Powder of Love (I) (18 page)

She might be from a part of a higher echelon of society, and unlike most damsels, she seemed determined to remain independent. But such an exchange with any decent woman carried a debt.

Marriage.

He could barely support the obligations he already carried—his family back home—and now, no job, no prospects. After his infatuation with Lily, he’d never again considered looking for a wife, certainly not one so far above his social sphere. He’d never marry to advance his prospects, and that would be what they’d say. All of them. Hell, they’d said it often enough about his alliance with Lily, the squire’s daughter. He didn’t particularly care about society’s censure, but hadn’t Miss Ambermere had more than enough of that sort of gossip in her life?

Marriage with a young lady like Miss Ambermere. He found it hard to steady his breath at the thought. And then another thought struck him: she might have absolutely no desire to be his wife.

Wonder, panic, amazement—instantaneous and useless responses. When all he wanted to do was be with her in the quiet library, watching her. Living in the moment. The rest would come soon enough.

He was used to dressing himself and was soon done. She struggled with tiny buttons, and the corset wasn’t drawn tightly enough for the stylish moss green gown to fit her properly.

“Do you want help?”

Rosalie gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. “Yes, please.”

Reed stood behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders.

He was quiet as he followed her instructions. Efficient and deft as Rosalie had known he would be, but something had changed, and she didn’t like it. She found herself chattering to cover her sudden case of nerves.

He squeezed her shoulder, and she fell silent.

His lips were near her ear as he whispered, “I am honored that you gave up your virtue to me.”

She turned in his arms and pulled him close for a kiss. But he only brushed his mouth lightly over hers. Then he leaned back, a troubled expression on his face. Oh no.

“What we did was…”

She waited, praying he’d say something like “beautiful” or “wonderful” or “life changing,” but expecting it would be dreary.

“I…I am not sure.” His smile looked like a grimace. “Perhaps we—I should not have gone so far.” He touched her arm, the edge of the thumb drawn along in a careless gesture.

The bottom of her stomach fell out when she understood. She pulled away, determined to wrestle with the last of the small buttons on her wrist without his help. Recriminations, and worse—regrets. He must have been annoyed that he’d allowed himself to be swept into the passion that to him meant nothing more than animal lust. She was angry with them both. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have given myself to a man who didn’t want the gift.” She didn’t want his guilt or hers.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” he said, and now he was in front of her, gently cradling her face between his palms. The light in his eyes was strong, direct, and all she could hope for. She heaved a relieved sigh.

“I am grateful, Miss Ambermere. Rosalie. But perhaps I was greedy to allow you to give it. I was caught up in the moment and not conscious enough of the significance.”

Once again, he might have struck her in the belly.
Thanks for your body, but today doesn’t mean a thing.

She lightly grasped his fingers and pulled his hands away from her face.

When she shook her head, the once neatly arranged curls bobbed, and she busied herself with pushing and tucking her hair back into place without a mirror. Better that than screaming or punching the man. “You are being diplomatic,” she said at last. “But I’m the only one responsible for my actions. You can’t take blame, especially when I suspect all you truly want to do is assign it.”

“If that’s what you believe, then I know I’ve mangled the meaning of what I wanted to say. What I meant was…” He frowned, but she understood that was his look of concentration, not anger. “I will never forget this afternoon. You. It was wonderful. But…it was done without thought. I will face any consequences that arise, of course.”

She pulled in a breath that seemed to hurt her heart and burn her lungs. He was almost worse than Miss Renshaw after the episode in the garden. No whining and wailing, but a soldier facing the firing squad stood before her—not a lover.

Her hands were busy with final touches to her hair; a push of a hairpin and she calmed herself. “Then there won’t be any consequences. Are we agreed on that?”

Good. Her voice was far steadier than she’d have guessed. And when she held out her hand, it barely trembled.

He wasn’t hot-eyed and smiling at her, because of course, he wasn’t in love with her. He wanted her, but she of all people should be sophisticated enough to understand that desire and love were entirely different animals. God knew her mother had tried to teach her that much. At least Gideon didn’t hold her in contempt. That hardly mattered, because she felt enough for them both.

He took her hand but didn’t give it a shake. He covered it with his other hand, a sandwich of warmth over her own cold, almost numb flesh.

“If I have injured you,” he said quietly, “please understand, that’s the last thing I want to do.”

She didn’t bother to deny it, but she wasn’t sure what hurt inside her. Pride? No. She felt rather faint because she suddenly understood it went deeper than that. Love, uncovered and then kicked—hard.

Pride was involved after all, because she wouldn’t let him see how much it hurt that his own passion had not extended beyond their coupling. “Nothing fatal,” she said as lightly as she could manage.

Why had she done it? The moment of fever had passed. She’d put a man inside herself and had taken away the last shred of her own innocence. She’d done it because she thought she’d die of desire if she didn’t. Gideon. Because she wanted to remember how it felt to have his penis deep inside her, invading her.

She’d wanted the memory of him, so she must have known, even as she’d borne down on him, it would not be something she’d have a chance to do again. She’d known marriage to her wasn’t in his plans—he’d talked about his travels west, the sort of journey undertaken by an adventurous young explorer, not a newly married man—and she’d still impaled her body on his.

He opened his mouth as if he would speak, but a small tap at the door brought them back to reality. The doorknob rattled.

“You in there, darling? This appears to be locked.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The grim expression on Gideon’s face sharpened Rosalie’s pain. No man looked more appalled to be caught in a compromising position.

“Don’t worry. She won’t demand that you make an honest woman of me,” Rosalie whispered and crossed the room to unlock the door before he could answer.

Her mother sailed in, and her skirts actually swayed as she halted suddenly to give Rosalie a swift examination. “Heavens, you do look like you’ve been, hmm, I don’t know. Crawling around the library? And with the door locked? Just you and Mr. Reed?” Her mother’s grin was the last straw. “Umgarten and Fellows are out there working on your decorations, and you decided to consult on something in here? Interesting. I don’t see any evidence of decoration in this room. We’re very busy today, aren’t we? Your hair, darling. It’s always so neat too.”

“Yes, Mother, I’m aware that my hair is a disaster, and I will go ask Murphy to dress it again.” She forced herself to smile at Gideon.

She held out her hand, and this time he did shake it. The large hand did its trick on her, promising warmth and protection and pleasure. The grim look on his face had deepened. He was as thunderous as she’d ever seen him.

She had been better trained to hide emotion and was all sweetness as she spoke. “Thank you for a most pleasant visit. I will see you at the dinner party, I expect? Good-bye.”

Back straight and prickling from the two sharp pairs of eyes directed at her, she swept from the room without a backward glance.

Chapter Eight

He’d hurt her. And he wasn’t sure how to make it better. Did she honestly hope for a proposal? He was not the sort of man a girl like her married. She’d spoken of the dangers of misalliance, and despite his education, he was nothing like her. No money, no connections. Even Clermont would be a better fit socially. They came from the same set.

God, no. If she tried to marry Clermont, he’d set fire to the church.

But Gideon Reed and one of the wealthiest young women in New York? The daughter of a lord?

“You look as sour as a lemon, Mr. Reed. Did you and my daughter quarrel? I’ll bet that’s not all you were doing.”

He’d forgotten the sharp, direct tongue on this woman. “I assure you we didn’t quarrel. I think she is feeling pressure for other reasons.”

“The grand party we’re planning for one. My visit, for another. No, don’t try to deny it, sir.”

He hadn’t tried to say a thing.

“I know my daughter’s carefully kept household gets shaken by my visits. The place could use a little shaking, and so could my daughter. She looks most becoming with her hair all disarranged and her cheeks pink, don’t you think?”

“She is always attractive.” Damn, he wished he’d used another word. Charming. But Lady Williamsford was prattling on.

“I have always suspected my daughter is a prig. Can women be prigs?”

“She is not,” he said with heat.

“She is, and I think it’s good for her to get shaken a bit. Like you did for her.”

His annoyance at this careless woman retreated for an instant. After all, she had just suggested he was good for her daughter. But then Lady Williamsford continued. “And if she refuses to get all…disarranged again, well, I don’t mind a little rumpling.” She giggled. “And I thought you were frowning before. I do believe you’d strike me dead with your eyes if you could.”

“No, my lady,” he said. Not dead, but perhaps rendered unconscious.

“Oh pooh. You’re as much a prig as she is. More of one. You travel with Mr. Clermont, and Walt tells me you never allow yourself any fun.”

“Do you understand his notion of fun, Lady Williamsford?”

“Sure. I’ll bet he’s too sprightly.” She pulled off her gloves and yawned behind a hand. Even her yawn was graceful, and he could see why the late Lord Williamsford had been smitten with her. But had the man spent five minutes alone with her before asking for her hand in marriage?

“Care for some coffee?” she asked.

He shook his head, then remembered his manners again. “No, thank you.”

She pulled a bell rope, and Beels popped up almost at once—as if he’d been listening at the door. She ordered coffee, and Beels vanished as quickly as he’d appeared. “Rosalie does know how to hire the best people,” she said as the library door silently closed. “They’re loyal to her too. I’ve been trying to steal Beels for an age. She’s grand at running a household, has splendid good taste, fine at a lot of things. Did you know she plays piano?”

Her arch smile and voice told him she was playing with him.

Reed clenched his teeth to stop himself from begging her to get to the point.

“No? How about her painting skill? Very superior, real talent she inherited from her father’s side of the family. He couldn’t stand art because he wasn’t allowed to indulge himself with it. My late husband couldn’t stand quite a few things. But he let her study art, and she’s quite good. I’ve seen you admire her work.”

She paused to play with a bracelet, then let her hands drop to her sides. “But despite all the accomplishments and frank manners, I don’t think Rosalie’s as strong as she thinks she is. And she’s something of an innocent, despite my best efforts.”

He tried not to allow the guilt show in his face.
His
best efforts had taken care of her innocence.

She settled herself on the sofa again and waved him to a chair nearby. At least she didn’t pat the sofa next to herself. “I’m not much of a mother, Mr. Reed, but now that you’ve done your shaking and stirring of my girl, I’ve one more thing to say. You stay away from her, or I’ll spread rumors about you and me.”

He considered storming out but waited instead. It had been a hard lesson, but early on, one of the first things he’d learned as a detective was to keep his mouth shut and wait.

Lady Williamsford sniffed. “You needn’t glower at me. You know I’d do it.”

He managed to keep his gaze steady. “I’m not sure what harm you think I’ll do her. I respect and esteem your daughter.”

“Oh, pooh on respect and esteem. That’s just it. Walt’s right; you are a cold fish. Listen. I know my girl enough to understand she’s got some sort of interest in you. Trouble is, she’s too much like her daddy, can’t shift easily once she has her eye on someone.”

For a long moment, he fought the craving to curse the lady, but then her meaning sank in. He blinked. “I’m not sure I understand you, but might I hazard a guess?”

She grinned and nodded.

“You’re saying that unless my intentions are honorable, I should stay away from your daughter?”

Her grin faded, and her lovely eyes widened. “By golly, I think you’re right.” She tilted her elegant head to the side, as if trying to hear the echo of her own words. “That’s about what I said. Me, of all people. Imagine that.” A frown creased her brow. “But see, she’s got loads of pride. Not as much as her father, thank God, but even worse, I think she is like one of those things. The birds. You know?”

He shook his head.

“The pea-brained ones that pine away when their mates die. Mate for life.”

“Perhaps you’re thinking of swans?”

“Maybe those are the ones.” Lady Williamsford wedged off her tight kid gloves and tossed them on the sofa next to her. “I do what I can to shake her up so she’ll perhaps release those antiquated, useless notions of hers. Instill some sophistication and force her to have some fun. Discreet fun, mind you. If there’s one thing I learned over in Merry England, you can get away with anything if you’re discreet and married.”

Her eyes narrowed at some memory, and he wondered what bit of the past she’d recalled. “Anyway. I don’t think I’ll succeed with my darling Rosalie. Haven’t yet after all these years. But I know this much. Your hanging around won’t help. I think she’s got a notion to marry, and Wentworth will do for her. The whole thing is less complicated for her, and he’s even complacent. A man like him won’t mind a sprightly young wife. She needs to grow less serious about the whole thing, understand?”

Sprightly, he began to suspect, meant as sexually active as a rabbit.

“At the moment, I wish I could disappear, my lady,” he lied. Someone had to keep Rosalie safe from Clermont and from this woman. “But I’m currently employed by Miss Ambermere.”

“Is that what you call it?” Her knowing Mona Lisa smile made him again fall prey to the shocking urge to strike a lady. But truthfully he was far more absorbed by the thought that she considered him an emotional danger to her daughter. Miss Ambermere, lovely and intelligent and fair-minded. Perhaps she even wanted him for more than a tryst, and even her self-absorbed mother could see it.

“Mr. Reed, are you sure you don’t want coffee? You look a little dazed.”

He stood and bowed. “I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome. But I will return, soon, my lady.” He had to think. And dream for once. He’d seen Rosalie’s body and held her, and the thought that perhaps he might be able to do that again—perhaps always—it shook him to the core.

Miss Ambermere. Rosalie, damn it. He’d think of her as Rosalie now and always. She couldn’t love him. They didn’t know each other well enough for true love. Lust. They shared a glorious case of mutual desire.

Certainly he hadn’t lied. He did respect and admire her; any more than that, he refused to admit. Just because he knew and longed for every one of her smiles, just because he wanted to kill everything that might hurt her—that was heated blood brought on by lust. He didn’t trust lust—not at all—but at that moment, he understood it was only a small part of what he felt for Miss Ambermere. Rosalie. Her pride, her well-hidden eagerness, the way she smiled at him when they shared a jest. The rest of it didn’t matter. A swan that mated for life? He’d have to learn to quack or honk or whatever the hell bloody swans did to make sure he had a chance.

His thoughts were interrupted by Lady Williamsford. “You’ll be at our little gathering tomorrow? It should be a great deal of fun.” The smile was back, far too knowing. It brought back reality and forced him to recall what he was supposed to be doing for Rosalie.

He wondered if he could check on the box without Lady Williamsford noticing him prowling around her daughter’s house. If Beels showed him to the door, it was an easy matter to bribe the butler.

However, Lady Williamsford insisted on showing him to the front door herself.

“What do you think, Mr. Reed?” Lady Williamsford waved a hand at the foyer and entrance hall, which had been transformed. They must have been locked in the library longer than he’d expected. Everywhere he looked, he saw a red haze. This must be what it felt like to be inside a giant heart.

“Impressive.”

One of the men in charge had spotted Lady Williamsford and galloped from the drawing room into the hall. “The canaries will arrive first thing tomorrow, I promise, my lady. And the flambeaux as well.”

“The fountain inside is set up and working beautifully,” the other one said. “Won’t you come see?”

“And the lanterns in the garden. We’ll get that extra fountain going soon, you’ll see.”

“Of course.” She gave each of the designers a dazzling smile. “Let me just bid my guest good-bye. Did you order a carriage, Mr. Reed? You walked?”

Drat. She wasn’t going to abandon him to find his way to the doorstep after all.

He considered returning under the guise of one of the workmen, but they were finishing for the day. How long had he been with Rosalie in the library?

* * *

He walked to his quiet, comfortable lodging less than four blocks away. He’d already made sure Rosalie had his new address. She could send along a message and summon him. So he would wait, and he went out only to buy food from a pushcart peddler.

He waited to hear from her, but there was only silence the rest of that day.

He lay in bed that night, wishing he had been less passive in the hours after their tryst in the library. He hadn’t made a move for the simple reason he had no idea what on earth he should do—or even what he wanted to do. But the silence was horrible. That had to end.

His instinct was to take charge. Very well; he would. She would probably kick at that. He smiled at the thought of how they might argue every time he’d try to assert himself as master of a situation. The arguments would keep him alert, and perhaps he’d learn some diplomacy.

He sat down to write a note and didn’t bother to employ that diplomacy. He simply told her he’d be disguised as a guest, but he had been serious when he promised to keep her safe. He was going to turn himself into some sort of guard at this party of hers. He didn’t think Beels the butler would be enough.

As he was trying to add something to the note about his deep regard for her that went beyond the admittedly heady lust, the landlady’s maid told him he had a visitor, and he bounded down the stairs to find Dr. Leonard waiting for him.

“I have the proper place at last, and dear Miss Ambermere has sent along the formal contract we agreed to. Shall we approach her now and retrieve the glandular powder?”

Reed went back upstairs for his pistol and, after a moment’s hesitation, the irons as well. Perhaps the doctor would again try to attack Miss Amb—Rosalie.

The doctor gave a low whistle as they approached the house. “This really does take the cake. I knew she had wealth, but if she keeps up this kind of entertainment…” He squinted at one of the men holding up a wreath of roses. “Wonder how many dozens of flowers are in that?”

The house, set back from the street, had workmen swarming over the front of it—some setting up rows of torches, some apparently weaving bunches of roses over the elaborate banisters.

When they pushed past them to the open front door, no one met them.

“We’ll just go to the basement, then, shall we?” Reed beckoned. He and the doctor walked down the hall and through the bustling kitchen, where they were ignored.

Beels and a footman were near the bottom of the stairs, counting bottles of wine in several cases.

The butler looked up, shocked. “I didn’t hear the bell or knocker, sir. I’m so sorry.”

“The door was open, so we walked in.”

Beels was wiping cobwebby hands on an apron, which he then whipped off and handed to the footman. “I apologize that you had to find me. Most distressing.”

“We weren’t looking for you,” the doctor said cheerily. “We have some business here. Down here.”

Reed recalled his manners. “Beels, this is Dr. Leonard.”

“Yes, sir, we’ve met.”

Reed wondered when, but only said, “Miss Ambermere is expecting him. And she knows we have something down here to fetch.”

However, Beels had recovered from his chagrin, so he resumed his primary role of guard dog and gatekeeper. He herded the two men up and into the library, the one room barely unaffected by the party preparation. “You will please wait while I find Miss Ambermere.” It wasn’t a question.

The doctor wandered to the bookshelves, and Reed stared at the settee where he and Miss—he and Rosalie had joined together. The memory of it woke the hunger that lurked in his body.

No consequences, she’d said.

She hadn’t been telling the truth when she said there were no consequences, and he’d make certain she understood how she’d affected him. He’d barely slept the night before, and when he did, it was to dream of her, naked and on top of him. Such behavior in a young lady. He grew hard thinking of it.

She stood at the door, and Beels must have told her who her guests were, for she had a determined look on her face even before she saw them. The smile wasn’t real, and she didn’t meet Reed’s eyes. He understood and didn’t grab her and demand a kiss or a curse from her—but dearly wished he could.