Powder of Love (I)

by Summer Devon

  He nodded.

  Her maid trailed along behind, occasionally looking back in the direction they’d come.

  Miss Ambermere said, “Murphy discovered an organ grinder with four monkeys, two pairs waltzing together. We stopped to watch for a moment.” In a lower voice, she added, “And I wanted to give Miss Renshaw and Hawes some privacy.”

  Reed was astounded. She was not even slightly niffy-naffy about the matter. He asked, “So they are, ah, courting?”

  Her smile faded slightly. “I think so.”

  “Isn’t it a misalliance?” He prodded to see when her disapproval would show.

  “Yes. And heaven knows such things lead to misery.”

  He felt his body tense. After all, he and the wealthy, aristocratic Miss Ambermere would be almost as badly mismatched—at least in England. “Why is that?”

  She brushed a bit of fluff from her skirt with a gloved hand and didn’t look into his face. “What will they talk about in the evenings?”

  “So why are you encouraging them?”

  She raised her head and looked over at the couple she escorted. They stood too close together. “They are fully grown. I can’t direct their lives, can I?”

  “Your presence means you condone it.” He silently challenged her: how far are you willing to go against the normal rules?

  She returned her attention to him. “I felt I had to come today because I suspect Miss Renshaw had been affected by a slight exposure to that horrible powder. Only a very small amount.”

  “You were right to be suspicious,” he said and touched the pocket where the edge of his handkerchief showed.

  She frowned and walked more quickly toward the other two. The maid caught up with them.

  He wondered if she would scold or demand the truth from Hawes. Instead Miss Ambermere raised her voice to a cheery social tone and looked over her shoulder at him. “How have you been, Mr. Reed? We’re to have lunch at the Ocean Palace Hotel, I think. Isn’t that the name, Mr. Hawes? I’m sure we have room at our table for you, Mr. Reed.”

  The man turned puce and mumbled. The ladies seemed oblivious, but he clearly didn’t want the extra company.

  Reed didn’t give a damn what the man wanted. “I must return here to wait for Mr. Clermont, but I’d like to walk with you,” he said and took Miss Ambermere’s hand before she could protest. He rested it on his arm. Imitating a courting couple. Any excuse to pull her body close to his.

  They set off. Hawes gently held Miss Renshaw’s arm, steering her toward the big pavilions of the hotel. The broad, slightly bandy-legged coachman beamed at the thin, middle-aged lady. Murphy walked on his other side, and Mr. Reed and Miss Ambermere wandered along behind the group.

  The day improved a thousandfold. Suddenly Coney Island became a place of beauty, and the weather-beaten cottages and shacks were rustic, not ugly. Obvious infatuation, he told himself derisively, but for once he quieted that inner, scolding critic. He’d indulge in his own silliness and enjoy the moment.

  “How is your young agent?” she asked.

  He examined her face, trying to see if she was speaking some sort of code, but she wore a look of interest, nothing secretive. He gave up. “Who?”

  “The baggage mangler.”

  “Ah, Peterkins. And the word is smasher. Smashers either steal passengers’ bags or act as porters. Peterkins, bless the lad, is basically honest. He handles the bags for the train station.”

  “He’s so small, though. No more than eleven, I should think.”

  He nodded. “He’s a busy lad, working most days and evenings at the station, and yet he’s still always on the lookout for more to do. Full of energy. Last time I saw him, he was talking a mile a minute and dancing around.” The boy had been so bright-eyed, Reed had worried that he’d been on some sort of drug. Not so unusual for any street lad in any big city to use drugs to escape misery.

  He recalled they hadn’t talked for more than a couple of minutes, only long enough for Reed to buy the perpetually hungry Peterkins a pasty from a street cart vendor, but now Reed remembered part of the conversation. “He mentioned you, actually. Said the lovely lady at that big house gave him work.”

  “I didn’t.” She frowned slightly. “But with this wretched party, I wouldn’t be surprised if Beels hired him on to provide extra help. I think half of New York has been in and out of the house.”

  Her hand rested lightly on the sleeve of his jacket, and he could feel the heat of her. He drew her closer, and perhaps they walked too closely side by side, because she stumbled slightly. So of course he had to reach across to grasp her upper arm firmly with one hand and rest his other arm across her back to steady her.

  A side-glance from her told him she knew his game, and instead of tartly demanding he cease manhandling her, she said nothing. The color rose in her cheeks, and her full mouth quirked into a twisted smile.

  For a short distance, they walked in this fashion. Now they moved smoothly, matching their steps. He could feel her rhythm through her hip, which he’d dragged against his own. Pleasant but tantalizing—with just a pull and a twist, he could haul her full up against him. That would be something. In view of the whole world, groping and mauling the correct young lady. He slowed his pace. Not because he had any intention of pulling her close, but just the thought proved potent. Their steps missed and jerked.

  She gently disengaged herself from his grasp, and they walked side by side with far too much air between them.

  “I’m not an invalid walking across ice, though it is good to know you have the strength to support me if I were.” Under the half veil, she turned pinker and cleared her throat. “I am supposed to be performing the service of chaperone. I’ve never played that role before, you know, so don’t confuse me by playing the part of wicked seducer.”

  “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 see
ms 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.

  Chapter Seven

  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 hav
e 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.