The Trouble With Seduction (30 page)

He turned on his heel and headed for his room. Gormley met him at the door and helped him undress.

“Should I have a bath readied for you, Mr Ravenhill?”

Damen clenched his jaw, saying nothing.

A glass of brandy appeared in front of him. “You read my mind. Thank you.”

“You looked as if you needed one.” Wordlessly, Gormley handed him a tray with several envelopes.

Damen took a gulp of brandy and tore open a telegram.

Damen exhaled in frustration, and set the telegram back on the tray.

“More good news, Mr Ravenhill?”

“None whatsoever.” He picked up a letter and ripped it open:

Damen’s stifled curses turned into a rumbling growl. “Gorm, I’m in the mood to go a few rounds. You game?”

The valet’s eyes widened with alarm. “I dare not.”

“Then you’d better lay out my dockworker clothes.”

CHAPTER 26

Per Damen’s instructions, his carriage driver let him off several blocks from the Painted Lady’s boxing club. Damen had a heart full of hurt and frustration and knew he needed to work it out. Failure had trampled every last thing he’d attempted since he’d arrived in London.

While he strolled down the sidewalk, he ruminated over his confrontation with Sarah.

From the start he’d known there’d be no future with her. Sooner or later, this day had to come. What he hadn’t anticipated was the palpable loss and disappointment. As much as he’d prepared, his heart refused to be logical about it. He loved Sarah, was in love with her, and wanted to spend the rest of his days with her. But it could never be.

When he passed an alley, he thought he heard muffled cries for help. Just past sunset, dim light filtered in from the street lantern and a couple of lamps in windows overlooking the alley.

He stepped into the unwholesome murk. “What’s going on down there?”

“None a yer business. Move along,” a voice growled near a stack of crates.

Damen strode down the alley and found three cutpurses robbing a man dressed like a clerk. In short order he gave the villains a good clouting. They were smart enough to run.

He helped the man to his feet and assisted him in brushing the mud and filth from his clothes.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” the clerk said through a bleeding lip while shaking uncontrollably. “I thought I was dead for sure.”

“Best you head straight home. This is a dangerous part of town.”

As if punctuating his statement, a chain rattled at the mouth of the alley sending a chill down Damen’s spine. He wheeled around. The three cutpurses had returned with reinforcements and weapons. Six men now came at him wielding cudgels, a metal chain, and pipes.

Pure, unadulterated anger charged down his arms to his fists, almost making them quiver. He drew his lips across his teeth, baring them in a vicious smile.

The men rushed toward him like wolves attacking a stag.

“Run!” he yelled at the clerk.

Time slowed to a dim red haze. Seconds stretched to minutes as Damen let his fists rage. He punched, kicked, knocked out teeth, broke hands and fingers, pulled out hair and beards, broke crates over the villains’ heads and shoved them into the brick walls.

Four more miscreants appeared at the head of the alley to join the fight.

His attention drifted between a methodical dispatch of his attackers and replaying images of Sarah’s lovely smile, dancing with her through the streets of St Giles, her patient teaching of the poor, her soft caresses, their romantic, candlelit dinner, the ecstasy they’d shared. A voice deep inside cried out for the love he’d lost, then taunted him for allowing his heart to get involved in a losing game.

The ruffians put all they had into giving him a proper beating. While he heard them bash at his flesh, no pain registered. The hurt inside overwhelmed the blows to his body.

Everything around him spun. Twice, exhaustion nearly sent him to the ground. A villain hit him with a pipe. The thump made an alarming sound in his side.

Still no pain.

Damen whirled on him, tore the pipe from his hands, and shoved him up against the wall. He clouted him in the jaw over and over. When the villain finally stopped slugging back, Damen grabbed him by his ring and little finger. “And this is for the ribs, you filthy devil.” He cracked the man’s fingers over his knee and let him drop to the ground. Then gave him two more kicks for good measure.

Normally such a fight would have him invigorated. He’d saved the clerk from almost certain death, trounced villains who harmed and killed innocents as a way of life.

Yet all he felt was numb.

“Saraaah!”

The word ripped from his throat like the sound of tearing timber.

Damen staggered out of the alley with a copper taste in his mouth, his face and hands wet with something warm and slick.

He didn’t know how he made it back to Falgate Hall. He remembered Gormley’s gasp of horror and several footmen helping him in and out of a bath. Doctor Neeley poked at him, asking inane questions. He was Cory Ravenhill, damn it! What was the matter with the man?

The next thing he knew, a ray of sunshine pierced the gap in his room’s heavy drapery. He lay in his bed, his side aching and stiff with the bandages binding his chest.

Someone held his hand.

He looked over to see a frail old man sitting in a wheelchair at his bedside. The room made a slow rotation. Flashes of memory turned everything upside down and backwards. Was he waking from a coma? Had the elusive plans, all the women – and his falling in love with Sarah – been some sort of fantastic hallucination?

“How did I get here?”

His father’s gaze flew to his face, and his chin trembled. “I told you not to come.”

***

He let his eyelids fall and waited a minute before opening them again. Flickers of remembrance struggled through. The room gradually came into focus. His father still sat at the side of his bed, gazing at him with red, swollen eyes.

“Cory is responding when we speak to him. He moved his fingers and his hand,” his father croaked. “The doctor is encouraged and suggests he convalesce in the country to regain his strength.”

He was Cory. Why was he speaking to him in the third person? He tried to inhale. There was something important he needed to say, but his bandages wouldn’t allow more than a sip of air. Now, what was it he wanted to say?

“The doctor suggests you remain abed until your ribs set.”

You remain abed?

The room turned another one hundred and eighty degrees. He was Cory, wasn’t he?

He rubbed his head.

“Did you see who did this to you?” His father’s voice softened.

He closed his eyes to try to picture the villains. The sharp flare of emotion surprised him. Wild anger and sorrow quivered through him like hot oil and ice. Six villains had attacked him with pipes and chains followed by four more. The alley had been dim, but he’d got a good enough look at them. His ears still rang with their grunts and cries and breaking bones.

The room turned right side up.

He was Damen. Not Cory.

The weight of all his failures came crashing down on him at once. The beating he’d taken last night made every last sinew scream in outrage.

He groaned in discomfort. “None of them looked familiar.” Part of the never-ending parade of vermin. No doubt, they’d already dissolved into the rookery. “If it’s any consolation, I’m fairly certain they’re in worse shape than I am.”

The enormity of the problem finally hit home. Clarity dawned. He now saw the truth in his father’s advice. He needed his own men to clean up the festering nest of criminals. Villains had gone after him four times since he’d arrived, and never the same men. Even with all his street-fighting skills, he could not prevail against so many.

It had been a long time since he’d felt so defeated.

Much as he’d tried to fix things, since he’d arrived in London he’d not succeeded with even one of his goals. As dissimilar as the pieces were, he couldn’t help but think they were all a part of the same puzzle. The solution seemed so close he could almost touch it.

Still, he’d yet to identify Cory’s attackers, sort out the source of the fires or his father’s financial problems. He’d not established Sarah’s innocence, found the plans, Professor Bodkin, or Mary Turner. He’d not even managed to get Cory’s fiancée to cry off.

Like a fool, he’d fallen in love with a woman he knew he could never have. She probably wouldn’t believe the truth of his real intentions, even if she condescended to speak to him again. Which he highly doubted.

Most disturbing of all, the way he’d fought during the brawl reminded him he hadn’t changed. Deep down he was still a low-class brute, no different than any of the villains he’d fought. Sarah was a gently bred lady and deserved better.

“I think it’s time I saw to my warehouse construction.”

Everything he’d worked for in Liverpool now appeared to be falling apart as well. He could tarry no longer. If he didn’t return, he might lose all. Plus, he needed someplace to lick his wounds and think.

Cory was showing signs of recovery. It was time Damen returned to where he belonged – the rough and tumble dockyards of Liverpool.

***

While Damen’s luggage was being loaded into the carriage, he sat at Cory’s bedside holding his hand. “Well, brother, it’s time to go. I’ve done all the damage I can think of. My warehouse construction is threatening to collapse. I must return post-haste.”

Cory’s fingers flexed weakly against Damen’s and then twisted slightly to flex again. It felt like their secret handshake they’d made as boys. Dare he hope his brother truly was recovering?

The doctor had said some twitches and movements could merely be reflexes. This felt like a clasp with intention. He so wanted to see Cory well again.

And then that old warhorse… anger mixed with sorrow reared up. He was as incapable of helping his brother heal as he’d been with his mother.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I suspect you don’t want me to go.” His brother’s face remained devoid of any twitch or stray expression save a quiet exhale. “If it’s any consolation, you’ll not be staying here much longer yourself. The doctor told father he should take you to the country for fresh air and sunshine.

“London is not healthy for either of us. Two days ago, ten brutes tried to put an end to me. You might notice I’ve a few more cuts and bruises on top of the old ones. On a more positive note, Father contacted the Lamberts to inform them of
your
new assault. You have an indefinite reprieve.

“Your wedding has been put on hold until you recover. Between you and me, you’d do well to stretch it out as long as possible and hope Miss Eugenia cries off. I know it will break your heart, but some things aren’t meant to be.”

“In a few hours I’ll be on a train back to Liverpool. But don’t think I’ve forgotten. You and I still need to have a talk about your and Mrs Ivanova’s baby.”

CHAPTER 27

A loud bang woke Niles.

He sat straight up on the library’s sofa, his heart pounding, sweat dotting his brow. In that moment between sleep and waking, he imagined Sarah being dragged into Newgate Prison. His mind interpreted the ‘bang’ as the door slamming closed. He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at his face.

“Awake, are you?” Sarah’s usually melodic voice grated on his ears.

Surliness had crept into her prim demeanor since she’d given Ravenhill his walking papers, the slimy cur. Thank God, she’d come to her senses. He always knew his sister was no simpleton, and he supposed after marriage to two of England’s most tiresome lords, she was entitled to a little flirtation. Now, she needed to focus on her problems.

Deep down he cared a great deal for his sweet sis. But panic now plagued him. He’d no idea how to deal with her troubles. His usual course of action – wait for the problem to resolve on its own – hadn’t worked this time.

He watched her march over to her desk and begin sorting the stack of mail sitting on top.

The disturbing meeting with Sarah and her solicitor came alive again in his memory, no doubt the source of his nightmare.

Her solicitor told them Inspector Hooker had gathered enough evidence to warrant a hearing with the magistrate. He was going forward with his trumped-up charge that Sarah planted, or got someone else to plant, the blasting fuses that
allegedly
blew up Strathford’s laboratory and
allegedly
killed him.

The whole thing made Niles a nervous mess. Although he might have nurtured one or two murderous thoughts regarding her husband, he didn’t believe for one minute Sarah could hurt anyone.

She was the most gentle and caring of women. As for her relationship with Strathford, he couldn’t say she loved the old coot, but they did have a certain affection for one another. Not the usual sort of cold indifference he’d seen in other arranged marriages.

It was time Lumsley got involved and straightened things out. She’d be greatly relieved and duly beholden. Sarah was obviously licking her wounds over Ravenhill’s deception.
Good God
he’d been engaged to Eugenia Lambert the whole time. Niles winced.

This was the opening Lumsley said he’d been waiting for. His old friend knew he’d a talent for consoling and putting things to rights. How many times had he helped Niles over a bad turn of events?