Powder of Sin by Kate Rothwell Page A

around the room. Once again they were without
a chaperone. He liked the implications. Perhaps she wanted more
intimacy. More likely, she trusted him to behave. Either reason
gave him hope. For nothing, he reminded himself. He should hope to
finish his business and be on his way, nothing more. He had nothing
to offer her.
    If he was utterly uninterested in casual liaisons,
he was left with what options? Friendship. With a woman? Why not?
Because of the way she tucked that curl behind her ear? He could
survive the desire her small motions brought.
    “Er. Where is Miss Renshaw?”
    Despite his intentions to foster mere friendship,
the fact that they were alone together and in the privacy of her
home was so unusual, he could not forget it. Then he noticed her
face wore a grave, unhappy expression.
    “Miss Renshaw is indisposed, and I’d rather she
didn’t listen to this conversation anyway.” Her smile didn’t reach
her eyes.
    “You do like to keep secrets from the females in
your life. You didn’t want the maid to hear anything either. Miss
Renshaw doesn’t know about the powder?” he asked.
    “She does.”
    Something in the way she twisted the handkerchief in
her lap and stared out the window made him ask, “What do you
mean?”
    “Only that she does know about it.” She gestured to
a tree just outside the house. “Such a pretty evening, isn’t it? I
love the bright color of new leaves. They are such a brilliant
green.”
    “Yes, that’s it. Very pretty. Why are you being
evasive?”
    She winced. Damn, he shouldn’t have challenged her.
But he wasn’t a gentleman; she must understand that by now.
    He slid closer to the edge of his seat and absently
noted the line of her jaw, the graceful, arched upper lip. Perhaps
she’d allow a kiss or two. On her soft cheek. That couldn’t cause
any harm or create expectations. Small touches, a light kiss,
perhaps nothing more than a sweet taste. His body lurched into
eager response at that thought. Hardly surprising, since it had
been so long since he’d touched anyone. An affectionate embrace, he
told himself. The sort friends might exchange.
    She continued to stare out the window as she spoke.
“When I say she knows about the powder, I mean she was
unfortunately affected by the chemical. It made her rather
ill.”
    “It sounds dangerous.” It hadn’t occurred to him the
powder could be poison. That certainly meant he had to keep it out
of Clermont’s hands. “May I see the substance?”
    “I’ve locked it in the bottom drawer of this
desk.”
    He leaned forward to give the drawer a tug. It was
indeed locked.
    She watched, then said, slightly amused, “I suspect
when you were a child and someone told you not to touch something
because it would burn you, you’d put both hands on it just to be
sure for yourself.”
    He couldn’t help smiling, imagining his sister’s
hearty agreement with her. “Miss Ambermere, I wish you’d allow me
to examine this powder.” There would surely be an easy method to
demonstrate its effects were a hoax. Reed cleared his throat. “I
have a history with this sort of work. In London, I was hired to
disprove several mediums.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I exposed the charlatans who pretended to speak to
the dead. I understand this is not the same situation, but I
promise I can show you that no true powder of this nature
exists.”
    She squeezed her eyes tightly closed for a moment,
as if she regarded some inner, horrifying image. “I’d much rather
you left it alone.” She shook her head and opened her eyes. “Here
is Beels with our tea.”
    After she handed him his cup, a maid poked her head
around the doorway. “Miss Renshaw is asking for you again, miss.
Shall I tell her you’ve got a visitor?”
    “Oh bother.” She stood and went to the door. “I’ll
return in a minute or two. She is feeling insecure, the poor lady.
I believe she thinks I’m going to toss her out on her ear.”
    “Why would she think