Powder of Sin (15 page)

“
No
,” Rosalie said, then clamped her mouth
shut.

“Ah. Just as I thought. You want him for
yourself.”

“Mother, I do not intend to marry Mr. Reed or anyone
else. And since I do not collect men as if they were epigrams,
let’s assume I do not want a man.”

“Of course you want one. Or do you prefer women? I
think that’s the root cause of so much of Aunt Elizabeth’s anger.
She lives in Boston; one wishes she’d settle for a Boston
marriage.”

The headache was blossoming at the back of Rosalie’s
eyes. “I know you only speak this way in private with me. Could we
pretend that a very proper elderly lady is sitting in the corner,
listening? Would you please talk about the weather?”

“Darling girl, I had a lifetime’s worth of polite
conversation when I lived in England. I don’t want a single minute
more of chatting unless it’s interesting. But I can see you’re
about to fly into a pother. Tell me which plays we’ll go see. Is
that a good compromise?”

“Lovely. Yes. And we will see anything you want, I
promise.”

“That box of powder. That’s what I want to see.”

Rosalie wished she too could flee the room in tears
like Miss Renshaw. Then she could retire to a quiet place and
examine why she had kissed Mr. Reed. And she could think about
those kisses. He had a strong effect on her—and it was more than
physical. Why would she admit to a less than perfect family life to
a near stranger when she barely admitted as much to herself? And
Rosalie had long ago decided she had no use for any man’s good
opinion, at least not when the man was determined to judge her
constantly, but all she ever wanted to do with Mr. Reed was
explain, apologize for some unknown crime she’d committed so he
would stop looking at her with that scowl. Except now she recalled
he was cheerful the last time they’d parted. That thought made her
smile. She winced at her own changing mood based on a memory of
his. Curse the man for always drawing such a strong response from
her.

But the unfamiliar and childish emotions weren’t
important at the moment. Getting the box of powder out of the house
was. She would entertain her mother, and perhaps Miss Renshaw would
drive out with Lady Williamsford to an exhibition, and while they
were gone, she’d take the wretched box of Johnny’s powder to Dr.
Leonard. Then at least she’d have one less thing to worry
about.

Rosalie didn’t need to think of a way to get rid of
her mother. After partaking of some refreshments and changing her
gown, Lady Williamsford announced her plans to visit some
friends.

She smoothed her gloves and waggled her fingers
experimentally. Lady Williamsford had the habit of buying gloves
that were too small. Someone must have told her that a tight fit
might make her hands look smaller. “They will be sorry you’re not
with me. You are turning into a recluse, my dear.”

“I live in the city.”

“Easiest place in the world to be a recluse. In
Spotsdale, I can’t keep the neighbors at bay.”

Her mother sailed from the house with her French
maid in tow. Miss Renshaw retreated to her room, and it was nearly
teatime when Rosalie was finally able to conceal the box inside a
hatbox. As she went down her front steps, she saw two gentlemen
turning the corner and heading toward her house. She ignored the
footman’s outstretched hand and bounded into the carriage,
pretending she hadn’t seen Messrs. Clermont and Reed.

Reed suspected Clermont hadn’t spotted Miss
Ambermere bolting into the carriage; he hoped not, anyway. He
prayed the box she carried was what he suspected it to be, because
he gambled on leaving Clermont alone now.

“Oh blast. I forgot something back at the hotel.
You’ll have to make the call on your own. I’ll meet you back here
in a half hour.”

Clermont raised his brows. “You are suddenly less
devoted to your task, Reed. You’ve gone from the very best of the
watchdogs sent to sniff after me to one of the worst.”

Reed decided a bit of the truth would put him off
guard. “I quit. A few days ago I sent off a wire saying I’d had
enough of the job. I’m just holding on until my replacement is
installed.”

“Come, you are a spoilsport. Very well, go back to
the hotel, and I promise to stay here.”

“If she should leave you alone for a moment, don’t
make any more searches of Miss Ambermere’s house, Clermont. We
don’t want to add burglary to your account.”

Clermont laughed and climbed the wide brownstone
stairs to her house.

He waited until Clermont had rung the bell. Then,
tipping his hat to a passing lady, he strode off back the way
they’d come. Once he turned the corner, he went from a trot to a
full-out run, weaving around the other pedestrians, searching for a
cab.

If he was wrong and she hadn’t had the powder, then
he’d come roaring back here as fast as possible. If the servants
allowed him to enter the house when Rosalie was absent, well, then
he’d have to hold Clermont down if necessary and search his
pockets.

Rage carried him as he ran.

She didn’t trust him. She trusted that wretched
doctor, with his treacly smiles—at least he hoped that was where
she headed—but she didn’t trust him, Gideon Reed, who’d managed to
battle the worst case of lust extant and hadn’t touched her. His
pace faltered slightly when he recalled that eventually he had
indulged in several kisses—long, passionate kisses. The blast of
desire that hit him as he thought of holding her didn’t decrease
his anger at her or himself.

He wanted Miss Ambermere. He wanted her under him,
panting, moaning, sliding naked, skin to naked skin, but he’d be
damned if the images and the craving were going to have power over
his life any longer.

When he got to the doctor’s house, he’d simply make
certain all was well and then return to his duties. Once the doctor
had the powder, Clermont wouldn’t be able to get his hands on the
stuff.

As he searched the carriages and carts jostling
along the wide street for a cab to take him uptown, he planned his
travel to the West. He might as well explore the continent. For
months he’d collected an obscene salary, and while much of his pay
went back home to his family, he’d saved more than enough to buy a
ticket.

He put his fingers to his mouth, and his sharp
whistle brought a hansom cab clattering to him. Luckily he
remembered the address and didn’t have to take the time to look
through his small book. The driver agreed to go at top speed, and
Reed rocked and pitched as he perched on the edge of the seat,
ignoring the thick odor of cigar, leather, damp newspaper, and
rotten cabbage in the cab’s interior.

Miss Ambermere had looked different from usual as
she’d clambered into her carriage. Her hat was larger, and it had
seemed hastily shoved onto her head—the red ribbons hung down, and
its crooked appearance hadn’t been a purposefully jaunty angle.
Maybe she wore a huge hat to hide her face, and her unusually
slapdash appearance was an indication of a frantic rush.

Fear for her shattered the cold anger he felt.
Perhaps some other idiot had his eye on the powder, and that’s why
she had to rush out of the house.

The cab jolted over cobblestones, and he grabbed at
a handhold rather than slide off the seat. The rage had dissolved
entirely. Even if she had decided to go without consulting him,
she’d done nothing wrong. She’d always made it clear she was
employing him and not giving him full say over the powder or her
actions.

The kisses.

No. One thing he should have learned from his months
with Clermont was that physical pleasure frequently meant nothing
more than gratification.

He’d enjoyed the kisses. She had too, though he’d
felt her inexperience in the way she trembled and the tentative
exploration. Right. No matter that the kisses were lovely; they
owed each other nothing.

He stared out the greasy windows, determined to plan
his trip west.

The driver stopped in front of the doctor’s house,
and he took his time climbing out, dragging out the money—until he
heard the scream. He’d never heard her speak above a genteel tone,
but he recognized Miss Ambermere’s voice.

Reed tossed the coins at the driver and ran faster
than he had yet that day.

On the way to the doctor’s, they had stopped for a
policeman directing traffic, and Hawes slid back the communication
door for the driver. He peered across at Rosalie. “Beg your pardon,
ma’am, have you spoken to Miss Renshaw, ma’am?” he asked in a
hushed voice as if someone was listening.

“Yes, but I can’t tell you what she wants.”

The confused dismay on his face made her add, “I
don’t actually know what it is she wants.”

“What should I do, do you reckon, ma’am?”

For a moment, unfamiliar resentment seethed through
her. Why did everyone think she had solutions? What if she got the
answer wrong and ruined something important? Rosalie had barely
understanding or determination enough to run her own life.

But Hawes looked so bereft, she had to speak. She
managed to smile. “Perhaps you should come calling properly. Like a
suitor.”

“Front door, you mean, ma’am?” He sounded almost
outraged.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose I could send
her on errands and ask you to use the open carriage. That might be
a way for you to conduct a conversation.”

“Streets are too dusty and noisy for a lady like
her.”

She gave up, though she was glad he had argued with
her. He might be a servant, but he had his own strong mind. “You’d
best drive on, Hawes. I think those shouts and whistles are being
directed at you.”

He carefully slid the door shut.

When they arrived at the doctor’s office, Rosalie
didn’t wait for Hawes, but at once jumped out of the carriage and
ran to the entrance. A maid opened the door and led her to the
sitting room, where the doctor stood, the gray parrot on his
shoulder. Rosalie thrust the hatbox at Dr. Leonard.

“Here,” she said. “Inside this is the box. I have
decided to allow you to keep the whole of it for yourself.”

He beamed at her. “Your generosity is astounding.
Thank you.” The smile faltered slightly. “But I have been thinking
and believe you are right to want a formal contract. I went so far
as to draw one up.”

He put the parrot in the cage, rummaged around one
of the piles of paper on his desk, and handed about five pages to
her. The document looked like a fairly straightforward receipt with
her conditions added in pencil. She felt relief when she saw he
would store the powder in a safe.

“May I see the safe?”

“It hasn’t been delivered yet. The manufacturer
promised to install it in four days. It will be as secure as a bank
vault.”

She felt the pressure deep inside her release
slowly, like steam from an overheated engine. He was taking the
matter of the powder seriously enough to calm her fears.

“Thank you,” she said. She’d put down the hatbox
with the powder to read the contract. Now she pushed it toward him
with her foot rather than touch it again. She’d been thinking about
Mr. Reed so much lately, perhaps it had something to do with just
being close to the thing. “And there you go.”

“We’ll have to weigh this.” He opened the box. And
then began to open the other box.

“No.” She put out a hand. “That’s a bad idea. You’ll
want some sort of protection for your skin and maybe your face so
you don’t breathe it in.”

He frowned at the box, then at her. “All right. I am
a trained scientist, you know, so I don’t want you to worry about a
thing. Would you like to see the laboratory again?”

She nodded and followed him down the hall to a back
room.

“The university has agreed to allow some of my
students to work on this project,” he said as he donned a pair of
glasses and pulled on thick cloth gloves. “I hope you don’t object
to the students?”

She had no idea what she should say and settled on,
“As long as they’re well-informed and well protected.”

He laughed. “Oh yes, we err on the side of too much
information.” He opened the first box and drew out the second.
Turning the small dark inner box around and around with his gloved
fingers, he held it up to the light and close to his face. Too
close.

His hands stilled. At last he put the box down, but
she wasn’t ready to relax yet.

He patted it. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” When he
looked over at her, he wore a dreamy expression, as if listening to
some sort of faraway music. The expression sharpened as he examined
her.

“Doctor? I, um, wonder if you’re feeling something
different?” she asked. “I think you’re not wearing enough to
protect you from the effects.”

His smile broadened. “Yes, I can feel the effects.
Very interesting.” He stripped off the gloves and pulled off the
glasses. “Peculiar. It is as if I can feel every bit of my body.”
He put his hand palm down on the little box. “Mm. And now I can
feel that as if it were a jolt. Have you ever touched electricity,
Miss Ambermere? Felt the small, prickling sting of it?”

He rubbed his hands together and took a step toward
her.

“No,” she said. “I have no desire to, though my
mother swears by the treatments.”

“Does she get the stimulating treatments?” He drew
in a huge lungful of air—she could see the way his nostrils flared.
“Do you know what those are for, Miss Ambermere? What they
accomplish for a woman who ignores her needs?”

“My mother doesn’t ignore her needs,” she said and
backed away.

When he looked at her again with eyes far too
bright, she glanced around for something heavy.

He rubbed his hands through his dark brown hair.
“What were we talking about? Ha. Does it matter? Talk barely
matters at this point. Now is the time to take action.” Another
step closer. She decided to head for the door.