Powder of Love (I) (10 page)

“Do you really want to drive through the streets of New York carrying that box with only a maid with you?” He couldn’t imagine what would happen, but figured he’d play on her imagination.

She laughed. “I’m going fewer than three miles’ distance. But all right. If it would make you feel better.”

“Yes, it would.” And it meant he could spend more time in her company.

They pulled up to her house in silence.

“You have a half hour before you meet Mr. Clermont,” she said. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

“Yes.” He tied up the horses, who were barely interested in trotting. Miss Ambermere’s footman probably had made the remark about the pair just to be polite. This was not a spirited team who’d get into trouble.

She led him into the large parlor rather than the library. He liked the room with its fresh yellow walls and the landscapes.

The maid seemed to have disappeared. He walked to the mantel and pointed to the watercolor of a huge, sprawling building. “Your father’s estate?”

“Yes, and then my cousin’s.” She shrugged. “I think Johnny’s heir is a distant cousin, but I’m not sure who was next in line.”

She walked over and stood close to him and pointed at an old bent tree at the corner. “That was always my favorite place to read. Right on that upper branch.”

“Poor Miss Ambermere.”

She raised her brows. “Why do you say that?”

“After your father died, you lost your home.”

“I left gladly and before his death. I loved it there, but I am happier here.” She straightened her back.

“Bad memories?”

She shook her head.

He moved a little closer. Just to see if he could pick up that scent of hers—lemon, flowers, and a light hint of cinnamon or some other spice.

“Miss Ambermere,” he started. How could he ask her what she’d meant when she’d admitted her attraction? The conversation had been intriguing, and he wanted to know more. But then her fragrance, her closeness, befuddled him again. He licked his lips and realized her gaze was on his mouth. Her own lips were slightly parted, and there was an invitation in those clear, wide eyes. Far be it for him to be rude to his hostess. He rested his hand on her shoulder. She gave a tiny start, yet didn’t speak or move. He tightened his hand to feel the shape of her slender form under the slick material. He bent his head and very slowly moved to her. She still didn’t shift away, so he brushed his lips over hers, a light touch, but unmistakably, a kiss.

A quick exhalation of breath against his cheek. She was startled—or perhaps aroused.

He should speak, say something in apology, break the silence, but now she stood taller and settled her mouth against his.

Featherlight rubbing, experimenting. She panted against his mouth, her hands moved to his shoulders, and she again pressed her lips to his, urgently now.

He parted his lips so he could taste her better. She flinched but didn’t draw back as he teased her mouth with the tip of his tongue.

She returned the teasing with her own tentative, flickering tongue touch, and then a twist of her body so the exploration could go deeper.

The taste of her proved too much. He forced himself to release his grip on her.

“I-I must beg your pardon. It’s surely the powder.”

She narrowed her eyes. “The powder’s effect doesn’t last for more than a few hours. Furthermore, I was kissing you, and I haven’t been near that box.” She shifted away from him, and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “Has anyone ever described you as priggish?”

Clermont, certainly. Reed considered being insulted by her question but realized she had a point. “I don’t think I was anything of the sort in the past, and I don’t wish to seem overscrupulous now, but I am afraid I have rather been pushed in that direction. Not by you,” he added hastily.

She was silent a moment. “I beg your pardon for the rude question. I can see that your exposure to the powder would not have helped. You do not seem the sort of man who appreciates being out of control.”

He hadn’t understood that simple truth until she said the words. He wasn’t sure he liked the way she saw him too clearly, though her words did nothing to quell his desire.

She gave him a small smile. “I expect if you’d known the attraction between us was mutual, you would have run away to retain the upper hand over yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He swallowed. It was perhaps a good thing he hadn’t known how much she wanted him that day, because his control was on the edge now, with no aphrodisiac in his system.

He’d take a page from her plain-speaking book. “I think I insulted you just now by telling you the only reason I wanted to kiss you was because of the powder.”

Her eyes widened, and she licked her lips. “Perhaps,” she said faintly.

“I should tell you the truth,” he went on. “It was because of you. Your smiles and laughter and the way your hair gathers just here.” He brushed fingers at her nape, then remembered Clermont had done almost the same motion a few days earlier.

Here he stood, near a woman, seeking pleasure like Clermont. The thought should have been enough to stop him. It wasn’t. He leaned in again to the sweet taste of her mouth, and now her hand was on his shoulder, squeezing him spasmodically. Miss Ambermere. Her first name was…damn. He wasn’t certain he could recall it, but that wasn’t enough to prevent him from another full-mouth kiss, ravenous now. Nothing delicate or polite.

She pulled at the cloth of his jacket; he could feel her against him. For a brief moment, she allowed him to kiss her in the fully obscene, delicious manner—their tongues greedy and deep, as if drawing more than taste from each other, attempting to arouse every part of their bodies with their mouths.

Then she moved away and rested her forehead on his chest so he could only see the top of her head, the pale skin of her part, and feel the soft curls tickling his chin. Her breath came fast and rough, but she relaxed against him, so much of her form pressed to him from chest to knees. The weight of her was as heady as the kisses.

He ran his hands down her back, searching for her yielding body trapped under the stiff corset and layers of cloth. She let him touch her, so he grew bolder. Frustrated by the blasted fashionable contraptions she wore below her waist, he moved to her shoulder again. At least she was woman there, warm and round. He buried his nose in her curls while he ran his hands over the interesting shape of her waist and hips, and then she stirred against him, increasing his arousal to the point of dizziness.

She didn’t tilt her head, and he badly needed to kiss her.

But if he spoke, she’d realize how wrong this was, to allow a near stranger to molest her. So he kissed what he could—the top of her ear, her hair. Yes, there, at last, she looked up at him, and dear Lord, her heavy eyes and half smile made his heart thump hard.

His lips were against her again before she had a chance to look away or wake from whatever stupor she was in. Kisses he’d dreamed about—literally and during the day as he’d stumbled around the city in a fog. Better than he’d imagined. She let him into her mouth again, and he cupped her head and went deeper.

Worries dissolved with those kisses, and she was the only thing that mattered.

Her hands, which had been on his shoulders, moved between them and rested against his chest, and he rejoiced she would touch him and give him permission to touch her there. Her breasts.

But then she was pushing.

Oh damn. Reality slammed into him, almost as hard as her shove. He stepped back, panting as if he’d run a race.

“My cousin was right,” she said with a breathless laugh. “It is hard to stop a man.”

“I apologize.” He began the dreary atonement for his sinful actions, when all he really wanted to do was keep kissing and touching her.

She shook her head slowly. “Wait, no. I said that the wrong way. My cousin had led me to believe it was all an attack, but no, you stopped almost as soon as I pushed away. What I didn’t understand is that it is the pushing away that’s difficult. Heavens.” She was pale except for bright spots on her upper cheeks. Her hands twisted. “I thought a single kiss would take care of this…this”—she shrugged—“this problem. But it is rather like salted cashews when one is hungry. A single taste only leaves the flavor and promise of more. It makes one greedy.”

Something deep in his throat made a small noise. A moan. “I should go,” he said. “I didn’t mean to stay or trespass. Or…” He stared blankly at her face, trying to come up with words that would bring them both back to normal, civil conversation. He realized that was impossible. What he meant to do didn’t matter, after all.

As they stood silent and almost too close to each other, Beels entered with a tea tray. And Murphy came behind him. Miss Ambermere cleared her throat. “Surely you have time for a cup of tea?”

He nodded, then remembered that was impolite. His mind still reeled with the arousal that stirred every part of him. “Tea. Thank you, yes. Tea.”

What had those kisses portended beyond his bottomless hunger and her curiosity? She certainly couldn’t think of him as a suitor. His prospects didn’t exist beyond what he could accomplish with his own hands. Not what a wealthy young woman would look for.

Could they manage an affair? Reed wasn’t sure he could manage to bed a woman casually. Not after witnessing the carelessness of a Clermont. It wouldn’t be casual, he argued with himself—God and heavens, no. Except, what would happen once they’d finally sated their need? They’d take off their clothes and lie down together, and then…

He couldn’t imagine what would happen next other than Clermont’s system: they would go their separate ways and pretend nothing had occurred. She deserved better. He did too, though he didn’t think he gave a jot about that at the moment. Not when his body was clamoring for release.

A footman was handing him a teacup and saucer, and he was again murmuring thanks, feeling more shaken than he had during that damnable incident with the powder. This had involved her too. Wide awake and fully aware of the consequences, they’d kissed and touched each other like lovers.

When he looked up from the tea, she was staring at him round-eyed as if he were some sort of frightening creature in the zoo. Or perhaps as if he were one of the monkeys who’d been flinging excrement around.

With Murphy in the room, he had to be careful. So he only smiled and said, “Thank you for your time this morning. I appreciate it.”

Without turning away, Miss Ambermere said, “Oh, Murphy, would you fetch my larger knitting needles? They’re on my dresser. I forgot to bring them down. And the extra wool. I’m not sure where that is. I am sorry.”

Murphy left.

As soon as her footsteps faded, Miss Ambermere spoke in a low voice. “Were you thanking me for the kisses? I can’t tell if you are angry about them.”

“Angry? Of course not.” He frowned, wondering why she’d imagine something that wonderful would make a man angry.

“Good, because you are scowling, and I can’t tell what you’re thinking. And it matters for some reason.”

“What does?”

“What you think of me. I don’t want it to matter.” He was startled to see that her eyes were bright with tears. She quickly erased all traces and managed a light tone. “I am not prone to caring for the good opinion of others. It’s such a restful thing to go along with one’s own judgment and not seek the approval of others.”

“I don’t know why my opinion matters, but since it does, I should say—I mean, I ought to tell you that I think very highly of you.”

She fiercely dabbed at her eyes. “But then there is the problem of what I believe about myself. When I met you in the hotel, you believed I was a loose woman, and perhaps you aren’t so far off.”

“No, no. It’s not that simple.” He smiled. “A few days ago it would have been, of course. It’s always much simpler to view that sort of thing as an outsider, isn’t it? I don’t think anything you’ve done is…wrong.”

One side of her mouth curved up, showing that delicate near-dimple. “Then perhaps you didn’t notice that I’d wrapped myself around you like a morning glory vine.”

“I hardly think you did that. I wouldn’t have minded, though.”

“Your philosophy has changed, then.”

She’d noticed that too. He sipped tea to give himself time to come up with a justification. It didn’t work. “Hardly a philosophy. I don’t think I can explain.”

“Why not?”

How could one talk of attraction making all the difference in the world? “Our kisses have hurt no one.”

“No, I suppose not,” she said, but she sounded entirely dubious.

He sighed and gave up trying to convince her or himself that what they had done together wasn’t sordid. Those kisses were valuable, sweet.

The door, which had been partially shut, opened, but it wasn’t Murphy in the doorway. A tall, magnificent woman dressed in deep blue strolled into the room.

“How very interesting. I let myself into the house and discover my daughter closeted with a young man. Who is this, dear?”

Mr. Reed had jumped to his feet. Rosalie’s mother, Deirdre, looked him up and down, and the gleam in her eyes was approval. “You do look like you’ve been running, sir. Or performing some other vigorous exercise.”

She turned and clasped her daughter’s hands.

“Mother.” Rosalie had trouble getting the word out. She said it mostly to make the relationship clear to Mr. Reed. For most of her life, she had addressed her mother by her first name. She wasn’t certain why but suspected it had been a request from Deirdre.

“Yes, dear, a whole week early, but spring came early this year. Have you felt it in the air, even here in the city? And I would enjoy a saunter.”

“May I present Mr. Reed?”

“How do you do, Lady Williamsford.” He bowed.

“English. Well, I suppose I should ask you if you’re from the Wiltshire or the East Witcherty-tonk branch of your family, but I don’t give a darn. Poor darling girl, you have no father to say tut-tut and act like a proper guardian. Sit, sit, Mr. Reed. And tell me all about what you and my daughter were up to before I opened the door.”

Before he could answer, Rosalie chimed in. “Philosophy. We were discussing Aristotle’s treatises.” That wasn’t really a lie, though it was several days after that discussion.