The Trouble With Seduction (21 page)

As the years rolled by and Eugenia remained unmarried, she’d become bitter and hostile. On several occasions, she’d made not-so-subtle jokes about black widows and their strange appetites for octogenarians. The comment used to rankle. After her discoveries about Edward last evening, Sarah wanted to laugh at the absurdity of her marriages.

Odd that Eugenia would speak to Mr Ravenhill. His bruises might startle initially, but it showed poor breeding on her part to show such distaste. Was that what she was commenting on? If so, no wonder she remained unmarried.

Sarah’s good mood had all but disappeared. Why were women stopping Mr Ravenhill on the street? Was he that irresistible?

This was always the way of it. There were plenty of pleasant people in London. Why, today of all days, when she’d started out so happy, did she have to cross paths with the grasping, ill-tempered, barbed-tongued banshees.

***

Damen brought the carriage to a stop, tossed the reins to his driver, and hopped from his father’s fast-racing gig onto the sidewalk. He needed to speak with the Falgate solicitor about the best way to proceed with their rent declines.

Sleep had been impossible after his evening with Lady Strathford. Common sense said he should crave rest; instead, he craved more of Sarah.

She’d wanted him. And, oh, how he’d wanted her. But the part of him that cherished fairness, the part of him that understood responsibility, knew he couldn’t allow it to go any further.

“
Vulf
.”

Damen’s head whipped around.

Mrs Ivanova stood on the threshold of the shop next door. “You seduce. Now have plans?” Her deep contralto made the words almost sound like a lion’s rumble.

“How do you know…?” He frowned in disgust. “Have you been following me?”

She seemed to gaze at him through her thick veil. “Men attack again…”

He couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement.

“Time short.” She handed him a note and glided away.

Damen pocketed the piece of paper without reading it and climbed the stairs to the offices above. When he’d concluded his business he returned the same way, stepping out onto the sidewalk. He’d just set his hat on his head when he heard a woman choke out his name.

“Mr Ravenhill? Is that you?”

He pivoted.

A rail-thin, bloodless woman of about thirty, wearing an elegant pastel-pink gown, stood shaded from the bright sun by her frilly parasol. Her pointy nose jutted out below an overly beribboned bonnet.

He swept off his hat and bowed.

She made a sharp cry and wheezed, “Good gracious! I’d heard you’d been assaulted, but I’d no idea they’d done such damage.” As she peered about his face, her expression pulled into a wince. “You’ve indeed been savaged!” Then her lips thinned petulantly. “Why haven’t you called on me?”

Damen wracked his memory. Who was this woman? Obviously, she knew Cory. Is this what his brother had to contend with? Every woman he met felt compelled to follow him? It suddenly came to him who she might be. Miss Lambert?”

She sniffed. “For a moment I thought you didn’t know who I was.”

Damen rubbed his jaw. “My apologies, Miss Lambert. It’s questionable which is more damaged, my face or my memory.”

“Do you not remember our wedding is in several weeks? She’d a grating speech pattern and a strange intonation on the word ‘wedding’, making a kind of hitched ‘ung, ung’ sound on the ‘ing’.

“Since you have recovered well enough to go about town, I will assume our wedding will commence in a little over two weeks as previously arranged.” She raised a gloved hand to her cheek. “Oh, dear, I must see to the invitations, and my dress and the flowers. And assemble the breakfast – an enormous undertaking in itself.”

While she reeled off the tasks, her voice picked up speed, rising in pitch with each project. “Why didn’t you at least send me a note regarding your recovery? You’ve put undue stress on an already difficult job.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Lambert. I can truthfully say I have no recollection of any of the details. My father handled matters immediately after my attack. I will get with him and sort this out.”

She pulled herself up in a show of self-possession and said pointedly, “I will expect you to call on me so that we may discuss the wedding and matters of importance.” She didn’t say goodbye, merely marched off in a swish of starched silk.

Damen watched her retreating form. What an unpleasant woman. He’d intended to quickly go about his business, round up Cory’s assailants and be on his way. Now he realized he might have been overly optimistic. If he weren’t careful, both of Cory’s women could become major setbacks.

And knowing Cory, he’d a feeling they might not be the only snags in his plans.

CHAPTER 19

Later that day, Damen stood with one arm looped around the carved post of Cory’s bed shaking his head. “…most disagreeable harpy I’ve ever met. You certainly got your bollocks in a mangle this time. Of all the women in the world, what possessed you to choose such a frightful harridan. I can’t say your mistress is any more appealing.

“Mrs Ivanova instructed me to seduce Lady Strathford for the plans. But I can’t do it. The truth is, I’m starting to care for Sarah. I know, I know. You’ve warned me it’s never a good idea. Have a little fun, enjoy them as much as you can, love them for a time, and move on. There are too many delights to settle for only one.

“It’s even worse than that, though. I’ve started to imagine making a life with her. She fills me with so many good things – excitement, joy, laughter, contentment, and I’m having trouble keeping my hands off her. I know it can never be. But I can’t seem to help myself.”

He strolled to the other side of the bed. “I need to find your assailants and quickly, damn it! Strathford’s plans are key. If you could point me in the right direction it would help immensely.”

Cory remained still and mute, except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Damen gazed down at his brother’s sea trunk. “Could you possibly have left more clues?” He lifted the lid, and started taking things out – Cory’s navigating equipment, newspapers, journal and books. A worn, pocket-sized treatise fell open to one of its dog-eared pages. Air whistled through his teeth. “Cory, you heathen.”

Damen turned the book upside down, then studied it right side up. He flipped to the next page, feeling his pulse skip faster. His eyes bored into the picture. He turned to the next page. His mouth went dry as he tried to imagine exactly how it should be done, then referred back to the page before for clarification.

He blew out a shaky lungful, snapped the book shut and gazed at the title.
The Sacred Kama Sutra: A Pictorial Journey
. “Trust you, dear brother, to study such arts until the manual is nearly falling apart. Perhaps I should give it a thorough inspection. Hope you don’t mind if I borrow it.” He pocketed the book and set out to find their father.

***

Damen entered the orangery, a large glassed-in room containing rare flora. For a powerful lord whose physical stature had only been exceeded by his force of will, he found it odd his father enjoyed whiling away the hours growing and pruning rare flowers and miniature trees. His toils had made a surprisingly lovely indoor garden.

Next to a screen in the corner, his father sat in his wheelchair carefully studying a plant on the table before him. There, a jade-colored pot held a dwarf pine clinging to the side of a rock, twisting precariously as if held there by high winds.

His father’s hand trembled slightly as he snipped off one tiny leaf.

“How are your miniature azaleas doing, father?”

He blinked and set down his sheers as if he’d just realized Damen had joined him. “There may be some good blooms next year.” He gestured toward a crude wooden chair on the other side of the table. “Sit.”

Damen turned the chair around backwards and straddled it. “What news does the doctor have about Cory?”

His father curled a lip sourly. “Very little.”

“Perhaps we should call in someone else with expertise in head trauma.”

“I have. He gave even less hope than Doctor Neeley. He says to keep him comfortable. It’s now in the Lord’s hands.”

Damen frowned. “So you’re done? You’re going to do nothing more?”

His father gave him a bright, almost militant stare. “You know I’m not a ‘turn-loose-let-God’ kind of man. Spent very few moments darkening the door of any religious institution. I would give anything for you and Cory to live long, happy, healthy lives. But I now pray for both of you.”

The catch in his father’s voice laced another knot around Damen’s chest. “Then we’ll find someone else! Another head specialist, a shaman, a witch doctor. There’s got to be someone out there who can help!”

His father’s face sagged in great tired wrinkles as he gazed off into the distance. When had he grown so old? It seemed only a year before that health and vigor fairly radiated off him. He’d resembled men decades his junior.

Fear crawled up Damen’s spine. They couldn’t give up now. Not yet. The doctor had told him the longer Cory remained in a coma, the bleaker his chances were for a full recovery.

“Dare I ask if you’ve made any progress finding his attackers?”

Seeing his father’s fragileness and knowing he hadn’t initially wanted him pursuing Cory’s assailants, Damen didn’t want to tell him he’d been chased through the rookery by five ruffians and assaulted in an alley by three more.

“Some,” was all he’d say. “I’d like to take my findings and seek help with the local police.”

“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” his father croaked. “I’ve suspected for some time that those, at least in St Giles, are either monumentally incompetent or corrupt to the core. In the past, I had to hire my own investigators and former military men to clean up problems.”

“Speaking of corrupt incompetence, I saw Hooker in Mayfair. Did you know they’ve promoted him to inspector?”

His father’s lips wrinkled in distaste. “Of course.”

Damen hoped he could get him to reveal more. “As a boy I hated Hooker. He was everything vile and malicious. My opinion has since worsened.”

“You would do well to stay as far away from him as possible,” his father muttered.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Over the years I’ve suspected him of a multitude of evils. But I’ve never been able to prove one of them. He is the worst kind of devil: smart
and
slippery.”

“I’ve made some progress regarding the fires and unraveling the decline in rents,” Damen volunteered. “But how should I proceed if Cory…?”

What if Cory doesn’t wake up?
The unvoiced words hung ominously in the air.

“Earlier today, I had the unfortunate experience of running into Miss Eugenia Lambert. She now knows Cory is out of bed and going about town. It’s time we discussed his marriage.”

His father hung his head. “Your brother moved his little finger on his left hand today. He hasn’t opened his eyes, but I’m heartened he will soon.”

Damen felt a surge of joy. “What did Doctor Neeley say?”

A sad scowl was his answer.

The momentary jubilation only made him more discouraged. “Miss Lambert made it clear I was to call on her to discuss the wedding. I have vowed to find Cory’s attackers, but once they’re brought to justice I’m through. I have no intention of dealing with his fiancée.”

His father gazed out from under the thick brows that now dominated his skeletal face. “You carry a heavy burden. I know it is not easy. But for the time being you may need to play along.”

“I thought you spoke with her father about putting the wedding on hold.”

“Yes, until Cory recovered.” He rubbed his face with a trembling hand. “I spoke with her father the day after your brother was attacked. I was so sure he would wake up quickly. Now?” He let out a tired breath.

The sight of his father so ill and clearly mourning his brother’s lack of recovery worried Damen even more. His family was teetering on the brink. “How did Cory get himself shackled so quickly?”

“I know Gordon Lambert well. I also had knowledge of the other two young women.”

“You mentioned Lady Strathford as one of the choices. How were you acquainted with her?” Damen hoped he could get his father to reveal how Lord Strathford ended up renting one of the Falgate warehouses for his laboratory. That coincidence still puzzled him.

“I knew her mother years ago.” A sheen brightened his eyes. He gazed off into the distance as if he saw something clearly before him. “Lovely, lovely woman. We were… friends. She admired my fast carriage and cattle. I shouldn’t have let her—” He clamped his jaws shut and his features tightened to something approximating rage. “The police ruled it an accident. I’ve always suspected otherwise.”

Good lord
, his father knew her mother? A chill crawled his spine. “When did you know her?”

“Several years after your mother died.” His father’s face hardened into a stiff mask. Damen knew that expression meant asking more questions on the subject would be fruitless. He made a mental note to try again later.

“I don’t understand why a marriage needed to be arranged for Cory in the first place. He has no trouble attracting women.”

“Ah, but few have real money. Eugenia’s father has bags full of the stuff, and she needed a husband.”

“Listen, Father, I feel very close to finding the villains, but what if it takes a little extra time? Miss Lambert reminded me the wedding is set for two weeks from now. I will not play the doting fiancé. If Cory hasn’t woken to take his place at the altar, what then?”

His father rubbed his temple and gave him a pointed look. “You should know, Cory has taken it one step further. He took an advance on her dowry.”

“An advance!” Damen thought he’d be ill. “So even if Cory had the bad manners to cry off, both societal and legal mandates say he can’t?”

His father brushed a spec of dirt off the table. “We needed money to cover loans coming due.”

“Why didn’t you contact me? I could have arranged something.”

“You were already stretched too thin with your warehouses. But perhaps you could…”

Damen jumped to his feet and almost knocked over the chair. “Oh, no. Don’t even say it. I have no intention of marrying Miss Lambert, not even as Cory’s proxy.”