Powder of Love (I) (16 page)

* * *

Freedom to explore the city beckoned. A city filled with sights like the museums Clermont had avoided, but Reed found himself heading for Miss Ambermere’s house instead of visiting any of the usual tourist spots. Perhaps she’d got a note from the doctor by now. He’d check.

She was home, surrounded by yards of red gauzy stuff and some shouting men.

The expression of delight when she saw him made his heart thump hard.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” she told Reed, then turned to the men. “If you need to order more cloth, go right ahead. I have no opinion on the matter, and my mother isn’t available. So you do what you think best, all right? We don’t have time for squabbles.”

The men began shouting at each other. Rosalie was louder. “Come to an agreement, or I’ll have the servants remove every square inch of this fabric, and we’ll have no need of either of you or your services. And no, I don’t mind the placement of the gilt cages for the birds, but I don’t want to hear about them. You do what you think is best,” she said again, only with a more ominous edge to her voice. A woman used to getting her way. And for a moment, Reed wondered if she’d be like a predator if she got a sniff of that powder. He was intrigued by the image of her stalking him, holding him with her gaze as she readied herself to pounce. Except what if he was in California and she hunted some other man? Jesus. No way would he leave—not until Dr. Leonard destroyed every last grain.

She crossed the room swiftly as the men went to the fabric and began pulling at it.

“My mother hired designers. Two of them. Rivals. And then my mother disappeared.” She sighed. “I think she’s with her rancher.”

“Her what?”

“A man who lives out west on a ranch or something.” She adjusted the cuff on her sleeves, no longer meeting his eyes. He understood that she didn’t want questions about her mother’s activities.

He supposed his presence created another distraction in her long list of chores, so he reluctantly abandoned his plan to hang about and gaze at her. “I shan’t bother you for long. I only wanted to give you my new address.”

“You’ve moved? What about Mr. Clermont’s—” she began, but stopped when a loud voice came from the front hall, asking for Miss Ambermere’s whereabouts. She looked up and frowned. “Oh dear. That will be Mr. Wentworth. He will want to stay and stay.” She shook her head fiercely. “I can’t bear it. The house will be filled tomorrow, and there is too much to do. Will you pardon me for a moment?”

She showed Reed to the library and vanished, but not heading to the front door. A few minutes later, she returned to the quiet library, where there was no sound of the party preparations.

“I had Beels tell him I was out,” she explained. “I’m just…” She pressed her lips tightly together. “I’m tired, I suppose. My mother’s visit.” Her laugh was unconvincing, and Reed went to her, wrapped his arms around her before he had time to think too hard and change his mind. She made him lose his control, yes, but even if he could think clearly, he’d do exactly this. Hold her firmly against him, stroke her hair and delicate shoulder blades. And enjoy it all, particularly when she leaned against him.

“You were asking about Mr. Clermont. I’ve left his family’s employment, but I shall keep an eye on him. I will keep you and that powder safe from the fool until we hear from Doctor Leonard.”

He waited for her to grow offended by his declaration, but she only nodded against his coat and sighed. “Thank you.”

“It seems less noisy out there,” he said.

“The two arguing gentlemen have agreed to stop squabbling. They’ve taken themselves off by coach to a warehouse for some missing supplies. They shan’t reappear for at least an hour.” Her voice against his front was muffled. “I didn’t mean to sneak off with you to do this again.”

“No, of course not,” he said, but he didn’t let go.

She stirred, wiggling in his arms so he loosened his hold. She was only turning her head up, however. He allowed himself to indulge in a kiss. His mouth against hers, light, breathy touches, and then sinking into a deeper kiss. This was what he’d been thinking about for the last few days. Since the moment he’d last touched her. This was the one time he absolutely knew he was alive.

“Rosalie,” he whispered.

She gave a small laugh. “You do know my first name.”

“Mmm. Rosalie, Rosalie. Rosalie.”

She stopped him by planting another kiss at the corner of his mouth.

Then he was returning her kiss, stroking her back, cupping her scalp so he could twist and taste even more. She had her arms around him.

A vine, she’d called herself. A delicious, sweet vine, and he wished she could climb in even closer. He’d have every bit of her touching him.

His head was clear; nothing fogged his thoughts. And he desired her so much, nothing else could get in the way.

“What do you want?” he whispered.

“You, I think.”

“What will you do with me if you have me?”

Her laughter was rich with amusement—and promise too. “I’m embarrassed to say,” she said. “May I show you?”

If only he hadn’t spent months following Clermont. If only he hadn’t watched so much. “I’m not certain it’s wise,” he said and gently grasped her hands.

“You don’t want me?”

“I want you more than I want to breathe,” he said. “But…I have come to regard matters of the flesh more solemnly than I used to. Only as a reaction to what I’ve witnessed, you understand.”

“No.” She rested her head against his chest. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want to be careless like Clermont.”

She nodded, and her hair tickled his cheek. “And you think this is careless?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh. How will you know?”

He wrapped his arms around her again, let her burrow against him, breathing, almost panting against his chest, heated breath coming out, chill as she breathed in. Hot and cold, he thought.
She must think I’m a maniac. I am, I suppose.

“Gideon.” Her voice was muffled against him.

“Yes?”

“Should I stop?”

“No.” He put his crooked finger under her chin and raised her face to look into her eyes. “Never mind wisdom. I want to remember the way you look. Rosalie.”

“Remember? Because soon you won’t be able to see the original? Are you going somewhere?”

He only shook his head. At the moment, he was not going anywhere, and to hell with the future. Now was far more interesting.

Her moist lips parted, the slightest flash of her teeth in a tentative smile that died at once, the tip of her tongue nervously running over her lips.

He needed another kiss and tilted his head to taste her better. Her sighing groan was too much. He lost all the propriety, all the resolutions for a purer life. All gone because of desperate need.

She didn’t wear a bustle, only a slight padding above her waist that he could ignore, and he slid his hands over her. The stiff corset, and then below only a few layers of cloth, sweet, pliable flesh. She started but didn’t pull away as he rested his hands over the perfect curves of her bum. He lightly caressed her with his palms as he pulled her close, hard against his aching erection. But he resisted the need to move and feel the friction of her body on his. He didn’t want to shock her. Holding her was enough, he reminded himself.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and squirmed against him. Inexpert but eager, she unbuttoned his waistcoat and slid her hands over the thin shirt beneath, then reached around him.

“You’re hard and hot.” She splayed her hands on his spine, and he realized the part of his anatomy she meant was his back.

She whimpered, and he held her head so he could kiss her again, harder and longer, until she panted and grabbed at his shirt—either to hold him close or herself upright. She scrabbled at his clothing, trying to get at his skin. The eagerness was new to him. The other women he’d been with were more coy and more experienced. Her obvious desire to touch him was an aphrodisiac that put that damned powder to shame.

As she tried to unbutton his shirt with trembling fingers, he found the tiny buttons and hidden hooks on her gown. He slid his hand down her arm to find the three tiny buttons on her sleeve.

“Please,” she said.

He didn’t know what she meant, so he went still, even took a step back. And then she was yanking off the bodice of her dress, pulling it down impatiently. “My skin on yours. I’ve dreamed of it,” she said. “That’s all I want. Your bare chest against mine. Nothing else.”

He didn’t bother to argue and, more calmly, removed his coat, his waistcoat, and his collar, then undid his cuffs and the few buttons that she’d left. He unlooped the braces, and with aplomb he could imitate but not feel, he removed his clothes from the waist up.

She stopped unhooking her corset to stare at him. She blushed, but she didn’t look away, and then she walked to him to lay her hands on his clavicle and smooth her fingers over his skin. She trembled and wouldn’t look up from where her hands touched him.

He supposed he was as much an object to her as women were to Clermont, but he didn’t mind. Reed stood still and let her touch him, half amused and thoroughly aroused. He put his hands behind him to stop himself from reaching for her and interrupting her tentative, absorbed exploration. She must have seen his arousal, but her interest remained focused on his shoulders, chest, and belly.

At last, after she’d run her fingers over him, touching his flat nipples until he drew in a sharp breath, she switched to running her palms over his belly and then his back. She looked into his face and smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “I have wondered so much about you.” She shyly stroked the trail of hair that ran from his chest down. “This,” she murmured. “It’s so… It’s…” She explored the muscles of his stomach and side with her hand. “You’re lovely. Hard and hot,” she repeated.

He had to laugh and reached for her hands at last. “You have no idea.”

He pulled one of her arms up and, holding her fingers in one hand, wrapped his other hand around her wrist. He explored the skin of her arm to her nearly bare shoulder. Only a chemise and corset covered her, and her body glowed under the impossibly thin cloth. Her breasts were still held high and close by the partially undone corset.

“
You’re
lovely.” He let his fingertip trace the top of the corset, her yielding skin above the stiff fabric. A light touch might allow him to ignore the demands of his body to seize her. But he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “You did say bare chest to bare chest.”

She nodded and bit her lip. And then with expert fingers, she reached behind to finish loosening the corset. She tossed it aside and pushed down the chemise so it lay over the dress, held up by her slender hips.

He couldn’t speak as he drank in her perfect curves, the dusky rose of her nipples, the pale gleam of her skin. He couldn’t touch her because it would drive him over the edge, into that insane need, and he’d have to pull off the rest of her clothes. Nothing more, she’d said. Just the bare skin above the waist.

So she had to take the three steps to him and wrap her arms around him. They gasped simultaneously as their bodies grazed and met, naked at last. She squeezed him so tightly, she pushed the air out of him. He lifted a tentative hand and laid it on her shoulder blade, then slowly moved it over to trace the curve of her spine, running his hand up and down her back.

She was far less hesitant. She opened her mouth and tasted him, kisses and delicate laps at his front, then allowed her breasts to move over him. Her nipples hardened against his skin.

No, this was a mistake, he thought.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s too much to bear,” he said.

“We’re only partially bare,” she said, and the tip of her tongue circled his left nipple.

“Jesus.” His body jerked in response.

She stopped and even backed away. “I’m sorry. I thought perhaps it might be something that would feel good.”

“It did. It does.”

“Oh?” She looked down at her perfect breast and then up at him.

“Rosalie. Listen. I have only so much self-control, and I have much less than I imagined.”

“The powder doesn’t have any effect after a while. You know that,” she said.

“No. It’s all you,” he said. “Nearly naked and all over me.”

“Oh no.” She crossed her arms over her breasts and shivered. “I didn’t want to be that way. I didn’t want to.” She scowled. “I am, though.”

“You are perfect,” he said. “And stop. There is no reason not to enjoy your body.” He despised hearing Clermont’s words in his mouth, but hearing her anguish was far worse.

She shook her head. “Many reasons,” she said. And to his horror, her eyes were bright with tears.

“No, no.” He pulled her into his arms, and her body was chilled against his. “Please. Don’t cry because I’m a great brute who wants you too much.”

“No, I’m sniveling because I want
you
too much. I thought perhaps if we did this and no more, I could stop thinking about you.”

“You think about me?”

“All the time. I imagined your chest and shoulders and arms, and thank you for showing them to me. You’re even more wonderful than I imagined.” Her voice was stronger now. “How does one get over this silly lust?”

“Going away from it,” he said. “Going west, for instance.”

“You do make it clear. That’s what you’re going to do, is it?” She sounded weary. “You’ll leave New York, then, and go away?”

“Yes. I think about it,” he said. He didn’t add
to stop myself from thinking about you.

“I’ve wanted to flee as well.” She touched the corner of his mouth with her fingertips and followed the line of his jaw. “Is that the only solution? To go away?”

“Solution to what?”

“This infernal…hunger.”

“No, there’s also giving in.”

“Committing the ultimate act again and again and never stopping until we are satisfied. But this hunger is so huge, we might never be sated.”

A dismaying thought came to him. “Why do those words sound familiar?”

“You said something like that when you’d been exposed to the powder,” she said.