“Did we?” The uninjured side of his lips curled into a smile.
“You did not say a single word as we danced, and barely looked at me.” She sniffed.
“That doesn’t sound at all like me. Are you sure?” She caught a momentary gleam of white teeth.
“Indeed. The doorway had you spellbound. I wondered that you couldn’t wait to leave.” The ordeal had made her feel like a chore he’d been obligated to complete. Except for his remarkable good looks and strong dancing skills, she’d decided he’d nothing more to recommend him.
“And did I immediately begin calling on you and bringing you bouquets?” His voice still contained a sultry resonance, but odd little catches in it sounded like he struggled against laughter.
Now he was definitely insulting her. She drew herself up straighter. “I must say, after that one dance, I find this discussion highly irregular.” So the man could put two words together.
Eliza stood at her side gazing out at the dinosaurs while her hand fluttered frantically about.
Sarah clamped her lips closed, twisted the strap of her reticule around her hand and peered about the crowds, readying to stomp off. She did not have to stand here and be ridiculed. Turning back to collect Gracie and Eliza, she happened to gaze up into that one dark, glimmering eye. Her pulse unexpectedly broke into a skip. Unintended words escaped her mouth. “Truly, do you not remember our dancing?”
He tapped a finger to his forehead. “Please accept my apologies, my lady. Some things are still a bit fuzzy. The doctor said a little more time might be needed.”
“Oh.” She swallowed a lump of mortification. What was the matter with her? He’d been beaten senseless. By the looks of him, they’d put great effort into pounding him about the head and face. Had they damaged his memory as well?
She’d assumed his attendance at the Crystal Palace meant he’d recovered enough to be out and about town. “Please forgive me, Mr Ravenhill. I thought you were teasing me. I thought after I accidentally…” She looked down at her shoe and scraped it over the pathway’s gravel.
“You accidentally…?”
“Well I…” she coughed. “When we danced, I accidentally stepped on your boot… once or twice… and I assumed you’d decided to take it elsewhere.” Dancing with handsome Mr Ravenhill had made her terribly nervous and her weak leg sluggish. “You didn’t say a word when I stepped on you.” She decided not to mention his raised, disapproving brow.
“Then you immediately took me into a dizzying spin.” It was all she could do to control her faulty leg and not land on her posterior. “When the music ended you quickly escorted me back to my friends. I didn’t get the chance to apologize because you disappeared.”
Mr Ravenhill looked down at his shoes and then back up at her. “So that’s how I got the sore foot. I thought my attackers had tramped on it.”
“Oh, I couldn’t have possibly done it much damage,” she said in disbelief.
The uninjured side of his face curved into a smile and… did he wink his good eye?
“I hope I apologized for setting my boot where you needed to step? My big feet have a habit of getting in the way.”
Her cheeks heated.
“So by your lack of response, I take it I was a cad and let you assume total responsibility.”
Sarah gazed up at him and suddenly realized the man was a horrible tease. This made her even more bewildered. Lately, men whom she’d never considered insisted on making her acquaintance. No doubt word had spread that her two marriages had left her with a sizable income. Could that be what put the sudden gleam in Mr Ravenhill’s eye?
He dipped his head. “Perhaps if I call on you in a day or two you will allow me to atone for my bad behavior?”
***
Damen watched the three women move on to another of the large creatures and couldn’t help admiring the widow’s lovely form – a tempting shape his rather outsized hands, and, well, the rest of him, would relish exploring. So that was the redoubtable Lady Strathford. Luck had been with him in making her acquaintance.
Shrouded in her somber mourning colors, he initially thought her another solemn wren. All that changed when she looked up at him and very clearly spoke her mind. The combination of her flashing blue eyes, saucy high cheekbones and unruly blonde hair – sprouting out from under her bonnet – gave her a kind of rare spirit. Quite worked up his blood.
Her voice had been the real surprise. Its velvety purr called to the man in him, even as she itemized his blunders, or rather, Cory’s blunders.
Gratifying, that.
Most women found his brother irresistible. Apparently, Lady Strathford possessed the rare immunity to Cory’s charms. The whole package quite stirred his insides to a fine hum.
He pulled himself up short. He shouldn’t be indulging in infatuations and especially regarding Lady Strathford. He needed information, that was all, and he’d no intention of seducing her for it. The sooner he found his brother’s attackers, the sooner he could get back to the construction of his warehouses in Liverpool.
He already had two women to deal with, Cory’s fiancée and his mistress. And Mrs Ivanova could prove to be a conundrum. She knew things – personal things – and it was only a matter of time before she realized he wasn’t Cory. But she also might know why his brother had been viciously attacked. Whether he wanted to or not, Damen must continue to meet with her.
It had been his plan to parade around London’s popular attractions in his brother’s most eye-catching clothes to show that he was still alive – injured, but on the mend. He was pleased that, so far, his cuts and bruises made people look away rather than examine him too closely.
No one indicated they thought him anyone other than his brother. If the footman had been correct, Cory knew one of the villains. Eventually, they would seek Damen out, if for no other reason than to inspect their handiwork.
Apart from Mrs Ivanova, how convincing did he need to be? Cory had been back in London less than two weeks after years away.
Damen gazed at a plaster Iguanodon. Like him, it was not the real article. What did Lady Strathford see when she looked at him through those glorious wide-set eyes? Cory’s handsome face, frightfully beaten? Did she have the slightest idea he was an imposter? It had been a long time since a woman put his insides so in a jumble.
CHAPTER 5
The next day the police inspector sat in Sarah’s parlor in his worn dark suit with a red poppy stuck in his lapel. An ominous scowl contorted his hard features. As he stared intently between Sarah and her solicitor, one eye bulged, appearing to grow larger, reminding her of a telescope.
Drops of perspiration glistened on her solicitor’s face. Though one of the most temperate rooms in Strathford Hall, the usually comfortable parlor did not relieve the man’s discomfort.
Sarah, on the other hand, struggled against the chill that coursed up and down her limbs making her palms clammy and her feet tap under her skirts.
This time, she kept telling herself, this time she refused to be intimidated. Inspector Hooker dare not accost her with defamatory questions and insinuations with her solicitor in attendance.
The inspector sniffed through his bent snout and rasped, “The recent discovery of blasting fuses now brings into question whether Lord Strathford’s death resulted from an unfortunate accident or foul play.”
“Surely, you don’t suspect my client of such deviousness?” Her solicitor wheezed as he mopped his brow. “At the time of her husband’s death Lady Strathford was visiting friends in Cambridge.”
“She has informed us of that fact. She did not need to be present,” the inspector growled. His mouth curled into an ugly sneer. “Blasting expertise can be bought, especially with some of our boys home from the Crimea.”
“What proof have you she arranged anything to harm her husband?” her solicitor shot back.
Hooker’s lips thinned. “Recently, Lord Strathford’s cousin filed a complaint. When the earldom passed to him, all the mone
y in Lord Strathford’s estate went to Lady Strathford and—”
“Perfectly legal,” her solicitor interrupted. “His cousin received everything due in the entailment. The income and properties bequeathed to Lady Strathford were independent and not entailed. Lord Strathford could will his personal estate wherever he chose.”
The police inspector addressed her solicitor while he leveled his unsettling eye on Sarah. “The new earl has opened up a different inquiry.”
Sarah could hardly breathe. “What inquiry?”
“Quite bluntly,” the inspector smirked, “he claims you only married Lord Strathford for his money. You did the same with your previous husband, Lord Hardington. Both met with untimely deaths.”
“That is absurd!” Sarah protested. She didn’t have a choice in whom she married. Her father arranged both marriages. True, her first husband died only two years after they’d wed, but the grippe killed him. A doctor had been on hand throughout his whole illness.
“It has also come to our attention” – the inspector curled the side of one lip – “that at the time of his death, your husband was working on a project with another inventor. They’d made a significant breakthrough in the efficiency of an engine. He claims your husband made drawings and demands you turn them over to him immediately.”
“Who is this fellow?” she asked.
“A Professor Bodkin.”
She briefly searched her memory. “I’ve never heard of him. Nor do I know of any drawings.”
When the police inspector finally took his leave, Sarah thought she would faint. As she massaged her pounding temple, she turned to her solicitor. “Strathford’s odious cousin has already contested the will and lost. Now he hopes to send me to the gallows to finally get his hands on my husband’s money. And who is this Professor Bodkin?”
“Not to worry, my lady.” Her solicitor’s double chin wobbled. “You inherited your husband’s estate legally. We will get to the bottom of this professor’s claim.”
***
Damen stood in the vestibule of Strathford Hall, holding a bouquet of flowers, and feeling like the biggest kind of scoundrel. Nothing real could come of this association with Lady Strathford. Yet some part of him eagerly anticipated seeing her. Could one or two of Gormley’s punches have actually knocked something loose?
Having an attraction to Lady Strathford could only complicate an already convoluted situation. Additionally, she possessed certain characteristics he’d classify as off limits. In fact, she resembled a certain type of female he’d sworn to avoid.
Yet when she dumped her reticule all over his feet, he’d found her frank dialog and guilelessness intriguing. Her wide-eyed forthrightness not only tickled him but made him want to pick her up and kiss her just to see what she’d do.
He looked down at the flowers in his hands while the stark reality of what it meant to play Cory set in. Where his brother thrived on a devil-may-care, hedonistic profligacy, Damen’s stolid, sensible side squirmed with misgivings. The lifestyle and uselessness already threatened his need for order, accomplishment, and the moorings of responsibility. Hopefully, his stint as a decoy would be short-lived.
Mrs Ivanova made him uneasy. Then there was the fiancée, to whom he was yet to be introduced. Were any more females waiting in the wings? Cory, he knew, tended to collect them like some men collected guns – both were a delicate piece of machinery and equally as dangerous. Finding and apprehending his brother’s attackers might very well prove easier than juggling his women.
Down the spectacular marble-lined hall a door opened and a familiar figure emerged.
Damen cursed under his breath. Even after two decades he’d no trouble recognizing the ‘terror of his childhood.’
As the man advanced, he could see he’d added more girth and his bushy sideburns had grayed. On meeting gazes, the man’s pocked features and sour smirk shifted minutely.
Something resembling surprise deepened the wrinkles around his lips. Eerily, one eye focused in on Damen’s bruises. Then it probed his uninjured eye as if to ferret out every secret he’d ever kept, every detail he’d deliberately withheld. “Back for more, are you?”
The ambiguous question could have referred to any number of things, none of them pleasant. Damen fisted his hands. The man could still put him on the defensive. Well, he was no longer that frightened boy. Keeping his voice a dangerous calm, Damen made sure he injected the proper amount of irony. “Pleased to see me?”
Perceiving a confrontation brewing, the butler quickly retrieved a hat from a nearby closet and intervened. “Do you require anything else, Inspector Hooker?”
Inspector? The miserable cur had been promoted?
Hooker positioned his hat on his head while he stared pointedly at him. The same kind of intimidation he’d used on him countless other times. Back then the man had only been a constable.
The butler opened the door and saw the inspector out, then quickly motioned to Damen’s card. “I will see to this immediately, Mr Ravenhill.” A few moments later the butler returned and led him to what appeared to be a sitting room or perhaps a small gallery. On the shelves and in display cases sat automatons and what he assumed to be Lord Strathford’s small inventions.
Damen couldn’t help a surge of curiosity as he scanned the little mechanical devices. Could the tiny engine be among them? Something caught his eye. On top of a side table sat an unusual object, painted yellow.
***
“He’s finally here.” Sarah’s insides took flight. Not since her brief infatuation with the miller’s son when she was sixteen had she awaited a man with such anticipation. How could she describe what his visit did to her? After so many years of ennui, he filled her with hope. Hope that life might contain joy, and that perhaps, for once, she’d be granted the attentions of a handsome gentleman whose wit and vigor filled her with excitement.
Smoothing down her skirts, she resisted the urge to run to Edward’s invention gallery. Four uneasy days had passed since she’d met Mr Ravenhill at the Crystal Palace Dinosaur Park.
After the first day, she’d decided his request to visit her had been a hollow appeal. After the second, she’d thought he’d had another mental lapse. And after the third, she’d resigned herself that he’d suddenly remembered why he’d considered her beneath his attention in the first place.
Today had started badly with Niles again popping by with Lumsley. It worsened with the police inspector’s insinuations. But Mr Ravenhill’s presence restored her belief that good and bad eventually balanced.
The novelty of this visit by a man who’d somehow invaded her daydreams had her feet barely touching the floor. Plus, he was the first gentleman caller who’d come of his own volition.
While other young women of her station had London seasons, she’d never enjoyed the attention of beaux. She’d married her first husband practically out of the schoolroom. There’d been no wooing or courting, just straight to the altar with an old man she barely knew.
And the fantasies she’d had of Mr Ravenhill… Not only was he nearly her own age, he was – injuries aside – one of the most attractive men she’d ever met.
She paused in the doorway and tried to calm the excitement pulsing through her veins. He stood at the side table with his back to her. The sight of his broad shoulders and robust physique quite took her breath away.
Ravenhill set his walking stick against the wall and picked up something on the table in front of him. She heard the clickety-click of a key winding a spring. Then the oh-so-familiar zzzzz.
She froze, heat blossomed across her cheeks. What was that doing in here?
His shoulders worked as he moved the toy from hand to hand, then held it up for closer inspection. He set it on the table to let it dance about, happily buzzing and jumping around the mahogany. Picking it up again, he seemed to be doing something with it in front of him. He let out a little snort of laughter and slowly extended his arm, pressing the Buzzy Bee to the back of his neck.
Her breath caught.
Mr Ravenhill startled at the noise and abruptly turned toward her. If anything, the bruising and swelling around his face had become more pronounced.
His jaw went slack. “It tickles,” he said sheepishly, manipulating it, pressing it into his palms to demonstrate.
She clutched the collar of her high-necked gown. Seeing him caressing it in his big hands made her breathing turn rather shallow.
With a slow, furtive reach, he set the toy on the table behind him.
Undaunted, the Buzzy Bee bounded about, thumping the wood, hammering out its own Irish jig as it whipped in noisy skips and circles, exuberantly demonstrating how its mechanism rivaled the durability of an eight-day clock.
Ravenhill stood there, brows furrowed, acting as if the Buzzy Bee no longer existed.
Awash with mortification, Sarah rallied every last scrap of self-possession, marched over to the table and picked up the bouncing contraption. How had her little toy got into Edward’s gallery and what possessed Mr Ravenhill to play with it?
“Dare I ask what demonic instrument of torture I unleashed?”
“Instrument of tort…” Sarah bit her tongue and quickly moved to the desk, pulled open a drawer and shoved it in. The little fiend buzzed and bounced against the wood like a caged wasp, causing the whole desk to vibrate.
“My husband made it to relieve his aching muscles,” she lied. If Mr Ravenhill had any inkling of the part of her person it was meant to relieve, she would surely die of embarrassment. She retrieved the Buzzy Bee and opened one of the display cases on the wall. After setting it inside, she closed the glass door.
“I didn’t realize he also invented items for personal use. I always thought he was a big machinery kind of fellow.”
“If he needed something and he couldn’t buy it, he made it.” Bespoke. Designed. Measured. And adjusted for faultless performance. Her face felt positively crimson.
Like a little dog eager to escape, the Buzzy Bee continued to bounce and jitter around until all the other devices on display rattled.
The Trouble With Seduction Page 4
