risk of finding oneself shackled to a man such as Winterbourne.
There were even worse possibilities, she reminded herself. Possibilities that sprang straight from the heart of a nightmare. What could make it worth the risk of binding oneself to a monster such as the creature who had slithered in the shadows of the hall outside Ariel’s bedchamber five years ago?
Charlotte realized that Honoria had paused at the door. Her expression was one of grave concern.
“Are you feeling ill, Miss Arkendale?”
“No, not at all.” Charlotte drew a deep, steadying breath. What on earth was the matter with her? she wondered.She reached out and braced herself by planting both of her hands flat on her desk. With an act of will she produced what she hoped was a businesslike smile. “My apologies. I shall summon my housekeeper to see you out.”
A sharp knock interrupted Charlotte just as she reached for the velvet bell pull. The door of the study opened.
Mrs. Witty’s majestic form loomed grandly. “Mr. St. Ives is here to see you, ma’am. Says he has an appointment.”
Charlotte’s morbid thoughts and unanswered questions vanished in a heartbeat. Baxter was there. She tried and failed to suppress the little burst of delight that flowered inside her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Witty. Miss Patterson was just leaving. Will you see her out, please?”
Mrs. Witty stood back and looked expectantly at Honoria. “Yes, ma’am.”
Honoria went out into the hall with a cheerful spring in her step that had not been present when she had arrived a short while earlier.
It occurred to Charlotte that she had just been presented with a golden opportunity to conduct another experiment on Baxter.
“Oh, Miss Patterson, a moment if you please.” Charlotte hurried around the corner of her desk and went to the doorway of the study. She peered out into the hall.
Baxter stood there, enveloped in the unshakable aura of limitless calm that Charlotte found both intriguing and disturbing. Others might interpret his self-possessed air as the patience of a naturally staid, rather boring individual, but she knew it was something else entirely. It was a manifestation of his inner strength and self-mastery.
She drew in a little breath at the sight of him. He was dressed in a severely cut dark blue coat that, although a bit wrinkled, nevertheless revealed the powerful line of his shoulders. His plainly tied cravat, conservative breeches, and boots suited him, she thought. Fashion was clearly unimportant to him. He was a man of deeper sensibilities.
His gaze met hers at that moment. His eyes glinted behind the lenses of his spectacles. She had the uncomfortable impression that he knew precisely what she was thinking. She felt the rush of warmth into her cheeks and was thoroughly annoyed. She was a lady of
advanced years
and far too much a woman of the world to blush, she told herself.
“Was there something else, Miss Arkendale?” Honoria asked politely.
Charlotte took a single step out into the hall. “Before you leave, Miss Patterson, may I present Mr. St. Ives?” She paused as Honoria turned toward Baxter. “He is my man-of-affairs.”
“Mr. St. Ives,” Honoria murmured.
“Miss Patterson.” Baxter inclined his head in a short, brusque manner.
Charlotte watched Honoria’s face very carefully. There was no trace of surprise or curiosity or anything else to indicate that she suspected Baxter of being something other than what he was supposed to be, an ordinary man of business.
Amazing, Charlotte thought. She caught herself just as she was about to shake her head and smiled at Honoria instead. “Mr. St. Ives is of great assistance to me. I do not know what I would do without him.”
Baxter’s eyes glinted. “You flatter me, Miss Arkendale.”
“Not in the least, Mr. St. Ives. You are invaluable.”
“I’m delighted to hear you say so.”
Honoria gave both of them a vague smile. “If you will excuse me, I have a number of calls to
There were even worse possibilities, she reminded herself. Possibilities that sprang straight from the heart of a nightmare. What could make it worth the risk of binding oneself to a monster such as the creature who had slithered in the shadows of the hall outside Ariel’s bedchamber five years ago?
Charlotte realized that Honoria had paused at the door. Her expression was one of grave concern.
“Are you feeling ill, Miss Arkendale?”
“No, not at all.” Charlotte drew a deep, steadying breath. What on earth was the matter with her? she wondered.She reached out and braced herself by planting both of her hands flat on her desk. With an act of will she produced what she hoped was a businesslike smile. “My apologies. I shall summon my housekeeper to see you out.”
A sharp knock interrupted Charlotte just as she reached for the velvet bell pull. The door of the study opened.
Mrs. Witty’s majestic form loomed grandly. “Mr. St. Ives is here to see you, ma’am. Says he has an appointment.”
Charlotte’s morbid thoughts and unanswered questions vanished in a heartbeat. Baxter was there. She tried and failed to suppress the little burst of delight that flowered inside her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Witty. Miss Patterson was just leaving. Will you see her out, please?”
Mrs. Witty stood back and looked expectantly at Honoria. “Yes, ma’am.”
Honoria went out into the hall with a cheerful spring in her step that had not been present when she had arrived a short while earlier.
It occurred to Charlotte that she had just been presented with a golden opportunity to conduct another experiment on Baxter.
“Oh, Miss Patterson, a moment if you please.” Charlotte hurried around the corner of her desk and went to the doorway of the study. She peered out into the hall.
Baxter stood there, enveloped in the unshakable aura of limitless calm that Charlotte found both intriguing and disturbing. Others might interpret his self-possessed air as the patience of a naturally staid, rather boring individual, but she knew it was something else entirely. It was a manifestation of his inner strength and self-mastery.
She drew in a little breath at the sight of him. He was dressed in a severely cut dark blue coat that, although a bit wrinkled, nevertheless revealed the powerful line of his shoulders. His plainly tied cravat, conservative breeches, and boots suited him, she thought. Fashion was clearly unimportant to him. He was a man of deeper sensibilities.
His gaze met hers at that moment. His eyes glinted behind the lenses of his spectacles. She had the uncomfortable impression that he knew precisely what she was thinking. She felt the rush of warmth into her cheeks and was thoroughly annoyed. She was a lady of
advanced years
and far too much a woman of the world to blush, she told herself.
“Was there something else, Miss Arkendale?” Honoria asked politely.
Charlotte took a single step out into the hall. “Before you leave, Miss Patterson, may I present Mr. St. Ives?” She paused as Honoria turned toward Baxter. “He is my man-of-affairs.”
“Mr. St. Ives,” Honoria murmured.
“Miss Patterson.” Baxter inclined his head in a short, brusque manner.
Charlotte watched Honoria’s face very carefully. There was no trace of surprise or curiosity or anything else to indicate that she suspected Baxter of being something other than what he was supposed to be, an ordinary man of business.
Amazing, Charlotte thought. She caught herself just as she was about to shake her head and smiled at Honoria instead. “Mr. St. Ives is of great assistance to me. I do not know what I would do without him.”
Baxter’s eyes glinted. “You flatter me, Miss Arkendale.”
“Not in the least, Mr. St. Ives. You are invaluable.”
“I’m delighted to hear you say so.”
Honoria gave both of them a vague smile. “If you will excuse me, I have a number of calls to
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