Powder of Sin (29 page)

The lady was also gobbling, stopping occasionally to
groan in pleasure.

“The seeds crunch so, so delicately.” She popped
part of a strawberry into her mouth. Her lips and her cheeks were
smeared red with berry juice. “You must try one. Really, you must.”
But she didn’t push the tiered display of fruits and flowers toward
her companions. She caught sight of Reed staring at her. “Do you
have a dried fig, young man? Now
those
are seeds. Biting
through that thick, lovely skin, and then the seeds clashing
against your teeth. Oh, an orange.” She tapped the table with her
finger in emphasis. “I’d want the whole thing, and I mean even that
fleshy pith and skin. It has tang, you understand. I want my teeth
to ache with it, now.”

The other man at the table wasn’t eating, Reed
realized. He yawned and gave a vague smile. “Not in season,
m’dear.” His fingers and face were far cleaner, though they also
had a sheen of grease. “Tell her they’re not in season, or she’ll
start talking about the membrane again.”

Reed obliged. “Oranges aren’t in season, ma’am. You
didn’t eat as much soup, did you, sir?”

“None at all. Just keeping my wife company while she
finishes up. You’re Mr. Reed, aren’t you? I’m Parker.”

“Please don’t get up, Mr. Parker,” Reed said. The
less anyone wandered, the better.

Parker ignored him and pushed back his chair. He
stood next to Reed, arms folded, and for a minute they watched the
two eaters work their way through mounds of food.

Parker said, “I have to tell you, this is one of the
most peculiar parties I’ve ever attended. The most peculiar. The
hostesses have vanished, and everyone’s wandering around and
laughing. The servants aren’t letting anyone leave. They say you’re
the one who ordered it. Why are you in charge?”

“Miss Ambermere asked me to take on that duty
because I have had some experience with this sort of problem. I’m
sorry you’ve been inconvenienced.”

“Not so bad, really. I heard doctors were summoned.
I was expecting hideous illness and basins. So in truth, this is an
agreeable surprise. Just makes m’wife a little silly and hungry,
I’d say. What was the stuff that got into the soup? Locoweed?”

He sounded mildly interested, not upset.

“I’m not entirely certain, Mr. Parker, but I know it
should wear off soon, and you and your wife will be able to
leave.”

“I’m all right. Peculiar music’s playing, but the
servants say we ought to take a turn around the floor. Maybe we’ll
do just that. Usually have a dreadful time getting m’wife to dance,
and she promises she will once she’s done with the fruit.”

He smiled at the berry-smeared lady, who smiled
back. “It’s a joy seeing m’wife having fun for a change. I only
hope she doesn’t make herself sick with food.”

The footmen stared straight ahead. Reed imagined
that when he left the room, they’d lapse into smirks and perhaps
laughter. At least two of the people at the table wouldn’t
notice.

He backed out of the room. Parker was right; the
music was peculiar. Behind the red curtain, all the musicians had
fallen silent except one—a violinist. He stood swaying and tapping
a foot as he played a strange tune, howling and melodic at the same
time. The man drawing the bow across the strings had his eyes shut
and a look of ecstasy on his face.

Reed waved to another violinist, the one he thought
was in charge. The man with the thick dark mustache padded over,
still holding his violin and a large handkerchief.

“You should play dance tunes,” Reed said. “Something
that will tire the guests out.” He craned his neck, trying to see
if anyone was attempting to dance. They’d be too close together if
they were. Disaster would strike if this slow, sad music
continued.

“I don’t know how he managed it, but the fool ate
some of the soup and seems to have come all over deranged,” the man
said. “He can’t stop playing whatever that is. Nothing I’ve ever
heard. Gotta admit, it’ll stick with me, though. I didn’t know he
was a composer.”

“You’d best get some familiar tunes playing. Dance
music.”

The violinist next to him shrugged and blew at his
mustache. “I tell you, we can’t get him to stop. At any rate, our
time’s up in an hour.”

“I’m sure you’re tired, but please continue to play
until I ask you to stop. You’ll get double the money you were
promised if you can just play country reels. Something lively. No
blasted waltzes.”

The mustached man started to protest when Reed went
to the player and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. The violinist
started. The bow jumped on the strings.

“I’m not finished,” he snapped. “I need to keep
going, damn you.”

“Come on,” Reed said. “You can start again in a
minute. Better acoustics, how’s that?”

The thin, pale man breathed hard through his nose.
His fingers twitched, but he allowed Reed to lead him down the
hall, through a parlor, and out into the garden, where two more
footmen, even more grim-faced than the ones in the dining room,
stood at the door.

The violinist trembled and leaned against a stone
pillar near the door.

Reed envied and rather admired him. The powder
hadn’t turned the musician into a rutting, ravenous animal. For a
moment the man rested and blinked, but then he raised his bow and
more of the haunting music drifted out over the trees, covering the
sounds of the city beyond and perhaps some of the activity in the
garden.

“That’s what I’d call night music,” one of the
footmen said, and his face softened.

“Is everything all right in the garden?” Reed knew
it wasn’t but had to ask.

“Maybe it is. The coachman’s keeping watch at the
back. He dragged a lady with him, didn’t see who. But he said he’d
make sure no one tried to slip out that way. He ordered us to go
out in the garden, stroll about and make sure no one called for
help. Not used to taking orders from the likes of him, but you made
him a kind of deputy, right?”

“I did.”

“We haven’t heard no calls for help. But, er…”

The older, plump one shifted uncomfortably. “But
other things. Shameful,” he muttered.

No more shameful than what had gone on in the
library less than a half hour ago.

“How many are out there?” Reed asked.

“Maybe seven, eight people.” A grin flashed across
the young footman’s face. He licked his lips. “With a few of them,
hard to tell how many. Group, you know.”

Reed crossed the terrace and went down the two stone
steps. He’d at least extinguish some of the lights. If they
couldn’t stop the activity, they could at least shroud it in
darkness.

Behind him, one of the footmen spoke. “Evening,
miss.”

A rustle of skirts and Reed smelled her. Almost as
if he’d taken a dose of the powder himself, he was that aware of
her flower scent, and on top of that, the musk of what they’d done
together. Why the hell hadn’t she stayed put? If she begged some
other man, he’d have to kill him. If she begged him, he’d—No. He
must do what he could to save the situation.

He didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry, Miss Ambermere; I
can’t help you.”

“No, I understand, Mr. Reed.” Her voice was small
and full of pain; it made his heart ache. “I am here to offer my
help.”

He allowed himself to face her but avoided looking
at her too-bright eyes and swollen lips. “I don’t know what I can
do, so I have no suggestions for you. Except you return to a room,”
he said as he gazed over her shoulder. Lanterns swayed as a breeze
touched the tree behind her.
And lock the door
, he wanted to
add.

“Do you recall what the doctor said about the
effects lessening after he was rendered unconscious?” she asked. “I
think it might be true. I believe I’ve fainted—twice.”

He risked a look. Her mouth remained curved into a
smile, dreamy and hungry, yet her arms were crossed over her chest,
and white spots showed on her upper arms where her fingers dug into
her own flesh, holding herself back. She was still in the grip, but
now she forced the fire to stay inside her body.

He wanted to touch her, reassure her, but there
could be no contact without awakening the monster inside her. “I
can’t knock all your guests to the floor in the hope they’ll be
stunned. And I’m not sure alcohol is a good answer.”

She swallowed. “Didn’t you send for the doctor?”

He rubbed his face and nodded. “Yes, I ought to see
if he’s here. I’m going to return to the front of the house. I had
to make sure things were…not so bad.”

“Are they?”

He was mounting the steps again. “Ask me in the
morning.”

Her low laugh was wild but hadn’t crossed the line
into hysterical. “Mr. Reed. Gideon. Thank you for helping me.
Because Mr. Clermont—after shepherding him, I mean—I know this
isn’t an easy job for you.”

Oh indeed, fucking her had been a real hardship. He
nodded and walked briskly through the hall, checking to see that
the musicians had struck up something quick. Yes, the room held
dancers, and only three pairs were too close together, swaying to a
time that had nothing to do with the fast music. Three footmen
watched as a man pushed a woman against the fabric-draped wall and
began to rhythmically thrust his pelvis against her.

“Damn.” Reed crossed the room and shoved the two
apart. A footman gripped the man’s upper arm and marched him to the
door.

The woman looked into his face, befuddled as a woman
awakened from a nap she hadn’t known she was taking.

Reed recognized her. She’d sat next to him at
dinner. Miss Brock. But she too hadn’t eaten any soup, so why was
she allowing anyone to treat her like a back-alley whore?

“Mr. Reed.” She put her hands on his shoulders and
swayed. “Isn’t this the most delightful party? I’m so glad I
decided to stay.” Her voice dropped. “Risqué is bound to be all the
rage. I’d heard about Lady Williamsford but didn’t have any idea of
what her set was like. Would you care to dance?”

He had thought her reasonably quick-witted, but
perhaps the word
stupid
wasn’t correct either.
Naive
and
exuberant
would be more generous. “I would enjoy that,
Miss Brock, but I have to delay our dance. Where are your
parents?”

“They said they wanted to go see the fountain in the
garden.”

“Ah. They ate the soup?”

“Yes, I think they did. You’re too busy to dance
with me?”

“I’m, er, helping our hostess.”

“I saw Lady Williamsford go into the small parlor at
the front of the house.” Miss Brock tried to pull him closer.

He carefully lifted her hands from his body and gave
each a squeeze. “Thank you. I had wondered.”

“You are interested in her daughter, aren’t you?”
She put her mouth near his ear, and a gust of wine-laden breath
washed over his face. That explained a great deal. “You watched her
through dinner. And then you jumped up and ran over to her when the
trouble began. I don’t blame you. She is quite pretty, but I
understand she’s not as open-minded as her mother, and more prudish
and—”

“I must go find Lady Williamsford,” Reed
interrupted. “I shall see you soon, and I hope to claim a dance.”
That might keep her in the room with the other dancers, but he
doubted it.

The only room he hadn’t checked was the small red
parlor off the withdrawing room.

He risked tapping Rosalie’s shoulder. She shuddered
under his light touch and closed her eyes.

“Will you wait here?” he asked. “There are at least
fifteen people in this room. I think most of the guests are here or
in the garden. Do you think you can stay and keep watch?”

She shivered again. “Yes. I can pay attention and
avoid consequences.”

A rangy figure in full evening dress including tails
came into the room carrying a black bag. It was the doctor, out of
breath but smiling broadly. “Miss Ambermere. I was at the theater,
so it took your man some time to find me. What is wrong? You find
the missing stuff, Reed?”

Reed loathed leaving Rosalie in the doctor’s hands.
What if the fellow didn’t keep those hands to himself? But he had
to find Lady Williamsford before Rosalie did.

“Can you explain it to Dr. Leonard?” he asked
her.

“Yes. Of course.” Her eyes were still dreamy, and a
tiny smile curved her lips.
Don’t go near the doctor
, he
wanted to yell.
Don’t let him so much as touch you.

He strode briskly from the room to the parlor. The
door was closed, and no servants stood nearby.

When he opened the room, he saw no servants in there
either. At least the parlor wasn’t as crowded as he’d expected. The
red cloth glowed pink on flesh, and it was a vision of either hell
or heaven, depending on one’s propensity. Seven people lay, stood,
or knelt, all naked as the day they were born. Five men, two women.
Grunting, the soft slap of bodies clashing, the scent of sex and
sweat.

An orgy. Not the first he’d witnessed. He’d walked
in on a few during his time with Clermont, and he’d been expecting
to find this scene. But the shock still hit him because he knew
these faces in polite society, dressed at the height of fashion and
thoroughly respectable. And he hadn’t seen two men engaged in such
activity before.

Trevner was on his hands and knees, his mouth wide
open, his eyes closed. The plump banker who’d sat next to Rosalie
clutched Trevner’s hips and pumped himself into the younger man’s
bum.

A woman rested on the floor, cushions under her
body, her legs spread wide. She groaned when the man lying on his
stomach with his head busy at her crotch stopped working at her.
Clermont, his face glistening with the woman’s juices, stopped
licking and looked up. He rested his weight on his elbows between
her legs and put one hand on the woman’s pudendum. Reed was
reminded of someone keeping his place in a book.