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replacement. He has selected me to take over his responsibilities." "I make the final decision in this matter and I say that you will not do, sit." "I assure you that Marcie thought me eminently qualified for
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    the Post. He was pleased to write the letter of recommendation that
    I showed to you."
    The silver-haired, dapper John Marcie had been in the midst of packnig, up his household when he had received his last instructions from his soon-to-be former employer. Baxter's timing had been perfect. Or so he had thought until he tried to persuade the dubious Marcie that he wished to apply for the position.
    Rather than relief at the prospect of solving his last "Arkendale problem," as he termed it, the conscientious Marcie had felt compelled to discourage Baxter from the outset.
    "Miss Arkendale is, ah, somewhat unusual," Marcie said as he
    toyed with his pen. "Are you quite certain you wish to apply for the
    post?" "Quite certain," Baxter said.
    Marcie peered at him from beneath a solid line of thick, white brows. "Forgive me, sit, but I do not comprehend precisely why you wish to engage yourself to Miss Arkendale in this capacity." "The usual reasons. I'm in need of employment." "Yes, yes, I understand. But there must be other positions available."
    Baxter decided to embroider his story a bit. He assumed what
    he hoped was a confidential air. "We both know how mundane most
    such posts are. Instructions to solicitors and various agents. Arrangements for the buying and selling of properties. Banking mat-
    ters. All very uninspiring.11 "After five years as Miss Arkendale's man-of-affairs, I can assure
    you that there is much to be said for the routine and the uninspiring." "I am eager for something a bit different," Baxter said earnestly. "This post sounds as if it will be somewhat out of the ordinary. Indeed, I sense that it will offer me a certain challenge. 11
    "Challenge?" Marcie closed his eyes. "I doubt that you know the meaning of the word yet, sit."

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    Amanda Quick
    information on a certain gentleman. I have interviewed the managers of the most appalling hells and brothels on her behalf. I have inquired into the financial affairs of any number of men who would
    be shocked to learn of her interest."
    "Odd, indeed." "And most unladylike. Upon my oath, sit, if she did not pay so handsomely, I would have quit my position after the first month of service. But at least I was never required to act as a bodyguard. I am
    grateful for that much." "You have no notion of why she feels herself to be in danger?" "None whatsoever." Marcle's chair squeaked as he leaned back in it. "Miss Arkendale has not seen fit to confide in me on that
    score. In truth, there is a great deal Miss Arkendale has never seen
    fit to confide in me. I am extremely vague about the actual source of her income, for example."
    Baxter was very good at controlling his expressions. A bastard, even one who was the by-blow of a wealthy earl, learned the skill early on in life. The talent served him well at that moment. He managed to convey only casual interest in Marcle's last statement.
    "I was under the impression that Miss Arkendale's mother, Lady Winterbourne, had a substantial income from her first marriage," Baxter said carefully. "I assumed the inheritance was passed on to
    Miss Arkendale and her sister."
    Marcle's brows rose. "That is what Miss Charlotte would have you believe. But I can tell you that Winterbourne squandered nearly every penny of the Arkendale inheritance before he had the grace to
    get himself murdered by a footpad five years ago."
    Baxter removed his spectacles and began to polish them with his handkerchief. "Just what do you suspect is the real source of Miss Arkendale's money?"
    Marcle examined his nails. "I will be truthful, sit. Although I have assisted in the investment and management of her income for five years, to this day I have no notion of where the money
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