Powder of Love (I) by Summer Devon

treats.”
    Reed slammed the door.
    The crowds had thinned, and he had little trouble ordering the food and dispatching a lad to send a telegram. The moment he handed over the money—transatlantic telegrams were expensive—he felt tremendous relief.
    Freedom. He’d return to England and pick up again with the inquiry agency he’d left. Quite a joke to think he’d disdained that work and left it to take on the job of Clermont’s keeper. Following an errant husband would be about as vile as this work, but at least he wouldn’t have to listen to the husband’s endless descriptions afterward.
    Maybe he’d look for work in this country. After all, this was the home of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency.
    He tipped his hat to a lady carrying a pug dog, both dog and woman draped in furs despite the fine weather.
    Pinkerton would be good, but then, there’d been rumors lately that Pinkerton’s operatives had turned into a bunch of roughnecks, trying to break the heads of workers and causing disturbances in Cuba. Too bad. A good train or bank robbery investigation would be the perfect antidote to Clermont and his decadence.
    He felt light-headed with relief, and a world of possibilities opened up before him. With the money he’d saved, he could take his time finding another job.
    Reed ate his food and thought about all the opportunities open to a man in this country. Then he recalled the assignment he’d given himself—find a scientist for Miss Ambermere.
    He considered hiring one of the men hanging around the oyster bar across the street. He might pay someone to play the part of a scientist, but that would be a shabby trick. Even if the substance turned out to be tooth powder, he’d take her request seriously.
    He wouldn’t hide the truth from her of what had to be a hoax once it was revealed as silly nonsense. He imagined her blushing and laughing at the revelation that she’d believed the story about a real aphrodisiac. Somehow he knew she would not be the sort to become peevish when she discovered she’d been taken in by tales and impressive containers.
    The ladies of the Lotus House, with their expertise in providing fresh delights of the flesh, would keep Clermont busy for at least four hours. Reed should be able to find the name of a genuine doctor and still have time to see Miss Ambermere as well. He quickened his step.
    Miss Ambermere lived not far from Columbia University, so he consulted the directory of professors there, jotted down a few names, and walked over to her house on the surprisingly quiet side street on the northern edge of Washington Square. No costermongers here. The only sign of commerce was the tolling of a knife sharpener’s cart bells and his halfhearted shouts as he made his slow way down the block. His cries punctuated the clop of the cart horse’s hooves.
    Reed stood on the doorstep, waiting for the butler, who eventually showed him into an empty room he hadn’t seen before—a library. There was a prosperous yet well-used look to the dark-paneled room, with its shelves of leather-bound volumes and the leather chairs and heavy furniture. He remembered Clermont telling him that she had inherited this house from her mother’s considerably wealthy family, not bought it. He was used to that sense of inferiority one might feel in the presence of old noble families in England. This woman had intimidating ancestors on both sides of the Atlantic.
    Miss Ambermere came in, smiling. “I’m so grateful you’re helping me. Please, take a seat.”
    He sat down in a wingback chair near the room’s largest piece of furniture, an old-fashioned mahogany desk.
    “I have found some names for you.” He put the list on the desk next to the chair before realizing it was a mistake to do so. He should have tried to make some easy small talk instead. Now he’d have no reason to stay.
    “Would you like some tea?”
    He’d eaten plenty but nodded. “Yes, that would be wonderful.” He looked