by Summer Devon
“Yes, of course, please.” She waved a hand. “Take a seat, Mr. Reed. And we’ll talk about philosophy until you feel quite yourself.”
“No, I think your presence won’t allow that,” he said, gruff again. “Not even discussing the price of shoes could help.”
She frowned, wondering what he meant, then remembered his first visit. She laughed. “I was obvious, was I? But, sir, if you feel you are well enough to leave…”
He smiled and waited until she took a seat—not too close to him—before he gingerly leaned back in the chair, as if lowering himself into a hot bath. He held up the book. “I’m not sure I’m fit to leave the privacy of your home.”
She imagined him finding some young woman on the street and wooing her. If he was still so filled with licentious thoughts, why wasn’t he trying to seduce her? She felt a flutter of disappointment.
He thrust his fingers through his hair, which did nothing to improve its disorder. “So. Miss Ambermere.” He looked around the room, then back down at the book on his lap. “Do you read philosophy?” He sounded desperate, as if trying to talk about anything but the thick desire that clogged the very air of the room.
“Years ago, when I was eighteen, I was determined to prove to my father that I had a brain, and I plowed through all the classical volumes I could find in his library.”
He cocked his head and looked at her for a moment. “Did you manage to impress him?”
“Not really. It turned out that if he had read the classics in school, he’d forgotten them. And he had no interest in discussing the subjects, especially with a young female.”
“A pity he wouldn’t take you seriously.” Was that a condescending note in his voice?
No, the way he stared down at the book and then shifted his gaze to a vase on the table, she understood he was distracted and trying to force his mind onto the topic. Perhaps away from lust. She was well-bred and could make conversation under strange circumstances as well. “I decided I was glad I indulged in the exercise for my own sake. I would never have bothered if it weren’t for my stubborn need to irritate him.”
He glanced at her, and their eyes met again. For several heartbeats, they only stared. The starved wolf in his eyes leaped to life. “No,” he whispered. “I won’t.”
She didn’t bother asking him to explain. “The effect is still bad, then?”
“I thought I was fine, but then I see you.” He shook his head, hard. “Tell me more about your father. About you. As a young girl. Very young girl,” he added quickly.
She wondered what he meant, then understood he was still inflamed by her presence. A quote from a reformist’s letter she’d read in the morning paper came to her: “unchastity, lewdness, debauchery, dissoluteness, extravagance, and wildness.” Dear God, the words had a flavor that made her mouth water.
She squirmed in her chair. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut.
“My father,” she said. “I didn’t know him well, though I saw him nearly every day when I was growing up. I spent most of my time in England on his estate or in London with him, but he was entirely formal or in a rage. He did tend to go into rages.” She decided not to talk about her flirtatious, attractive mother.
“Your parents. They were happy together?”
“Miserable. My mother was—is—American. My father had a title; her family had enormous piles of money. A familiar enough story. They lived apart most of my life. But the funny thing is I think he loved her, in his own way.”
He swallowed. A moment passed, and he asked, “And she. Did she love him?”
“I don’t know. For a time she considered seeking a divorce but decided the scandal wasn’t worth it. She once told me selfish people ought never marry, especially not other selfish people.”
Mr. Reed smiled without opening his eyes. “Did your father have a similar view of marriage?”
“I’m not sure. When I told him she’d said that, he replied that most people are selfish, particularly women, but that he, as an important man with many duties, didn’t have time for selfishness.”
A furrow appeared on his brow. “Why did you report what she’d said?”
“That’s why I think he rather loved her. When I’d return from visits with her, he’d ask me to repeat what she said, question me about every conversation. Then he’d pace the room and tell me why everything she said was so wrong.”
The whole time she talked, she examined Mr. Reed. Since he sprawled in the chair with his eyes closed, she didn’t have to worry about her own rude gawking. He had long limbs, broad shoulders—almost too broad for current fashion. From a quick glance, she couldn’t help noticing that, despite the way he sat, perhaps trying to disguise the fact that his male organ was still swollen. Heavens, his limbs weren’t the only long, powerful body parts he possessed, although perhaps that was an illusion of the loosely fitting trousers.
“So he still cared,” he said gruffly.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s it.”
With those piercing, judging eyes closed, he didn’t have the same ability to fluster her, yet she was still moved by him—enough to discuss matters she’d never told anyone. “And more than that, after he’d thoroughly castigated her, my father would say, ‘Does she ask about me? I wonder if she misses me.’ In fact, my mother rarely mentioned Father, but I’d always lie and say she’d asked about him.”
Mr. Reed still breathed heavily. But the coiled, muscle-trembling tension seemed to have dissipated in the rest of his body. His elbows rested on the chair’s arms, hands crossed on his chest, no longer restless.
“That is a sad story,” he said at last.
She frowned, considering her parents. “Yes, I suppose so. They had money, influence, and freedom from worry. My mother is still well and happy.” She had thought this before but had never said anything. “But something essential was missing.”
“What do you suppose that ‘essential’ was?” He opened his eyes.
“I don’t know.” She looked down at the jet bracelet she wore, tracing the patterns of the stones, rather than allow herself to get lost in his gaze again.
Of course, she should not talk about her parents with a near stranger. But she realized after what they’d talked about and been through that afternoon, they weren’t strangers. Not friends either.
“Thank you,” he said after a minute.
“For what?”
“You talked with me, tolerated me. I should be grateful that you haven’t run screaming from me or called for the police. Most unmarried young ladies would have.”
“I know the powder’s effects.” She laughed. “And you forget, I spent time in the company of my cousin Lord Williamsford. You could never match his ability to shock.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know him well.”
“No, not very well. And certainly not in any intimate sense. But his conversation was inappropriate at all times. My father was right to try to keep me away from him.”
“Do you think Lord Williamsford used the powder?”
The thought made her gasp. “Heavens, I have no idea.”
He shuddered and pulled himself to the edge of the chair. His face was as grim as ever. “Clermont. He mustn’t gain access to the chemical. And I don’t trust him. He might try less legal ways to get his hands on it.”
“I don’t understand. Why, if you dislike him so much, are you traveling with him?”
He rubbed his hands over the tops of his thighs. “It’s my job.”
“Your job?”
“He is why I came to America.” Mr. Reed looked as thunderous as he ever had. “He calls me his keeper. I make certain he doesn’t…get into trouble.”
She pursed her lips. “That is a strange position to hold. A companion for a male. I take it his family employs you?”
“Yes.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out before continuing. “But you understand, I don’t hold a position like your Miss Renshaw. I am more like a warden of a one-man lunatic asylum. I
had promised not to divulge my position, but…” He gave her a fleeting, bleak smile. “But because of that stuff in the box, you should know the truth about him.” He got to his feet awkwardly, and she guessed he still suffered from unwanted arousal. “In fact, I must go now. He’s, er, occupied at the moment, but that might end soon. He’s been trying to give me the slip.”
“Pardon?”
“Lately he’s been trying to get away from me. I employ a newsboy as a spy, and the boy reported that Clermont managed to get to your lawyer’s office last week. I’m not sure why, but I can only hope it has nothing to do with finding out you have the box of chemicals.” He ran a hand over the buttons of his waistcoat and straightened his jacket, pulling it quickly over his front. “That isn’t your concern. I hope you have a good evening.”
“I will walk with you to the front door. You left the list in the library?”
“No. I have it here.” He patted his chest, the inside jacket pocket. “Tomorrow morning, first thing, I will go interview these gentlemen. In the meantime, perhaps we ought to lock the box in some sort of safe.”
“Thank you for your concern.” Rosalie’s response was automatic. After years of fending them off, yet another dominant male wished to march into her life and take control. What a pity she was attracted to strong men—they were the ones who would treat her as a child. She wished her heart beat faster around gentlemen like Mr. Dorsey. Calm Mr. Wentworth had seemed like a fine compromise if she must marry. Though the thought of him aroused and agitated by the powder didn’t create those heavy, breathless responses in her heart and belly. She faced Mr. Reed and forced herself to look into his eyes. “I can settle the matter on my own.”
She expected him to argue or grow offended, but he only nodded. “Yes, of course. I know you take the danger seriously. You did give me an assignment, and I promise to return with information as soon as I can.”
They drew a little closer, and he slowly held out his hand.
She looked at his fingers, bare and strong. “Do you dare?” she asked lightly and wondered, do I?
He didn’t move. “I won’t allow it to control me,” he said, still fierce.
For five seconds, their hands met. Skin to skin. They made no pretense of shaking and only grasped hands.
He ripped away as if in pain, and his gasping breath was audible in the small entry room.
She gazed into his face, the half smile, the heavy-lidded eyes. Could that be amusement? That had to be an improvement. She smiled. “You needn’t smirk at me.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Not a smirk, I promise you. Mostly embarrassment, naturally.”
“You? What have you to be embarrassed about?”
“This whole experience, from start to finish.” He bowed. “Good evening, Miss Ambermere. I hope you will have forgotten my behavior when I call again tomorrow.”
“I shan’t forget it, but you might,” she said. “From what I have witnessed, when the powder has a strong effect, it seems to erase the memory. Or transform events into something like dreams.”
“Odd,” he said. “But I suppose it makes sense. Too much drink can have the same effect. Then you’ll have to remind me of this visit.” He shook his head. “Although I must admit I want to recall as little as possible.”
“All right, when we meet again, I will only remind you that the power of the chemical is real.”
He looked so troubled, she said, “Though truly, Mr. Reed, you have nothing to berate yourself about. Your behavior was never…” She faltered, remembering, “I would rub and taste every last inch of your skin. I would commit the ultimate act again and again, and I wouldn’t stop until I was satisfied.”
“I mean to say, considering the strain you were under”—again she carefully didn’t look at his lower front—“you were a gentleman.”
“You are most generous.” He shoved his hat down hard over his dark hair. “I will be able to call at about eleven. I should hope to have some answers for you by then. Do consider locking that box in a place stronger than that drawer. I could have broken the lock with a letter opener or teaspoon.”
“Do you break locks with teaspoons in your line of work?”
“Once.” He gave her another warm, true grin. “Miss Ambermere, if I do forget much of what happened today, I hope I at least recall your generosity.”
She felt her face grow hot with pleasure at the compliment.
* * *
Clermont was nearly stumbling drunk when Reed picked him up from the Lotus House. “You don’t often indulge in that particular sin,” Reed said as they strolled the six blocks back to the hotel. “You’ll have a wicked head in the morning.”
“Experimenting with brandy and cunts,” Clermont said. “Got overenthusiastic. One of the girls squirted a treat. And they all tried champagne too. They said it tingles inside.”
Reed groaned. With the lingering effect of Miss Ambermere’s strange powder, he might become caught up by Clermont’s pornographic details.
They reached the hotel at last, and he half led, half dragged a protesting Clermont to the bedroom. “You’re going to bed alone for once,” Reed told him.
Standing in the middle of the floor, Clermont began undressing clumsily, emptying his pockets onto the floor and bed.
Reed leaned over to pick up the wallet and the expensive watch, chain, and fob that dropped to the carpet. As he reached down, the slip of paper with the names fell out of his jacket.
“What’s that?” Clermont, unsteady but surprisingly fast, swooped down and picked up the paper. He peered at the names of the scientists. “What are all these words?”
“Just names. I’m collecting them for a friend.”
“Oh? Which friend is that?”
Reed dumped the objects on a table, regretting the impulse to tidy up after Clermont. The man had a valet, after all. “I’m collecting them for a friend in England who wanted me to do some research while I was here in New York.” He hoped his exaggerated, patient tone would put Clermont off the scent. “Shall I call Banbury in to help you? He’s back from his day off.”
Clermont still held the paper, frowning. “Damn him. He’ll get angry. I got rouge all over my linens again.”
“He’ll be used to that by now,” Reed said. On the way out of the bedroom, he plucked the paper from Clermont’s fingers.
Clermont hiccuped softly and asked, “What friend?”
“What are you talking about?”
“For which friend are you doing this research?” Clermont sat down heavily on the bed. He groaned and stretched. “I could see how you worried about that paper. You’ve got a secret from me.”
“I should bloody well hope so.” Reed didn’t bother to lower his voice. “You are past the limit, Clermont. My personal life—the little I have—and my friends are my own. Is that clear?”
Clermont grinned as he slowly stretched out on the bed. “All right, all right. No need to go off like that. You are prone to temper, laddie. Especially of late. You need to cultivate a few sins.” He grimaced. “I don’t recommend drink. My head is spinning.”
“Poor Clermont.” Reed closed the bedroom door to the sound of his charge’s groans.
As he removed his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat to ready himself for bed, he ignored the demands of his still-stimulated body. To distract himself, he’d make plans. Clermont would sleep in, no doubt, and Reed would be able to do the research for Miss Ambermere. He’d alert his spy, Peterkins, and give the valet Banbury a larger-than-usual fee to send another messenger boy if Clermont stirred from their rooms. Yet if Reed was wandering through the city, interviewing scientists, where would the boy deliver his message?
He hoped Miss Ambermere wouldn’t mind if he used her house as the central location. He was not used to working with a partner, and of all the people in the world, he wouldn’t have picked her. Yes, he would have. He’d have picked her as a partner in bed.
Her full mouth in a smile. Her breasts would be tipped with the
same rosy color of her lips.
Damn.
He grabbed his jacket and hat, determined to take another long, brisk walk rather than allow the relentless lust to take control of him again. Using his hand to bring release had only a temporary effect, and he ached from the number of shameful times he’d tried that method to reduce the hunger, alone in her library, imagining it was her hand, her body, and even her mouth on him.
The lone attendant at the front of the hotel straightened up and saluted. Reed nodded absently and wandered out into the night.
He drew in another deep breath. Even the questionable mix of horses, humans, fried foods from some nearby restaurant, a lady’s floral perfume—the general fugue of a busy city—thrilled him down to the core of his overly sensitive body.
She’d said he might forget the whole incident.
He realized as he stood there, finally free of obligation, that in other circumstances the sensation could be described as exhilarating. Would he want to forget how aware he felt of every beat of his heart, of the texture and taste of the world around him? The scented breeze brushing his skin?
He thought of the appalling things he’d admitted to her in her library. “Hell yes to that,” he said aloud and strode off down the sidewalk to the restaurant that was still lit up and lively.
He might as well take advantage of the best of this sensation—the alert, rushing mind. He’d track down any information, perhaps articles written by the scientists, and find the best candidate to help with the wretched aphrodisiac. Surely there’d be some way to find information, even at ten o’clock at night. New York was a city designed for restless souls. Reed, never particularly at ease, fit that description more than usual tonight.
* * *
Lady Williamsford had frequently called Rosalie the most patient one in the whole family, “if you can call the three of us a family,” she’d automatically add.
At the moment, Rosalie wasn’t living up to the title, at least not internally.