Powder of Love (I) Read Online Free PDF Page A

honorable man.” Hesitantly she asked, “But, Mr. Hawes, can you base a whole life together on a half-hour interlude?”
    She didn’t expect him to answer the question, but he did. “More’n an hour, to be honest.” A shadow of a leer crossed his face. “And, miss, you think I ain’t noticed her all the time I’ve worked for you? All the time she does errands and I go along? Always thought she was a fine figure and bright smile. And when she looks at a man with—”
    She felt her face turn hot and hastily held up a hand. “You were right. This is not actually my business.”
    He scowled and looked away. “I’ll understand if you turn me out, miss.”
    “Oh, nonsense.” She gave up. Heaving a sigh, she dropped down onto the chair. “The fact is that her unusual behavior was the result of a drug, as I said. Didn’t you suspect she was not herself?”
    He scratched his grizzled cheek and didn’t answer.
    Rosalie spoke more quietly. “She’s terribly upset—she thought it was a dream.”
    “Huh.” His face drew in, as if the light inside him had gone out.
    She found herself adding, “Although she did call the dream pleasant.”
    He grinned down at the blunt fingers clutching the cap.
    She knew she had to act the proper lady again. “Please do not engage in such activities again. Not before marriage.”
    His grin broadened. Clearly the man felt she’d given him permission to woo Miss Renshaw and was delighted with the world.
    Rosalie wished she could again order him to forget the whole thing, even though true warmth showed in that smile of his. She felt sorry for him. Miss Renshaw would likely want to forget any memories of the night he cherished.
    Rosalie bid him good-bye, shook the square, browned hand he thrust out at her. Those tobacco-stained fingers against Miss Renshaw’s pale skin… Rosalie hadn’t seen that detail, but her imagination was too sharp this morning.
    She went down the rough-hewn stairway, past the fragrance of leather, horse manure, and sweat, and through the iron gate to her own yard.
    If Miss Renshaw decided to accept the coachman, this might be the path she would take every morning if she kept up her duties as a lady’s companion. Well, why not?
    Evenings above the stables might be better for Miss Renshaw than evenings sitting in your parlor, smiling at nothing until it was time for sleep , an evil little voice said. She suspected it was the voice of Cousin Johnny.
    She changed into a morning gown and sat down to write letters. Miss Renshaw had retreated to her room and refused to come out.
    “Shall I throw these away?” The maid indicated the pile of roses Hawes had sent over that had been ignored.
    “No, please.” How horrid it would be if he saw the flowers in the dustbin. “Get me the Sevres vase, and I’ll do what I can to save them.”
    She pulled off the outer leaves and recalled the flowers were the same dusty pink as Miss Renshaw’s gown. Had Hawes noticed that? It occurred to her that the flowers must have cost him a great chunk of his week’s wages.
    Enough. She had more serious things to deal with than some abandoned flowers. Someone else must know how to destroy or somehow alter the wretched amprodizic or whatever it was called.
    She’d contact the two men who clearly knew what was in that box. But she suddenly realized she had discarded their calling cards. How did one find the direction of a rake?
    She called for her driver. “Good morning, Hawes,” she said in a loud, firm voice as the footman held open the carriage door and Murphy, Rosalie’s maid, climbed in first.
    Unfortunately Hawes wasn’t much of an actor. Usually he’d say, “Morning, miss,” in a friendly manner, but today he avoided her gaze and mumbled. At least Beels wasn’t a witness to his peculiar morning greeting.
    She alighted from the carriage at Mr. Dorsey’s office.
    “Good gracious, I should have come to you,” he said, rising. His frown reminded her that a lady