Powder of Sin (13 page)

The taste of her proved too much. He forced himself
to release his grip on her.

“I-I must beg your pardon. It’s surely the
powder.”

She narrowed her eyes. “The powder’s effect doesn’t
last for more than a few hours. Furthermore, I was kissing you, and
I haven’t been near that box.” She shifted away from him, and he
wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “Has anyone ever described you as
priggish?”

Clermont, certainly. Reed considered being insulted
by her question but realized she had a point. “I don’t think I was
anything of the sort in the past, and I don’t wish to seem
overscrupulous now, but I am afraid I have rather been pushed in
that direction. Not by you,” he added hastily.

She was silent a moment. “I beg your pardon for the
rude question. I can see that your exposure to the powder would not
have helped. You do not seem the sort of man who appreciates being
out of control.”

He hadn’t understood that simple truth until she
said the words. He wasn’t sure he liked the way she saw him too
clearly, though her words did nothing to quell his desire.

She gave him a small smile. “I expect if you’d known
the attraction between us was mutual, you would have run away to
retain the upper hand over yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He swallowed. It was perhaps
a good thing he hadn’t known how much she wanted him that day,
because his control was on the edge now, with no aphrodisiac in his
system.

He’d take a page from her plain-speaking book. “I
think I insulted you just now by telling you the only reason I
wanted to kiss you was because of the powder.”

Her eyes widened, and she licked her lips.
“Perhaps,” she said faintly.

“I should tell you the truth,” he went on. “It was
because of you. Your smiles and laughter and the way your hair
gathers just here.” He brushed fingers at her nape, then remembered
Clermont had done almost the same motion a few days earlier.

Here he stood, near a woman, seeking pleasure like
Clermont. The thought should have been enough to stop him. It
wasn’t. He leaned in again to the sweet taste of her mouth, and now
her hand was on his shoulder, squeezing him spasmodically. Miss
Ambermere. Her first name was…damn. He wasn’t certain he could
recall it, but that wasn’t enough to prevent him from another
full-mouth kiss, ravenous now. Nothing delicate or polite.

She pulled at the cloth of his jacket; he could feel
her against him. For a brief moment, she allowed him to kiss her in
the fully obscene, delicious manner—their tongues greedy and deep,
as if drawing more than taste from each other, attempting to arouse
every part of their bodies with their mouths.

Then she moved away and rested her forehead on his
chest so he could only see the top of her head, the pale skin of
her part, and feel the soft curls tickling his chin. Her breath
came fast and rough, but she relaxed against him, so much of her
form pressed to him from chest to knees. The weight of her was as
heady as the kisses.

He ran his hands down her back, searching for her
yielding body trapped under the stiff corset and layers of cloth.
She let him touch her, so he grew bolder. Frustrated by the blasted
fashionable contraptions she wore below her waist, he moved to her
shoulder again. At least she was woman there, warm and round. He
buried his nose in her curls while he ran his hands over the
interesting shape of her waist and hips, and then she stirred
against him, increasing his arousal to the point of dizziness.

She didn’t tilt her head, and he badly needed to
kiss her.

But if he spoke, she’d realize how wrong this was,
to allow a near stranger to molest her. So he kissed what he
could—the top of her ear, her hair. Yes, there, at last, she looked
up at him, and dear Lord, her heavy eyes and half smile made his
heart thump hard.

His lips were against her again before she had a
chance to look away or wake from whatever stupor she was in. Kisses
he’d dreamed about—literally and during the day as he’d stumbled
around the city in a fog. Better than he’d imagined. She let him
into her mouth again, and he cupped her head and went deeper.

Worries dissolved with those kisses, and she was the
only thing that mattered.

Her hands, which had been on his shoulders, moved
between them and rested against his chest, and he rejoiced she
would touch him and give him permission to touch her there. Her
breasts.

But then she was pushing.

Oh damn. Reality slammed into him, almost as hard as
her shove. He stepped back, panting as if he’d run a race.

“My cousin was right,” she said with a breathless
laugh. “It is hard to stop a man.”

“I apologize.” He began the dreary atonement for his
sinful actions, when all he really wanted to do was keep kissing
and touching her.

She shook her head slowly. “Wait, no. I said that
the wrong way. My cousin had led me to believe it was all an
attack, but no, you stopped almost as soon as I pushed away. What I
didn’t understand is that it is the pushing away that’s difficult.
Heavens.” She was pale except for bright spots on her upper cheeks.
Her hands twisted. “I thought a single kiss would take care of
this…this”—she shrugged—“this problem. But it is rather like salted
cashews when one is hungry. A single taste only leaves the flavor
and promise of more. It makes one greedy.”

Something deep in his throat made a small noise. A
moan. “I should go,” he said. “I didn’t mean to stay or trespass.
Or…” He stared blankly at her face, trying to come up with words
that would bring them both back to normal, civil conversation. He
realized that was impossible. What he meant to do didn’t matter,
after all.

As they stood silent and almost too close to each
other, Beels entered with a tea tray. And Murphy came behind him.
Miss Ambermere cleared her throat. “Surely you have time for a cup
of tea?”

He nodded, then remembered that was impolite. His
mind still reeled with the arousal that stirred every part of him.
“Tea. Thank you, yes. Tea.”

What had those kisses portended beyond his
bottomless hunger and her curiosity? She certainly couldn’t think
of him as a suitor. His prospects didn’t exist beyond what he could
accomplish with his own hands. Not what a wealthy young woman would
look for.

Could they manage an affair? Reed wasn’t sure he
could manage to bed a woman casually. Not after witnessing the
carelessness of a Clermont. It wouldn’t be casual, he argued with
himself—God and heavens, no. Except, what would happen once they’d
finally sated their need? They’d take off their clothes and lie
down together, and then…

He couldn’t imagine what would happen next other
than Clermont’s system: they would go their separate ways and
pretend nothing had occurred. She deserved better. He did too,
though he didn’t think he gave a jot about that at the moment. Not
when his body was clamoring for release.

A footman was handing him a teacup and saucer, and
he was again murmuring thanks, feeling more shaken than he had
during that damnable incident with the powder. This had involved
her too. Wide awake and fully aware of the consequences, they’d
kissed and touched each other like lovers.

When he looked up from the tea, she was staring at
him round-eyed as if he were some sort of frightening creature in
the zoo. Or perhaps as if he were one of the monkeys who’d been
flinging excrement around.

With Murphy in the room, he had to be careful. So he
only smiled and said, “Thank you for your time this morning. I
appreciate it.”

Without turning away, Miss Ambermere said, “Oh,
Murphy, would you fetch my larger knitting needles? They’re on my
dresser. I forgot to bring them down. And the extra wool. I’m not
sure where that is. I am sorry.”

Murphy left.

As soon as her footsteps faded, Miss Ambermere spoke
in a low voice. “Were you thanking me for the kisses? I can’t tell
if you are angry about them.”

“Angry? Of course not.” He frowned, wondering why
she’d imagine something that wonderful would make a man angry.

“Good, because you are scowling, and I can’t tell
what you’re thinking. And it matters for some reason.”

“What does?”

“What you think of me. I don’t want it to matter.”
He was startled to see that her eyes were bright with tears. She
quickly erased all traces and managed a light tone. “I am not prone
to caring for the good opinion of others. It’s such a restful thing
to go along with one’s own judgment and not seek the approval of
others.”

“I don’t know why my opinion matters, but since it
does, I should say—I mean, I ought to tell you that I think very
highly of you.”

She fiercely dabbed at her eyes. “But then there is
the problem of what I believe about myself. When I met you in the
hotel, you believed I was a loose woman, and perhaps you aren’t so
far off.”

“No, no. It’s not that simple.” He smiled. “A few
days ago it would have been, of course. It’s always much simpler to
view that sort of thing as an outsider, isn’t it? I don’t think
anything you’ve done is…wrong.”

One side of her mouth curved up, showing that
delicate near-dimple. “Then perhaps you didn’t notice that I’d
wrapped myself around you like a morning glory vine.”

“I hardly think you did that. I wouldn’t have
minded, though.”

“Your philosophy has changed, then.”

She’d noticed that too. He sipped tea to give
himself time to come up with a justification. It didn’t work.
“Hardly a philosophy. I don’t think I can explain.”

“Why not?”

How could one talk of attraction making all the
difference in the world? “Our kisses have hurt no one.”

“No, I suppose not,” she said, but she sounded
entirely dubious.

He sighed and gave up trying to convince her or
himself that what they had done together wasn’t sordid. Those
kisses were valuable, sweet.

The door, which had been partially shut, opened, but
it wasn’t Murphy in the doorway. A tall, magnificent woman dressed
in deep blue strolled into the room.

“How very interesting. I let myself into the house
and discover my daughter closeted with a young man. Who is this,
dear?”

Mr. Reed had jumped to his feet. Rosalie’s mother,
Deirdre, looked him up and down, and the gleam in her eyes was
approval. “You do look like you’ve been running, sir. Or performing
some other vigorous exercise.”

She turned and clasped her daughter’s hands.

“Mother.” Rosalie had trouble getting the word out.
She said it mostly to make the relationship clear to Mr. Reed. For
most of her life, she had addressed her mother by her first name.
She wasn’t certain why but suspected it had been a request from
Deirdre.

“Yes, dear, a whole week early, but spring came
early this year. Have you felt it in the air, even here in the
city? And I would enjoy a saunter.”

“May I present Mr. Reed?”

“How do you do, Lady Williamsford.” He bowed.

“English. Well, I suppose I should ask you if you’re
from the Wiltshire or the East Witcherty-tonk branch of your
family, but I don’t give a darn. Poor darling girl, you have no
father to say tut-tut and act like a proper guardian. Sit, sit, Mr.
Reed. And tell me all about what you and my daughter were up to
before I opened the door.”

Before he could answer, Rosalie chimed in.
“Philosophy. We were discussing Aristotle’s treatises.” That wasn’t
really a lie, though it was several days after that discussion.

Lady Williamsford sniffed. “Oh, dear me. I can tell
you need me here. I’ll just go to my room to freshen up, and then I
can act as chaperone. My usual room, yes, dear?”

Rosalie nodded.

Mr. Reed bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I must
go meet my friend.”

“Go on, then. You walk him to the door, Rosalie, and
then come right back. I’ll wait to freshen up.”

They were silent as they walked down the hall. He
paused by the palm at the front entrance. “Your mother is—” He
faltered, and she knew what he was thinking. When he ended with
“charming,” she wasn’t convinced.

And as if he’d asked, the words were wrenched out of
her. “You see why I am wary of my own behavior with men?”

“No.” He raised his eyebrows. “Wary?”

“She is rather like my late cousin, Lord
Williamsford.”

He scratched his cheek. “Oh.”

“I might have inherited a most unnatural appetite.
My father called it vulgar.”

“He spoke this way to his daughter? About his own
wife?” He sounded angry.

She wanted to defend her father, explain that he had
been warning her to watch for such tendencies in her own character.
But it suddenly occurred to her that Mr. Reed was right to sound
astounded. She was grateful to him for that revelation. They stood
silent, not looking at each other.

“Thank you,” she said at last and held out her hand.
They were close enough that the servants waiting in the hall
wouldn’t hear. “I won’t allow myself to regret those kisses. And,
well, I…I thank you for your help with Dr. Leonard too.”

“You seem to be bidding me adieu.”

Her heart seemed to shrink, because he was right,
and she couldn’t think of a proper reply. What else could she want
from him besides more kisses, and she had already ruled them out.
She enjoyed her calm life and should continue to enjoy it with a
man such as Mr. Wentworth. The passion aroused by Mr. Reed was
intoxicating, but she also avoided strong drink. With hot blood
running in one’s veins, one did best to stay with cooler
situations. Too much passion was a recipe for misery. She’d tasted
so much craving in just those few kisses, they would cause her to
lie awake tonight, restless and near out of control with longing
for danger.

He grasped her hand and squeezed it for a moment
before letting go and putting on his hat. Mr. Reed walked to the
door, where Beels stood.