The Trouble With Seduction (13 page)

“Does your solicitor have any word on the whereabouts of Professor Bodkin?” Damen didn’t want to reveal his visit with the lodging house manager or his discovery that the professor’s forwarding address was Strathford’s laboratory at his father’s warehouse.

“Not as yet.”

“It’s possible a good private investigator who specializes in finding missing persons might be more successful in locating him and Mary Turner. Some have the ability to search other countries. Have you considered recruiting one yourself?”

“I presume my solicitor has employed the best. I certainly pay him handsomely enough to do the job.” Niles has great trust in him and doubts the police inspector would dare arrest me.”

Damen lowered his brows. “Have I mentioned Hooker should never be underestimated? You are a most competent and capable woman, my lady. Now is the time to rally your connections with anyone who can bolster your case and apply pressure in the right places.”

Sarah looked at him aghast. “Do you really think he will take it that far?”

“When it comes to devious scoundrels like Hooker, it is best to be prepared for anything.”

CHAPTER 11

“Mercy! What is that smell? Are you quite certain this is where my husband had his laboratory?” Sarah covered her nose with her handkerchief.

Damen gazed out the cab’s window as it turned into the fog-bound side street. “My father’s warehouse is just up ahead.”

Ramshackle buildings took form in the cave-like gloom, each a brace for its neighbor. Years of coal smoke and carcass rendering had coated everything in an oily black. Above, lines of clothes dangled across the narrow street like corpses in a giant web.

“I tried to warn you.” He’d known the refined sensibilities of a gently bred lady were sure to be appalled.

Damen had lived several streets away until he was nine and had a good idea of what composed that particular vapor. He must have been inured back then because it truly was gagging now.

“Some of the vilest industries make their homes here.” He tried not to cough. “Sulfur refining, tanning works… a number of slaughterhouses.” He didn’t want to think about what made up the variegated colors in the sludge oozing down the sides of the street.

A nondescript brick building rolled into view as the cab pulled to a stop.

Sarah sat forward clutching her handkerchief to her nose and peered intently at the warehouse. “I envisioned something larger.” Her voice had the nasality of a bad head cold. “I can’t imagine Lord Strathford ever setting foot in this place.”

Someone had painted across the front of the building a long, red, curved blade attached to a pole. It looked like something used to harvest wheat or the favorite tool of the Grim Reaper.

Sounds of clanking machinery grew louder as the cab driver opened the door and let down the stairs. “Mind yer step, the ground is slippery.”

Damen nimbly crawled out of the cab in his workman’s clothes and assisted Sarah. He handed the driver a quid and promised another if he waited until they returned. They’d not taken their own posh cattle or carriages to guard their anonymity.

Yellow fog swirled in front of them revealing a narrow sidewalk covered with bales of hides. Heavy wagon wheels had worn grooves into the dirt street. A few pedestrians in various stages of destitution shuffled through the murk.

The muscle in the back of his neck twitched. How he wished he’d convinced her not to come here today.

A steer’s fierce scream rent the air.

Sarah’s hand flew to her collar. It appeared she tried to disguise her alarm by scratching her neck. The coarse wool dress, something a scullery maid might wear, no doubt itched, but the animal’s cry disturbed him, too.

Sarah adjusted her bedraggled old straw hat, one so flimsy her unruly tresses seemed ready to escape. She stepped toward a side alley. They found a door and warily entered.

Nothing about the vestibule welcomed. Obscene pictures had been scraped into the scarred bricks. Pigeons roosted and gibbered aloft where once there’d been windows. The muscle in his neck twitched with more vehemence. Something wasn’t right. “Perhaps you should wait in the cab,” Damen whispered.

Her lips tightened. “Not on your life.”

He sighed and silently led the way down the cavernous hallway. Hazy light seeped in from the vestibule and down the stairwell. Soot covered the heavy block walls. He finally recognized one of the odors overlaying the burned smell. The place reeked of fear.

Behind a door a horse shrieked, startling them both. Sarah gripped his sleeve. He took her hand and curled it around his elbow, resting his over hers for reassurance.

Something kicked the wooden door on the other side launching Sarah into his arms. He held her against him, her body trembling, as pigs squealed to their left. Cries of sheep and steers echoed somewhere above them.

“I’ve never heard of keeping livestock indoors like this.”

Her warm breath filtered through his work smock making his chest and other areas tingle with awareness. “They’re here temporarily, for the slaughterhouses,” he muttered. “These used to be small workshops.”

He’d not been in this building since he was a boy. It had always reminded him of a series of underground vaults. Now it seemed ten times as grim.

Harsh clanking of metal on metal drew his attention to a slightly ajar door at the end of the hall where the ledger said Strathford rented his laboratory.

Approaching it, Damen peered inside. Two farriers wearing grimy clothes and leather aprons stood hammering horseshoes on their anvils. Lamps glowed above. To one side, coals smoldered in a fireplace. Tools of their trade sat against the bricks. A few pieces of metal lay in the coals, glowing milky red.

“Hello?” Damen called.

Neither man looked up.

“I say, may we ask you a few questions?” Sarah intoned in her melodious voice.

Both heads whipped around. The men’s mouths fell open as Sarah stepped into the room.

“Could you please tell me how long you’ve been in this building?” she asked without preamble.

The bearded farrier gazed at his partner and responded warily, “Goin’ on four years.” He nodded his head in the direction of the hall. “Used to be in one of the smaller workshops ‘afore this one opened up.”

“Several years ago there was an explosion and fire.” She gestured around the room. “Is this the part of the warehouse where it happened?”

The bearded farrier set down his hammer and tongs and mopped his sleeve across his brow. “Aye. These brick walls are near indestructible, practically a fortification. They’d probably withstand a bombardment of artillery.”

Sarah moved toward him, imploring. “Might any papers, artifacts, or tools have survived?

He scratched at the scraggly hairs curling out of his open collar while he eyed her. “A few odds and ends. We were told if we cleaned the place we could have the lot. What we didn’t sell, we put in a box for later.”

“Could I please see the box?”

The man ambled over to a corner and moved several crates.

While he carried one over to the scarred wooden table in front of them, Sarah asked, “Do you know if anyone was hurt in the explosion and fire?”

“No one. ‘S what we heard.”

She raised her brows significantly at Damen before they both peered into the box.

Tangled metal coils, similar to the inner workings of a clock, lay at the bottom of the box as well as a number of blackened, small ball bearings, a hollowed-out wooden pipe and several charred pieces of carved wood. A small patch of yellow paint clung to one of the carvings. He picked it up. “Wonder what this is?”

Sarah’s eyes went round as she snatched it from his grasp and dropped it back into the box. “I’ve no idea.” She fished around the box a little more and dusted off her hands before turning to the farrier. “Did you happen to see anyone visit the previous tenant?”

The farriers looked to one another. “Saw a flashy woman once or twice.” The bearded man gave a crooked grin.

Damen suspected the flashy woman was Mary Turner. Marbanks had said Cory was investigating her disappearance after the explosion and fire. “How about men?”

“Didn’t see any, but we heard several arguments.”

Sarah frowned and walked around the room, peering into the corners. “Do you remember anything else unusual lying about that may have been swept up and thrown away?”

The farrier scratched his bearded cheek. “Lots of broken glass lay about, melted copper-tubing, other small pieces of metal.”

“And this is everything?” Sarah sounded disappointed as she pointed to the box.

“Aye. Didn’t get around to selling those.”

“Do you wish to take the box to study its contents?” Damen asked.

She furrowed her brow. “It doesn’t seem to have anything worthwhile. Thank you for your time,” she said to the farrier. “Shall we go?”

When Sarah and Damen neared the building’s entrance, men’s voices filtered down from above. The heavy scrape of their boots across the hallway’s wooden planks made the hairs on his arms stand on end. He clasped her elbow and urged her to step up the pace.

Just as he and Sarah entered the vestibule, he looked back to see five unkempt ruffians clatter down the stairs.

“I’ll take yer finger off if you try that trick on me again,” a man with a red ribbon tied round his bent top hat growled to one of the men behind him.

The fellow hollered back, “Weren’t no trick! Jack dealt the cards.”

“Shut up, you filthy cutthroat. I know what I saw,” Red Ribbon snarled.

Damen’s inner alarms blared. He tugged Sarah out the door.

A voice shouted behind them, “I knew I heard somethin’. It’s them!”

“Run!” Damen dragged her out the door. They dashed around the building expecting to find their waiting cab.

“Blast!” He’d been afraid this would happen. The driver had left. Now he’d have to make a mad dash with Sarah in tow.

He clutched her arm tighter. “We’ll have to make a run for it. Stay with me now.” He tugged her down the street to the intersection where he risked a quick glance over his shoulder. Behind, the ruffians rushed toward them, wielding cudgels. And they were gaining ground.

Sarah yelped. “They see us.”

Her gown made it difficult to run, and he had to make a decision. If they continued down the street, the men would soon be on them. Taking the back way through the rookery was perilous, but they might be able to sneak around them. Could he remember the twists and turns? What if they’d changed?

He made a quick turn, pulled her down a side alley and unlatched a gate. To one side he lifted a trap door that led down a passage to another building, up a rickety spiral staircase, and along a rock tunnel to a hidey-hole he remembered.

He pulled her in after him. The small, dark space, not much bigger than a closet, was so tight they had to squeeze against one another to close the door.

With each gasp of air, Sarah’s breasts rubbed against his chest, causing his skin to burn with awareness. Each time one of them moved, electricity flickered across his skin. Under different circumstances, it would have been highly intimate, and his body was having difficulty knowing the difference. Any second now, his John Johnson was going to wake up and take a stretch.

“Should we…?”

He placed a finger to her lips for silence. Ears tended to grow out of the walls in this part of town.

With little room to maneuver, he slid his hands around her waist to search the wall behind her. In the process, his forearms and hands combed across her derriere. “There’s a latch…” He reached to prod the wooden slats. The small space required he press his chest heavily against her and turn his face into her neck for a much too intimate embrace.

Her lavender and peach perfume filled his senses. She smelled good enough to lick
. Keep your mind on the business at hand
, he almost groaned aloud.

He slid his hands lower on the wall, bending deeper, his head now pillowed against her warm, soft bosom. Were he to lie atop her, they couldn’t have been pressed tighter together.

Her heart fluttered under his ear like a small bird’s.

“My apologies,” he whispered.

Fear and excitement and a heavy helping of lust thumped through his veins.

Where was the blasted latch?

He searched the wall more frantically, his shoulders rolling against her, enclosing her in an awkward embrace.

By now her breathing had turned rather thready.

When he stretched to explore the other side of the wall behind her, he had to roll his head to her other very comfortable bosom.

Choked gasps escaped her mouth.

“Apologies,” he breathed, prodding the wall with more vigor, his head pressing heavier into her breast.

This was becoming more dangerous in about fifteen different ways.

His fingers finally caught on a ridge. “Found it,” he exhaled. The latch clicked and a small door swung open behind Sarah.

“Careful now.” He took her hands to help her back into the narrow opening of an equally tight passage. Then lowered himself to duck through. “Lead on,” he said in a low voice. They hastened down a set of steps into another dim passage. Small spears of light found holes in the rotted wood siding.

“I don’t know where I’m going.” Her words had an edge of worry. Was she limping?

He grasped her waist and turned her down a passage held together with scraps of wood.

“It’s cramped and filthy. Are there vermin?” she whispered.

He sought words to ease her mind. “Vermin don’t like it here, either.”

She didn’t move.

All right, so she wasn’t amused. He turned her toward him, lifted her against him and kept walking.

With her arms coiled around his neck, her breath now came in quick little gasps.

He felt it, too. Their bodies fit so well, his nearly quaked with delight.

When they reached the narrow alcove at its end, the villains’ voices seeped through the gaps in the wood. Damen squeezed Sarah and himself into the alcove’s dark corner away from the light.

This was torture. His hands and lips prickled in frustration. With each successive intimate touch, he was finding it harder and harder to remain the gallant.