Powder of Love (I) (5 page)

He tipped his hat to a lady carrying a pug dog, both dog and woman draped in furs despite the fine weather.

Pinkerton would be good, but then, there’d been rumors lately that Pinkerton’s operatives had turned into a bunch of roughnecks, trying to break the heads of workers and causing disturbances in Cuba. Too bad. A good train or bank robbery investigation would be the perfect antidote to Clermont and his decadence.

He felt light-headed with relief, and a world of possibilities opened up before him. With the money he’d saved, he could take his time finding another job.

Reed ate his food and thought about all the opportunities open to a man in this country. Then he recalled the assignment he’d given himself—find a scientist for Miss Ambermere.

He considered hiring one of the men hanging around the oyster bar across the street. He might pay someone to play the part of a scientist, but that would be a shabby trick. Even if the substance turned out to be tooth powder, he’d take her request seriously.

He wouldn’t hide the truth from her of what had to be a hoax once it was revealed as silly nonsense. He imagined her blushing and laughing at the revelation that she’d believed the story about a real aphrodisiac. Somehow he knew she would not be the sort to become peevish when she discovered she’d been taken in by tales and impressive containers.

The ladies of the Lotus House, with their expertise in providing fresh delights of the flesh, would keep Clermont busy for at least four hours. Reed should be able to find the name of a genuine doctor and still have time to see Miss Ambermere as well. He quickened his step.

Miss Ambermere lived not far from Columbia University, so he consulted the directory of professors there, jotted down a few names, and walked over to her house on the surprisingly quiet side street on the northern edge of Washington Square. No costermongers here. The only sign of commerce was the tolling of a knife sharpener’s cart bells and his halfhearted shouts as he made his slow way down the block. His cries punctuated the clop of the cart horse’s hooves.

Reed stood on the doorstep, waiting for the butler, who eventually showed him into an empty room he hadn’t seen before—a library. There was a prosperous yet well-used look to the dark-paneled room, with its shelves of leather-bound volumes and the leather chairs and heavy furniture. He remembered Clermont telling him that she had inherited this house from her mother’s considerably wealthy family, not bought it. He was used to that sense of inferiority one might feel in the presence of old noble families in England. This woman had intimidating ancestors on both sides of the Atlantic.

Miss Ambermere came in, smiling. “I’m so grateful you’re helping me. Please, take a seat.”

He sat down in a wingback chair near the room’s largest piece of furniture, an old-fashioned mahogany desk.

“I have found some names for you.” He put the list on the desk next to the chair before realizing it was a mistake to do so. He should have tried to make some easy small talk instead. Now he’d have no reason to stay.

“Would you like some tea?”

He’d eaten plenty but nodded. “Yes, that would be wonderful.” He looked around the room. Once again they were without a chaperone. He liked the implications. Perhaps she wanted more intimacy. More likely, she trusted him to behave. Either reason gave him hope. For nothing, he reminded himself. He should hope to finish his business and be on his way, nothing more. He had nothing to offer her.

If he was utterly uninterested in casual liaisons, he was left with what options? Friendship. With a woman? Why not? Because of the way she tucked that curl behind her ear? He could survive the desire her small motions brought.

“Er. Where is Miss Renshaw?”

Despite his intentions to foster mere friendship, the fact that they were alone together and in the privacy of her home was so unusual, he could not forget it. Then he noticed her face wore a grave, unhappy expression.

“Miss Renshaw is indisposed, and I’d rather she didn’t listen to this conversation anyway.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“You do like to keep secrets from the females in your life. You didn’t want the maid to hear anything either. Miss Renshaw doesn’t know about the powder?” he asked.

“She does.”

Something in the way she twisted the handkerchief in her lap and stared out the window made him ask, “What do you mean?”

“Only that she does know about it.” She gestured to a tree just outside the house. “Such a pretty evening, isn’t it? I love the bright color of new leaves. They are such a brilliant green.”

“Yes, that’s it. Very pretty. Why are you being evasive?”

She winced. Damn, he shouldn’t have challenged her. But he wasn’t a gentleman; she must understand that by now.

He slid closer to the edge of his seat and absently noted the line of her jaw, the graceful, arched upper lip. Perhaps she’d allow a kiss or two. On her soft cheek. That couldn’t cause any harm or create expectations. Small touches, a light kiss, perhaps nothing more than a sweet taste. His body lurched into eager response at that thought. Hardly surprising, since it had been so long since he’d touched anyone. An affectionate embrace, he told himself. The sort friends might exchange.

She continued to stare out the window as she spoke. “When I say she knows about the powder, I mean she was unfortunately affected by the chemical. It made her rather ill.”

“It sounds dangerous.” It hadn’t occurred to him the powder could be poison. That certainly meant he had to keep it out of Clermont’s hands. “May I see the substance?”

“I’ve locked it in the bottom drawer of this desk.”

He leaned forward to give the drawer a tug. It was indeed locked.

She watched, then said, slightly amused, “I suspect when you were a child and someone told you not to touch something because it would burn you, you’d put both hands on it just to be sure for yourself.”

He couldn’t help smiling, imagining his sister’s hearty agreement with her. “Miss Ambermere, I wish you’d allow me to examine this powder.” There would surely be an easy method to demonstrate its effects were a hoax. Reed cleared his throat. “I have a history with this sort of work. In London, I was hired to disprove several mediums.”

“What do you mean?”

“I exposed the charlatans who pretended to speak to the dead. I understand this is not the same situation, but I promise I can show you that no true powder of this nature exists.”

She squeezed her eyes tightly closed for a moment, as if she regarded some inner, horrifying image. “I’d much rather you left it alone.” She shook her head and opened her eyes. “Here is Beels with our tea.”

After she handed him his cup, a maid poked her head around the doorway. “Miss Renshaw is asking for you again, miss. Shall I tell her you’ve got a visitor?”

“Oh bother.” She stood and went to the door. “I’ll return in a minute or two. She is feeling insecure, the poor lady. I believe she thinks I’m going to toss her out on her ear.”

“Why would she think that?”

But she apparently didn’t hear the question, for she left without answering.

Soon after she left, Reed gave in to curiosity. He fished through his jacket pocket and pulled out a ring that held keys and other useful items. Really, the desk presented no challenge at all.

Even as he fit the pick into the lock, he wondered why he was doing it. She’d asked him to leave it alone, and he wasn’t a thief. This was not the sort of behavior he was used to in himself, and he wondered if perhaps he’d spent too many hours in Clermont’s company.

He just wanted to see the powder that had caused her worry. She seemed such a levelheaded woman. He’d wager that a woman who had dealt as efficiently with Clermont as Miss Ambermere had could not be easily rattled. Yet when it came to talking about this “substance,” she paled, almost got the wide-eyed twitchy look of a cornered rabbit. He’d do her a favor, relieve her anxiety. And he looked forward to seeing her grateful smile.

The only thing in the bottom drawer was an object wrapped in newspaper. As he unwrapped it and stared down at the little well-polished box, he felt a frisson of unease. He was not a susceptible man, but perhaps her fear was contagious. Such a small box couldn’t be dangerous, but it was so…unusual. He stroked the wood, cool and silky, and the feel of it thrilled his hand. He pried it open and saw another box inside. Such an urge to bring it to his face, rest his cheek on that slick surface…

No! He had to fight the bizarre desire. He forced himself to push the lid down, drop the box, and shove the drawer closed. His fingers trembled slightly as he relocked the drawer. Curiosity and longing raged through him. Had the damned thing called to him to break in? Nonsense. It had been an unfortunate impulse of a man who’d spent months holding impulsiveness and animal behavior at bay. The thin screen of civilized behavior was crumbling.

He’d be damned if Clermont won. He’d pick a woman for Reed, he’d said. And watch him fuck her. A woman.

Then the image of
her
filled his mind. That hair, thick and glossy, down and spread by his fingers. Her skin would be soft and supple, and he’d feel it with every sensitive nerve, now alert with need. His hands, his tongue, his cock—on her.

Reed gasped. He rubbed his face, and that didn’t seem to help. He groped for tea and drank the whole scalding cup down.

Jesus, even the pain in his mouth seemed to increase the pleasure—or rather, the longing for pleasure. He didn’t have many calluses on his fingers now that he had a soft job, and the warmed, slick porcelain begged him to feel the texture of the rounded curve of the cup, the complex texture of the handle.

Holy mother of God; the chemical was real. And if he didn’t do something about his raging erection, he’d never be able to stand up in front of decent people. That part of him begged for release. Her. He wanted her. His cock needed her.

He forced himself to think. Combating sensation and desire so he could think proved almost impossible. He’d bring himself off. That would be the best answer. Once drained—Oh God; unless it was with her, it would never be enough. And why couldn’t he touch her? Their bodies were made for this.

They could touch and taste, and he would at last bury himself in a warm, silken woman. Slide over her skin, slide into
her
, deep. So many women every day paraded in front of him. Naked or in the thinnest of gowns. During his time keeping watch over Clermont, he’d seen so many breasts, hips, curves, backs and bottoms and cunts. Once, and only once, at the start of his job, had he grown so desperate he’d indulged with a woman, and that was months ago. Alone for months. And now the months of deprivation hit him hard—and the one woman he wanted most was just rooms away.

He grew dizzy as he fought back and reminded himself this hunger was only part of him. He was more than need.

The door opened, and she walked in.

He closed his eyes. He’d cheated—badly—by touching that box, and perhaps by not believing her story. And now he’d pay a price by surviving this visit without betraying symptoms. He must treat her with respect. That did not include ripping off her clothing, flinging her across the top of the desk, and driving into her. Or even picturing that possibility. But no, now that picture of her panting, naked, under him, was lodged in him, brain and body.

“Are you unwell, Mr. Reed? You look slightly flushed.”

He’d have to open his eyes and see her in the flesh. See her skin, her pink and lovely face, neck, and those delicate hands that had been so surprisingly powerful in his, returning his grip. Her skin, but not enough of it. Why did women wear so many layers of useless clothing? “I’m fine,” he croaked. “Erm. Your companion. She is well?”

Miss Renshaw had been made ill by the box, Miss Ambermere had said in passing, and now he knew the companion had touched the box too, perhaps even done more. Dear Lord, he was torn between pity for her and the desire to collapse with laughter at the thought of the poor woman, helpless in the grip of unabated hunger. Unabated, perhaps. The image of her naked, out of control and in heat with some man intrigued him—the powder had control of all Reed’s responses. But that image didn’t seem to add to the bottomless, howling need that flowed through his body.

Miss Ambermere’s voice, low and musical, was what stoked that need. “I don’t believe you’re listening. I asked if you thought any of these men were more qualified than the others.”

After a moment, he comprehended the meaning of her words and looked at the list of scientists rather than at her. The sight of her seated at the far side of the big desk might prove too much. The focus of all his body’s cravings so close to him. He pulled in a deep breath and managed to draw his mind back from the flood of need. This was important. “I didn’t take the time to study their qualifications, I’m afraid.”

And then he knew he had to confess—some of the truth, at any rate. “I didn’t truly understand. I didn’t know…” His hoarse voice trailed off.

“Ah. Mr. Reed?”

His name in her mouth sent him close to the edge. He’d give in to the urge to look at her because perhaps she was calling him, asking him to go to her at last. He fisted his hands to stop from lunging. “Hmm?” He managed something like a growl.

“You understand now? What has changed?” She gave him a sharp glare, and unbelievably, she stood and swayed toward him.
Yes, come to me now
, he wanted to shout. He had to take his lip between his teeth and bite down hard to stop himself from spreading his arms to invite her embrace. He had to look away.

Skirts rustling, closer, but then she stopped short of his chair, at the desk.

So near him, her back slightly to him. Those curves. He could reach out now. Touch her. Seize her. How would it be to shove up that dress, find that useless bustle, throw it away, and sink into her from behind. At last. Would her skin be cool against his heated body? Not cool inside. The heat deep inside her, her cunny, her cunt, her sweet womanly parts. And the tender flesh of her inner thighs, invisible under that dratted, thick cloth.

Her curls bounced as she rattled the desk. Yes, that’s how they’d bounce when he’d thrust—