Powder of Sin (20 page)

“Of course not,” he said. “Never wicked, unless you
requested that.” God, he sounded as bad as Clermont.

It was a relief that she didn’t titter or gasp but
merely rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why, but you have this look
on your face, as if you’re laughing at yourself, Mr. Reed. I can
never take you seriously when you flirt.”

He grinned at her. “Here I am trying to learn the
art of flirtation, and you’re undermining me with ridicule.”

“Oh, don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes. You’re
the very model of a smooth ladies’ man. I’ll bet you’re far more
accomplished at breaking hearts than your friend Mr. Clermont.”

He laughed, but she didn’t join him.

“I’m serious,” she said.

What on earth that meant, he didn’t have the
faintest clue. She thought he broke hearts? That he was an
accomplished rake?

He reached for her hand again and tucked it into the
crook of his arm. “I have never in my life broken a single heart,”
he said. “Never seduced and abandoned a single lady. As far as I
know, I’ve never even left a single one sighing for me.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’ve been deceived by one,” he said, and wondered
why he’d made that admission. Best to laugh it off.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and laughter didn’t fit the
moment after all.

“I was naive and in love for the first time. A
common and dangerous combination.” He said the words lightly and
knew that at last the bitterness about Lily was gone.

“You do seem calm about it.”

“We all have heartaches and disappointments.” Damn,
that sounded bitter after all. Pompous too, so he added, “I suppose
it’s what makes us human.”

She shook her head, causing the tiny silk flowers on
the band of her hat to tremble. He wished she’d say something, give
him a glimpse into her own past. But she merely drew his attention
to a large woman who was trotting along, rolling a hoop like a
young girl.

He stopped glancing back the way they’d come to see
if he could spot Clermont. They were approaching a more crowded
part of the beach resort.

“I do wish…” she began slowly. “It seems as if pairs
are so often mismatched. I wish there was a way to turn one’s
affections off and on. Certainly it would be better to be alone
than paired with someone who didn’t understand one or appreciate
one’s concerns.”

They were back to the coachman and companion, but
Reed suspected she spoke of herself. Was she warning him off?

The breeze from the ocean blew harder, and she
impatiently pushed up the veil that fluttered in her face. “There
are so many things that can go wrong. For instance, one might be
matched with a partner who doesn’t share the same level of
physicality.”

No, she wasn’t talking about herself and him.
Physicality, he supposed, meant lust. The shared physical desire
between them was enough to set someone’s hair on fire.

“Are you making love matches, Miss Ambermere?”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “No, not I. I am not
sentimental. I don’t look for matches in the springtime.”

That was a warning, certainly.

“You’re not softhearted? You could have dismissed
Miss Renshaw after her shocking behavior.”

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “How
did you find out? Did one of the servants gossip?”

“I didn’t know; I guessed. Now I know. But to return
to the matter, you could have gotten rid of the companion who
slipped and possibly fell. You could have dismissed or threatened
the servant who took advantage of that slip. But instead you are
following them around a working-class part of the world I’m sure
you’d never visit on your own, acting as a duenna.”

She gripped his arm tighter and smiled. “You’re
right. I would never have thought to visit Coney Island, but I’m
enjoying myself a great deal.”

Once again the warmth of her smile hit him, and he
could only babble. “Are you? I’m so glad.”

“Perhaps I need to expand my parochial view.” She
inched closer so her skirts brushed his leg. They were dancing,
that mating ritual.

He longed to skip the coy little steps and get
straight to the kisses. His body had been too tightly controlled
for too long.

Not with her, though. Not when he wanted to escape
with his faculties intact. A carillon played a tune, marking the
hour. He had to go back to work. “I must return to Clermont,” he
said. “Thank you for a pleasant walk. Too short, I think.”

He unwrapped her hand from his arm and kissed the
back of her glove, then moved his lips to her wrist, where he could
kiss her flesh. Much better—real warmth and silk, and the way her
body jolted at the touch of his mouth gratified him.

He called to the others so they would stop and wait.
He turned and gazed into wide eyes—was she startled? It had to be
from the intimate touch of his mouth on a small patch of skin. God,
she actually breathed hard. The woman was as tightly wound as he
was.

Her tongue touched her upper lip, and he imagined
leaning in and tracing the same path with his tongue, tasting
her.

Reed had taken off his gloves, and if he couldn’t
use his tongue, he could at least touch the edge of her mouth and
feel the damp warmth of her lip under his finger. He sucked in a
breath at the feel of her. That mouth kissing him, teasing him.
Would she be like some of the women Clermont had described? There
were women who would willingly take a man in their mouths. Miss
Ambermere—Rosalie. Leaning over him, licking and tasting. His
arousal was full-blown now, almost painful, and he smothered a
groan.

Less than a minute had passed. His imagination was
on fire, and his heart beat as painfully as if he’d run a great
distance.

The power they held over each other was frightening.
He’d do best to avoid her presence.

When Reed returned to his post, Clermont was waiting
for him. “Where have you been? Never mind. I know you’re not going
to talk to me about it, even though you really do work for me. I’m
hurt that a companion from my boyhood would be so secretive. We
were at school together, Reed.”

Damnation. Clermont’s eyes glittered dangerously.
Had the man seen? Reed pretended to stifle a yawn. “Don’t talk
drivel. You’re done quickly. Didn’t your contortionists keep you
busy?”

“It was all watch and no touch. One could put her
foot behind her head in a way that will haunt my dreams. Ah, me.
Only so much naked, agile flesh I can bear to watch without taking
some sort of action.”

“What did you do to them?” Double damnation. Reed
started toward the cottage to make sure the girls were all
right.

“No, don’t worry about them.” Clermont grimaced.
“They have some experience saying no. They did mention that a more
amenable female might be found at the Elephant, but I expect the
twins would get a fee, the little procuresses, and I’m angry with
them.”

He noticed the dance hall, and a slow smile crossed
his face. “This little peninsula is filled with dazzling feminine
beauty. Let us go drink overpriced swill and make arrangements for
more interesting fun.”

Business as usual. Reed followed Clermont into the
dark, noisy hall, where a pianist and trombonist played something
resembling music and the women who weren’t on the raised stage sat
on patrons’ laps and coaxed them to buy drinks.

He thought of poor Rosalie. She had her hands full
too. He wished he could compare notes on their difficult
charges.

“You’re still grinning. Maybe the red-haired one in
blue that’s eyeing you will finally get you hard? Remember, I get
to watch. We can share, if you like. How about three of them for
the two of us?”

“Do shut up, Clermont.”

“I think I’ll take tomorrow off. I want to save my
strength for a visit to Miss Ambermere’s house. Her mother, you
know. Quite the energetic female.”

Reed sank low into his chair and tried to make out
the tune the pianist had launched into.

Three days until the powder could go to Dr. Leonard.
And then he’d be on his way. The nagging sensation that he’d
abandon Miss Ambermere and leave her without a protector was
nonsense. The woman had money and confidence and a worldliness that
would keep her safe.

Thank goodness Deirdre wasn’t home when they
returned from the strange day’s expedition.

Rosalie went into the sitting room and rang for a
necessary cup of tea.

Miss Renshaw was turning the small box over and
over. Laden with seashells, the thing was inscribed with
Coney
Island Memories.

Mr. Hawes had insisted on buying one for each of
them.

Miss Renshaw, who’d studied the great masters at an
exclusive girls’ academy, smiled down at the gaudy little box.
“When I’m with him, I forget everything. I forget what I’m supposed
to be and who I’m supposed to be.”

She sounded like a young girl in the throes of her
first schoolgirl infatuation. Perhaps this was her first.

With real warmth, Rosalie said, “That’s lovely.” She
watched the library door, wondering which servants’ ears were
pressed to the other side. As quietly as possible, she asked, “Will
you walk out with him again, do you suppose?”

“Only if my dear, dear Miss Ambermere says I
might.”

Rosalie stifled her usual impatience and smiled.
“It’s not really my business.”

“You are my first concern and always shall be. If it
weren’t for you…” Her mouth trembled.

“If I didn’t exist, you’d have a position with some
other lady, doing exactly the same work you do for me,” Rosalie
finished for her.

Miss Renshaw looked appalled.

Rosalie went on. “You’ll always have a place in my
household; you do know that. Even should you decide to, ah, change
your marital status.”

The tears spilled from Miss Renshaw’s eyes, and she
gave a stifled moan. Oh no, what had Rosalie said wrong now?

It wasn’t misery, Miss Renshaw protested, but
undying gratitude and love. She carefully put down her precious
shell box, then fell into her employer’s arms, declaring that no
one was a better lady than her own darling Miss Ambermere.

At long last, the painful scene ended, and Miss
Renshaw hurried upstairs to dress for dinner. Rosalie should have
done the same—certainly change out of the very plain pink muslin
gown she wore—but she sat in the chair, staring off into space
instead of looking down at the household account book.

Perhaps her mother was right, and Rosalie was
turning into a bitter old maid at a young age. That would explain
why she’d wanted to shake the sentiment out of Miss Renshaw, tell
her to enjoy herself with her coachman, but not turn him or Rosalie
into some sort of heavenly saint.

She had no right to try to turn Miss Renshaw from
happy emotion, her mother would say. Cynicism about love must be
earned, and Rosalie hadn’t ever allowed her heart to be broken,
much less claimed.

Now this was an odd thing to feel self-pity about.
She’d never lost sleep over a man or cried for hours. Not counting
her father, of course, but one didn’t count one’s parents when it
came to heartbreak.

She was perfectly content. Yet a lack of passionate
pain created something bleak, a hollow sensation that she had not
noticed before. Contentment was no longer enough.

What would Mr. Reed say? He’d probably laugh at her.
No, he’d be laughing with her, for she was being a ninny and knew
it. Passion had always struck her as a strange thing to long for.
Such a thing would shift her very makeup and make it impossible for
her to ever return to the calm, easy state of independence.

She thought of Mr. Reed, and something stirred
inside her.

Just because his name crossed her mind didn’t mean
she felt real and honest passion for him, she thought, slightly
panicked. But she knew she could never deny that heavy sensation or
the prickling of her body at the thought of him. From the first
glance of him in her sitting room, she’d felt drawn to him. Good
heavens, she was talking herself into being in love with someone
just because being in love seemed to be…interesting.

Ridiculous.

She tried to imagine kisses with the doctor. But
that only made her want to laugh. He’d insist on conducting strange
experiments with her and the little maid. What about Mr. Clermont?
That thought made her slightly nauseated.

She sat in the chair and thought about each man of
her acquaintance, up to and including the constable on the beat
along her street. And she imagined herself kissing them, one by
one.

And the only time her breath hitched, her body
seeming to draw in, was as she remembered Mr. Reed’s kisses—warm
and soft, and then more demanding and interesting. The way he’d
smiled at her afterward.

That wasn’t love, was it?

She couldn’t be sure it was, but she was very
certain it was pure lust, and if she thought of him for one more
moment—imagined his hands on her body or recalled the way he’d
sprawled in her library in an extreme state of arousal, berating
her for using words like
bodies
even while he looked at her
with hungry eyes—if he entered her thoughts for another second,
she’d run screaming from the room.

That would give the servants something other than
Miss Renshaw to talk about.

Beels would back away from her, the way he’d done
with Miss Renshaw the night she’d inhaled the powder. There was an
image to cheer her and banish any gloomy thoughts.

She was done with her five minutes of sulking, and
she’d regained her equilibrium and ended the strange restlessness.
Except, no, her body still yearned for more. More kisses, more
touches. More Mr. Reed. Gideon.

“I am not in love,” she told the brass elephant on
her desk.

The brass elephant always reminded her of her
father, since it had sat on his desk. Therefore she could easily
imagine it answering her in his voice.