Powder of Sin Read Free

gazed at the paintings,
and didn’t speak, his dark eyes shadowed. His mouth had been drawn
in a straight line, yet his lips were still full. Odd how she could
vividly recall the details of a man’s lips days after meeting
him.
    She fought the languid desire to take off her corset
and chemise, and she pushed herself off the bed. Best to go with
the uncomplicated brown and cream gown. Something easy to don so
she could throw it over her head and yank it on quickly before she
gave in to the temptation of getting into bed.
    But the thought of Mr. Reed still tugged at her. He
had no right to haunt her like this when he’d barely tried to be
agreeable during that visit.
    Maybe he’d heard that nearly silent, scowling men
with unruly black hair were all the rage with hostesses. Or perhaps
he hated her sitting room and her refreshments.
    Never mind. They were gone, and she had been the one
to push them out of her house. Not literally, of course, but she
knew how to get rid of undesirable men.
    It had been difficult. First she’d allowed her
conversation to lapse into yawn-inducing dullness. She spoke of
lace and bobbles and the price of shoes and watched Clermont’s eyes
glaze over. Interestingly enough, Mr. Reed’s expression didn’t
change, although she wondered if perhaps she’d caught a small smile
at one point.
    And Mr. Reed’s other smile. She’d forgotten it.
Recalling it made her grin like a lunatic.
    He hadn’t been stern the whole time. Late in the
visit, Rosalie had been sitting on the bog oak sofa, and Mr.
Clermont had joined her there, gradually shifted closer to her.
He’d actually brushed his fingertips across her nape, making some
remark about the way she bundled her hair loosely.
    Rosalie had twisted away from him. She’d widened her
eyes and contorted her mouth—a comic contortion—aiming the look of
mock alarm at Miss Renshaw.
    The older lady hadn’t noticed. Rosalie’s companion
was present in body and her brown eyes were open, but her mind, as
usual, had wandered to more interesting places.
    But Mr. Reed had met her eyes and must have seen
Rosalie’s silly grimace. That had to explain his sudden grin—a real
one that lit his eyes and showed white, nearly even teeth. His
expression was unexpectedly sweet, entirely transforming his
forbidding features. Of course she had to grin back, and their
exchanged smiles had felt like a shared amusement, a joke they both
appreciated.
    The smile had vanished almost at once when Clermont
touched Rosalie’s arm and murmured some more compliments at her—the
man was a confirmed murmurer.
    She’d managed to drive the two men out of her parlor
soon after that by using her proven tactic of more boring
conversation followed by some plain speaking. Nothing so unladylike
as telling them to go away, of course.
    But would she have pushed so hard to make them leave
if Mr. Reed had sat that close to her? Absurd notion, but the
thought of him so near her that she might feel his breath on her
neck, taste it with her mouth, made her own breath come fast and
shallow, causing something inside her to stir and grow heavy.
    Mr. Reed might have been standing right in front of
her, smiling, his strong fingers reaching to touch her. Perhaps if his hand trailed across her nape…
    “No more of this,” she said aloud.
    Determined to shake her strange mood, she rang for
Murphy to help with the buttons in the back of the gown and to fix
her chignon. The chatty maid was a marvel at driving unwelcome
thoughts from one’s head.
* * *
    The rest of the afternoon had no more strange
sensations or visitors, unless one counted the cursing Italian
carriers who came to the back entrance with several wooden
crates.
    Rosalie ordered the crates to be placed in the
library and then forgot about them. She had no idea what else
Johnny had left her—and after the peculiar restlessness she’d felt
after touching the box, she wasn’t eager to find out.
    After dinner, Rosalie sat in the drawing