Powder of Sin (24 page)

“If that’s what you believe, then I know I’ve
mangled the meaning of what I wanted to say. What I meant was…” He
frowned, but she understood that was his look of concentration, not
anger. “I will never forget this afternoon. You. It was wonderful.
But…it was done without thought. I will face any consequences that
arise, of course.”

She pulled in a breath that seemed to hurt her heart
and burn her lungs. He was almost worse than Miss Renshaw after the
episode in the garden. No whining and wailing, but a soldier facing
the firing squad stood before her—not a lover.

Her hands were busy with final touches to her hair;
a push of a hairpin and she calmed herself. “Then there won’t be
any consequences. Are we agreed on that?”

Good. Her voice was far steadier than she’d have
guessed. And when she held out her hand, it barely trembled.

He wasn’t hot-eyed and smiling at her, because of
course, he wasn’t in love with her. He wanted her, but she of all
people should be sophisticated enough to understand that desire and
love were entirely different animals. God knew her mother had tried
to teach her that much. At least Gideon didn’t hold her in
contempt. That hardly mattered, because she felt enough for them
both.

He took her hand but didn’t give it a shake. He
covered it with his other hand, a sandwich of warmth over her own
cold, almost numb flesh.

“If I have injured you,” he said quietly, “please
understand, that’s the last thing I want to do.”

She didn’t bother to deny it, but she wasn’t sure
what hurt inside her. Pride? No. She felt rather faint because she
suddenly understood it went deeper than that. Love, uncovered and
then kicked—hard.

Pride was involved after all, because she wouldn’t
let him see how much it hurt that his own passion had not extended
beyond their coupling. “Nothing fatal,” she said as lightly as she
could manage.

Why had she done it? The moment of fever had passed.
She’d put a man inside herself and had taken away the last shred of
her own innocence. She’d done it because she thought she’d die of
desire if she didn’t. Gideon. Because she wanted to remember how it
felt to have his penis deep inside her, invading her.

She’d wanted the memory of him, so she must have
known, even as she’d borne down on him, it would not be something
she’d have a chance to do again. She’d known marriage to her wasn’t
in his plans—he’d talked about his travels west, the sort of
journey undertaken by an adventurous young explorer, not a newly
married man—and she’d still impaled her body on his.

He opened his mouth as if he would speak, but a
small tap at the door brought them back to reality. The doorknob
rattled.

“You in there, darling? This appears to be
locked.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The grim expression on Gideon’s face sharpened
Rosalie’s pain. No man looked more appalled to be caught in a
compromising position.

“Don’t worry. She won’t demand that you make an
honest woman of me,” Rosalie whispered and crossed the room to
unlock the door before he could answer.

Her mother sailed in, and her skirts actually swayed
as she halted suddenly to give Rosalie a swift examination.
“Heavens, you do look like you’ve been, hmm, I don’t know. Crawling
around the library? And with the door locked? Just you and Mr.
Reed?” Her mother’s grin was the last straw. “Umgarten and Fellows
are out there working on your decorations, and you decided to
consult on something in here? Interesting. I don’t see any evidence
of decoration in this room. We’re very busy today, aren’t we? Your
hair, darling. It’s always so neat too.”

“Yes, Mother, I’m aware that my hair is a disaster,
and I will go ask Murphy to dress it again.” She forced herself to
smile at Gideon.

She held out her hand, and this time he did shake
it. The large hand did its trick on her, promising warmth and
protection and pleasure. The grim look on his face had deepened. He
was as thunderous as she’d ever seen him.

She had been better trained to hide emotion and was
all sweetness as she spoke. “Thank you for a most pleasant visit. I
will see you at the dinner party, I expect? Good-bye.”

Back straight and prickling from the two sharp pairs
of eyes directed at her, she swept from the room without a backward
glance.

He’d hurt her. And he wasn’t sure how to make it
better. Did she honestly hope for a proposal? He was not the sort
of man a girl like her married. She’d spoken of the dangers of
misalliance, and despite his education, he was nothing like her. No
money, no connections. Even Clermont would be a better fit
socially. They came from the same set.

God, no. If she tried to marry Clermont, he’d set
fire to the church.

But Gideon Reed and one of the wealthiest young
women in New York? The daughter of a lord?

“You look as sour as a lemon, Mr. Reed. Did you and
my daughter quarrel? I’ll bet that’s not all you were doing.”

He’d forgotten the sharp, direct tongue on this
woman. “I assure you we didn’t quarrel. I think she is feeling
pressure for other reasons.”

“The grand party we’re planning for one. My visit,
for another. No, don’t try to deny it, sir.”

He hadn’t tried to say a thing.

“I know my daughter’s carefully kept household gets
shaken by my visits. The place could use a little shaking, and so
could my daughter. She looks most becoming with her hair all
disarranged and her cheeks pink, don’t you think?”

“She is always attractive.” Damn, he wished he’d
used another word. Charming. But Lady Williamsford was prattling
on.

“I have always suspected my daughter is a prig. Can
women be prigs?”

“She is not,” he said with heat.

“She is, and I think it’s good for her to get shaken
a bit. Like you did for her.”

His annoyance at this careless woman retreated for
an instant. After all, she had just suggested he was good for her
daughter. But then Lady Williamsford continued. “And if she refuses
to get all…disarranged again, well, I don’t mind a little
rumpling.” She giggled. “And I thought you were frowning before. I
do believe you’d strike me dead with your eyes if you could.”

“No, my lady,” he said. Not dead, but perhaps
rendered unconscious.

“Oh pooh. You’re as much a prig as she is. More of
one. You travel with Mr. Clermont, and Walt tells me you never
allow yourself any fun.”

“Do you understand his notion of fun, Lady
Williamsford?”

“Sure. I’ll bet he’s too sprightly.” She pulled off
her gloves and yawned behind a hand. Even her yawn was graceful,
and he could see why the late Lord Williamsford had been smitten
with her. But had the man spent five minutes alone with her before
asking for her hand in marriage?

“Care for some coffee?” she asked.

He shook his head, then remembered his manners
again. “No, thank you.”

She pulled a bell rope, and Beels popped up almost
at once—as if he’d been listening at the door. She ordered coffee,
and Beels vanished as quickly as he’d appeared. “Rosalie does know
how to hire the best people,” she said as the library door silently
closed. “They’re loyal to her too. I’ve been trying to steal Beels
for an age. She’s grand at running a household, has splendid good
taste, fine at a lot of things. Did you know she plays piano?”

Her arch smile and voice told him she was playing
with him.

Reed clenched his teeth to stop himself from begging
her to get to the point.

“No? How about her painting skill? Very superior,
real talent she inherited from her father’s side of the family. He
couldn’t stand art because he wasn’t allowed to indulge himself
with it. My late husband couldn’t stand quite a few things. But he
let her study art, and she’s quite good. I’ve seen you admire her
work.”

She paused to play with a bracelet, then let her
hands drop to her sides. “But despite all the accomplishments and
frank manners, I don’t think Rosalie’s as strong as she thinks she
is. And she’s something of an innocent, despite my best
efforts.”

He tried not to allow the guilt show in his face.
His
best efforts had taken care of her innocence.

She settled herself on the sofa again and waved him
to a chair nearby. At least she didn’t pat the sofa next to
herself. “I’m not much of a mother, Mr. Reed, but now that you’ve
done your shaking and stirring of my girl, I’ve one more thing to
say. You stay away from her, or I’ll spread rumors about you and
me.”

He considered storming out but waited instead. It
had been a hard lesson, but early on, one of the first things he’d
learned as a detective was to keep his mouth shut and wait.

Lady Williamsford sniffed. “You needn’t glower at
me. You know I’d do it.”

He managed to keep his gaze steady. “I’m not sure
what harm you think I’ll do her. I respect and esteem your
daughter.”

“Oh, pooh on respect and esteem. That’s just it.
Walt’s right; you are a cold fish. Listen. I know my girl enough to
understand she’s got some sort of interest in you. Trouble is,
she’s too much like her daddy, can’t shift easily once she has her
eye on someone.”

For a long moment, he fought the craving to curse
the lady, but then her meaning sank in. He blinked. “I’m not sure I
understand you, but might I hazard a guess?”

She grinned and nodded.

“You’re saying that unless my intentions are
honorable, I should stay away from your daughter?”

Her grin faded, and her lovely eyes widened. “By
golly, I think you’re right.” She tilted her elegant head to the
side, as if trying to hear the echo of her own words. “That’s about
what I said. Me, of all people. Imagine that.” A frown creased her
brow. “But see, she’s got loads of pride. Not as much as her
father, thank God, but even worse, I think she is like one of those
things. The birds. You know?”

He shook his head.

“The pea-brained ones that pine away when their
mates die. Mate for life.”

“Perhaps you’re thinking of swans?”

“Maybe those are the ones.” Lady Williamsford wedged
off her tight kid gloves and tossed them on the sofa next to her.
“I do what I can to shake her up so she’ll perhaps release those
antiquated, useless notions of hers. Instill some sophistication
and force her to have some fun. Discreet fun, mind you. If there’s
one thing I learned over in Merry England, you can get away with
anything if you’re discreet and married.”

Her eyes narrowed at some memory, and he wondered
what bit of the past she’d recalled. “Anyway. I don’t think I’ll
succeed with my darling Rosalie. Haven’t yet after all these years.
But I know this much. Your hanging around won’t help. I think she’s
got a notion to marry, and Wentworth will do for her. The whole
thing is less complicated for her, and he’s even complacent. A man
like him won’t mind a sprightly young wife. She needs to grow less
serious about the whole thing, understand?”

Sprightly, he began to suspect, meant as sexually
active as a rabbit.

“At the moment, I wish I could disappear, my lady,”
he lied. Someone had to keep Rosalie safe from Clermont and from
this woman. “But I’m currently employed by Miss Ambermere.”

“Is that what you call it?” Her knowing Mona Lisa
smile made him again fall prey to the shocking urge to strike a
lady. But truthfully he was far more absorbed by the thought that
she considered him an emotional danger to her daughter. Miss
Ambermere, lovely and intelligent and fair-minded. Perhaps she even
wanted him for more than a tryst, and even her self-absorbed mother
could see it.

“Mr. Reed, are you sure you don’t want coffee? You
look a little dazed.”

He stood and bowed. “I believe I’ve overstayed my
welcome. But I will return, soon, my lady.” He had to think. And
dream for once. He’d seen Rosalie’s body and held her, and the
thought that perhaps he might be able to do that again—perhaps
always—it shook him to the core.

Miss Ambermere. Rosalie, damn it. He’d think of her
as Rosalie now and always. She couldn’t love him. They didn’t know
each other well enough for true love. Lust. They shared a glorious
case of mutual desire.

Certainly he hadn’t lied. He did respect and admire
her; any more than that, he refused to admit. Just because he knew
and longed for every one of her smiles, just because he wanted to
kill everything that might hurt her—that was heated blood brought
on by lust. He didn’t trust lust—not at all—but at that moment, he
understood it was only a small part of what he felt for Miss
Ambermere. Rosalie. Her pride, her well-hidden eagerness, the way
she smiled at him when they shared a jest. The rest of it didn’t
matter. A swan that mated for life? He’d have to learn to quack or
honk or whatever the hell bloody swans did to make sure he had a
chance.

His thoughts were interrupted by Lady Williamsford.
“You’ll be at our little gathering tomorrow? It should be a great
deal of fun.” The smile was back, far too knowing. It brought back
reality and forced him to recall what he was supposed to be doing
for Rosalie.

He wondered if he could check on the box without
Lady Williamsford noticing him prowling around her daughter’s
house. If Beels showed him to the door, it was an easy matter to
bribe the butler.

However, Lady Williamsford insisted on showing him
to the front door herself.

“What do you think, Mr. Reed?” Lady Williamsford
waved a hand at the foyer and entrance hall, which had been
transformed. They must have been locked in the library longer than
he’d expected. Everywhere he looked, he saw a red haze. This must
be what it felt like to be inside a giant heart.

“Impressive.”

One of the men in charge had spotted Lady
Williamsford and galloped from the drawing room into the hall. “The
canaries will arrive first thing tomorrow, I promise, my lady. And
the flambeaux as well.”