Had the whiskey also released a bit of cheek in the ordinarily stiff valet? Damen suddenly realized playing his carefree, easy-going brother might be a little more challenging than he’d thought. “And what are those small exotic statues in… Cor… I mean, my room?”
The valet pursed his lips. “One of them is your Buddhist guardian. You told me their hand gestures represent a mudra with deep symbolic meaning.”
“I have a Buddhist guardian? What do I do with it?”
“I’m not sure. Although one time I found you sitting cross-legged on the floor chanting indecipherably. You’re quite limber for a man of your size.”
“Indeed.” Inwardly, Damen groaned. “And as to my fiancée, did I reveal any details about Miss Lambert?”
“You said you’d only met her the once when you made your brief proposal.”
“Did I mention what I thought of her?”
“Not directly. But apparently she’s not shy about making her will known and inspired immediate action. On your first and only visit she discovered one of Rufus’s hairs on your sleeve.”
“Who is Rufus?”
“Your dog.”
“I have a dog?” Damen winced. He liked dogs well enough, but they barked and chewed on things and, well, basically raised havoc with his neat and orderly life.
“A big jolly fellow. At her instruction, you came home and banished the poor hound to the stables.”
“Am I that easily influenced?”
“Perhaps you’d hoped to create the impression of pleasing her? I rather doubt your mistress is aware of your betrothal, either.”
“I have a mistress?” Damen almost choked. Why was he surprised? His brother loved women. He hadn’t thought any further than putting Cory’s attackers in irons. Women were another matter, though. They could put a tangle in things. His brother’s irresponsibility always spawned confusion, emotion, drama. He’d forgotten how mixed up Cory’s messes could get.
“I assume Mrs Ivanova is your mistress.” Gormley sniffed. “A message arrived from her this morning. Perhaps you should have a look at it.”
CHAPTER 3
The next day, Damen sat in a dark corner of his grandfather’s old pub, the Painted Lady, fingering a greasy tankard of ale. Mrs Ivanova’s note had been precise: two o’clock, back table, left side. There’d been no endearments or sweet words, not even a hint of sexual lure. Perhaps Slavic mistresses didn’t use such coquetry? The mystery and uncertainty made him feel like he was inching along the slippery side of a precipice.
Surreptitiously, he gazed about the grimy pub. Childhood memories rose at every turn. He’d remembered the place being bigger, cleaner and filled with laughter. The new proprietor had added more tables and rebuilt the bar. A highly polished mirror – clearly the pride of the establishment – stretched behind the bartender. Its wavy reflection and splotches of mildewed silver suggested low quality and advanced age.
Cigar smoke hung about the room like a miasmic fog, barely masking the pervasive stench of St Giles’ open sewers, unwashed bodies and the avaricious hankerings of the Painted Lady’s clientele.
An arrow of light briefly cut through the murk and quickly disappeared. Someone had entered from the back. A rather tall, veiled woman, dressed entirely in black, appeared at his table.
“Vulf.”
Wolf? Her accented contralto put teeth in the word. He might have expected something more, well, endearing. Perhaps she’d found out about his brother’s engagement? Gormley had said she might not be happy about it.
Damen gestured to the vacant chair across from him.
Gracefully, she slid into the seat and leaned forward as if studying him from behind the black filmy material covering her face. “Who did this to you?”
The ominous timbre in her voice tightened the muscles in the back of his neck. Damen couldn’t quite place her accent – a regional dialect, perhaps? He coughed and tried to speak like Cory. “A mystery.”
“And the drawings?” she whispered, turning her veiled bonnet from side to side, clearly checking for eavesdroppers.
Drawings? Still no words of tenderness or affection? Was Mrs Ivanova truly his brother’s mistress, or did their relationship encompass something entirely different?
“I don’t know. They found me insensible.” He gently circled a finger to massage his temple and attempted a confused expression. “Not sure what happened.”
She leaned back and set her gloved hands on the table. Through the black lace covering her fingers he could see a thin silver band with a tiny raised design ringing her little finger. “Fires ruin. Strathford dead. Now you do other plan.”
Fires? Strathford dead? She made it sound as if Cory had something to do with the fires and Lord Strathford’s death. He grimaced as if he were in pain and set his elbow on the table to rest his head in his palm. “What other plan?”
She let out a little huff. “Seduce.”
Damen nearly jerked upright before he caught himself. “Seduce? Whooom?”
She looked around again and leaned closer. “Strathford widow. Find drawings.” Her contralto took on an edge of vexation. “Secrets slip in bed play, no?”
That was certainly an odd order. Wouldn’t seducing another woman possibly jeopardize a mistress’s meal ticket?
He grimaced as best he could with his lumps and bruises. “My memory took a beating along with my head. What drawings?” He purposely slurred his words. “And what do I do with them if I find them?”
She sat for a long moment, silently studying him and finally whispered, “I take to Vesele.”
Was Vesele a person or place? He didn’t know how far he could go with his act of amnesia and made a soft groan as if his injuries pained him. “Remind me. What do the drawings depict?”
“You know theezs!” Mrs Ivanova hissed. The anger in her voice thickened her accent.
Her head turned from side to side again before she said in an even quieter voice, “Small engine.”
Damen was certainly no choirboy and had perpetrated his own fair share of misdemeanors, but seducing a woman for information was not one of them. Unless Cory had totally lost his moral compass, he doubted his brother would either.
There must be another way to get information about this… small engine. He still wasn’t quite sure what the whole endeavor required or why. “My apologies. Due to my injuries, I must recuse myself.”
“Pfftt. They heal. Still have Beeeg Charm, No?”
Beeeg Charm? Was that sarcasm in her voice? Did ‘Beeeg Charm’ refer to Cory’s… charm… or something more physical? “I am not acquainted with Lady Strathford.”
She spat out a word in Russian, one he felt certain translated into a scathing expletive. “You think theez joke.” Her tone turned low and vicious. “You meet. You dance.”
Lord. Cory must have already told her he’d met Lady Strathford. Damen quickly backtracked. “Like I said, my memory is rather scrambled about certain matters.”
Mrs Ivanova worked her hands, clasping and unclasping her fingers. “Many want engine drawings. Beeeg buyer pay much.” She pointed to his head. “Vesele maybe do theez? If Vesele knows of drawings, very dangerous. Must hurry!”
CHAPTER 4
Sarah sighed and gazed at the upper floors of the Crystal Palace.
Beams of sunlight filtered through the opaque glass covering the ceiling and walls. Fountains pattered, flowers perfumed the air, patrons murmured their praise for the multitude of exhibits. All blended to produce a sense of pleasure and awe.
The grandness of the place almost diverted Sarah from her problems.
Almost.
“Strathford would have been enthralled by all the wondrous inventions,” she mused, wistfully.
“Indeed, this is a fairyland for every taste.” Her Aunt Eliza dragged her gaze from an exquisitely embroidered gown. “It’s time you put away your mourning clothes, my dear. Let’s visit my new modiste and have you fitted for a gown in this very shade of blue.”
&nb
sp; Sarah and her aunt moved on, halting to study a Roman statue of a scantily clad warrior. The sculptor’s sensuous chisel had brought to life every magnificent sinew. A memory surfaced of the handsome miller’s son Sarah had kissed when she was sixteen.
Unbidden, bone-deep humiliation crept in, squeezing her stomach like a vise. Even after all these years, the remorse over those few stolen moments of happiness almost made her ill.
She leaned close to her aunt, their bonnets nearly touching. “There is something I must tell you.” She peered about to make sure no one could hear them. “For over two years I’ve thought Strathford’s death an accident. Yesterday, workmen found suspicious items in his laboratory. The police now think he was murdered.”
Her aunt gasped. “Oh, my dear, that is disturbing news. Do they have any idea who would do such a thing?”
Sarah exhaled shakily in remembrance of their questions and curled a lip in distaste. “I couldn’t help feeling they think I killed him.”
Eliza’s features tightened. She immediately pressed her hand down through the air. A little signal she’d devised to alert Sarah when she spoke too candidly. “Such frank words in public could be misconstrued, dear.” She quickly looked around before whispering, “Surely you must have misunderstood.”
Sarah pinched her lips together and shuddered. “The police inspector’s questions left me quite… alarmed. It did no good insisting I have no idea who would have wanted to hurt Strathford.”
A pang of anguish tightened her throat. “For over two years I’ve held true to his memory and mourned his death. How I miss him, Auntie. This whole situation has me so... despairing. I have no husband, no family…” She gazed longingly at the nearby children playing around a fountain. “No babies to raise.”
Shifting her attention back to the muscular statue, she exhaled a shuddering breath. “To make matters worse, since the workmen started renovating the laboratory, I have these… stirrings… these annoying quivers I can’t quite satisfy. Such things never happened after my first husband’s death.”
“You were practically a girl when Lord Hardington died. Now you’re an experienced woman.” Her aunt gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Such stirrings are quite natural. I must confess, after Oswald died, a similar condition came over me.” A smile quivered at her lips. “Perhaps you should take a lover.”
“Elizabeth Fortnoy,” Sarah whispered in mock offense, “I am scandalized.”
Her aunt’s eyes twinkled as she spoke under her breath. “Your agitation may be a sign it is time to rejoin the living. I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, but I always thought your father rushed you into marrying men whose youth had fled them decades before. This time you have the luxury of being able to do a little shopping. Pick out a few pretty ones. See if anything about them takes your fancy. Happiness does not always land conveniently on one’s doorstep. Sometimes it’s necessary to go after it with a club.”
“Yes, Auntie. But I fear the police suspect me of mur—”
Her aunt’s eyes widened and her hand fluttered through the air.
“Well I… I’m so overwhelmed by this new development regarding Strathford’s death. I dare not make any… new friends.” A mist formed in Sarah’s eyes.
Eliza gazed at her sympathetically, then peered around the displays and other patrons. “Now where is that maid of yours? We should go outside. A little fresh air and sunshine should chase away those gloomies.”
Sarah tipped her head back to stem the tears. “Gracie went to the necessaries. She wanted to experience the innovative new water closets.”
Taking several deep breaths, Sarah gazed at an upper floor displaying industrial inventions. Through a blur of unshed tears she glimpsed a familiar continental jacket. She blinked and then blinked again. Oh, no, that couldn’t be the irritating fellow from the dance… and in her daydream? Her pulse launched into a faster beat.
Were his shoulders always that broad?
***
When Sarah’s maid finally returned, they made their way to the outside exhibits. A few minutes later, Gracie bobbed in excitement. “Oh, my lady! Look, there by the Dinosaur Lake. Could that be Mr Cornelius Ravenhill?”
Eliza turned to Sarah with a knowing smile and raised an inquisitive brow. “Have you met Lord Falgate’s younger son?”
Attempting a show of nonchalance, Sarah muttered, “Briefly,” and concentrated on running her hands over the pleats of her very modest sable-colored gown. Finally, unable to resist a peek, she held up her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.
From a distance, she could see a tall man in a distinctive fashionable suit, leaning on a cane. Fabric gaped around his middle. When she’d met him at the Grancliffes’ party, his tailoring had been perfection and the height of continental fashion. “Are you sure that’s him?”
Her aunt gave her a sidelong glance. “Our fair city has not given him a very kind homecoming. I heard villains killed his footman and beat him to within an inch of his life. Such a travesty,” she breathed. “His dark looks were said to be rather appealing.”
Sarah fiddled with her reticule. “Yes, he was most handsome, and he knew it, too. Truly, I’ve never met a more conceited, self-absorbed man. I am inclined to believe he’s hidden behind his fine features to conceal his lack of intelligence. Perhaps his mishap will educate him on how to communicate with the rest of us mere mortals.”
Gracie blinked, her eyes bugging slightly the way they usually did when she was about to say something droll. “Let that be a lesson to you. If a big, sturdy man and his burly footman can get their stuffings beaten out of them, you wouldn’t stand a chance, running off on your own the way you do.”
“I don’t run off.” Sarah tucked the escaped strands of her intractable hair back under her bonnet. “It’s important business for my mission.”
“So you’ve said, but it’s foolhardy.” Gracie rose up on her toes, gazing toward the lake. Patrons flocked about the fences enclosing the exhibit’s gargantuan prehistoric creatures. “Quick, my ladies!” The maid rocked from foot to foot in excitement. “That mother and her children are leaving. We’d best grab her spot at the rail if we ever plan on seeing those ancient water monsters.”
Others saw the opening as well, forming opposing currents, pushing them to and fro. With all the comings and goings, somehow her mischievous maid managed to maneuver them into a spot right next to the continental suit.
“Have you ever seen teeth that size?” Gracie threw out her arm to point at the creature, while loudly exclaiming, “Adults know these beasts are plaster, but I fear for the little ones’ imaginations. They’re bound to cause nightmares!”
Could her maid shout any louder? Sarah dug into her reticule, searching for something, anything to give the impression she was totally unaware of the tall man standing right next to them. Her lively, ebullient maid could be entertaining company, but sometimes she wanted to strangle her.
Without meaning to, one of Sarah’s hands accidentally slipped, upended her reticule, and dumped its entire contents onto the ground. “Oh, dear.” She looked at her aunt whose features contorted as if it took great effort to keep from breaking into peals of laughter.
While Gracie scrambled to pick things up, Sarah heard a throat being cleared.
“I believe these might be yours.” A smile colored the richly resonant voice.
She turned to gaze up into one large handsome brown eye. The other was a puffy, purplish slit. Her breath caught at the sight. “Thank you,” she exhaled.
He held out her small magnifying glass. The wind carried the scent of his tantalizing citrus and sandalwood cologne. Instead of giving her back her utility ring, he pulled the gadgets from their protective leather sleeve, inspecting them one by one. “Now isn’t this clever. A little knife, a saw and screwdriver, a tiny pair of scissors, pliers and a nail file. My goodness, you are certainly prepared for any occasion.”
Finally handing back her utility ring, he removed his top hat. His dark hair stood i
n disarray, ruffling in the warm breeze. On one side of his forehead and down his cheek, large, colorful bruises encompassed several lacerations.
She tried to smile but couldn’t take her eyes off his injuries.
The moment stretched on a little too long. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry, have we been introduced?”
Of course he wouldn’t remember her, or at least he would pretend not to. He’d barely said two words to her the first time they’d met. “Yes,” she sniffed. “If you might recall, we recently danced together at the Grancliffes’ party.”
“Oh.” His brows furrowed as he gazed about her face. Then he wound his finger in a circle at his ear. “The bump on my head quite… I do apologize. Please tell me your name again.”
Just as she’d expected. Handsome young men never saw her. She pinched her lips together. “I am Lady Strathford.”
His one eye seemed to intensify on her face. “Are you any relation to the late Lord Strathford?”
“Yes, his widow.”
“My condolences,” he said, gently. “A true loss. Lord Strathford was a very talented inventor.” He dipped his head and said in a voice – if her ears were not deceiving her – bordering on sultry, “Please forgive me. My memory is a bit hazy. Is there anything else I should know about… us?”
“Uuuss?” She swallowed reflexively. His careful study of her face, at first, made her uneasy and then started to annoy. What was he getting at? Was he insulting her with a rude joke? From the way Gracie had maneuvered them in beside him and her subsequent reticule mishap, perhaps the arrogant man presumed she was chasing him. She’d long since learned handsome, perfect men wanted nothing to do with imperfect females. But the unexpected thrill of him referring to them as ‘us’ made her pulse flutter. Irritatingly.
“We met briefly a little over a week ago, nothing more.” She gazed into his one good eye expecting a bland show of bored insouciance. Instead, she found a bright gleam of humor and a flash of – were her eyes deceiving her? – signs of intelligence? It couldn’t be. She rallied her indignation.
“As you might recall,” Sarah huffed, “we danced one waltz.”
The Trouble With Seduction Page 3
