Powder of Sin (4 page)

He scowled, and the skin under his left eye twitched
slightly. “I don’t wanna forget it. Best thing ever happened. I
won’t talk none to anybody. Her reputation’s safe. But don’t tell
me it didn’t happen. I’ve had girls in my time, but none so sweet
and kind and full of life.”

Rosalie flashed on the image of his naked bum
moving. “I’m not sure I should hear this,” she said firmly. “I’m
absolutely certain no one else should.”

He shuffled his feet, clad in heavy boots. He hadn’t
dressed in his uniform. “She’s a good person, is Emily. If she’ll
have me, it would make me the happiest guy ever.”

She stared at him. The thought that he might
actually want marriage hadn’t occurred to her. Rosalie clasped her
hands to stop herself from gesturing around the small one-room
apartment with the narrow, unmade bed, the rough table. “Mr.
Hawes…you must understand…Miss Renshaw was born to an important
family, and even though she has lost her former position in the
world, she is a genteel lady.”

“Yah, I understand. But see—” He stopped, and she
knew he wanted to spit, his usual habit when at a loss for words.
Thank goodness he didn’t inside his room.

“Go on,” she said gently. No point in imitating her
father any longer. She never could maintain righteous indignation
for more than a few minutes.

“This is New York. It ain’t England. She can say
‘get lost’ to me, but you can’t, if you’ll excuse me, miss.” He
sounded apologetic, not belligerent.

He’d taken so much of the wind out of her, Rosalie
wished she’d said yes to the chair he’d offered. She chewed her
bottom lip. “You’re absolutely correct. And I’m so glad you’re an
honorable man.” Hesitantly she asked, “But, Mr. Hawes, can you base
a whole life together on a half-hour interlude?”

She didn’t expect him to answer the question, but he
did. “More’n an hour, to be honest.” A shadow of a leer crossed his
face. “And, miss, you think I ain’t noticed her all the time I’ve
worked for you? All the time she does errands and I go along?
Always thought she was a fine figure and bright smile. And when she
looks at a man with—”

She felt her face turn hot and hastily held up a
hand. “You were right. This is not actually my business.”

He scowled and looked away. “I’ll understand if you
turn me out, miss.”

“Oh, nonsense.” She gave up. Heaving a sigh, she
dropped down onto the chair. “The fact is that her unusual behavior
was the result of a drug, as I said. Didn’t you suspect she was not
herself?”

He scratched his grizzled cheek and didn’t
answer.

Rosalie spoke more quietly. “She’s terribly
upset—she thought it was a dream.”

“Huh.” His face drew in, as if the light inside him
had gone out.

She found herself adding, “Although she did call the
dream pleasant.”

He grinned down at the blunt fingers clutching the
cap.

She knew she had to act the proper lady again.
“Please do not engage in such activities again. Not before
marriage.”

His grin broadened. Clearly the man felt she’d given
him permission to woo Miss Renshaw and was delighted with the
world.

Rosalie wished she could again order him to forget
the whole thing, even though true warmth showed in that smile of
his. She felt sorry for him. Miss Renshaw would likely want to
forget any memories of the night he cherished.

Rosalie bid him good-bye, shook the square, browned
hand he thrust out at her. Those tobacco-stained fingers against
Miss Renshaw’s pale skin… Rosalie hadn’t seen that detail, but her
imagination was too sharp this morning.

She went down the rough-hewn stairway, past the
fragrance of leather, horse manure, and sweat, and through the iron
gate to her own yard.

If Miss Renshaw decided to accept the coachman, this
might be the path she would take every morning if she kept up her
duties as a lady’s companion. Well, why not?

Evenings above the stables might be better for
Miss Renshaw than evenings sitting in your parlor, smiling at
nothing until it was time for sleep
, an evil little voice said.
She suspected it was the voice of Cousin Johnny.

She changed into a morning gown and sat down to
write letters. Miss Renshaw had retreated to her room and refused
to come out.

“Shall I throw these away?” The maid indicated the
pile of roses Hawes had sent over that had been ignored.

“No, please.” How horrid it would be if he saw the
flowers in the dustbin. “Get me the Sevres vase, and I’ll do what I
can to save them.”

She pulled off the outer leaves and recalled the
flowers were the same dusty pink as Miss Renshaw’s gown. Had Hawes
noticed that? It occurred to her that the flowers must have cost
him a great chunk of his week’s wages.

Enough. She had more serious things to deal with
than some abandoned flowers. Someone else must know how to destroy
or somehow alter the wretched
amprodizic
or whatever it was
called.

She’d contact the two men who clearly knew what was
in that box. But she suddenly realized she had discarded their
calling cards. How did one find the direction of a rake?

She called for her driver. “Good morning, Hawes,”
she said in a loud, firm voice as the footman held open the
carriage door and Murphy, Rosalie’s maid, climbed in first.

Unfortunately Hawes wasn’t much of an actor. Usually
he’d say, “Morning, miss,” in a friendly manner, but today he
avoided her gaze and mumbled. At least Beels wasn’t a witness to
his peculiar morning greeting.

She alighted from the carriage at Mr. Dorsey’s
office.

“Good gracious, I should have come to you,” he said,
rising. His frown reminded her that a lady shouldn’t enter the
territory of men and business.

She smiled, hoping to coax him out of his dismay.
“Yes, but my companion is not well, and I didn’t want to ask you to
visit a house of contagion.”

“Oh dear, Miss…errm…” He, like most people, had
forgotten Miss Renshaw’s name.

“She will be fine.” Rosalie adjusted the embroidered
band of her right glove. Later on she’d tell Miss Renshaw her lie
about contagion. That ought to improve the lady’s spirits. Miss
Renshaw seemed obsessively worried the world would find out about
her folly.

Mr. Dorsey nodded vigorously. “Happy to hear it.
Good, good. But tell me what I can do for you today.”

“I recall that Mr. Gideon Reed said he was stopping
at a hotel, but I can’t remember which one.”

“Fifth Avenue. Mr. Clermont is there also. I did
wonder if they were friends.”

She didn’t bother to tell him they didn’t seem to
stay apart from one another—not even for a few minutes.

Mr. D.’s wide-eyed alarm made him look even more
like a pug dog than usual. “I should have warned you earlier,
ma’am. I have heard some rumors about Mr. Clermont that worry me a
great deal. I am not at all certain he’s a respectable
character.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true of
everyone who coveted Cousin Johnny’s objects. Thank you for letting
me know.” She rose to her feet. That settled it, then. She had no
interest in allowing a couple of scoundrels to take possession of
the powder. Still, she had nowhere else to turn for
information.

“This is about the vial?” he asked. “You have
decided what to do?”

“Not yet.”

“Let me know what you decide. I shan’t rest easy
until I know you’ve rid yourself of the substance.”

That makes two of us
, she didn’t say
aloud.

The day was clear and lovely, far too beautiful to
spend in the city on business.

Certainly too nice a day to visit a pair of
disreputable rakes. Yet she directed Hawes to the Fifth Avenue
Hotel.

Outside the 23rd Street entrance, a crowd had
gathered.

She squeezed through the milling groups of
well-dressed New Yorkers, found a bellboy, and sent a message.
Waiting for a reply, she stood in the hotel’s crowded ladies’
parlor, wishing she’d worn some sort of veil. Too many people she
knew were here, and the crowds were growing thicker. She fell into
conversation with a well-to-do matron and soon learned the reason
for the unusual number of visitors.

The Republican candidate for president was visiting
the city and staying at this very hotel, Mrs. Wallack informed her.
“But I didn’t know you were interested in politics.”

“Naturally. Isn’t everyone?” She caught sight of a
tall, dark-haired gentleman in the doorway. Mr. Reed?

She watched him, and her unruly mind wondered if he
grasped his partners in sexual congress the way Hawes had Miss
Renshaw. Those large, warm hands pulling her against his body.
Naked flesh.

The man turned, and she saw it wasn’t Mr. Reed.

That was enough to stop the unwelcome thoughts
immediately. She felt her face turn hot.

Fuming at herself for the vulgar turn of her
imagination and at the reprobates for making her wait, she smiled
at Mrs. Wallack. “Do tell me,” she said. “What will you say when
you’re introduced to Mr. Garfield?”

Clermont was at his second favorite hobby, reading
aloud from his diary of his previous day’s “adventures,” when
someone knocked at the suite’s door.

Reed jumped to his feet, relieved. Listening to this
stuff was one of his least favorite chores, but it helped keep
Clermont calm and more malleable.

When the bellboy announced a lady awaited them,
Clermont pulled the cigar from his mouth. “Wonderful. I’ll be ready
in—”

Reed interrupted the bright-eyed Clermont. “Escort
her to the ladies’ parlor, please.” Reed handed the boy a random
American coin. “I’ll meet her there in a few minutes.”

He closed the door and glared at Clermont, who lay
on the bed, his handwritten pages in one hand, the fat cigar
between the fingers of the other.

“We agreed you will not entertain here,” he
said.

“I can’t help it if the ladies come after me.”
Clermont took a big puff of the cigar, and ash spilled onto his
chest. “You’ll just pay the staff a little extra, and I can at last
employ
my
staff in more pleasant surroundings.”

“No, Clermont. The rules aren’t going to change just
because we’re not in London.” Reed picked up the list of ships
heading back to England and waved it in his usual unspoken threat
of handing in his notice.

Clermont swung his legs off the bed. “Laddie, I am
sad we aren’t getting along lately.”

“You’re sad that the more responsible members of
your family will probably send the law after you if I scarper.”

“Not at all, but I know they’ll ship someone even
less fit and able than my old friend Reed.”

“God bless the man your family sends. He’ll need God
on his side.” Reed pulled out a watch and slumped down into a
chair. “Is the female downstairs a professional? Because they
warned me again at the front desk—this is a respectable
establishment. If any more ladies of the night show up asking for
you—”

“I tell you, I hadn’t made any plans. Now I might.
I’ll nip down and take a good look at her.” He rubbed his hands
together.

“No.
I’ll
nip down and send her on her way.
You push the limits of my patience.”

Clermont still wore that vapid smile that meant he
wasn’t thinking about anything other than plowing into whichever
female waited for him downstairs.

Reed tried again. “You said you wanted to go to the
Lotus House tonight. Save your strength for that.”

Clermont flopped back down and stubbed out the cigar
on the bedside table. “Very well.”

Reed examined the man lounging on the bed. He’d
learned Clermont’s mannerisms well enough to know when the man
planned to escape his keeper, and this wasn’t one of those times.
Apparently the reminder of the Lotus House had worked.

One of the older siblings in a large family, Reed
knew how to manage small children, and Clermont’s personality
rather resembled a toddler’s. One could take away his toys far more
easily if one dangled the promise of another treat in front of him.
Keep him busy, and he’d stay out of trouble. What a pity Clermont
wasn’t a small child instead of a strong, reasonably good-looking,
too-wealthy, unbridled idiot.

Reed picked up his wallet and hat. If necessary,
he’d escort the woman from the premises, perhaps pay her cab
fare—or even more. He had grown weary of Clermont and most of his
ladies, but occasionally the female who’d hunted down the rich
Englishman was desperate and hungry.

God knew he wasn’t a puritanical soul—or hadn’t been
until he’d held this job for several weeks—but it gave Reed
positive pleasure to give such a woman a hefty sum from Clermont’s
purse as he informed her she needn’t use her body to earn her
living for at least a few days.

He avoided the creaking elevator and used the stairs
all the way to the first floor. The bellboy asked him to wait in a
semiprivate lounge while he fetched the lady.

“Who is this lady?”

“Dunno.” The bellboy pushed away the strap to his
cap and absently scratched at a red mark on his chin. “Didn’t give
a name. I swear it, Cap’n. Said it was personal business.”

Confirmation that she was up to no good.

Reed settled himself in a chair and waited. The last
one who’d shown up at the hotel had tried to seduce him, and
despite months of celibacy, he’d said no without much regret.

There was only one female who’d appealed to him
lately. She’d drawn him with her full, expressive mouth, the
delicious curves of her figure, but he’d grown too accustomed to
that sort of appeal—Clermont would only visit sexually arousing
women. The difference was he’d also decided he liked her. He’d had
a chance to watch her rebuff Clermont more than once during their
long visit. Miss Ambermere wouldn’t fall into Clermont’s arms,
thank goodness.