Affair by Amanda Quick
Hamilton shook his head with an air of sad reproach as he shepherded everyone else through the door. “One of these days, Baxter, we really must have a chat about your lack of social polish.”
Baxter felt his face turn unpleasantly warm. “On your way out, kindly instruct Lambert to bring a tray of tea to the laboratory,” he said gruffly.
“And another discussion about your unfortunate problems with household staff,” Hamilton added over his shoulder.
Baxter waited until he heard the front door open and close before he looked at Charlotte. She gave him a quizzical smile.
“What was it you wanted, Baxter?”
He cleared his throat. Then he removed his eyeglasses and began to polish them with his handkerchief. It was easier this way, he thought. He could not see her face quite so clearly now. Perhaps without the distraction of her wonderful eyes, he would be able to marshal his arguments in a coherent fashion.
He turned on his heel and began to pace. “You may recall that two nights ago we happened to be standing together on the front steps of Morgan Judd’s mansion.”
“I am hardly likely to forget the night in question.”
“Yes, well, perhaps you do not recall precisely what you said that evening.”
“I’m sure that I said a great many things. There was much to talk about, after all. We had both had a narrow escape.”
Baxter concentrated on polishing his spectacles. “I refer to one particular sentence.”
“I see. Which sentence was that?”
“You mentioned that one of the many things that you admired in me was my style.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Yes,” she said. “The innate style of the St. Ives men. Very impressive.”
Baxter came to a halt in front of the window and put on his eyeglasses. “I wondered if, perhaps, there was anything else that you felt you could admire—” He broke off as he caught sight of the three pots on the sill. “Good God, Charlotte. The sweet peas.”
“What about them?”
“They’ve sprouted.” Euphoria rushed through him. He seized one of the small containers and turned to show her the tiny sprig of green. “Look. All three pots.”
“That’s wonderful.” She smiled at him with warm, glowing eyes. “Congratulations.”
He felt dazed. “Bloody hell. Maybe there are such things as omens and destiny. Charlotte, I may as well come straight out with it. I’ve fallen in love with you.”
“Oh, Baxter.”
“I must know if you think there’s any chance that you could ever return my love?”
Her smile became glorious. Her green eyes held all the secrets of the Stone. “I think I fell in love with you the day we met.”
He stared at her, afraid that he had not heard correctly. “You’re certain?”
“I was so afraid that you did not love me.”
He set down the sweet pea pot and caught her close. “I would have thought it bloody obvious.”
“You said our liaison was inconvenient,” she reminded him.
He frowned. “It is. Damnably inconvenient. Charlotte, I know that you have no great desire to wed. If you want to go on as we have been, I shall abide by your wishes. But I would far rather have you with me on a regular basis. I want to see your face when I sit down to breakfast every morning. I want to hold you in my arms when I fall asleep at night.”
“Yes.” She raised her head from his shoulder and lifted her hands to run her fingers through his hair.
“I want to be able to show you the results of my experiments,” he continued. “I want to spend long, quiet evenings with you. I want to consult with you on your investigations. I thought I proved myself a very creditable man-of-affairs.”
“You did, indeed.”
“I am well aware that I am not the most romantical man in the world.”
“You are wrong, sir. You are the most romantic man I have ever met.”
He stared at her, transfixed. “I am?”
“Most definitely.” She smiled again and stood on tiptoe to brush her mouth against his. “If you are trying to ask me to marry you, my answer is yes.”
Epilogue
Midnight: London, one month later
It was her wedding night.
How very odd. She had never planned to have one.
Charlotte propped her elbows on the windowsill, rested her chin on her hands, and gazed out into the darkness. The day had been hectic, what with the wedding, the move into Baxter’s house, and the general excitement that had pervaded all events. She should have been exhausted but she had never felt more intensely alive.
She turned away from the window when she heard the connecting door open. At the sight of Baxter, her spirits soared.
He was wearing a plain black dressing gown. The gold rims of his spectacles glinted in the candlelight. Behind the lenses, his eyes were brilliant with love and unveiled desire. He surveyed the room with deep satisfaction as he walked toward her.
“A warm chamber, a comfortable bed, and every amenity. I believe I told you that marriage would be considerably more convenient than an affair for a man of my nature,” he said.
“I will admit that there is a great deal to be said for convenience.” She smiled and put her arms around his neck. “Nevertheless, I trust I shall not discover that you married me simply to obtain the services of Mrs. Witty in your household.”
He grinned and folded her close. “I confess that I always seem to be a bit pressed for staff, but I would not have gone so far as to marry merely to obtain a housekeeper, not even one as admirable as Mrs. Witty.”
“I am relieved to hear that.”
At the feel of his strong, solid body, a warm longing flowered in Charlotte. She leaned her head against his shoulder and savored the sensation of happiness that had descended upon her.
Some part of her had been searching for this man, she thought. He was her true soul mate. This sense of an indefinable connection to him had been there from the very start of this affair. Destiny? She would never know. And in the end, it did not matter. She and Baxter had found each other.
“Do you know,” Baxter whispered against her throat, “I have come to believe that the science of chemistry may not be able to explain everything in the world, after all.”
“Perhaps some mysteries are not meant to be revealed by the powers of science.”
“That may be true.” He swept her up into his arms and carried her toward the shadowed bed.
“I knew from the very start that you were a man of strong passions and dangerous inclinations, sir.”
He settled her against the pillows and leaned over her, his hands braced on the white sheets. His eyes were the color of molten gold in a hot crucible.
“What an odd coincidence,” he said very softly. “I gave myself much the same warning about you. A lady of strong passions and dangerous inclinations, I said. Not at all my sort.”
Charlotte reached up to pull him to her. “Obviously we were meant for each other.”
“Obviously.” Baxter took her into his arms.
His kiss held the secret of the enduring fire that created the alchemy of love.
About the Author
AMANDA QUICK, a pseudonym for Jayne Ann Krentz, is a bestselling, award-winning author of contemporary and historical romances. There are over twenty-five million copies of her books in print, including Seduction, Surrender, Scandal, Rendezvous, Ravished, Reckless, Dangerous, Deception, Desire, Mistress, Mystique, Mischief, Affair, With This Ring, I Thee Wed, and Wicked Widow. She makes her home in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, Frank.
Visit her website at www.amandaquick.com.
He examined the small house at the end of the lane as he went up the steps. It was not large but it had well-proportioned windows to admit the light and provide a fine view of the park. The neighborhood appeared to be quiet and sedate, but it was not what anyone would call fashionable.
Mrs. Deveridge might control the no
The mysteries surrounding the lady grew more intriguing with each passing moment, Artemis thought. So did his anticipation at the thought of seeing her for the first time in the full light of day. Memories of eyes provocatively veiled by black lace had kept him awake for several hours last night.
The door opened. Latimer loomed in the small hall. He looked even larger in the daylight than he had last night in the fog.
“Mr. Hunt.” Latimer’s eyes brightened.
“Good day, Latimer. How is your Nellie?”
“Hale and hearty, thanks to you, sir. She don’t remember much about what ’appened, but I expect that’s for the best.” Latimer hesitated. “I want to tell ye again, sir, how grateful I am for what ye did.”
“We made a good team, did we not?” Artemis stepped over the threshold. “Please tell Mrs. Deveridge that I am here to see her. I believe I am expected.”
“Aye, sir. She’s in the library. I’ll announce ye, sir.” He turned to lead the way.
Artemis glanced back at the shutters on the windows. They were heavily barred and fixed with stout locks and tiny bells that would tinkle a warning if anyone attempted to force them open. When they were closed at night, they would prove a sturdy defense against intruders. Did the lady fear ordinary housebreakers or some greater threat?
He followed Latimer down a long corridor to the rear of the house. The big man halted at the entrance to a room that was crammed from floor to ceiling with leather-bound books, journals, notebooks, and papers of every description. The handsome windows that looked out onto a well-tended but severely pruned garden were also fitted with barred shutters, locks, and bells.
“Mr. Hunt to see you, ma’am.”
Madeline rose from behind a heavy oak desk. “Thank you, Latimer. Do come in, Mr. Hunt.”
She wore a black gown cut in a fashionable, high-waisted style, but there was no lace veil to conceal her features that morning. Artemis looked at her and knew that Henry had been right about the depth of his interest in this woman. It went far beyond curiosity and into the dangerous realm of fascination. His awareness of her seemed to shimmer in the air around him. He wondered if Madeline sensed it.
There was a startling mix of intelligence, determination, and wariness in her clear blue eyes. Her dark hair was parted in the middle and bound at the back of her head in a neat, no-nonsense style. She had a soft, full mouth, a firm chin, and a self-possession that presented a subtle challenge to everything that was male in him.
Latimer hovered in the doorway. “Will you be needin’ anything, ma’am?”
“No, thank you,” Madeline said. “You may leave us.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Latimer let himself out of the library and closed the door.
Madeline looked at Artemis. “Please be seated, Mr. Hunt.”
“Thank you.” He took the japanned and gilded beech wood armchair she indicated. A glance at the rich carpet, heavy drapes, and elegantly carved desk confirmed Leggett’s assessment of Mrs. Deveridge’s finances. The house was small, but the furnishings were of excellent quality.
She sat down behind her desk. “I trust you have recovered your hearing, sir?”
“My ears rang for a time, but I am happy to tell you that my senses all appear to be completely restored.”
“Thanks heavens.” She looked genuinely relieved. “I would not have wanted to be responsible for an injury to your person.”
“As it happens, there was no permanent damage done, either to me or”—he raised his brows slightly—“to the villain you attempted to shoot.”
Her mouth tightened. “I am actually a rather decent shot, sir. But the carriage was moving and it was dark and you had seized my arm, if you will recall. I fear the combination of so many impediments took its toll on my aim.”
“I pray you will forgive me, madam. Violent solutions have their place from time to time, but as a general rule, I prefer to avoid that sort of thing.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I find that somewhat surprising, given your training.”
“If you know anything at all about the ancient arts of Vanza, you must know that subtlety is always stressed over the obvious in the philosophy. Violence is hardly subtle. When the occasion does call for it, the strategy should be crafted with precision and carried out in such a way that the results do not leave a trail that leads directly back to the one who initiated the action.”
She grimaced. “You are indeed a true student of Vanza, Mr. Hunt. Your thinking on such subjects is clever, crafty, and labyrinthine.”
“I realize the fact that I am Vanza does not elevate me in your opinion, madam. But allow me to remind you that shooting a man dead in the street last night could have produced a variety of complications that both of us might have found most inconvenient this morning.”
“What do you mean?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “You assisted me in rescuing a young woman. How could anyone object to that?”
“I prefer not to attract attention, Mrs. Deveridge.”
She flushed. “Yes, of course. You no doubt fear that word might get out about your connection to the Dream Pavilions. Rest assured I will say nothing to anyone.”
“I appreciate the reassurance. As it happens, I have a great deal at stake at the moment.”
“I have no wish to meddle in your, ah, financial affairs.”
He went cold. Just how much did the woman know? Was it possible that she had also learned of his carefully wrought plans for vengeance?
“You do not intend to meddle, you say?” he repeated neutrally.
She waved a hand in casual dismissal. “Heavens, no, sir. Your plans to select a wife from the higher circles of the ton are of absolutely no interest to me. Marry where you wish, Mr. Hunt. And the best of luck to you.”
He relaxed slightly. “You relieve my mind, Mrs. Deveridge.”
“I quite understand that your search for a well-connected bride would be severely hampered if it were to get out that you are in trade, sir.” She paused, her brows drawing together in a vaguely troubled frown. “But are you sure that it is a wise notion to contract a marriage under what might be construed as false pretenses?”
“As a matter of fact, I hadn’t thought about the matter from that perspective,” he said blandly.
“What will you do when the truth comes out?” There was more than a hint of frosty disapproval in the question. “Do you expect your wife to simply ignore the fact that you are in trade?”
“Mmm.”
She leaned forward and glared. “Allow me to give you a word of advice, sir. If you have any intention of establishing a marriage based on mutual respect and affection, you will be honest with your future spouse right from the start.”
“As I have absolutely no intention of establishing that sort of marriage in the near future, I don’t think I need be overly concerned with the finer points of your lecture on the subject.”
She flinched in surprise. Then she unclasped her fingers and sat back quickly. “Good Lord, I was lecturing you, was I not?”
“That is certainly what it sounded like to me.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Hunt.” She propped her elbows on the desk and dropped her head into her hands. “I vow I do not know what came over me. I had no right to involve myself in your personal affairs. My thinking has been rather muddied of late. My only excuse is that I have had some difficulty sleeping and I—” She broke off, raised her head, and winced. “Now I am rambling.”
“Do not concern yourself about the rambling.” He paused a beat. “But I wish to make it clear that I would be very displeased if my business affairs became snarled at this particular juncture. I’m sure you can appreciate that I am involved in some extremely delicate matters.”
“Yes, of course. You have made your point,
“I was not aware that I had uttered any threats.”
“Sir, you are Vanza.” She gave him a steely look. “There is no need to spell out your warnings. I assure you, they are quite clear.”
For some reason her disgust of all things Vanza was beginning to irritate him. “For a lady who stooped to blackmail in order to coerce me into assisting her last night, you have considerable nerve to insult me today.”
“Blackmail?” Her eyes widened in outrage. “I did nothing of the kind.”
“You made it plain that you knew of my ownership of the Dream Pavilions and you are aware that I do not want any gossip in that direction. Forgive me if I misunderstood your intent, but I got the distinct impression that you used your information to force me to assist you.”
She went very pink. “I merely pointed out your obligations in the matter.”
“Call it what you wish. I call it blackmail.”
“Oh. Well, you are entitled to your opinion, of course.”
“Yes. And I should add that blackmail is not my favorite parlor game.”
“I regret the necessity—”
The twinge of panic in her eyes satisfied him. He interrupted her explanation with a wave of his hand. “How is your maid bearing up today?”
Madeline looked briefly disconcerted by the abrupt change of topic. She made a visible effort to collect herself. “Nellie is very well, although the kidnappers apparently poured a great deal of laudanum down her throat. She is still a bit groggy and her recollection of events is extremely vague.”
“Latimer told me that she does not recall much about the affair.”
“No. The only thing she remembers with any clarity is that the two men argued over how to get the best price for her. She gained the impression that they had been commissioned to abduct her but one of them thought they could get more by selling her to another client.” Madeline shuddered. “It is revolting to think that the brothel keepers are actively engaged in the buying and selling of young women.”
“Not only young women. They deal in young boys, as well.”