Powder of Sin (9 page)

Useless, impossible urges that had haunted her since
he’d sat in her parlor, her silent guest—before the powder had
entered her life.

“Are you improved?” she asked and realized she
sounded as brusque as he had.

She shifted from foot to foot, determined to be less
impatient. “Are you more yourself? Shall I ring for something to
eat?”

He’d risen to his feet when she’d opened the door,
and presented the appearance of a man who’d been through a battle,
or perhaps he was only as disheveled as a man who’d just got out of
bed. His hair, which had not been oiled, was rumpled. His clothes
were in disorder, his eyes shadowed, his cheeks flushed. This would
be how he looked upon waking in the morning. The thought did not
help her sangfroid.

“Thank you, no. I appreciate your concern.” He
managed a smile, showing those white, nearly even teeth. His
disarray was not the only sign of his condition: his chest rose and
fell in a manner suggesting his breath was fast and uneven. Oh. And
he clutched a book in front of himself at groin level. He must have
seen the direction of her gaze.

“A volume of Aristotle’s treatises. I thought if
anything could help a man regain his sanity…” He cleared his throat
and looked at the chair in a marked manner. He wouldn’t sit unless
she invited him to.

“Yes, of course, please.” She waved a hand. “Take a
seat, Mr. Reed. And we’ll talk about philosophy until you feel
quite yourself.”

“No, I think your presence won’t allow that,” he
said, gruff again. “Not even discussing the price of shoes could
help.”

She frowned, wondering what he meant, then
remembered his first visit. She laughed. “I was obvious, was I?
But, sir, if you feel you are well enough to leave…”

He smiled and waited until she took a seat—not too
close to him—before he gingerly leaned back in the chair, as if
lowering himself into a hot bath. He held up the book. “I’m not
sure I’m fit to leave the privacy of your home.”

She imagined him finding some young woman on the
street and wooing her. If he was still so filled with licentious
thoughts, why wasn’t he trying to seduce her? She felt a flutter of
disappointment.

He thrust his fingers through his hair, which did
nothing to improve its disorder. “So. Miss Ambermere.” He looked
around the room, then back down at the book on his lap. “Do you
read philosophy?” He sounded desperate, as if trying to talk about
anything but the thick desire that clogged the very air of the
room.

“Years ago, when I was eighteen, I was determined to
prove to my father that I had a brain, and I plowed through all the
classical volumes I could find in his library.”

He cocked his head and looked at her for a moment.
“Did you manage to impress him?”

“Not really. It turned out that if he had read the
classics in school, he’d forgotten them. And he had no interest in
discussing the subjects, especially with a young female.”

“A pity he wouldn’t take you seriously.” Was that a
condescending note in his voice?

No, the way he stared down at the book and then
shifted his gaze to a vase on the table, she understood he was
distracted and trying to force his mind onto the topic. Perhaps
away from lust. She was well-bred and could make conversation under
strange circumstances as well. “I decided I was glad I indulged in
the exercise for my own sake. I would never have bothered if it
weren’t for my stubborn need to irritate him.”

He glanced at her, and their eyes met again. For
several heartbeats, they only stared. The starved wolf in his eyes
leaped to life. “No,” he whispered. “I won’t.”

She didn’t bother asking him to explain. “The effect
is still bad, then?”

“I thought I was fine, but then I see you.” He shook
his head, hard. “Tell me more about your father. About you. As a
young girl. Very young girl,” he added quickly.

She wondered what he meant, then understood he was
still inflamed by her presence. A quote from a reformist’s letter
she’d read in the morning paper came to her: “unchastity, lewdness,
debauchery, dissoluteness, extravagance, and wildness.” Dear God,
the words had a flavor that made her mouth water.

She squirmed in her chair. He squeezed his eyes
tightly shut.

“My father,” she said. “I didn’t know him well,
though I saw him nearly every day when I was growing up. I spent
most of my time in England on his estate or in London with him, but
he was entirely formal or in a rage. He did tend to go into rages.”
She decided not to talk about her flirtatious, attractive
mother.

“Your parents. They were happy together?”

“Miserable. My mother was—is—American. My father had
a title; her family had enormous piles of money. A familiar enough
story. They lived apart most of my life. But the funny thing is I
think he loved her, in his own way.”

He swallowed. A moment passed, and he asked, “And
she. Did she love him?”

“I don’t know. For a time she considered seeking a
divorce but decided the scandal wasn’t worth it. She once told me
selfish people ought never marry, especially not other selfish
people.”

Mr. Reed smiled without opening his eyes. “Did your
father have a similar view of marriage?”

“I’m not sure. When I told him she’d said that, he
replied that most people are selfish, particularly women, but that
he, as an important man with many duties, didn’t have time for
selfishness.”

A furrow appeared on his brow. “Why did you report
what she’d said?”

“That’s why I think he rather loved her. When I’d
return from visits with her, he’d ask me to repeat what she said,
question me about every conversation. Then he’d pace the room and
tell me why everything she said was so wrong.”

The whole time she talked, she examined Mr. Reed.
Since he sprawled in the chair with his eyes closed, she didn’t
have to worry about her own rude gawking. He had long limbs, broad
shoulders—almost too broad for current fashion. From a quick
glance, she couldn’t help noticing that, despite the way he sat,
perhaps trying to disguise the fact that his male organ was still
swollen. Heavens, his limbs weren’t the only long, powerful body
parts he possessed, although perhaps that was an illusion of the
loosely fitting trousers.

“So he still cared,” he said gruffly.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s it.”

With those piercing, judging eyes closed, he didn’t
have the same ability to fluster her, yet she was still moved by
him—enough to discuss matters she’d never told anyone. “And more
than that, after he’d thoroughly castigated her, my father would
say, ‘Does she ask about me? I wonder if she misses me.’ In fact,
my mother rarely mentioned Father, but I’d always lie and say she’d
asked about him.”

Mr. Reed still breathed heavily. But the coiled,
muscle-trembling tension seemed to have dissipated in the rest of
his body. His elbows rested on the chair’s arms, hands crossed on
his chest, no longer restless.

“That is a sad story,” he said at last.

She frowned, considering her parents. “Yes, I
suppose so. They had money, influence, and freedom from worry. My
mother is still well and happy.” She had thought this before but
had never said anything. “But something essential was missing.”

“What do you suppose that ‘essential’ was?” He
opened his eyes.

“I don’t know.” She looked down at the jet bracelet
she wore, tracing the patterns of the stones, rather than allow
herself to get lost in his gaze again.

Of course, she should not talk about her parents
with a near stranger. But she realized after what they’d talked
about and been through that afternoon, they weren’t strangers. Not
friends either.

“Thank you,” he said after a minute.

“For what?”

“You talked with me, tolerated me. I should be
grateful that you haven’t run screaming from me or called for the
police. Most unmarried young ladies would have.”

“I know the powder’s effects.” She laughed. “And you
forget, I spent time in the company of my cousin Lord Williamsford.
You could never match his ability to shock.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know him well.”

“No, not very well. And certainly not in any
intimate sense. But his conversation was inappropriate at all
times. My father was right to try to keep me away from him.”

“Do you think Lord Williamsford used the
powder?”

The thought made her gasp. “Heavens, I have no
idea.”

He shuddered and pulled himself to the edge of the
chair. His face was as grim as ever. “Clermont. He mustn’t gain
access to the chemical. And I don’t trust him. He might try less
legal ways to get his hands on it.”

“I don’t understand. Why, if you dislike him so
much, are you traveling with him?”

He rubbed his hands over the tops of his thighs.
“It’s my job.”

“Your job?”

“He is why I came to America.” Mr. Reed looked as
thunderous as he ever had. “He calls me his keeper. I make certain
he doesn’t…get into trouble.”

She pursed her lips. “That is a strange position to
hold. A companion for a male. I take it his family employs
you?”

“Yes.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out
before continuing. “But you understand, I don’t hold a position
like your Miss Renshaw. I am more like a warden of a one-man
lunatic asylum. I had promised not to divulge my position, but…” He
gave her a fleeting, bleak smile. “But because of that stuff in the
box, you should know the truth about him.” He got to his feet
awkwardly, and she guessed he still suffered from unwanted arousal.
“In fact, I must go now. He’s, er, occupied at the moment, but that
might end soon. He’s been trying to give me the slip.”

“Pardon?”

“Lately he’s been trying to get away from me. I
employ a newsboy as a spy, and the boy reported that Clermont
managed to get to your lawyer’s office last week. I’m not sure why,
but I can only hope it has nothing to do with finding out you have
the box of chemicals.” He ran a hand over the buttons of his
waistcoat and straightened his jacket, pulling it quickly over his
front. “That isn’t your concern. I hope you have a good
evening.”

“I will walk with you to the front door. You left
the list in the library?”

“No. I have it here.” He patted his chest, the
inside jacket pocket. “Tomorrow morning, first thing, I will go
interview these gentlemen. In the meantime, perhaps we ought to
lock the box in some sort of safe.”

“Thank you for your concern.” Rosalie’s response was
automatic. After years of fending them off, yet another dominant
male wished to march into her life and take control. What a pity
she was attracted to strong men—they were the ones who would treat
her as a child. She wished her heart beat faster around gentlemen
like Mr. Dorsey. Calm Mr. Wentworth had seemed like a fine
compromise if she must marry. Though the thought of him aroused and
agitated by the powder didn’t create those heavy, breathless
responses in her heart and belly. She faced Mr. Reed and forced
herself to look into his eyes. “I can settle the matter on my
own.”

She expected him to argue or grow offended, but he
only nodded. “Yes, of course. I know you take the danger seriously.
You did give me an assignment, and I promise to return with
information as soon as I can.”

They drew a little closer, and he slowly held out
his hand.

She looked at his fingers, bare and strong. “Do you
dare?” she asked lightly and wondered, do I?

He didn’t move. “I won’t allow it to control me,” he
said, still fierce.

For five seconds, their hands met. Skin to skin.
They made no pretense of shaking and only grasped hands.

He ripped away as if in pain, and his gasping breath
was audible in the small entry room.

She gazed into his face, the half smile, the
heavy-lidded eyes. Could that be amusement? That had to be an
improvement. She smiled. “You needn’t smirk at me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Not a smirk, I promise you.
Mostly embarrassment, naturally.”

“You? What have you to be embarrassed about?”

“This whole experience, from start to finish.” He
bowed. “Good evening, Miss Ambermere. I hope you will have
forgotten my behavior when I call again tomorrow.”

“I shan’t forget it, but you might,” she said. “From
what I have witnessed, when the powder has a strong effect, it
seems to erase the memory. Or transform events into something like
dreams.”

“Odd,” he said. “But I suppose it makes sense. Too
much drink can have the same effect. Then you’ll have to remind me
of this visit.” He shook his head. “Although I must admit I want to
recall as little as possible.”

“All right, when we meet again, I will only remind
you that the power of the chemical is real.”

He looked so troubled, she said, “Though truly, Mr.
Reed, you have nothing to berate yourself about. Your behavior was
never…” She faltered, remembering, “
I would rub and taste every
last inch of your skin. I would commit the ultimate act again and
again, and I wouldn’t stop until I was satisfied
.”

“I mean to say, considering the strain you were
under”—again she carefully didn’t look at his lower front—“you were
a gentleman.”

“You are most generous.” He shoved his hat down hard
over his dark hair. “I will be able to call at about eleven. I
should hope to have some answers for you by then. Do consider
locking that box in a place stronger than that drawer. I could have
broken the lock with a letter opener or teaspoon.”

“Do you break locks with teaspoons in your line of
work?”

“Once.” He gave her another warm, true grin. “Miss
Ambermere, if I do forget much of what happened today, I hope I at
least recall your generosity.”

She felt her face grow hot with pleasure at the
compliment.

Clermont was nearly stumbling drunk when Reed picked
him up from the Lotus House. “You don’t often indulge in that
particular sin,” Reed said as they strolled the six blocks back to
the hotel. “You’ll have a wicked head in the morning.”