Powder of Love (I) (7 page)

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.”

“Experimenting with brandy and cunts,” Clermont said. “Got overenthusiastic. One of the girls squirted a treat. And they all tried champagne too. They said it tingles inside.”

Reed groaned. With the lingering effect of Miss Ambermere’s strange powder, he might become caught up by Clermont’s pornographic details.

They reached the hotel at last, and he half led, half dragged a protesting Clermont to the bedroom. “You’re going to bed alone for once,” Reed told him.

Standing in the middle of the floor, Clermont began undressing clumsily, emptying his pockets onto the floor and bed.

Reed leaned over to pick up the wallet and the expensive watch, chain, and fob that dropped to the carpet. As he reached down, the slip of paper with the names fell out of his jacket.

“What’s that?” Clermont, unsteady but surprisingly fast, swooped down and picked up the paper. He peered at the names of the scientists. “What are all these words?”

“Just names. I’m collecting them for a friend.”

“Oh? Which friend is that?”

Reed dumped the objects on a table, regretting the impulse to tidy up after Clermont. The man had a valet, after all. “I’m collecting them for a friend in England who wanted me to do some research while I was here in New York.” He hoped his exaggerated, patient tone would put Clermont off the scent. “Shall I call Banbury in to help you? He’s back from his day off.”

Clermont still held the paper, frowning. “Damn him. He’ll get angry. I got rouge all over my linens again.”

“He’ll be used to that by now,” Reed said. On the way out of the bedroom, he plucked the paper from Clermont’s fingers.

Clermont hiccuped softly and asked, “What friend?”

“What are you talking about?”

“For which friend are you doing this research?” Clermont sat down heavily on the bed. He groaned and stretched. “I could see how you worried about that paper. You’ve got a secret from me.”

“I should bloody well hope so.” Reed didn’t bother to lower his voice. “You are past the limit, Clermont. My personal life—the little I have—and my friends are my own. Is that clear?”

Clermont grinned as he slowly stretched out on the bed. “All right, all right. No need to go off like that. You are prone to temper, laddie. Especially of late. You need to cultivate a few sins.” He grimaced. “I don’t recommend drink. My head is spinning.”

“Poor Clermont.” Reed closed the bedroom door to the sound of his charge’s groans.

As he removed his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat to ready himself for bed, he ignored the demands of his still-stimulated body. To distract himself, he’d make plans. Clermont would sleep in, no doubt, and Reed would be able to do the research for Miss Ambermere. He’d alert his spy, Peterkins, and give the valet Banbury a larger-than-usual fee to send another messenger boy if Clermont stirred from their rooms. Yet if Reed was wandering through the city, interviewing scientists, where would the boy deliver his message?

He hoped Miss Ambermere wouldn’t mind if he used her house as the central location. He was not used to working with a partner, and of all the people in the world, he wouldn’t have picked her. Yes, he would have. He’d have picked her as a partner in bed.

Her full mouth in a smile. Her breasts would be tipped with the same rosy color of her lips.

Damn.

He grabbed his jacket and hat, determined to take another long, brisk walk rather than allow the relentless lust to take control of him again. Using his hand to bring release had only a temporary effect, and he ached from the number of shameful times he’d tried that method to reduce the hunger, alone in her library, imagining it was her hand, her body, and even her mouth on him.

The lone attendant at the front of the hotel straightened up and saluted. Reed nodded absently and wandered out into the night.

He drew in another deep breath. Even the questionable mix of horses, humans, fried foods from some nearby restaurant, a lady’s floral perfume—the general fugue of a busy city—thrilled him down to the core of his overly sensitive body.

She’d said he might forget the whole incident.

He realized as he stood there, finally free of obligation, that in other circumstances the sensation could be described as exhilarating. Would he want to forget how aware he felt of every beat of his heart, of the texture and taste of the world around him? The scented breeze brushing his skin?

He thought of the appalling things he’d admitted to her in her library. “Hell yes to that,” he said aloud and strode off down the sidewalk to the restaurant that was still lit up and lively.

He might as well take advantage of the best of this sensation—the alert, rushing mind. He’d track down any information, perhaps articles written by the scientists, and find the best candidate to help with the wretched aphrodisiac. Surely there’d be some way to find information, even at ten o’clock at night. New York was a city designed for restless souls. Reed, never particularly at ease, fit that description more than usual tonight.

* * *

Lady Williamsford had frequently called Rosalie the most patient one in the whole family, “
if you can call the three of us a family
,” she’d automatically add.

At the moment, Rosalie wasn’t living up to the title, at least not internally.

She managed to remain calm in her manner as she picked up a piece of toast, buttered it, and placed it in front of her companion.

Miss Renshaw stared dully at the coffeepot and didn’t even look up when Rosalie remained standing next to her chair. “Please.” Rosalie broke the silence. “You must at least eat a few mouthfuls.”

“I can’t bring myself…no. You don’t understand.”

Patting her companion’s shoulder, Rosalie tried a new approach—plain speaking. “I thought you’d recover by now, but I can see you are far too hard on yourself. No one died. No one came to real harm.” She prayed this was true. A pregnancy would count as harm, she supposed. “No property was destroyed. You are acting as if you had broken every law on earth. I understand you feel regret, but this is disproportionate.”

“No, that’s not true. My actions were unforgivable.”

Rosalie tried counting to twenty, but when that didn’t work, she walked back to her place and sipped her coffee. Still not enough, so she tried a few deep breaths. “All right, if you can’t forget the past, at least face the future, Miss Renshaw. What can I do to help you accomplish that?”

Miss Renshaw picked crumbs off the toast in front of her. “I-I can never encounter Hawes again.”

Rosalie put down her cup. “You’re asking me to dismiss him?”

Miss Renshaw hesitated, then nodded.

For a moment Rosalie considered the idea, then rejected it. “No. I said no one was harmed, and in that case, someone would be.”

“But he used me.”

“Perhaps, but you were a willing partner. I know, I know, in truth it was the powder, but you—”

“Miss Ambermere, how could you?” She jumped to her feet. “You do not understand how this has affected me,” she said for the ten thousandth time.

“No, I don’t understand, but I do know you can’t cast yourself as his victim,” she said. “I am sorry, but that is not fair to Hawes.”

“But he…” Her voice trembled. “He is…common.”

“Never mind Hawes. I want to talk about you, Miss Emily Renshaw, and the fact that you’re silly to starve yourself or never show your face again.”

Miss Renshaw sat back down and delicately wiped her reddened nose on a crumpled handkerchief. “I should not show my face again, at least not with you. I am a failure in my position. How can I act as chaperone when I—”

“Enough!” Rosalie slammed her hand so hard that the teacups rattled. It felt good to yell, and perhaps the time had come to behave like her father.

She’d never spoken harshly to her companion before, so at least she had her attention. Miss Renshaw blinked and looked up.

Bullying worked after all. A lowering thought, but she wouldn’t stop behaving like a stern German governess yet. “You will stop indulging in this fit of the dismals, and you will eat breakfast. If you do not want Hawes’s attention, you will be brave enough to tell him. He brought you flowers, you know. I have already told you he’s willing to do the decent thing. Appears to even want to. If you don’t want him, you must face him and say so. He knows it was the powder, so you needn’t explain that. Simply tell him you are not interested.”

“No! I can never!”

“Yes, you can. You are not a coward.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Miss Renshaw’s face. “I rather think I am.”

At that moment, Rosalie at last understood. “You’re mortified that the, ah, incident happened, but you’re even more mortified because part of you hopes it might happen again.” As soon as she said the words, Rosalie wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

Miss Renshaw burst into another fit of sobbing. She stumbled to her feet once more and fled the room. Again.

Rosalie would have to go apologize—she’d been cruel. Correct too, perhaps, which didn’t make what she’d said any more forgivable.

As she toyed with a piece of cold toast, she wasn’t thinking of Miss Renshaw, but of several episodes when she’d fled from her father’s breakfast or dinner table in tears. She wished he were still alive so she could apologize.