Powder of Love (I) (12 page)

Miss Renshaw gave her a teary-eyed look of gratitude and left.

“Tell me what happened to your Miss Renshaw,” Rosalie’s mother said the minute the door closed. “At once, before I die of curiosity.”

“No.” But Rosalie’s heart sank. Her mother was not the sort to take no as an answer. She enjoyed a good fight.

After a few more minutes of pestering, Rosalie gave a very abridged version of Miss Renshaw’s adventures, leaving out the details of everything she’d seen in the garden. Her mother, however, was listening too carefully.

“You say she was kissing the groom? Nothing more?”

“No. And it was the coachman.”

“Then why are you chewing your lip?”

“I don’t like telling other people’s secrets, Mother. Do stop trying to make trouble.”

“You need trouble made, child. You’re set in your ways. That dreadful Johnny Williamsford did you a favor.”

“Not likely.” Rosalie sat down heavily on the couch. She felt a headache coming on. “The chemical is frightening. I’m only glad we’ve found someone who’ll take care of it.”

“We?”

“Mr. Reed did the research for me.”

“The intriguing Mr. Reed. He is exactly the sort of trouble I hope you get into. Very attractive in a dark, brooding sort of way. Rough-and-tumble, I imagine. Straight in for what he wants and no shilly-shallying with little kisses.”

Rosalie remembered his little kisses and then the bigger ones. He’d been so gentle, and then…
Oh my
. If only she could go off on her own to think about those kisses. But her mother would require a great deal of attention—she always did.

Her mother removed a bracelet and dangled it for a minute, eyeing the diamonds. Lady Williamsford refused to follow any dictates about wearing particular jewels only on certain occasions or times of day. She put it on her other wrist, then held up her shapely, silk-clad arm and twisted it so the bracelet caught the light. “If I didn’t have an eye on my rancher, I’d see what I could do about Mr. Reed.”

“
No
,” Rosalie said, then clamped her mouth shut.

“Ah. Just as I thought. You want him for yourself.”

“Mother, I do not intend to marry Mr. Reed or anyone else. And since I do not collect men as if they were epigrams, let’s assume I do not want a man.”

“Of course you want one. Or do you prefer women? I think that’s the root cause of so much of Aunt Elizabeth’s anger. She lives in Boston; one wishes she’d settle for a Boston marriage.”

The headache was blossoming at the back of Rosalie’s eyes. “I know you only speak this way in private with me. Could we pretend that a very proper elderly lady is sitting in the corner, listening? Would you please talk about the weather?”

“Darling girl, I had a lifetime’s worth of polite conversation when I lived in England. I don’t want a single minute more of chatting unless it’s interesting. But I can see you’re about to fly into a pother. Tell me which plays we’ll go see. Is that a good compromise?”

“Lovely. Yes. And we will see anything you want, I promise.”

“That box of powder. That’s what I want to see.”

Rosalie wished she too could flee the room in tears like Miss Renshaw. Then she could retire to a quiet place and examine why she had kissed Mr. Reed. And she could think about those kisses. He had a strong effect on her—and it was more than physical. Why would she admit to a less than perfect family life to a near stranger when she barely admitted as much to herself? And Rosalie had long ago decided she had no use for any man’s good opinion, at least not when the man was determined to judge her constantly, but all she ever wanted to do with Mr. Reed was explain, apologize for some unknown crime she’d committed so he would stop looking at her with that scowl. Except now she recalled he was cheerful the last time they’d parted. That thought made her smile. She winced at her own changing mood based on a memory of his. Curse the man for always drawing such a strong response from her.

But the unfamiliar and childish emotions weren’t important at the moment. Getting the box of powder out of the house was. She would entertain her mother, and perhaps Miss Renshaw would drive out with Lady Williamsford to an exhibition, and while they were gone, she’d take the wretched box of Johnny’s powder to Dr. Leonard. Then at least she’d have one less thing to worry about.

Rosalie didn’t need to think of a way to get rid of her mother. After partaking of some refreshments and changing her gown, Lady Williamsford announced her plans to visit some friends.

She smoothed her gloves and waggled her fingers experimentally. Lady Williamsford had the habit of buying gloves that were too small. Someone must have told her that a tight fit might make her hands look smaller. “They will be sorry you’re not with me. You are turning into a recluse, my dear.”

“I live in the city.”

“Easiest place in the world to be a recluse. In Spotsdale, I can’t keep the neighbors at bay.”

Her mother sailed from the house with her French maid in tow. Miss Renshaw retreated to her room, and it was nearly teatime when Rosalie was finally able to conceal the box inside a hatbox. As she went down her front steps, she saw two gentlemen turning the corner and heading toward her house. She ignored the footman’s outstretched hand and bounded into the carriage, pretending she hadn’t seen Messrs. Clermont and Reed.

Reed suspected Clermont hadn’t spotted Miss Ambermere bolting into the carriage; he hoped not, anyway. He prayed the box she carried was what he suspected it to be, because he gambled on leaving Clermont alone now.

“Oh blast. I forgot something back at the hotel. You’ll have to make the call on your own. I’ll meet you back here in a half hour.”

Clermont raised his brows. “You are suddenly less devoted to your task, Reed. You’ve gone from the very best of the watchdogs sent to sniff after me to one of the worst.”

Reed decided a bit of the truth would put him off guard. “I quit. A few days ago I sent off a wire saying I’d had enough of the job. I’m just holding on until my replacement is installed.”

“Come, you are a spoilsport. Very well, go back to the hotel, and I promise to stay here.”

“If she should leave you alone for a moment, don’t make any more searches of Miss Ambermere’s house, Clermont. We don’t want to add burglary to your account.”

Clermont laughed and climbed the wide brownstone stairs to her house.

He waited until Clermont had rung the bell. Then, tipping his hat to a passing lady, he strode off back the way they’d come. Once he turned the corner, he went from a trot to a full-out run, weaving around the other pedestrians, searching for a cab.

If he was wrong and she hadn’t had the powder, then he’d come roaring back here as fast as possible. If the servants allowed him to enter the house when Rosalie was absent, well, then he’d have to hold Clermont down if necessary and search his pockets.

Rage carried him as he ran.

She didn’t trust him. She trusted that wretched doctor, with his treacly smiles—at least he hoped that was where she headed—but she didn’t trust him, Gideon Reed, who’d managed to battle the worst case of lust extant and hadn’t touched her. His pace faltered slightly when he recalled that eventually he had indulged in several kisses—long, passionate kisses. The blast of desire that hit him as he thought of holding her didn’t decrease his anger at her or himself.

He wanted Miss Ambermere. He wanted her under him, panting, moaning, sliding naked, skin to naked skin, but he’d be damned if the images and the craving were going to have power over his life any longer.

When he got to the doctor’s house, he’d simply make certain all was well and then return to his duties. Once the doctor had the powder, Clermont wouldn’t be able to get his hands on the stuff.

As he searched the carriages and carts jostling along the wide street for a cab to take him uptown, he planned his travel to the West. He might as well explore the continent. For months he’d collected an obscene salary, and while much of his pay went back home to his family, he’d saved more than enough to buy a ticket.

He put his fingers to his mouth, and his sharp whistle brought a hansom cab clattering to him. Luckily he remembered the address and didn’t have to take the time to look through his small book. The driver agreed to go at top speed, and Reed rocked and pitched as he perched on the edge of the seat, ignoring the thick odor of cigar, leather, damp newspaper, and rotten cabbage in the cab’s interior.

Miss Ambermere had looked different from usual as she’d clambered into her carriage. Her hat was larger, and it had seemed hastily shoved onto her head—the red ribbons hung down, and its crooked appearance hadn’t been a purposefully jaunty angle. Maybe she wore a huge hat to hide her face, and her unusually slapdash appearance was an indication of a frantic rush.

Fear for her shattered the cold anger he felt. Perhaps some other idiot had his eye on the powder, and that’s why she had to rush out of the house.

The cab jolted over cobblestones, and he grabbed at a handhold rather than slide off the seat. The rage had dissolved entirely. Even if she had decided to go without consulting him, she’d done nothing wrong. She’d always made it clear she was employing him and not giving him full say over the powder or her actions.

The kisses.

No. One thing he should have learned from his months with Clermont was that physical pleasure frequently meant nothing more than gratification.

He’d enjoyed the kisses. She had too, though he’d felt her inexperience in the way she trembled and the tentative exploration. Right. No matter that the kisses were lovely; they owed each other nothing.

He stared out the greasy windows, determined to plan his trip west.

The driver stopped in front of the doctor’s house, and he took his time climbing out, dragging out the money—until he heard the scream. He’d never heard her speak above a genteel tone, but he recognized Miss Ambermere’s voice.

Reed tossed the coins at the driver and ran faster than he had yet that day.

* * *

On the way to the doctor’s, they had stopped for a policeman directing traffic, and Hawes slid back the communication door for the driver. He peered across at Rosalie. “Beg your pardon, ma’am, have you spoken to Miss Renshaw, ma’am?” he asked in a hushed voice as if someone was listening.

“Yes, but I can’t tell you what she wants.”

The confused dismay on his face made her add, “I don’t actually know what it is she wants.”

“What should I do, do you reckon, ma’am?”

For a moment, unfamiliar resentment seethed through her. Why did everyone think she had solutions? What if she got the answer wrong and ruined something important? Rosalie had barely understanding or determination enough to run her own life.

But Hawes looked so bereft, she had to speak. She managed to smile. “Perhaps you should come calling properly. Like a suitor.”

“Front door, you mean, ma’am?” He sounded almost outraged.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose I could send her on errands and ask you to use the open carriage. That might be a way for you to conduct a conversation.”

“Streets are too dusty and noisy for a lady like her.”

She gave up, though she was glad he had argued with her. He might be a servant, but he had his own strong mind. “You’d best drive on, Hawes. I think those shouts and whistles are being directed at you.”

He carefully slid the door shut.

When they arrived at the doctor’s office, Rosalie didn’t wait for Hawes, but at once jumped out of the carriage and ran to the entrance. A maid opened the door and led her to the sitting room, where the doctor stood, the gray parrot on his shoulder. Rosalie thrust the hatbox at Dr. Leonard.

“Here,” she said. “Inside this is the box. I have decided to allow you to keep the whole of it for yourself.”

He beamed at her. “Your generosity is astounding. Thank you.” The smile faltered slightly. “But I have been thinking and believe you are right to want a formal contract. I went so far as to draw one up.”

He put the parrot in the cage, rummaged around one of the piles of paper on his desk, and handed about five pages to her. The document looked like a fairly straightforward receipt with her conditions added in pencil. She felt relief when she saw he would store the powder in a safe.

“May I see the safe?”

“It hasn’t been delivered yet. The manufacturer promised to install it in four days. It will be as secure as a bank vault.”

She felt the pressure deep inside her release slowly, like steam from an overheated engine. He was taking the matter of the powder seriously enough to calm her fears.

“Thank you,” she said. She’d put down the hatbox with the powder to read the contract. Now she pushed it toward him with her foot rather than touch it again. She’d been thinking about Mr. Reed so much lately, perhaps it had something to do with just being close to the thing. “And there you go.”

“We’ll have to weigh this.” He opened the box. And then began to open the other box.

“No.” She put out a hand. “That’s a bad idea. You’ll want some sort of protection for your skin and maybe your face so you don’t breathe it in.”

He frowned at the box, then at her. “All right. I am a trained scientist, you know, so I don’t want you to worry about a thing. Would you like to see the laboratory again?”

She nodded and followed him down the hall to a back room.

“The university has agreed to allow some of my students to work on this project,” he said as he donned a pair of glasses and pulled on thick cloth gloves. “I hope you don’t object to the students?”

She had no idea what she should say and settled on, “As long as they’re well-informed and well protected.”

He laughed. “Oh yes, we err on the side of too much information.” He opened the first box and drew out the second. Turning the small dark inner box around and around with his gloved fingers, he held it up to the light and close to his face. Too close.

His hands stilled. At last he put the box down, but she wasn’t ready to relax yet.

He patted it. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” When he looked over at her, he wore a dreamy expression, as if listening to some sort of faraway music. The expression sharpened as he examined her.