Affair Page 11

  Baxter frowned as he searched the dancers for Ariel. It was not difficult to spot her. She was taller than most of the other women on the floor. He saw that she was whirling about in an exuberant waltz with a young man who wore a distinctly dazzled expression.

  “She appears to be enjoying herself,” he said.

  “Yes. My parents would have been so proud. Lady Trengloss was correct when she declared that Ariel must wear only blue and gold. The colors are perfect for her.”

  It dawned on Baxter that Charlotte looked very good in the canary yellow satin gown that she wore. It set off the dark flames in her hair and emphasized the green of her eyes. The bodice was low and square-cut, revealing her creamy shoulders and a decorous hint of the gentle swell of her breasts. There was a dashing little confection of a cap trimmed with a yellow plume perched on her head.

  This was the first time he had seen her in anything other than a high-necked, long-sleeved day gown, he realized. He was no expert on fashion but in his opinion she was the most attractive woman in the room.

  He took a swallow of champagne. “Blue and gold are all very well. I prefer yellow.”

  “Yellow would have been quite atrocious on Ariel.”

  He slid her a sidelong glance. “I was referring to your gown.”

  “Oh.” Charlotte gave him a brilliant smile. “Thank you. You look very nice in black and white, Mr. St. Ives. It suits you.”

  He did not know whether that was a compliment or not. He suddenly felt compelled to explain his limited selection of evening attire. “As I told you, I don’t go into Society very often.”

  “You did mention that you try to avoid the Polite World.”

  “No logical reason to order a great many evening coats when one has a limited social life.”

  “Very practical of you to stick with black.”

  “Haven’t paid much attention to the latest fancy cravat knots.”

  “I see.”

  “Damned silly for a man to tie his neckcloth in such a tricky way that he can’t even turn his head.”

  “There is a lot to be said for simplicity,” Charlotte agreed politely.

  He was sinking deeper by the second. Baxter glanced around, searching for inspiration, and was, for once, inordinately relieved to see his aunt on the horizon. Rosalind had Lord Lennox in tow.

  “Time to go to work,” Baxter said softly. “That man coming toward us with Rosalind was Drusilla Heskett’s last suitor.”

  “That gentleman with the bald head and the bushy whiskers is Lennox?”

  “Yes. Would have thought you’d recognize him on sight.”

  She frowned. “I never actually saw him, you know. It’s not generally necessary to know what a gentleman looks like in the flesh in order to discover whether or not he is a rakehell or a gamester.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  Charlotte pursed her lips. “Nevertheless, I had imagined him to be a younger man.”

  “Whatever gave you that notion?”

  “Mrs. Heskett’s description of him, I imagine.”

  “What did she say about him?” Baxter asked.

  “Something to the effect that Lennox resembled a stallion in the bedchamber. She said he had stamina.”

  Baxter coughed on his last swallow of champagne. “I see. Why did she reject him?”

  “She felt he was too old for her. She was uncertain how long his stamina would last.”

  “He’s no youngster. Lennox has got two married daughters. His heir, who is the youngest of the brood, is twenty-one or so. I saw him a short while ago at the buffet table.”

  “Lennox’s heir?”

  “Yes. Norris is his name, I believe. He was talking to Hamilton. They’re close friends.”

  “Who is Hamilton?”

  “I beg your pardon.” Baxter deliberately set his empty glass down on a passing tray. “I should have said the fifth Earl of Esherton.”

  “Oh, yes. Your brother.”

  “My half brother.”

  “Whatever.” Charlotte turned to greet Rosalind with a warm smile. “Good evening, Lady Trengloss.”

  Rosalind beamed as she came to a halt. She caught Baxter’s eye and winked. He stifled a groan. As he had anticipated, his aunt was thoroughly enjoying herself.

  Rosalind dangled Lennox triumphantly in front of Charlotte as though awarding her a prize.

  “My dear, allow me to present an acquaintance of mine, Lord Lennox.”

  “My lord,” Charlotte murmured.

  Baxter barely managed to conceal his surprise as he watched her sink into an elegant little curtsy. The graceful dip was accented with an equally gracious inclination of her head. It all spoke volumes about her past and her upbringing. She had, indeed, been bred for a much higher position in the social hierarchy than the one in which she moved.

  “Well, well, well, this is a pleasure, indeed, m’dear.” Lennox bent his gleaming head over Charlotte’s gloved hand. “Allow me to tell you that you look lovely. A vision, indeed. As bright as Spring itself.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Charlotte murmured.

  Lennox shot Baxter a knowing look from beneath his bushy brows. “It’s about time you found yourself a wife, St. Ives. A man your age should have more interesting things to do than spend his time mucking around with a bunch of chemicals in a laboratory, eh?”

  “Indeed.” Baxter avoided Charlotte’s eye.

  “Volatile things, chemicals.” Lennox leaned close to Baxter and lowered his voice so that Charlotte and Rosalind could not hear. “If I were you, I’d avoid ’em entirely now that you’re about to get married. Never know when you might damage something vital in an explosion. Be a shame to crawl into bed on your wedding night and discover you’d accidentally blown off your ballocks in some damn experiment.”

  “I’ll keep your advice in mind,” Baxter said.

  “That’s the spirit, St. Ives.” Lennox clapped Baxter on the shoulder. “I say, any objections to my having a spin around the floor with your lovely fiancée?”

  Now that he thought about it, Baxter realized that he did have a few objections. The notion of Charlotte in another man’s arms, even the arms of a man who was old enough to be her grandfather, was an astonishingly unpleasant one. But he saw the gleam in Charlotte’s eye and knew he had better keep his opinions to himself.

  “I have a feeling my fiancée would enjoy a little exercise.” Baxter adjusted his spectacles. “Is that correct, Charlotte?”

  “I would be very pleased to dance with you, Lord Lennox.” Charlotte placed her hand delicately on his sleeve.

  “Excellent.” Lennox led her gallantly toward the dance floor. “Let’s be off, shall we?”

  Baxter watched as the pair was absorbed into the crowd of dancers.

  “Do stop scowling so, Baxter,” Rosalind murmured. “People will think that you’re preparing to call out poor Lennox.”

  “The day I challenge any man to a duel over a woman will be the day I cease studying chemistry and take up alchemy.”

  “Sometimes I quite despair of you. Where is your passion? Your sensibilities? Your emotions? No, do not bother to answer that question.” Rosalind peered intently at the crowd. “Do you really believe that Lennox could have murdered poor Drusilla?”

  “I doubt it. He does not have a financial motive, for one thing. And in my opinion, he lacks the temperament for murder.”

  Rosalind glanced at him in surprise. “Then why are we wasting time with this little drama tonight?”

  “I explained that Charlotte is convinced that Drusilla Heskett’s note implicated one of her most recently rejected suitors. Lennox was one of those men. We must proceed in a logical manner.”

  “I suppose that makes sense. Well, Lennox is all we have to work with for the moment. I discovered that Randeleigh and Esly are in the country for several days. They are not expected back until the end of the month.”

  “I shall have my man-of-affairs make some inquiries in that direction.”

/>   “I cannot picture either of them as murderers, either.”

  “Neither can I,” Baxter admitted.

  Rosalind gave him a considering look. “You know, speaking of logic, it would appear perfectly reasonable if you were to dance with your own fiancée.”

  “I haven’t danced in years. Never was much good at it.”

  “That is not the point, Baxter, I merely—” Rosalind broke off to gaze at someone coming up behind him. She smiled coolly. “Speaking of people who believe that they have a motive for murder, here comes Lady Esherton.”

  He glanced around and saw Maryann coming toward them. He abruptly recalled the three notes he had tossed into the fire during the previous fortnight. “Bloody hell.”

  “She cannot have any reason to speak to me,” Rosalind said, “so it must be you she wishes to corner. If you will excuse me, I believe I see a dear friend on the other side of the room.” She turned and swept off into the crowd.

  “Coward.”

  He was left to face his father’s widow alone.

  Maryann was fifty-two years of age. She had been eighteen when she had married Baxter’s father. The earl had been forty-three. It was his second marriage. His first had been childless and he was desperate for an heir.

  The reigning belle of her Season, Maryann had had her pick of the eligible men of the ton but, at the prodding of her ambitious parents, she had set her cap for Esherton. He, in turn, had needed a virgin wife with an unblemished reputation and an impeccable family background. Their wedding had been the match of the Season. Everyone, including the earl’s long-standing mistress, Emma, Lady Sultenham, had attended the festivities.

  With her petite figure, gray eyes, and honey-colored hair, Maryann was Emma’s opposite in almost every way. Baxter sometimes wondered if his father had selected her to be his countess because she did not resemble his dashing dark-haired, dark-eyed mistress or simply because he liked the variety.

  Two years after the marriage, Emma, who was thirty-seven and considered herself safely past childbearing age, gave birth to the earl’s first son. Esherton had been very pleased with Baxter. He had thrown a huge party to celebrate the event. Unfortunately, nothing could alter the fact that Baxter was a bastard and therefore unable to inherit the title.

  Another ten years had passed before Maryann had finally managed to produce an heir for her lord. Baxter was well aware that those years had not been easy for her. The earl had never bothered to conceal his affection for his illegitimate son or his intense passion for Emma.

  Baxter did not like the grim determination in Maryann’s expression tonight. It did not bode well. As always when he was obliged to meet with her, he recalled the deathbed vows that had ensured that they could never ignore each other no matter how fervently each wished to do so.

  His father had bound them together until Hamilton turned twenty-five. The scene was as vivid in his mind tonight as if the events had transpired yesterday. He had stood on one side of the massive four-poster bed. Maryann and Hamilton had stood on the opposite side.

  “The time has come for me to say farewell to my two fine sons.” Arthur, the fourth Earl of Esherton, had gripped both Baxter’s and Hamilton’s hands. “I’m proud of both of you. You’re as different as night and day but you each carry my blood in your veins. Do you hear me, Hamilton?”

  “Yes, Father.” Hamilton looked at Baxter, his eyes simmering with resentment.

  The earl’s eyes switched to Baxter. “You’re Hamilton’s older brother. Never forget that.”

  “I’m not likely to forget the fact that I’m related to him, sir.” Baxter was overcome by a strange sense of unreality. It was impossible to believe that the big, vital, larger-than-life man who had sired him was dying.

  Esherton’s trembling hand tightened briefly on Baxter’s. “You’ve got a responsibility to him and his mother.”

  “I doubt they’ll need anything from me.” Baxter felt the weakness in his father’s once-powerful fingers and had to blink back the dampness that threatened to film his eyes.

  “You’re wrong,” Arthur whispered hoarsely. “Set it out in my will. You’ve got the sort of steady temperament it takes to handle money, Baxter. Damnation, son, you were born steady and reliable. Hamilton’s too young to handle the estates. You’ll have to deal with things until he’s twenty-five.”

  “No.” Maryann was the first to realize the full significance of what her husband had said. Her hand went to her throat. “My lord, what have you done?”

  Arthur turned his head on the pillow to look up at her. In spite of his weakened state he managed to produce a shadow of the wicked Esherton grin. “You’re prettier now than the day I married you, m’dear.”

  “Esherton, please. What have you done?”

  “No need to fret, Maryann. I’ve put Baxter in charge of the family finances until Hamilton gets a bit older.”

  Maryann’s shocked gaze met Baxter’s. “There is no need for such an arrangement.”

  “Afraid there is. Hamilton’s got my hot blood in him, my sweet. He needs time to learn how to control it. Don’t know how my two sons turned out so damned different, but there you are.” Esherton broke off on a racking cough.

  Baxter felt his father slip a little further away into the waiting darkness. “Sir—”

  Arthur recovered from the coughing fit and fell back, exhausted, against the pillows. “I know what I’m doing. Hamilton’s going to need your guidance and advice for a few years, Baxter.”

  “Father, please,” Hamilton whispered. “I don’t need Baxter to handle my money and make decisions for me. I’m old enough to take care of the Esherton lands.”

  “Just for a few more years.” Arthur gave a hoarse chuckle. “Give yourself a chance to sow your wild oats. Who better to keep an eye on you than your older brother, eh?”

  “But he’s not really my brother,” Hamilton insisted. “He’s just my half brother.”

  “You’re brothers, by God.” For a moment a measure of the earl’s old strength burned in his amber eyes. He looked fiercely at Baxter. “Do you understand me, son? You’re Hamilton’s brother. You have a responsibility to look after him. I want your oath on it.”

  Baxter gripped his father’s hand. “I understand. Please, calm yourself, sir.”

  “Your oath, by God.”

  “You have it,” Baxter said quietly.

  The earl relaxed. “Steady and clearheaded. Reliable as the sunrise.” He closed his eyes. “Knew I could depend on you to look after the family.”

  Baxter shook himself free of the memories as Maryann came to a halt in front of him.

  “Good evening, Baxter.”

  “Maryann.”

  “You have not responded to my requests for a meeting. I have sent three notes.”

  “I’ve been occupied with other matters,” Baxter said with the icy politeness he had cultivated years ago for just such occasions. “If this is about money, you know I gave the bankers instructions to honor any reasonable request for funds.”

  “This has nothing to do with money. If you don’t mind, I would prefer to discuss the matter in private. Shall we go out into the gardens?”

  “Some other time, perhaps. I intend to dance the next waltz with my fiancée.”

  Maryann frowned. “It’s true that you are engaged, then?”

  “Yes.” Baxter caught sight of Charlotte in Lennox’s arms. They were both moving very briskly around the floor. Stamina.

  “I see. I suppose I should congratulate you.”

  “There’s no need for you to go out of your way.”

  Maryann’s lips tightened. “Baxter, please, I must speak with you about Hamilton. I am extremely concerned. You know very well that your father told me that if I ever needed your help, you would assist me.”

  Baxter turned his head slowly to meet Maryann’s desperate eyes and knew that he had no choice in the matter. He had given his father his oath.

  He inclined his head a bare half inch in acceptan
ce of the inevitable. “I believe you are correct, madam. It would no doubt be best if we held this conversation out in the gardens.”

  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—”