

She went down the stone steps and started along the path that wound into the heart of the gardens. Her soft kid slippers made no sound on the old bricks. The night was crisp. She folded her arms and hugged herself a little to ward off the chill. She would not be able to stay out there long without her cloak.

A woman’s low, anxious voice brought Charlotte to a halt. There was another couple on the far side of the high hedge on her left. She was about to continue on her way when she heard Baxter’s characteristically brusque response.

“I do not know what the devil you expect me to do about the matter, madam. Hamilton is two-and-twenty.” Baxter hesitated briefly before adding very dryly, “And he is the Earl of Esherton, after all.”

“He is still a boy in so many ways.” The woman’s words were laced with desperation. “And so like his father. You must do something, Baxter. Ever since his lordship died, Hamilton has grown increasingly headstrong. I thought it was a stage that would pass when he recovered from his grief But lately he and his closest friend, Norris—”

“Lennox’s heir?”

“Yes. The two of them have taken up with new associates and I fear the worst. They no longer go off to their old clubs in the evenings. Hamilton tells me they prefer a new one they have discovered. A place called The Green Table.”

“A lot of young men prefer the clubs that cater to them, rather than to the men of their fathers’ generation.”

“Yes, but I believe that this place is nothing more than a gaming hell.”

“Calm yourself, Maryann. Hamilton cannot lose the Esherton fortune in a night of deep play. I have control of the funds for another three years, if you will recall.”

“I never thought I’d live to thank God for his lordship’s foresight in that matter, but I must admit it is a good thing that Hamilton does not yet have access to his fortune. Nevertheless, there are so many risks awaiting a young man of his temperament.”

“Such as?”

“I do not know.” Maryann’s voice rose. “That is the worst of it, Baxter. I do not know the extent of the risks he takes. One hears things, dreadful things about the activities that take place in some of those hells.”

“You are overwrought, Maryann.”

“I am not overwrought, I am terrified. There are stories involving depravity and debauchery among the young bloods of the ton these days that would alarm any mother. I have heard tales of people who deliberately partake of too much opium in order to induce dreamlike trances, for example.”

“A few poets may choose to amuse themselves in that fashion, perhaps, but I believe it’s a fairly limited number.”

“Who knows what is really going on at Hamilton’s new club? I tell you, my son is not himself these days. He will not listen to me. You must speak to him.”

“What makes you think he will listen to me?”

“You are my only hope, Baxter. Your father charged you with the responsibility of guiding Hamilton until he has gained maturity. Do not deny it. We all heard his lordship’s dying instructions.”

“It is astonishing, is it not?” Baxter said in an oddly reflective tone of voice. “Even from beyond the grave, my father is still capable of creating turmoil in all our lives. I wonder if he is enjoying himself as he watches the little dramas he continues to stage.”

“Do not speak of his lordship with such disrespect. Baxter, I am depending upon you. You must stop Hamilton before he gets into serious trouble.”

Charlotte heard what sounded like a muffled sob. There was a rush of silk skirts and the soft thud of slippers on the grass. She stepped hastily back into the shadows as Maryann emerged from behind the far end of the hedge. Charlotte watched the other woman walk swiftly back toward the lantern-lit terrace.

There was a short pause and then Baxter spoke from the opposite end of the hedge. “Did you hear enough or do you want me to summarize the pertinent details of the conversation for you?”

“Mr. St. Ives.” Charlotte whirled around.

For a moment she could not make him out in the darkness. Then she saw him detach himself from the deep shadows of the high hedge and walk toward her. When he moved through a swath of weak moonlight she caught a glimpse of his harsh, unyielding expression.

“One of these days you really must start calling me by my given name, Charlotte.”

“My apologies, sir. I did not mean to eavesdrop.”

“But you do it so well.”

“I could not help but overhear the last of your conversation with Lady Esherton.”

“Do not concern yourself.” He came to a halt in front of her. “We are partners, are we not?”

“Well, yes, but that does not give me the right to intrude on your private family business.”

“Intrude all you wish. Society has been entertained by my family’s business for years. Have you finished your interrogation of poor Lennox?”

Charlotte sighed. “I think I have got all the information I am going to get this evening. I did learn that he had an invitation to visit Mrs. Heskett the night she died but he received a note telling him that she was ill and would not be able to receive him.”

“Hmm. I doubt he would have admitted that much if he was guilty.”

“True. I cannot envision him as a killer.”

“I agree. If you are satisfied, let’s be on our way.” Baxter took her arm and started back toward the big house. “I have had enough of the social whirl. If I indulge in any more of this sort of excitement, I am likely to expire from boredom.”

“I understand, but Ariel is enjoying herself so much. I hate to ask her to leave. It’s only midnight.”

“True, and for the ton the evening has just begun. Don’t worry about your sister. I have a plan. We shall pack her off with my aunt, who will keep her out until dawn.”

Charlotte glanced at him. “Do you think Lady Trengloss will mind?”

“Not in the least. Between announcing our engagement and introducing Ariel to the Polite World, she is enjoying herself immensely.” He drew Charlotte up the terrace steps and back into the brilliantly lit ballroom. “Give me a moment to locate Rosalind and make the arrangements.”

“I shall find Ariel and tell her that she is free to go with your aunt. She is no doubt out on the dance floor again. I vow, she has spent the entire evening there.” Charlotte stood on tiptoe to search the crowd.

“I see her,” Baxter said.

“Oh, yes, there she is.” Charlotte smiled at the sight of Ariel moving elegantly to the notes of a waltz. “Dancing with that very handsome young man who is wearing the impossibly complicated cravat. I wonder who he is.”

“His name is Hamilton,” Baxter said dryly. “The Earl of Esherton. My half brother.”

Half an hour later, the carriage shuddered to a halt in front of the Arkendale town house. Baxter roused himself from the moody thoughts that had overtaken him during the short journey. He looked at Charlotte, who was seated on the opposite cushion, and wondered what had possessed him to suggest that they end the evening so soon.

True, he’d had no wish to remain at the ball, especially after the unpleasant discussion with Maryann, but he certainly did not want to bid Charlotte good night.

Now they were at her house. The evening was concluded and there was no more time for conversation or anything else.

He had done a fine job of wasting the past half hour, he thought. For a man who prided himself on his powers of logic and intellect, he could be a bloody idiot at times.

Charlotte glanced out the window. “It would seem we have arrived, Mr. St. Ives.”

Baxter heard the coachman descend from the carriage box. “Bloody hell.”

Charlotte raised her brows but she offered no comment. He wondered exactly what it was that she was thinking. At times such as this, he was acutely aware of his poor understanding of the opposite sex. The only thing he knew for certain was that he did not want to say good night.

“Uh, Charlotte …”

The carriage door opened. Baxter could not think of an excuse to delay the inevitable.

With a soft rustle of her skirts, Charlotte descended from the carriage. Baxter followed reluctantly. He took her arm to guide her up the steps to her front door.

Fool. Bloody damn idiot. A whole half hour wasted. He could have passed the time in the carriage with Charlotte in his arms. Instead he had spent it contemplating morose thoughts of the past and the present. It was Maryann’s fault. She had ruined his mood and his evening. Typical.

Charlotte took her key out of her beaded reticule. “Would you care to come in for a brandy, Mr. St. Ives?”

Baxter, fixated on his own gloomy thoughts, was certain that he had not heard correctly. He realized that she was watching him with a quizzical expression.

“A brandy?” He took the key from her hand and opened the door with fingers that had suddenly become clumsy.

“I realize it is late but we have a great deal to discuss.” She stepped briskly into the darkened hall and turned to face him. “What with the rush of preparations to enter Society, I have not yet had an opportunity to show you the small picture I discovered in Mrs. Heskett’s sketchbook.”

She wanted to discuss business with him.

“Is something wrong, Mr. St. Ives?”

He realized he was still standing on her front steps. “Whatever gave you that notion?”

“Oh, dear, I’ve outraged your sense of propriety, haven’t I?” She gave him an apologetic look. “I assure you that you need have no qualms about your reputation. Absolutely no one except your coachman will know if you come in for a few minutes. Mrs. Witty has gone to visit her cousin for the night. She will not be home until tomorrow.”

“I see.”

She gave him a laughing smile. “And we are supposed to be engaged, if you will recall. In short, Mr. St. Ives, your virtue is quite safe with me.”

She was laughing at him.

“I believe I could use a brandy. A large one.” He stalked into the tiled hall and closed the front door very deliberately.

There was enough moonlight pouring in through the windows that surrounded the door for Baxter to see Charlotte slip out of her evening cloak. She hung it on a wall hook.

He watched as she reached up to light a wall sconce. He could not take his eyes off the curves of her breasts as they rose gently in response to her movements. A moment later light flared warmly, spilling across her smooth skin. With alchemical magic the lamp revealed the fire buried in her dark hair and transmuted her yellow satin gown to gold. When she turned to look at him, her eyes were fathomless jewels.

“Shall we go into my study, Mr. St. Ives? I will show you Mrs. Heskett’s little picture.”

“By all means,” Baxter heard himself say.

A great longing gripped him as he watched her walk toward the darkened room. The graceful sway of her hips beneath the golden skirts heated the blood in his veins.

“The brandy is on the table near the window,” Charlotte called from inside the study. Light flared again as she lit another lamp inside the small room.

The glow from the doorway of the study beckoned Baxter with the compelling power of a sorcerer’s spell. He hesitated a moment longer.

Entering the study was probably not a sound notion.

Definitely not a sensible, logical act.

“Bloody hell.” He yanked savagely at the knot of his cravat and crossed the hall to enter the dream world that lay on the other side of the study door.

“What did you say?” Charlotte asked as he entered the room.

“Nothing of any importance.” He went to light the fire. Then he straightened and headed for the brandy table.

Charlotte walked around behind her desk and bent down to open a bottom drawer. “I tore the page that contained the little picture out of the sketchbook. As far as I can tell, none of the other watercolor drawings in the book have anything to do with the small sketch and they were very distracting.”

“Indeed.” Baxter eyed Charlotte’s nicely rounded bottom as she stooped to fumble in the low drawer. “Very distracting.”

“Every time I tried to discuss the picture with Ariel, her attention kept straying to the nude figures. And Mrs. Witty was no better.”

“What of your own attention, Charlotte? Were you distracted by the nude figures, too?”

“I have a talent for keeping my mind on business.” Charlotte straightened and put a sheet of neatly torn paper on the desk.

“Indeed.” He concentrated hard on pouring two glasses of brandy. “It is one of my own great skills.”

He turned, brandy glasses in hand, and looked at her. She was seated behind her desk. He wondered if she had any notion of how the lamplight warmed the curves of her breasts and deepened the mystery of her eyes.

“I was disappointed in the results of my questioning of Lennox.” Charlotte frowned. “He seemed more concerned with the risks awaiting the younger generation of gentlemen these days than he did with Drusilla Heskett’s death.”

Baxter put one glass down in front of her. He ignored the page from the sketchbook. “Sounds as if Lennox and Maryann have something in common.”

“I suspect that parents of every generation have worried about the dangers that their offspring must face.”

“No doubt.” He realized that if he stood there drinking in the sight of Charlotte’s bare shoulders and gently swelling breasts for one more minute he would not be able to keep his hands off her.

He made himself walk to the window, hoping that the sight of the moonlit garden would lower the temperature of his overheated blood. But all he saw when he looked into the glass was Charlotte’s reflection.

“Speaking of Lady Esherton,” she said gently, “what will you do about your brother, Hamilton?”

He stilled. “That is the last thing I wish to discuss tonight.”

“I see. I only brought up the subject because it appeared to be preying upon your mind during the ride home in the carriage.”

“Do not concern yourself with my personal problems, Charlotte. I shall deal with them.”

“Yes, of course.” Charlotte hesitated and then, as if she could not help herself, she added softly, “They are right, you know.”

He watched her reflection as she picked up the brandy glass and took a swallow. “Who?”

“Lennox and Lady Esherton.” She set the glass down very slowly. “The younger generation faces many dangers.”

“No offense, Charlotte, but you are in no position to talk when it comes to the subject of danger. May I remind you that you are the one who felt it necessary to hire a man-of-affairs who could also function as a bodyguard.”

“I am a mature woman who knows very well what she is about. It is different for a much younger person.”

Something in her voice caught Baxter’s attention. “You do not sound as if you are speaking generally.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “The night before my stepfather was killed, he brought a monster to our house.”

Baxter turned slowly to face her. “A monster?”

“Winterbourne had lost a great deal of money to the creature.” Charlotte gazed at the brandy glass as though she saw the past in it. “My stepfather intended to pay his debts by feeding my sister to the beast.”

“God’s blood, Charlotte. What happened?”

“I used my father’s pistol to force Winterbourne and the monster out of the house.” The glass in her hand trembled a little. “They did not return.”

He had a vision of her facing down the two men with only a pistol. A jolt of rage and fear went through him. “You are a very brave woman.”

She did not appear to have heard him. “The next morning Winterbourne was found dead. His throat was cut by a footpad, they said. I do not know what really happened after the two left the house that night but I know that my stepfather was afraid of the beast. I have sometimes wondered if the monster murdered him in retaliation for failing to pay his gaming debts.”

“Any man who would deliver a young woman into the hands of a monster in order to satisfy his vouchers deserves to die.”

“Yes.” Charlotte raised her eyes to meet his. “Do not think for a moment that I mourn Winterbourne or that I feel some guilt because I forced him out into the night where he was killed. That is not what troubles me.”

A jarring flash of intuition swept through Baxter. He sensed the secret dread that lay beneath the determined, independent spirit that animated Charlotte. The knowing was not unlike the moments of intense understanding that came upon him once in a while when an experiment allowed him a glimpse of a great scientific truth. This knowledge, however, was of a far more intimate nature than anything that he had ever discovered in his laboratory.

“I understand,” he said quietly. “What truly troubles you is that even after all these years you cannot forget that the monster is still out there somewhere.”

“No. I cannot forget. Sometimes the memory comes back in the guise of a dream. It wakes me in the middle of the night at the same hour that I was awakened on that night when the events occurred. In the dream I see myself in the dark hall outside my sister’s bedroom. I have the pistol in my hand, just as I did then. But this time the monster is aware that it is not loaded.”

“Christ.” Baxter felt his insides go cold. “Are you telling me that the pistol you used that night was unloaded?”

“It had been stored in a chest for years. I had no ball or powder for it. It was very dark in the hall and neither Winterbourne nor the monster knew that I held an empty pistol. But in my dream, the monster laughs because he knows the truth. He knows I cannot stop him this time.”

Baxter took a step forward. “Charlotte—”

“And in my dream, I know that I will fail to protect my sister.”

“It’s only a dream, Charlotte.” Baxter hesitated. “I have one of my own that recurs from time to time and is unpleasant enough to awaken me in the middle of the night.”

She searched his face. “Dreams can be troublesome things.”

“Yes.” Baxter set his glass down on a nearby table. “Let us talk of other things.”

“Of course. Our inquiries.”

“No, not our inquiries. Did you enjoy your waltz?”

“With Lennox?” Charlotte grimaced. “I believe I know why Drusilla Heskett was in the habit of comparing him to a stallion.”

Baxter raised his brows.

Charlotte chuckled. “His lordship does, indeed, possess a great deal of stamina. When the music stopped, I felt as though I had just finished a brisk morning ride on a sturdy jumper.”

Baxter gazed thoughtfully at her for a moment. “Did I tell you that you looked very lovely this evening?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I rather thought that I had neglected to pay you any compliments. My apologies.”

“Do not concern yourself, Mr. St. Ives.” She folded her hands on her desk and gave him a blinding smile. “We are business associates, not intimate friends.”

“There is something else I neglected to do.” He walked behind the desk and reached down to close his hands around Charlotte’s bare shoulders. Her skin was warm and impossibly soft.

“What was that?”

“I did not ask you to dance with me.” He hauled her lightly to her feet. “Do you think that if we had danced the waltz together earlier this evening, you would now be able to call me by my first name?”

Her eyes were very green in the lamplight. She smiled as she put her arms slowly around his neck. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask me and we shall see?”

“Dance with me, Charlotte.”

“I would be very pleased to dance with you, Baxter.”

This was what he had been waiting for all evening, he thought. This was what he needed.

He bent his head and took her mouth.