The Trouble With Seduction (15 page)

And their kiss. His pulse broke into a gallop at the thought. She’d melted into him so passionately, responded with such fervor, the sedate caress he’d intended turned into a blazing inferno.
Good God
, she could kiss. If that old woman hadn’t opened her door when she did... he squirmed in the seat.

Now his baser desires threatened to overwhelm his honorable intentions. Mrs Ivanova’s instructions to seduce Sarah only served to make him feel guiltier. Should the plans truly be that important, he would find another way to obtain them.

At some point he’d developed a powerful need to keep her safe. Those villains were chasing him, and they’d seen them together. It put her in their sights and in danger for whatever Cory had been mixed up in.

On the sidewalk outside, a crumpled top hat bobbed above the crowd. “Blast! It’s Red Ribbon again. Duck!” Damen bent over and pushed Sarah down with him.

When the cab finally rounded a corner, he raised himself up enough to peer out the window. “I think we lost him.”

Before Sarah sat up fully, she peeked outside and pushed her escaped locks back up under her hat. “How did those ruffians know we would visit your father’s warehouse today?”

Damen scrambled for words. He knew he couldn’t tell Sarah about his visit to Bodkin’s previous residence and the forwarding address to the Falgate warehouse. She was an intelligent woman and quite capable of putting two and two together, as in… where did he get the original lead to Bodkin’s boarding house?

He didn’t want to dance around the answer… another note arrived from Mrs Ivanova. “And who,” he could hear her ask, “is Mrs Ivanova?”

Damen couldn’t mention Cory’s mistress and he didn’t want to lie. So he shrugged. “There are lots of hidden eyes in this part of town.”

“It is odd that five villains awaited us,” she mused. “Were they the same five who attacked you?”

“I don’t know.”
Would Cory?
Damen suspected the answers lay right in front of them. Yet the mystery of the plans and Cory’s attack continued to become more complex.

Additionally, it seemed the more desirable and intriguing Sarah became, the more things lined up to keep them apart.

Damen began life at the edge of London’s rough-and-tumble slums. A quirk of fate made him heir to a viscount. He learned well at school that society would never see him as anything but an interloper.

And he wasn’t so sure they were wrong. He’d too many rough edges, too much of the common people in him. Yet his romp about the rookery confirmed he no longer belonged to that world, either.

Early on, he acquired a talent for fighting and realized rescuing victims from their assailants brought a measure of gratification. Still, he was a brute trouncing other brutes. It was all a matter of degree.

Lady Strathford was a refined, wealthy lady who’d led a sedate life of propriety and respectability. If she witnessed his barbaric abilities, she’d probably be appalled. And it hadn’t escaped him that Sarah held a certain resemblance to his first disastrous love – a mistake he’d sworn not to repeat.

He’d been fifteen when Lady Penelope came into his life. She was the same age as him, pretty, lively, and he’d thought himself in love. The sister of one of his teammates, she came with her parents to watch their rugby games.

But Damen didn’t realize the depth of her brother’s bias. He considered him a low-class upstart who would never be good enough for his sister.

A classmate had been sent to bring him to a nearby garden. There he found the ragged strips of his mother’s shawl dangling from the tree branches.

Damen closed in on himself, sick at heart that Penelope’s brother and friends had destroyed his only remembrance of his mother. They circled, jeered and pushed him about. Lady Penelope’s brother slammed him in the jaw. “Stay away from my sister, you guttersnipe!”

Confusion, heartache and the old feelings of helplessness welled up, filling his fists with rage. Damen fought back, at first in a gentlemanly fashion as he’d been taught at school. As more boys came at him, he slid into the dirty, bare-knuckle street fighting he’d learned in St Giles.

Four boys lay on the ground when he suddenly realized Penelope had arrived. “My lady?” He dropped his fists and the rest of the boys melted into the bushes.

She rushed to her brother where he lay on the ground groaning and bleeding. “How could you do this to him?” she wailed. “You monster! You animal!” Her pretty face wrinkled into a frightful grimace of revulsion. She glared up at Damen. “You are nothing but a filthy brute.”

Lady Penelope was right. He may be heir to a viscount, but deep down he was a savage brute... a side of himself he was loath to let Sarah see.

And he knew he would never be good enough for her.

***

Sarah glanced over at Mr Ravenhill. Apart from pushing her down to hide from Red Ribbon, he’d kept his distance since they’d entered the hackney. Had his kisses truly only been part of the disguise? She already missed the way they’d clung to one another and the delicious way his mouth moved over hers.

Niles’s words whispered in her mind like the ghostly moan of a fogbound ship. What did she really know about Mr Ravenhill? In truth, his past seemed as murky as his faulty memory. But his actions quite set her heart aflutter. Bit by bit, he was stealing her heart.

He was so different from any man she’d known. She enjoyed his charming company, his courtesy, clever humor, and even the fleeting moments of commanding authority.

Then there was his heartwarming selflessness and altruism. Aristocratic men weren’t known for their empathy toward the poor or their willingness to dirty their hands in trade, and even less for their intimate knowledge of street commerce.

When danger threatened, yet another man emerged, full of grit and courage and decisiveness. A pack of villains had chased them, yet not once had she felt herself in jeopardy. Well, perhaps when the roof plank gave way, but he’d saved her from that as well.

They’d charged into one of the most dangerous parts of the city and escaped unscathed. Save for a few moments of uncertainty, Ravenhill managed to negotiate the rookery with remarkable ease.

But how did the second son of a lord of the realm know his way around the myriad twists and turns of one of the city’s darkest dens of vice and villainy?

“What a day!” She turned to Ravenhill, trying to make conversation.

He seemed miles away. His brows furrowed as if he were vexed.

Her heart sank further. His reticence only confirmed his caresses in the foggy doorway truly were part of an act.

His kiss was only the second she’d experienced with such passion. Her first came with similar anticipation, though largely fueled by rebellion.

After her mother’s death, when Sarah was thirteen, her father isolated her on one of their family’s country estates. From then on, he discouraged her from thinking for herself. Only her brother and father possessed activities and opinions worth consideration.

She became an embellishment, to be seen and not heard. Fighting her father’s rigid control only made things worse for her. Eventually, she retreated behind a façade of vacuousness.

The summer she turned sixteen they visited another of his estates where she met Cyril, the handsome miller’s son.

Her father praised her for volunteering at the vicarage, and touted how a godly woman would bring glory to herself and her family. In truth, the vicarage was a cover for her and Cyril’s clandestine meetings.

After a picnic, a kiss, discovery and a whipping, their brief flirtation tore apart both their lives. Two weeks later, her father marched her down the aisle to marry Lord Hardington. Cyril departed for Manchester to find a new life.

The carriage swayed round a corner heading back toward Mayfair, bringing her out of her reverie. Mr Ravenhill continued to gaze out the window, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

“I’m not sure we found anything of consequence at my husband’s former laboratory. I find it interesting he chose a ‘fortification able to withstand a bombardment of artillery’. Isn’t that what the farrier said?”

Ravenhill gazed at her from under lowered brows. “Perhaps your husband rented such a place as a precaution. His projects may have been prone to explosions or fires. There doesn’t seem to be any evidence to confirm that Mary Turner or anyone else was injured, however.”

“While my husband’s first laboratory didn’t hold many clues, perhaps we can discover something more in his office. Would you be amenable to meeting me tomorrow morning at Strathford Hall?”

CHAPTER 13

A spitting rain drenched the dark neighborhood by the time his no-count gang finally arrived at their meeting place in back of an old cork factory. The Scythe sat at the front of the room working his cheroot from side to side while he watched some of his con men fidget in the few available seats. The rest – his tricksters, sharks, cutpurses, petty thieves and housebreakers – stood around the walls, their shoulders hunched, eyes averted.

Now what did that idiot say? They’d let Ravenhill and Lady Strathford slip through their fingers this afternoon. He wanted to carve out all five of their livers.

“…and we talked to snitches.” The idiot twisted the red ribbon on his hat. “No one saw anyone give them directions. Either they had a map, or they already knew their way.”

The Scythe scraped a hand over his jaw. The rookery was an intricate maze with too many dead ends, traps and hidden byways. Even rats had to learn their way.

He knew the labyrinth like he knew his own two feet, and he knew for a fact he couldn’t fit through some of those closets and passageways. One wrong turn and a man Ravenhill’s size would be stuck.

Only those who knew the place well could find their way with such speed. Outsiders easily got lost and caught.

And they didn’t.

He carefully rubbed his temple with one finger. The infernal throbbing made his head feel like it would explode. Something about Ravenhill wasn’t right. Why couldn’t he put his finger on it?

“Did all of you suddenly become sluggards and simpletons? Twice you’ve failed me.” The Scythe lowered his voice dangerously. “Ravenhill is still waltzing around
my
St Giles like he owns the place. His father may have title to the property…” – he pounded the raw plank table in front of him and pointed his meaty finger at the men for emphasis – “…but I own
everyone
!”

“Uh, boss?” A fellow turned his stovepipe hat between twitching fingers. “We looked into the mission lady like you asked. Turns out she’s teachin’ figures to some of the new ‘uns. She’s not only teachin’ the wee ones, she’s teachin’ adults… our pigeons. One of ’em told me we’re charging too much for our vegetable wagon loans. The pigeon and the mission lady had it all worked out.”

The Scythe pointed his cheroot at the imbecile. “Did you remind him I control the cost and variety of vegetables he can buy at the produce mart?”

“He wouldn’t take the loan. Says our price is three times the farmer’s. He doubts he can make enough on the street to pay back the loan. Said in four months his savings would be gone and he’d be in the poor house.”

“She’s also teaching them how to figure rent increases,” another volunteered.

“Everyone in St Giles pays
me
!” He pounded his fist on the table again. “If they start arguing, you know what to do. Make examples. Relieve those bumpkins of their savings. NOW!”

“How far should we go? Making examples, I mean,” a swarthy fellow with a deep scar on his chin rasped.

“Be creative. Threaten what they cherish. That’ll make them sing to your tune. Make sure you don’t leave evidence, though, or you might swing from a rope.” He cracked the knuckles on one hand. “Plenty of money to be made. People are crowding in here like rats. If the new ‘uns don’t like my prices, they can go back where they came from and starve to death! Has anyone else had a rustic try to lower my rates?”

Three of the gang members slowly raised their hands.

The Scythe smirked. “I’ve let the charity lady indulge herself long enough. It’s time I showed widow goody-two-shoes who owns this town!”

CHAPTER 14

Sarah shivered in dawn’s half-light while squinting through the knothole in the fence. A thick mist swirled in the alley beyond. Normally she didn’t rise this early, but she needed a few uninterrupted hours with Mr Ravenhill before her staff, her brother or Lumsley intruded.

Standing, waiting like this, had the air of a tryst.

She made a furtive glance about the mansion’s windows and quickly gazed about the wreckage that was Edward’s invention garden. Self-reproach ate at her for its careless destruction.

After the fuses had been found, she’d been all too happy to halt the renovation. The workmen had destroyed more than they’d fixed. Now, not only was a portion of her mansion half demolished and boarded up, but rubble, piles of brick, rock and timber made her once-thriving flowerbeds and downy lawn resemble a battleground. She couldn’t help compare the sight to the recent havoc in her life.

Tearing her attention from the shambles, she turned back to the hole in the fence. Beyond, the fog-bound alley remained empty.

Had she truly expected Ravenhill, the second son of a lord, to meet her at dawn? Dawn? Men such as him weren’t known to rise before noon. Until a few days ago, spending countless hours in the company of a charming rake would have been unthinkable. Her strict, controlling father was probably rolling in his grave.

She fisted her hands in her cloak to keep them from trembling. Additionally, not long ago, she would have refused to bring a man such as Ravenhill into the sanctity of her home. The possibility of jeopardizing her good name and reputation held too great a risk.

Yesterday’s experience reordered her priorities. Their rookery adventure gave her a new perspective. Discovering the villains’ tenacity and her near fall provoked her will to survive. She needed to prove she didn’t murder Edward. Gossip and position in society counted for little if one was dead.

Minutes crawled by as her nerves continued to fray. In truth, Mr Ravenhill was the most puzzling, complex man she’d ever met. What she’d thought hauteur at their first meeting, she now knew to be studied reserve due to unusual circumstances. In fact, he possessed a delightful wit, an abundance of charm, and a sharp mind.