“Dear heaven.”
“What if Mrs. Heskett lived long enough after she was shot to shove this sketchbook under the wardrobe?” Charlotte whispered.
“You will likely never know for certain.”
“No, I suppose not.” Charlotte nibbled on her lower lip, thinking of the possibilities.
Ariel picked up her teacup and regarded Charlotte over the rim. “You have many questions to answer, but I have some of my own.”
“Such as?”
“What, exactly, happened last night when you went out to search Drusilla Heskett’s house?”
Charlotte sat back in her chair. “I gave you the entire tale last night. Mr. St. Ives and I discovered the sketchbook and then were accosted by a housebreaker as we left the house. That is all there was to it.”
“Do you know, it is your description of St. Ives’s role in the affair that sticks in my mind this morning.”
Charlotte smiled with deep satisfaction. “As I said, Mr. St. Ives was magnificent.”
“Magnificent is not a word that you are accustomed to use, especially not when you are describing a member of the opposite sex.”
Charlotte cleared her throat. “Well, there really is no other word that suits in this particular situation. Mr. St. Ives was clever, resourceful, quick-thinking, and astonishingly brave. I shudder to think what might have happened had he not accompanied me.”
“All in all, quite the perfect man-of-affairs, would you say?”
“Perfect. Mr. Marcle was absolutely correct to recommend him for the position.”
“He kissed you, did he not?” Ariel asked softly.
“Good lord, what a strange thing to say. Why on earth would I kiss John Marcle?” Charlotte reached for her tea. “He’s a very nice man, but he’s at least thirty years older than I am and I do not think that he’s particularly interested in females.”
“You know very well I meant Mr. St. Ives, not Mr. Marcle.”
Charlotte felt the warmth rise furiously into her cheeks. “You believe that Mr. St. Ives kissed me? Wherever did you get such a crazed notion?”
“When I came to your bedchamber last night to inquire into your adventures you looked …” Ariel hesitated, clearly searching for the right word. “Different.”
“Different?”
“Overheated. Very bright. Practically glowing.” Ariel waved one hand in a vague gesture. “A little disheveled, too. There was an odd look in your eyes.”
“Really, Ariel, this is too much. I had just had a very disturbing encounter with an extremely violent villain. How the devil is one supposed to look after such an occasion?”
“I don’t know how the average lady looks after she has had a near miss with a villain but I know how you look.”
“What on earth do you mean? I have not had any other direct encounters with villains.”
“You have had one that I recall quite distinctly.” Ariel put her cup down gently on its saucer. “Five years ago. The night before Winterbourne got his throat slit by a footpad. I heard you in the hall that night. You used Papa’s pistol to drive Winterbourne and one of his gaming cronies from the house.”
Charlotte stared at her. “I did not realize that you understood what had happened that night.”
“I did not comprehend matters entirely until I was much older. But even then I understood that you had dealt with a very dangerous situation. And I saw the expression in your eyes afterward. It was not the same look I saw there last night.”
“I’m sorry. I did not mean for you to ever learn just how evil Winterbourne was.”
“His companion was infinitely worse, was he not?”
Charlotte shuddered at the memory. “He was a monster. But that was a long time ago, Ariel. And we both came through it safely.”
