The Trouble With Seduction (11 page)

“How about a music hall performance, then?” Miss Collins gazed around the table. “I hear those can be very entertaining.”

Lumsley suddenly smiled, showing the gap between his front teeth. “How about the British Museum? It’s full of wondrous curiosities and quite edifying. Or we could all go to the lecture today.”

Damen fingered his lemonade glass. “Planning a trek up Kilimanjaro, are you?”

Lumsley suddenly puffed out his chest. “You don’t believe I could do it?” His unexpected bristling and abrupt show of strength edged toward the comical.

A head taller with twice his wingspan, Damen had, on occasion, seen such tetchiness in other men of his ilk. Cory would have calmed him with a clever retort. Damen rubbed the stiffness in the back of his neck and suppressed the urge to make his usual sardonic remark. “I’m sure you could,” he mumbled. “It just seems like a long trip to wear out a good pair of boots.”

The words hung in the air for several uncomfortable moments before Lumsley finally guffawed.

Sarah didn’t act like she heard the men’s sallies. “I think I should like to see a music hall performance as well,” she said with a slow waft of her fan.

Damen lowered his voice, trying to be as politic as possible. “Apart from being populated by the lower classes and ill-mannered young lords, the rough language and songs might be a rude surprise, my lady.”

“Seen a music hall or two, have you, Ravenhill?” Lumsley snickered.

Sarah disregarded the men again and enunciated slowly, “Miss Collins, if you wish to see a music hall performance, then we shall pick a show.”

Damen leaned back in his chair and smoothed his hand over his vest. “There is a custom in music halls, my lady. When a woman arrives without a male companion, she is presumed to be, shall we say, of a certain occupation. I do not wish to be coarse, but alone you might find yourself propositioned before the curtain goes up.”

Sarah considered him over the top of her ostrich feathers. “Are you volunteering to escort us, Mr Ravenhill?” Her slow movements spoke of tipsiness, but determination shone in her eyes. “Or should I bring extra footmen.”

Damen sighed inwardly. “I’ve heard the Canterbury Hall has reworked their shows in hopes of appealing to a more respectable audience.”

“Surely you’re not suggesting you’ll actually take them to a music hall, Ravenhill?” Lumsley harrumphed.

“If I don’t, it appears they will go anyway.”

“Then I must go as well. A gentleman escorting one attractive woman may not turn a head, but escorting additional would definitely make a commotion. Without me you’ll spend the whole of the night fighting off drunken scoundrels.” He made a fist and pounded the table. “A horrendous prospect. We can all see you’re not much of a fighter.”

Sarah gazed at Damen’s face for a prolonged moment. Her path of examination tingled along his skin. She finally delved into his eyes and said with silken sincerity, “I abhor violence of any sort, don’t you, Mr Ravenhill?”

Damen’s heart flipped in his chest, sending blood hammering through his veins. He tried to disguise his ragged exhale with a shrug.

“Sometimes it’s necessary to stand your ground.” Lumsley held up one hand. The ring and small finger were badly broken and had healed crooked and lumpy. “Earned these in boxing matches at Oxford. My trophies,” he said proudly.

Damen looked at his mangled fingers and stared at his face. The muttonchops and several extra stone had thrown him. A hazy reflection of the younger man he’d been came into his mind’s eye. Anger, guilt and unease churned in his gullet. Now he remembered why Lumsley looked familiar. Those haunting, bent digits were, in truth, Damen’s trademark.

***

“Goodbye, Sarah.” Amelia gave her a hug. “I’ll make a copy of the guest list as soon as I get home.” She took the footman’s hand and stepped into their carriage.

Calista winked and climbed in after her. “And I’ll look for appropriately diverting entertainment. See you anon.” She gave a dramatic wave out the window.

While she usually enjoyed visiting with her friends, Sarah had spent the last hour searching for an excuse to see them on their way. Mr Ravenhill’s unexpected arrival made her wonder what he’d found. It took every ounce of her self-control to keep her curiosity in check. Once or twice she’d nearly bitten a hole in her cheek to keep from asking something that would reveal their association.

Much as she’d tried not to think about him, he’d been in her thoughts almost constantly. His injuries appeared to be healing, but what of his head trauma? Odd little hesitations made it seem as if he was in the midst of some inner struggle, at times unable to decide what to say or do.

She’d never had such an urge to mother a man, to take him into her arms and tell him everything would be all right. And then… in her imagination, he’d show her the same care and reassurance.

Re-entering her home, she found him alone in the vestibule, turning this way and that… preening. Was he studying or admiring the fit of his fine continental suit in the long mirror? His posturing made her smile. Had she ever met a vainer man?

When he saw her, a corner of his mouth drew up in an ‘aha, you caught me’ kind of grin. Instead of blanching with embarrassment, he shifted his full attention to her. The weight of his admiration nearly caused her to stumble.

He’d a unique combination of strength, intelligence, and more than a dash of self-deprecating humor. And
Mercy!
sometimes when he gazed at her, the heat in his eyes threatened to melt everything inside her. In one sultry glance, he could make her feel as if she were the most wondrous being he’d ever seen. And he was gazing at her like that right now.

In four steps, he closed the distance between them. “Are they on their way?” The inflection in those simple words conjured an invitation that made her next breath shaky.

She nodded. “Has Lumsley left?”

Ravenhill’s smile slipped as he gestured with his chin. “He walked down that hallway.”

“Probably went for the parlor. My brother usually takes his nap in there.”

“I’m glad we have a moment to ourselves.” Ravenhill’s voice dipped to a confidential rumble as he raised his hand to brush back a stray hair from Sarah’s forehead. “Did the countess give you the list?”

Sarah caught a glimpse of his large, muscular hand as he dropped it to his side. A few minor scars decorated it, but there were no recent bruises or cuts. Evidence he’d
not
fought with his attackers. Had they incapacitated him immediately? There’d been a rash of garroting of late. The newspaper explained the technique whereby a wrist bone was used to press against the windpipe. She shuddered at the thought.

Lumsley accused Mr Ravenhill of not being much of a fighter. She’d a hard time believing a man of his size and obvious strength couldn’t defend himself. Still, something seemed off about his injuries. “The countess will see to the list as soon as she arrives home,” she whispered in the echoing vestibule.

I’ve also discovered a few more things that might be important. Are you aware your husband maintained a laboratory in a St Giles warehouse?”

“No!” The information disturbed her more than she wanted to admit. “Are you sure?” Why wouldn’t Edward have told her about it? “I don’t understand. He had an excellent and convenient one right here. How did you find out about this other laboratory?”

“An explosion and fire took place in a portion of one of my father’s warehouses. The tenant was Lord Strathford.”

“I don’t believe it. We never kept secrets from each other.” Sarah clutched her hands so tightly they began to ache.

Ravenhill swallowed. He looked as uncomfortable with being the carrier of such news as she was hearing it.

Pressure inside her chest mounted. “Strathford already survived one explosion? Do you think the two were connected?”

“Perhaps,” he said gently. “While searching for the plans you should also look for any notes on his experiments.”

She bit her lip. All these new revelations threatened to overwhelm her. Edward kept a secret laboratory in St Giles and she’d never suspected.

Underneath Ravenhill’s cuts and bruises, his features tensed into an ominous mask. “There is another question…”

Sarah didn’t like his dark expression. “The quickest way to the point is to it, Mr Ravenhill.” Her words sounded clipped even to her own ears. She braced herself for his next question.

He glanced around the vestibule before speaking in a quiet rumble. “Do you know if he employed any assistants, or perhaps a servant by the name of Mary Turner?”

“Mary Turner?” An icy skitter crawled up her spine. “No, I don’t know the name.” So Edward had a secret laboratory and
…
a woman? Sorrow and anger swooped in with a vengeance. Her weak leg gave way. She would have fallen had Mr Ravenhill not caught her around the waist.

In his haste to set her back on her feet, her bosom accidently brushed across the muscular contour of his torso. Now her traitorous breast tingled with awareness. Her back and abdomen heated where his warm hands grasped. And when he let go, she felt their loss.

“Curse me for a tactless oaf. I shouldn’t have sprung such disturbing information on you like that. My deepest apologies, my lady.”

She gazed up into his dark eyes, variously surrounded by a parti-colored tinge, and breathed in citrus and sandalwood. The dizzy moment had an aspect of unreality. Other than when they’d danced, she’d never stood so close to a man she found so arousing.

“As of late” – he paused and chewed on the inside of his cheek – “I’ve become even more convinced the most likely place for the plans is in your home. Have you begun your search?”

She nodded. “I’ve found nothing so far.”

Mr Ravenhill glanced around the hallway again and said in a low voice, “This may also be an ill-timed question, but have you given any further thought to collaborating?”

In truth, not an hour had passed without her thinking about it. Part of her yearned to get to know him better, while another part quailed at the possible repercussions.

“Working together might bring quicker results. Two heads are usually better than one...”

Sarah laced and unlaced her fingers as she started to pace in front of him. She finally stopped and gazed up. “May I ask something of you?”

“Anything, my lady.”

“Can I have your word you will use the utmost discretion?”

“I would have it no other way,” he said solemnly. “Shall we seal our pact with a shake?”

She gazed at his extended hand, her own tingling in anticipation of his touch. She’d just asked him to be discreet. Yet she suddenly wondered how it would feel to seal it with a kiss.

Footsteps echoed down the long marble hall from the vicinity of the parlor.

Sarah jolted at the sound and ushered him to the door. Just as she reached for the latch, he stepped close behind her and whispered in her ear, “Oh, and something else.”

She turned. “Yes?”

His gaze burned hot on her lips. Slowly, he leaned in.

Excitement and anticipation shrilled through her. Closing her eyes, her breasts strained against her bodice as she rose up to meet his kiss.

Air shifted around her. The clean smell of soap, sandalwood, citrus and Ravenhill’s own unique scent filled her nostrils. His breath warmed her cheek. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon, my lady.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Y… you’re very welcome and thank you for joining us.”

He lingered, barely an inch from her, his nearness making her heart hammer in her chest like the work crew tearing into her mansion.

Down the hall, Niles turned the corner and called out, “There you are, Sis.”

Ravenhill stepped back and drew in an audible breath while he replaced his hat, readying to leave.

Nearly pushing him out the door, she whispered hurriedly, “Would you please meet me at my mission in St Giles tomorrow at two?”

CHAPTER 10

Damen’s morning had been a puzzling one. Another note arrived from Mrs Ivanova. It contained the address of Professor Bodkin’s previous residence. On visiting it, the boarding house manager gave him Bodkin’s forwarding address. Damen immediately recognized it as the Falgate warehouse where Strathford had his laboratory.

This new information whirled around his mind as he arrived at Sarah’s Mission of Mercy.

Even so, it did little to dampen his excitement and anticipation when he bounded up the mission stairs at exactly two o’clock. Sarah, it appeared, had finally decided to work with him.

On stepping through the front door, he found a number of adults and children quietly sitting in chairs lining the brick walls of the entry hall.

A woman sat at a desk with a pencil and paper. She looked up and smiled. “Good afternoon. Her ladyship will see you in order of arrival. May I have your name?”

Damen flavored his words with the St Giles inflection. “Dame… uh, jus’ Ravenhill,” he stumbled.

“It will be a few minutes, Mr Ravenhill.” The woman added his name to the list.

He found a place to lean against the wall. Moments later, a nearby door flew open. Sarah bustled out, all afrazzle. She strode to the woman at the desk and picked up the list. After studying it for a few moments, she glanced around the hall and narrowed in on him.

“Mr Ravenhill, would you be so kind as to follow me?” She led him into the room she’d exited and scanned his workman’s clothes, her expression unreadable. Neat rows of child-size desks and chairs lined the room.

A weary huff escaped her lips. “So good of you to visit today. Tell me, how are you at arithmetic?”

He gazed at her, confused. “Arithmetic?” What did numbers and calculations have to do with their working together to find Strathford’s plans? Surely she didn’t need to know he’d got firsts in mathematics at Cambridge. “Adequate, I suppose.”

Frowning, as if she didn’t believe his answer, she asked, “More specifically, how are you at percentages?”

He shrugged.

She fixed him with a serious expression. “I’ve a big favor to ask. Would you be as kind as to show a few of those people out in the hall how to figure some real-life arithmetic problems? I’ll take the others. We can talk afterward.”