Powder of Sin (11 page)

Mr. Clermont had risen to his feet and bowed to Miss
Renshaw. “I’m sorry to hear you’ve been ill,” he said, watching
her.

Miss Renshaw, now perched straight-backed on her
usual seat, started visibly. She looked at Rosalie, who only smiled
and gave the tiniest of headshakes. Mr. Clermont, despite his
pallor, was far too alert and would notice the silent exchange.

“I’m better now.” Miss Renshaw spoke
falteringly.

“What was wrong?” he asked.

“We think it might have been bad fish,” Rosalie said
before Miss Renshaw could speak—or burst into tears. “Or
mushrooms.”

“Such a pity.” He clicked his tongue. “But I won’t
take up any more of your time, my most charming Miss Ambermere. I
only hoped your lawyer might have passed along my message?”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled brightly. “I understand you
are very interested in purchasing the box and its contents. It’s
quite safe, I assure you, and I’ll let you know through Mr.
Dorsey.”

She risked looking at Miss Renshaw. The companion’s
shoulders trembled, but she held her chin high. Thank goodness.

Mr. Clermont beamed, and his bloodshot blue eyes
glittered with something—perhaps hungry fascination. “Yes, I am
interested. And I don’t know who else has been sniffing around, but
I can more than double their offerings. Triple it if need be.”

The front doorbell peeled again, and Rosalie got to
her feet, ready to flee the scene. “I’ll keep that in mind. And
now, though she is better, I do think I should take Miss Renshaw
back to bed.”

Beels entered and announced, “Mr. Reed.”

“Now that is interesting,” Mr. Clermont said.

Reed strode in. When he caught sight of Clermont,
his footsteps faltered, and he hastily shoved a small notebook into
his pocket. But those were the only signs of surprise.

Clermont was on his feet, a smirk on his face.
Suddenly the parlor felt very small indeed. “Good morning, Gideon.
What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, of course. I had thought you would
sleep away most of the day.” Reed’s scowl brought the line between
his dark brows. It would be permanent within a couple of years.
“You ought to leave a note when you take off, Clermont. Hmm? I’ve
been looking all over the city for you.”

Rosalie knew he’d come to see her, and she made a
mental note: Mr. Reed was an accomplished liar.

“I wanted to visit our delightful Miss Ambermere.
She was just telling me how you are doing her a favor.”

She widened her eyes, trying to indicate denial.

Reed glanced at her with apparent boredom. “Yes, I
am. But perhaps I am not paying enough attention to my primary
responsibilities. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Clermont?”

Clermont laughed. “Perhaps. I was just leaving, and
I suspect you should accompany me. Poor Miss Renshaw has been
ill.”

“Indeed, I am sorry to hear that.” Mr. Reed bowed to
Miss Renshaw. “I hope you’ve recovered?”

Miss Renshaw gave a tiny nod and stared down at her
feet.

“Now that I’ve found you, Clermont, we’ll be on our
way. Ladies.”

They left, and Miss Renshaw seemed to collapse in on
herself, her thin shoulders hunched. “They don’t know.”

“Of course not.”

She gave a tremulous smile. “I have been rather
foolish, but that’s come to an end.”

Rosalie gave a silent cry of relief. “I’m glad to
see you cheerful again.”

Miss Renshaw shook her head. “No, not that. But I
see what I must do.” Once again, she shifted her posture. Shoulders
back, chin high.

Oh dear. Rosalie recognized the look of a French
aristo en route to the guillotine. “And what have you decided to
do?”

“If he is good enough to offer for me, I must say
yes.”

“There is no must about it, Miss Renshaw. Unless
there is a permanent consequence arriving in nine months.”

For a moment, a confused look passed over her
companion’s face. Then she blushed deeply. “Do you mean perhaps
a…a…?”

“Yes, if you’re trying to say ‘infant.’” Rosalie
winced and drew in a deep breath. “Forgive me, Emily. I shouldn’t
have snapped like that.”

“An infant.” Miss Renshaw looked thunderstruck. “I
had forgotten. I hadn’t thought.”

Rosalie waited, but Miss Renshaw said nothing else.
Her shoulders were back again, her mouth tight to stop the
trembling.

Rosalie couldn’t stop herself. “Why else must you
say yes? You don’t seem happy about the idea. And is it fair to
marry a man when you so clearly don’t wish to?”

“I must.” Miss Renshaw’s voice quavered. “I shall.
Will you call Mr. Hawes in?”

“Not unless you promise to say you’ll think about
his proposal. Don’t simply say yes to him because you feel you
must.”

“What better reason is there?”

“Love?”

“Not for a woman such as I, dear Miss
Ambermere.”

“Oh
pfah
. Will you agree to only say you’ll
think about it?”

Why was she making such a song and dance about it?
She didn’t like the trap set by that stupid powder, and perhaps her
sense of responsibility made her want to take charge of the
situation. Or, more likely, she was just as bossy and overbearing
as either of her parents.

“I p-promise.” Miss Renshaw clasped her hands in her
lap and stared out at nothing—over the heads of the crowds she
passed in her tumbrel, Rosalie thought and was ashamed of herself
for thinking it.

Poor Hawes and poor Miss Renshaw, trapped together
just because Miss Renshaw had had a peculiar…illness. Event. What
could one call it?

But before she could decide if she should summon
Hawes or quietly drag Miss Renshaw out to the mews, Mr. Reed
appeared again.

He tipped his hat at the two ladies. “Good morning,
again. I left Mr. Clermont in some, ah, congenial company, and
thought I could return here to discuss the assignment you gave me,
Miss Ambermere.”

He must have noticed Miss Renshaw’s ashen
complexion.

“Oh, Miss Renshaw, I beg your pardon. I forgot you
are under the weather.” He sounded kind, concerned, and not at all
curious.

“Yes, please don’t worry, Emily. I shall be fine
with Mr. Reed. Do go lie down.”

Rosalie expected an argument, but Miss Renshaw
tottered to the door. “I shall send Murphy to you.”

“Yes, please,” Rosalie said, distracted.

Mr. Reed waited until Emily’s footsteps faded. He
turned and dropped his hat on top of the piano.

“Do sit,” she said. “I paid your agent, but I should
have left him on the front steps to warn you.”

“My agent?”

“The boy who was watching Mr. Clermont for you.”

“Ah. Peterkins. A good lad, the best I’ve found.
He’s going to be a baggage smasher soon and won’t have time for my
work anymore.”

“A baggage smasher?”

“At the train station,” he said, as if that
explained everything. He pulled his notebook from his pocket. “I
have found several men, but the one who’s perhaps the best… I met
him…” He stared down at the open notebook.

How would he respond if she got up and rubbed the
crease between his brows? “Go on, what’s wrong with him.”

He flipped the book closed. “He’s young. And…perhaps
too…young.”

“It’s most important to make sure he will treat the
matter properly. I shouldn’t wish to give the powder to someone who
doesn’t understand the threat of the chemical.”

He shoved his hands into his jacket almost
violently. “I have two hours before I must return to Clermont.”

“That reminds me. You were very calm and
believable—I mean, when you came in and found him here.”

“He didn’t believe me, of course. He knows why I
came here. All the more reason to make sure that damnable substance
goes into a safe place.”

She checked her first retort—that it wasn’t his
problem or concern—but then recalled the strange smile on
Clermont’s face and the way her hand felt after he kissed it. She
nodded. “Yes, the sooner I get rid of it, the better.”

“The young doctor I found might be the answer,
because his name wasn’t on the list. Last night Clermont saw the
list, and I suspect he knew what it was for. That’s why he came
today to confront you.” He looked her up and down, a strange
expression on his face. “I underestimated his abilities, and I dare
not underestimate his determination to get his hands on the
stuff.”

“You look even more thunderous than usual, Mr. Reed,
and apparently it has something to do with me?”

His smile made his face appear even tighter. He
might have been in pain. “No, of course not. I’m distracted.
Forgive me.”

Maybe he wasn’t such an accomplished liar after all,
because she didn’t believe him.

He paced, then stopped near her. She rose to her
feet. For a long second, their gazes held. His lips parted as if he
was about to speak, but he said nothing.

She asked, “I wonder if you might tell me how much
you remember of yesterday’s visit?”

“All of it.” And the heat in his eyes made her
tingle, as if he caressed her naked skin with that look.

He looked away, down at his hands. “Forgive me. I am
still not myself.”

She had some trouble with her breathing, but it had
to be said. With their worries and desires out in the open, they
might be able to work together more easily. “I haven’t gone near
the box, and I can feel something. An attraction.”

“Maybe there is a trace of the substance in the
air.”

“When we shook hands the first time, the silly
powder wasn’t here. It didn’t come into my life until several days
later.”

“Ah.” He gave a crooked smile. “You felt something
then, did you?”

Now why on earth had she admitted that out loud? She
suddenly realized the power she might be handing over to him. “Yes,
but”—she spoke briskly—“it doesn’t matter. I mean, that’s not
important.”

“Since we are making admissions…I had thought…” He
hesitated. “When we were in the library, when you spoke, or moved,
or even looked at me, it was as if your body called to me. I’d
thought it was my inflamed imagination. If I’d known—”

Murphy came into the room, carrying a basket of
sewing.

What had he been about to say? If he’d known her
response was real, he would have kissed her?

She couldn’t ask, not with Murphy there. “Our
errand. We should go visit the one man not on the list. The young
one,” Rosalie said. Her heart thumped as if she’d run a race—or
been caught in flagrante. “Murphy, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to
leave the basket here and fetch your bonnet. We need to go
out.”

“Bad idea,” he said suddenly.

“Why do you say that?”

He tapped his lower lip with his forefinger. She
watched, fascinated. His lip would be warm—and then she paid
attention to his words.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to trust my
judgment?”

“Forgive me, but no.”

His face finally relaxed into a real smile. “Of
course not.”

“I barely know you, so please understand that I
don’t—It’s not that I don’t think you’re worthy of trust.”

“I can’t imagine you allowing anyone else taking
over in this business.”

How dare he insinuate she was a power-hungry,
distrustful female, even if he was correct?

He tilted his head as he examined her, as if she
were an interesting but confusing work of art. “Now it’s your turn
to look—what was the word?—thunderous,” he said. “Does it help if I
tell you I think you’re correct to not allow anyone else to take
charge of the powder?”

“Oh,” she said. He did tend to take the wind out of
her sails just as she puffed up like a galleon under full rigging,
as her father used to say.

He loosely crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t
you trust yourself?”

“I’m not…” She tried to pick words that weren’t
insulting. “I’m not used to being taken seriously, particularly by
males, unless I insist. So I often insist.”

“Sounds difficult.”

“It could be worse. At least I’m in a position where
I won’t be punished for behaving badly.”

He didn’t smile. “What do you mean?”

“I am my own mistress. I can lose my place in
society, but I will never go hungry or lose my freedom because I am
a shrew.”

“That’s nonsense.”

She was going to argue, to tell him about the women
who’d lost their homes for being too outspoken, but he went on.
“You’re not a shrew. And here is your maid. Shall we go? I have
actually hired a carriage today, so no need for you to summon your
coachman.”

Reed was disturbed by the look of pleased surprise
in her face when he told her she wasn’t a shrew. Did she really
think his opinion of her so low? Or perhaps she thought she was
commonly considered in such a light. Outspoken females of a certain
age were tolerated with some amusement, but a young woman with
strong opinions would suffer.

He’d wondered how someone as attractive and wealthy
as Miss Ambermere had stayed single, and after listening to her and
Clermont and several others at the hotel who knew her, he suspected
she had remained so on purpose.

Clermont had said she hadn’t been well trained by
her father. Clermont liked naughty women, but he didn’t think much
of the ones who didn’t acknowledge his charm or the superiority of
the male sex in general.

Miss Ambermere had ignored his seeking hands and
innuendos.

As they’d walked away from her house that morning
after Reed had found him in Miss Ambermere’s parlor, Clermont had
remarked, “
That gel’s a bitch. Ha. She even growls. Growls and
snaps
.”

Reed hadn’t retorted that the growling was because
she was properly afraid, not naturally vicious. Instead he had
said, “
She’s not a bitch
.” But as soon as he’d heard the
angry warmth in his own voice, Reed knew he should have kept his
mouth shut.

And then his heart sank even lower when he’d seen
the gleam in Clermont’s eyes. Reed understood he’d fallen for the
bait without even noticing the danger.