The Trouble With Seduction (32 page)

If Sarah was honest with herself, every time another woman had admired him, a little devil of jealousy had questioned his fidelity. Additionally, those mysterious little discrepancies in Mr Ravenhill’s behavior remained suspicious.

“Auntie, even after all that’s happened, there are times when I wish…” She swallowed hard and couldn’t finish her statement.

“You’re still in love with him,” her aunt said sympathetically.

Her eyes stung. “Mr Ravenhill is the only man I’ve known who believed in
me –
my capabilities and intelligence. He made me feel strong and courageous, gave me excellent advice, and spoke to me as a friend and equal. He showed concern for me, my happiness, my… pleasure.” Her throat tightened. “I loved being with him. And he deceived me worse than anyone I’ve ever known.”

Eliza grasped her hand and squeezed. “I’m so sorry.”

“And the worst part is… the worst part is… how do I get rid of this unreasonable longing? I know it makes no sense. I’m a fool for allowing myself to continue. But what am I to do?”

***

When Sarah entered the breakfast room the next morning, Niles sat alone at the table, reading the paper and drinking his usual black coffee.

She went to the sideboard, filled her plate, and took a seat across from him. “Where is Lumsley? You and he seem to travel as a pair these days.”

Niles set down his newspaper and gazed at her with a ‘must I truly respond to that ridiculous question’ kind of expression. Then shook out his paper and returned to his article.

“I suppose he told you about his visit yesterday?”

“Mmhmm,” he muttered from behind the paper.

“I suspected that was why he’d been hanging around so much. But you see, Niles, after two arranged marriages, I’ve had time to think about what I want.”

He finally set down the paper and fingered his coffee cup. “I know you thought you found something special in Ravenhill. It wasn’t your fault. Unfortunately, you fell under the spell of one of the wickedest blackguards around. Women and fiancées at every turn.” He shook his head in disgust. “Lumsley and I could see that about him from the beginning.”

Sarah’s eyes burned.

“Maybe I don’t show it enough, but I care a great deal for you, Sis. You are all the family I have left. I worry for you and want you to be safe, and comfortable. You deserve a good man, a steadfast man. One who understands how women ought to be cared for, sheltered, and protected – so they can see to their home and family. That is the proper place for a woman. It’s an honorable place.

“Lumsley is such a man. He could give you a good life, a safe life, a life any woman would envy. And he’s admired you for as long as I can remember. He loves you Sarah, and if you don’t do something quick he’s liable to get away as well.”

Sarah pinched her lips together. “Lumsley? He might make some woman a good husband, but I’m not her.”

She made a fist on the table. Memories of her father marching her to the alter made her stomach churn. “I will no longer live the isolated, restricted life father and my deceased husbands thought suitable. If Mr Ravenhill taught me anything, it’s the assurance that I don’t need a man.”

More than that, she believed, for a time, they’d been in love. It was the richest, most wonderful experience of her life. If she were to marry again, she would settle for nothing less.

“Edward left my income in trust. I can do with it as I please, and I can think for myself.”

“But Sis…” Niles held out his hands, pleading. “I fear Hooker is determined to hold you responsible for Strathford’s death. Your home is torn apart. Ravenhill nearly ruined your reputation. Lumsley could put all of that to rights. Do it for yourself, for your family. Your actions reflect on us, too, you know.”

Your actions reflect on the family.

Since she was sixteen and her father had caught her kissing the handsome miller’s son, that platitude had been thrown in her face. He’d immediately married her off to live a stultifying life in the country with her first husband, her every move watched by his loyal staff and wary heirs.

She suddenly felt like she was laced into a head-to-toe corset and couldn’t breathe. It didn’t help that today Gracie had doubly secured Sarah’s plaits with additional pins. The weight of her hair pinched and pulled at her scalp.

“And what will you do to redeem
your reputation
, Niles? The only reason you still have an estate is because it’s entailed and can’t be touched.”

She sank her fingers into her tight braids, and tugged to relieve the tension. “It’s time
you
married and saw to
your
responsibilities. Miss Eugenia Lambert might be available again. She’s well dowered and her father is willing to pour more money after her to get her to the altar.”

Niles grimaced. “Eugenia Lambert? Hells bells, Sis!” His mouth puckered up like he’d spit. “Of all the stiff-necked, shrill-voiced, icy-veined shrews, you’d hitch me to that?”

“Love will grow after you’re married. That’s what father always told me.”

“Come on, Sis, you’re in a heap of trouble and—”

“If you think the family name needs burnishing, find yourself a wholesome bride and make your heirs. But if you’ll take a little advice, don’t marry unless you’ve found someone you can’t live without.”

***

Sarah dashed from the breakfast parlor and fled to Edward’s study. She knew, in his own clumsy way, Niles was only trying to help. He’d been a gentle, caring brother. Unfortunately, he had difficulty making good decisions. She’d wondered if her father had married her to intelligent men partly so Niles could learn from them.

She strode over to Edward’s desk and threw herself into the chair. Leaning back, she stared at the ceiling while she swiveled in a circle. Even after all that she’d discovered about Eddie she could still say there’d been true affection between them. How could anyone possibly think she killed him?

Her solicitor hadn’t found Professor Bodkin. And with limited experience in criminal trials, she’d little confidence he could defend her against Hooker’s allegations.

Mr Ravenhill had advised her to be ready to defend herself. Hooker’s experts were probably as corrupt as the inspector. She should hire her own private investigator. One who knew how to find people beyond London.

Ravenhill had helped her discover there’d actually been two explosions – at Edward’s laboratory in the Falgate warehouse and at Strathford Hall. He’d urged her to get her own blasting experts and also questioned if both explosions might have been caused by a chemical. A qualified person would know where to look for signs.

And lastly, Mr Ravenhill had recommended that she seek help from influential friends to apply political pressure. With Hooker and his magistrate probably in cahoots, her case needed to be heard by someone higher up.

Thank goodness, she’d already put many of his suggestions into motion. Men like Hooker were bullies. The only way to stop them was to trounce them soundly.

***

A few days later, Megpeas notified her that she had a visitor. On entering the parlor, her lead investigator jumped to his feet. “My lady,” he bowed. “We’ve finally located Professor Bodkin.”

“Gracious, that’s wonderful. Where did you find him?”

“In Scotland, my lady. He has been working on a line of new pumps.”

“And does he still demand the plans for my husband’s small engine?”

“No, my lady. He said he never met Lord Strathford, although he was a big admirer. When I explained to him the inspector’s allegations, Bodkin became rather confused. He said he did not know an Inspector Hooker and never made a claim against Lord Strathford.”

“Did you get this in writing?”

“Yes, my lady.” The investigator handed her a piece of paper. “As you can see, the professor wrote you a very nice letter, praising your husband’s reputation and saying there must be some mistake. He never worked with your husband, nor did he ever invent anything with him. Bodkin designs pumps.”

Two days later, she received a letter from her solicitor. She tore it open and read its contents. Inspector Hooker’s expert had inspected the fuses and deemed them irrefutable evidence a crime had been committed. The magistrate had called a special hearing to decide if she should be held for Lord Strathford’s murder.

Ravenhill had warned her that, when Hooker decided to go after someone, he would use fair means or foul to get his way.

She pulled out a piece of stationery and slapped it down on her desk. Lord Sutterland, one of her father’s and Amelia’s husband’s friends, held great influence in the House of Lords. If ever there were a time for her to use her contacts, now was it.

As she wrote the letter, it occurred to her how far she’d come. Mr Ravenhill may be many things, but he’d taught her how to fight. Prior to his acquaintance she wouldn’t have known where to begin.

Two weeks later Sarah put on her new, conservative, navy-blue gown. Gracie tamed her hair and secured the tight braids to her head with at least a hundred pins.

As she prayed in her little chapel for justice and for her innocence to prevail, she held under her arm Edward’s handsome portfolio filled with her notes and papers.

Lord Sutterland had spoken with the Home Secretary and arranged a closed-door hearing. Today Hooker, his magistrate and experts would present their findings. Then Sarah’s team would present theirs.

She gritted her teeth and tipped up her chin. Her solicitor, new barrister, and expert witnesses were prepared and ready for a fight. And she intended to prevail.

CHAPTER 28

“Do you know you’ve become a grouchy old bull?” Farnsworth, Damen’s friend and right-hand man since graduating university, took a gulp from his tankard. “I know you needed to knock a few heads together to get that rabble all pulling the same direction, but the suppliers, the building crews, and dockworkers are now back on track. Why still the grump?”

Damen pushed his glasses up his nose and frowned at his reflection in the mirror behind the pub’s bar. More than two months had passed since he’d returned to Liverpool.

It should have been a relief. He no longer had to deal with the unknown that was Cory’s crazy life. He could be himself again, immerse himself in work, and not worry if he got a crease or smudge on his utilitarian, no-nonsense, business gear.

Something happened in the interim, however. He’d changed along with his tastes. Working non-stop no longer brought him satisfaction. His own clothes chafed and hung gracelessly about him, making him look and feel rough-hewn. The very image of a brute.

Cory’s clothes fit better, were of finer fabrics, and softened his coarse edges. Not that he wanted to wear such flamboyant attire, but he rather missed their supple comfort.

He’d not told Farnsworth the whole story. The debacle was too convoluted, too puzzling, and cut too deep. It humbled him in so many ways – some jarring, others surprisingly painful. Most of all, he realized how much he hated losing.

Damen had hoped dealing with the problems and responsibilities of getting his warehouses up and running would take his mind off his failures. So far, the work only acted as a weak poultice against the roiling emotions festering inside. He’d expected to slide back into his old life in Liverpool. Now he realized his life, like his suits, no longer fit. He was not the same man.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re nursing a bruised heart. But then, I know you never let your heart get involved. Am I right?” Farnsworth took a gulp from his tankard and grinned.

“As always, Farns,” was all Damen would reveal.

Early on, he’d questioned his father’s insistence that he move to Liverpool after university.

While many of his contemporaries careered around London carousing, whoring, and gambling, Damen saw to the profitable expansion of their Liverpool properties.

His father had wisely given him something to challenge his mind and energies, and Damen soon realized he’d unique talent. Not only did he have a facility with numbers, design, and logistics; he’d an ability to influence city officials. Thanks to his days in St Giles, he knew how to deal with the rough and tumble men populating the docks.

Small wonder Cory flitted from woman to woman. He’d no such moorings.

“I’ll be better when the warehouses are completed.” Achievement had always been his panacea – that and a good round of fisticuffs.

He turned his head to follow the blonde barmaid while the room did a slow rotation.

His friend laughed. “Or maybe what you need is a
woman
to take the edge off.”

Damen gazed hollow-eyed at the mirror. Not any woman.

Sarah.

He missed her with every fiber of his being. If their paths happened to cross, what would he tell her? What could he say? He pushed his glasses up his nose and ran his fingers through his beard, a habit he’d fallen back into within days of returning to Liverpool. The lumps and bruises had finally healed. His face was his own again.

If Sarah saw him now, would she recognize him?

“I thank you for the drinks, Farns, but when I finish this one, I should go home and get some rest.” He knew he’d passed his limit a few drinks ago. In his early twenties he, Cory, and a few cronies spent a wild weekend celebrating. Parts of those two days disappeared in a drunken haze. Afterwards, he vowed never again to be so out of control.

“Come on. Ol’ Farnzy’s got the perfect dove for you.” He pulled Damen off the stool and dragged him out the door into his waiting carriage.

They ended up at a reasonably well-kept brick building on a quiet commercial street. As they walked up the steps, Damen noticed the jeweled glass set in the ornately carved oak doors. “Quite upscale for a bawdy house.”

“Sets the mood, don’t it? If these birds can’t put a smile back on your ugly mug, no one can.” He rapped on the door.

A big, pock-faced man opened it and glared at them as if he’d as soon knock them back down the stairs.

“We’re here to see Annette,” Farnsworth grinned.

The fellow pulled the door open farther and stepped back.

Damen’s friend tugged him down the dimly lit hall toward harp music. Another dark-suited man stood outside that door. Farnsworth repeated his request. “We’re here to see Annette.”