Powder of Sin (26 page)

She pointed to the pile of fabric on the floor. “It
was set too near the flame. I tried to move it but don’t have the
proper fastenings.”

He surveyed the mess glumly. “And I hear the fish in
the smaller fountain are dying, miss.”

“Oh dear. But please take care of this when you
can.”

She’d had enough time to calm herself before she
joined Mr. Reed. Her face had cooled, and she could show an equally
cool manner. “As you can see,” she said, “I don’t have much time to
spare.”

She led him from the room and for a moment
considered taking him to the library. No, that had echoes of their
encounter, so she led him to the large dining room that was
entirely ready. Fifty could sit down at the huge table done in red
and gold. Her mother’s taste, magnificent and far too opulent. At
least she’d opened her purse to pay for the table and the
decorators.

“Try not to let it blind you,” she said. Then
remembering she wanted to be formal with him, she crossed her hands
in front of her and gave him a polite look of interest. “How may I
help you?”

“Rosalie.”

Her name in his mouth. She wanted to go to him to
see if he’d kiss and hold her again. They might be in the middle of
a hurricane of activity in her house, but that hadn’t stopped them
the last time.

But no, she wasn’t going to be a fool again, and at
any rate, though his manner was tense, it wasn’t the usual tension
between them.

So she waited and suddenly suspected what he was
going to say. He took off his hat and pushed a hand through his
hair. “I’ve just come from Dr. Leonard’s establishment. He weighed
the powder, and some is missing.”

Rosalie put out a hand and groped for a chair. She
sat down heavily. “Hawes. It must be him. Since yesterday Miss
Renshaw hasn’t stopped humming and is quite unlike herself.”

Reed shook his head. “No, that’s what I thought too,
but now I believe he used only my handkerchief.”

“He was the only other person who knew where it
was,” she added.

“He didn’t know the exact location. But I wonder if
someone in your household has had a drastic change in manner.
Because whoever moved even the small amount…”

She gasped when she understood.

“Exactly. Someone would have to have touched it. We
know one can’t open it without the strongest effect.”

She tried hard to think. The only person she’d seen
affected lately other than Miss Renshaw was herself. Transformed by
sexual congress, turned to something wholly alive after all these
years of sleepwalking. Not that she’d ever admit as much to
anyone.

But her mother… Deirdre had been conspicuously
absent in the last day. Granted, she didn’t take an interest in
organizing the party, only in attending. That was her usual
habit—dash in, start a fire, and rush off. Except, had she even
come home the night before? She’d left before dinner. Rosalie,
who’d barely managed a complete sentence, had been grateful for her
absence and for the fact that a dreamy Miss Renshaw didn’t appear
to notice.

“I don’t know who it could be. What shall we do?”
she asked.

He sat back and stared at a gold ribbon that twisted
in the breeze from an open window. A few birds in the cages chirped
peevishly. “I don’t know. Perhaps I should interview everyone on
the staff.”

She shook her head. “I doubt that would do any good.
It had to have been taken

before today.”

“I’ll stay here. If you witness something strange,
you need only shout.”

She’d be distracted by his presence, but she didn’t
know who else she might turn to. “Yes, all right. Thank you. I
suppose I might as well return to work.” She rose from the
chair.

“Rosalie, are you well?” he asked. Her name again,
that deep voice, intimate, soothing. Drat. The usual excruciating
tension filled her and made her bones ache.

“Yes.” She didn’t meet his eyes.

“We must talk,” he said in that firm voice that
brooked no dispute.

“Not now. I’m too busy.”

His expression softened. “I plan to help as best I’m
able, all right?”

“Yes. Good. Thank you.” Coward that she was, she
hurried from the room with a murmured excuse about grouse.

She didn’t actually have very much to do. Beels,
puffed like a balloon with pride, was skilled at his job and had
intimidated the decorators in her absence. The workmen were
finishing up hours before the start of the event. Soon there would
only be the usual household staff plus the extra servants hired for
the occasion, all dressed in gold and scarlet and wearing new
wigs.

She could feel Gideon’s presence in her house, his
stalking around, watching for trouble and signs of the powder. When
she felt him near, she took off like a rabbit with a ferret sliding
after her. She finally hid herself in the library again with the
bills. Servants and Miss Renshaw came and went, but Gideon never
disturbed her peace, at least not in person.

At around four o’clock, she heard his voice, muffled
and low, and then her mother’s shriek of laughter. Thank goodness
her mother had returned from wherever she’d spent the day, though
her laughter sounded even louder and more frenzied than usual.

Rosalie left her hidey-hole to greet her mother, who
was admiring the decorations in the withdrawing room. Deirdre
looked rumpled. She was out of breath, but her smile was broad and
unwavering.

“Love, you’re not even close to being prepared!
Hurry, hurry! I’ve sent Mr. Reed on his way. No need to have him
prowling around. He says you wanted him to keep an eye on things.
Ha. He needs to don the white tie and return as a guest.” Her
mother’s voice came too quickly, and her eyes were bright.

“Are you well, Deirdre? I haven’t seen you all
day.”

“I’ve never been better. Dear, dear Rosalie, your
sweet house is a treat. Quite transformed to a fairyland. Look at
the time! Let’s get up those stairs before we get a scolding from
our maids.”

Her mother glittered and gabbled the way she did
when she held a secret. Perhaps it was something to do with the
powder, but judging from the bedraggled, wrinkled gown, the way her
bodice twisted slightly, her secret was more likely connected to
the rancher.

Rosalie had only to bathe, don her lovely new blue
gown, and allow Murphy to dress her hair in the style her mother
begged her to wear—something Grecian.

She examined her image in the mirror for a few
seconds. The slight cloud of a sleeve, the fitted bodice. She wore
the pearl-and-diamond necklace that had belonged to her grandmother
and that her mother hated. Long white gloves. She didn’t want to be
too ornate or too girlish. The soft blue ensemble befitted an aging
maiden. She didn’t feel dried up and forgotten, though. Not with
the unfamiliar ache still between her legs and in her tender
breasts. He’d sucked on her breasts, and just recalling the tug of
his mouth was enough to make them prickle and grow hard.

By the time she made it downstairs again, Miss
Renshaw and her mother were walking together through the rooms,
trailed by a footman who was to rush for help should they find any
flaws.

The musicians were already taking their places
behind a translucent curtain of red gauze and tuning up. “That is
such an interesting bower I placed them in,” her mother said and
smirked. “I hope they take good advantage of their near privacy.
I’d enjoy the music even more.” She giggled. “Such a delicious
evening.”

She met Rosalie’s suspicious gaze. “Dear girl, I
shall be on my better behavior tonight, I promise. At least for a
time.”

Rosalie pondered the meaning of that last statement
as Miss Renshaw tried to pour oil on what she supposed were
troubled waters, assuring Lady Williamsford that no one at all
would ever believe she was anything but the most elegant and
well-bred of ladies.

Deirdre snorted. “Nonsense, Miss…um. But I can play
the part. My poor late papa spent enough on my education.”

The musicians began to play, and the ladies
continued the tour. Rosalie had to admit her house had never looked
grander.

Every surface that wasn’t covered with the draped
red or gold shone in the candlelight. One of the decorators had set
up a patented scent machine, and wisps of rose scent drifted
through the rooms, mixing with the beeswax and vinegar and aroma of
delicious food and the sweet starch of the bolts of crimson
fabric.

At the rear of the house, lanterns adorned every
branch of every tree.

“So, dear?” Her mother stood next to the fountain
near a moss-covered stone wall. She whirled a hand to indicate the
whole of the scene.

“Yes, it’s quite amazing. And yes, I should
entertain more often.”

“Once you marry, it’ll be easier.” Her mother
drifted back onto the path. “The grass is staining my new slippers,
and our guests will soon be here. I believe your Mr. Reed will be
among the first to arrive. He’s very worried about something. What
did you hire him to do? Something to do with your powder?” She
giggled.

But the noise floating from the open doors of the
house was loud, and Rosalie could pretend she hadn’t heard the
question.

In the parlor, Beels murmured that some carriages
were pulling up. Rosalie took her place at Lady Williamsford’s
side, ready to receive her mother’s visitors.

One of the first to arrive was Mr. Wentworth. He
truly was unexceptionable, occasionally loud, perhaps, but never
pushing. Pleasant brown eyes. Lovely manners and a tenor voice. He
was such a gentleman that even if he somehow discovered she wasn’t
a virgin, he’d never mention the matter. Life with Mr. Wentworth
would be very similar to the life she now led, but with the
addition of the scent of his pipe, his tenor voice, and perhaps, in
time, some little Wentworths.

He was talking to her about something he’d read in a
newspaper, and she was reminded of the former newsboy Peterkins.
How many such boys did Reed discover and pay? He’d only been in her
city a couple of months, but knew more about it than she’d
discovered after four years of New York life.

Wentworth said something about the quaint paintings
she’d enjoy. An exhibit he was inviting her to? “I beg your
pardon?” she said, flushing.

“Of course you’re distracted.” Mr. Wentworth smiled
and bent low over her hand. “Everyone is agog about this grand
evening you and your dear mother have planned. Quite the social
event of the season, and I’m so happy to be among the privileged
few. And now I must reluctantly leave your side. I mustn’t keep you
from greeting your newly arriving guests.”

No one else approached right away. The scarlet
footmen were taking canes and hats, so her mother had time to
comment. “Pooh. Everyone is agog? Not sure that’s the word he
meant. I hope not. But he’s a nice boy even though when he talks,
sometimes he strikes me as a pompous ass,” Deirdre whispered. “And
love, you have to admit, it’s a good thing he didn’t pay me too
much attention. Avoid the ones who look down my front, dear. I had
this gown designed just for that purpose. Refuse any of them who
inspect me too closely.”

“Mother, what are you talking about?”

“It’s high time—no, past the time—you found a
husband. I’m doing what I can to move things along.”

A chill struck Rosalie’s stomach. She’d had that
thought on her own when she saw the guest list, but her mother had
deliberately planned this? “You planned this party with matchmaking
in mind?”

Her mother opened and shut her fan and jiggled it.
“Naturally.”

Rosalie smiled at a newcomer and then, when she and
her mother were alone again, managed to say, “I didn’t know. You
are being more subtle than you usually are when you try to
interfere with my life.”

“Perhaps. But I’m not entirely subtle. You’ll
see.”

A young lady who’d had her debut a few years earlier
and had never been a great success curtsied low to them both, and
her parents beamed at Rosalie.

“See what?” Rosalie asked. “What shall I see?” But
her mother was starting forward, hands outstretched to Mr.
Clermont, who was accompanied by a blond, goggle-eyed individual
Rosalie didn’t recognize.

“Brought along my latest keeper, Trevner,” Clermont
said cheerily. “Nice enough chap. Perfectly well trained. Your
majordomo didn’t seem to mind the extra guest.”

“Of course not.” Lady Williamsford held Clermont by
the arms and pulled him close for a quick embrace. “Everyone is
welcome. I happen to know one of my friends had to cancel at the
very last moment, so we don’t even need to order an extra place set
at the table. I’m so glad you’re here. We’re in for
such
a
treat.”

A line was forming to greet the hostesses, so
Rosalie had no way to demand her mother explain what she meant when
she said they were in for a treat. What treat? The music? The
dancing? The menu? The sleeping birds?

She was distracted from her mother’s ominous remark
when she sensed Mr. Reed’s arrival. Funny, because the air didn’t
change, the music didn’t become louder. But she knew even before
she spotted his dark hair, combed carefully for once.

He wore the white tie and black suit—the evening
dress uniform of the gentleman. Not as immaculate as other suits,
nor as new. But the way the white waistcoat and tie at his neck fit
him… She thought of his flat belly and the skin on his throat that
she’d kissed.

She had to stop gaping at him over the heads of her
other guests—immediately. She had to cease thinking of his body
under hers and concentrate on shaking hands with the sweet Mrs.
Trumble, one of the few women who’d made her debut the same year as
her mother and who remained friendly with Lady Williamsford.

Mr. Wentworth’s statement about this being the gala
event of the season was what her mother would call hogwash. They
existed in the exotic, not entirely respectable end of the social
spectrum. No girl who wished to make a splendid marriage would say
yes to an invitation from Lady Williamsford or her daughter. They
were not as far removed as Dr. Leonard’s bohemian friends, but
certainly not acceptable to the very cream of society.