Free Affair by Amanda Quick

disdain.
    “Mouthy bitch, aren’t ye? Well, here’s a little illustration of what’ll ’appen if ye don’t give me my rightful earnings.”
    The man whipped around with surprising speed. Hebrought the pistol up high as if it were a club and swung it in a short, savage arc aimed at Baxter’s head.
    “No,” Charlotte gasped. “Wait, don’t hurt him. He merely works for me.”
    Baxter was already moving, ducking swiftly to avoid the slashing pistol. He yanked one of the glass vials out of the small box in his pocket, snapped it open, and hurled it straight into his assailant’s face.
    The special phosphorous compound flashed into a harsh, startling light on contact with air. The villain roared in shock and rage and awkwardly leaped back, clawing at his eyes. The pistol clattered on the paving.
    Baxter stepped forward and slammed a fist into the man’s jaw. Still partially blinded by the instantaneous light that had exploded in his face, the villain reeled.
    “Ye’ve blinded me, ye bloody bastard. I’m
blind.
”
    Baxter saw no reason to assure him that the effect was only temporary. He seized Charlotte’s arm. “Come. I hear the carriage.”
    “It ain’t fair,” the villain whined. “I’m the one what spotted that vacant house. It’s mine. Go find yer own house.”
    Charlotte glanced back at the outraged villain. “We’re going to inform the magistrate that you’re skulking about in this neighborhood. You’d better leave at once.”
    “That’s enough.” Baxter saw the carriage lamps in the distance. He hauled Charlotte forward. “We’ve got our own problems.”
    “I don’t want that villain to think that he can go into Mrs. Heskett’s house and steal whatever he likes.”
    “Why not? We just did exactly that.”
    “Taking this sketchbook is a different matter entirely,” she protested breathlessly.
    “Hmm.” The carriage was almost upon them.
    “I must tell you, I was most impressed with the way you handled that situation, Mr. St. Ives. Very clever of you to think of using your instantaneous lights in that fashion. Very clever, indeed.”
    Baxter ignored the admiration in her words. He was too intent on watching the dark carriage materialize out of the fog.
    The horses appeared first, a pair of gray phantoms coalescing out of the mist. The bulk of the vehicle took shape behind them. The coachman, hired from Severedges Stables along with the carriage and team, had driven for Baxter many times. He was accustomed to the eccentricities of his client.
    Baxter had patronized the large livery stable for years. He found it more efficient and economical to send around to Severedges’s whenever he required a carriage than to maintain his own stable. In exchange for his long-standing business and prompt payment of accounts, he was assured of service and discretion.
    “Anything wrong, sir?” the coachman inquired as he wheeled the horses to a halt.
    “Nothing that my companion and I could not handle.” Baxter yanked the carriage door open. He caught Charlotte around the waist and tossed her lightly into the cab. “Take us back to Miss Arkendale’s house.”
    “Aye, sir.”
    Baxter vaulted into the carriage, closed the door, and sank down on the seat across from Charlotte. The vehicle rumbled into motion.
    He checked to make certain that the curtains were still drawn across the windows. Then he turned back to Charlotte. In the pale glow of the interior lamps, her eyes were very brilliant.
    “Mr. St. Ives, I cannot thank you enough for your actions tonight,” she said. “You were truly noble and heroic and terribly quick-witted in the crisis. All of my doubts concerning your employment have been resolved. Mr. Marcle was quite right to send you to me.”
    Anger surged through him without warning. She could have gotten herself killed tonight, he thought. And there she sat, glowing with enthusiasm and praising him as if he were a servant who had performed his duties particularly well. It was