“Ooh-la-laa! M.T.” The woman drew out the words in a suggestive tone, raised her brows, and gave her associates a knowing smile. One of them finally pointed to the door at the end of the hall.
He nodded his thanks, approached the door, and knocked.
“Who is it?” A tinkling voice came from inside.
“It’s Ravenhill.”
The door flew open. In the sputtering lamplight, a mirror reflected a wooden chair and a table scattered with face paint. A small woman stepped out from behind the door: the female acrobat who’d done tricks on horseback and the one who’d tossed her garter into their box. Heavy make-up outlined her dramatic, dark features. Her wrapper hung loose, revealing a corset and frilly drawers.
Quick as a snake-strike, she grasped his wrist and gave it a hard tug, propelling him into her dressing room, and slammed the door. She leapt on him like she’d done her horse and locked her limbs about his hips and neck like a vise.
“Cory, I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in the audience.” She made rapid-fire kisses about his face: his bruised temple, the hollow of his cheek, his swollen jaw, the cut on the side of his nose. “It’s been two years. Where have you been?” For a small woman, she’d amazing strength – every bit of her hard muscle.
“Ow!” Damen groaned at her aggressive caresses, and inhaled the smells of horse sweat, hot woman and a liberal amount of flowery perfume. “Must you be so rough?”
“You know that’s how I like it, you wicked man.”
“I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong—” He couldn’t finish his words. Her hands worked everywhere, pulling at his cravat, unbuttoning his vest, sliding her little hands inside his shirt. She ground her privates against his, riding him like one of her steeds.
“Now see here!” he gasped.
Her fingers dug into his ribs, forcing out a few choked laughs.
“So stuffy. But I think I like you playing miss-ish.” She threw back her head, baring her small breasts to his face. “Take me, my stallion! Take me now! Like you used to against the wall and on my dressing table and in my chair and on the—”
“Five minutes,” a man called from outside her door.
She raised her head, grasped his collar, and squeezed her legs tighter around his hips. Her eyes flashed with heat and excitement. “You know how I get with a new show. I’m a bundle of nerves. Quick! We’ve only five minutes before I must go on again!” She mashed her lips into his.
Somehow Damen gathered a modicum of wits and grasped the little octopus about the waist, twisting her to unlock her limbs from around his person.
She struggled to hang on and squeaked when he finally pulled her loose. “That hurt.” Her legs kicked and arms pin-wheeled to regain purchase, but her efforts were for naught.
“Mary!” He held her out by the ribs like a scratching cat. “Your note said you had important information. What is it you wanted to tell me?”
“Mary? Who’s Mary?” Her pencil-thin brows pulled together. “What’s the matter with you? Did they knock your brains out, too? She screwed up her features as she gazed with consternation about his face.”
“You aren’t Mary Turner?”
“Why, you insulting prig! I’m Matilda Tully! To think how I cared for you! Pined for you!” With each burst of words, she swiped at him, her nails clawing the air. “I’m no brothel madam!”
“Brothel madam? Mary Turner is a brothel madam?”
“Do I look like a brothel madam to you?”
“No.”
“Is that what you think of me?”
“No.”
Did you ever know my real name?
“No, I mean…”
A bright flash of outrage sparked in her eyes. Her whole body went into a furious writhe, and she broke free of his hold. “You no good, insufferable dog!” She rushed to her table screaming curses as she ran, yanked open the drawer, and came up with a knife. Damen pivoted and made for the door. As he exited, he heard another volley of expletives and the thunk of the blade lodge into the wood behind him.
On reaching the main hallway again, he saw Sarah and Calista near a stairway at the far end. The women stood off to the side in their inconspicuous pelisses and bonnets. Though still shaken by the feisty little acrobat, seeing Sarah made his pulse take another leap.
As he made his way toward them, a group of young scoundrels approached the women. The men’s mannerisms and smug smiles indicated exactly what they had in mind. From a distance, he could see Miss Collins say something to them.
The rascals’ expressions darkened, turning to shock and anger. They sidled away, scowling and sputtering to one another.
“Where’s Lumsley?” he asked as he approached the women.
Both Sarah and Calista’s attention had been on the retreating men. As they turned, their expressions froze on Damen.
“Good Heavens! What happened to you?” Sarah gasped, and reached toward him, then checked about them and let her hand drop. “You should have stayed with us!”
“Apologies, my lady… Miss Collins.” She was right. Now he felt guilty. He should have been there to protect them against those young libertines. “Where’s Lumsley?” He gazed about and caught his own reflection in one of the windows.
His cravat had been yanked loose, waistcoat unbuttoned, shirt pulled out, and a fistful of hair stuck straight up on one side of his head. With a few bruises still coloring his face, he looked like he’d gone another couple of rounds.
As the group of scoundrels made another pass by them, one of the young men said loudly, “See, I told you she was vicious. Look what she did to that poor bastard.”
Damen needed to put himself back to rights, but he didn’t want to leave the women to deal with the likes of those young rakes.
“Lumsley said he wanted to buy refreshments. Maybe he went to Gunter’s to get them,” Sarah said drolly.
Damen wanted to tell her he’d discovered Mary Turner was a brothel madam, but in the condition he was in, it would spark additional questions. Such as, why did he look ravaged? Who’d done it and where?
To admit a feisty little acrobat could do such damage in less than fifteen seconds would impugn his manhood.
How could he explain that his brother couldn’t go anywhere without collecting women? Clearly his tastes had expanded, to now include a brothel madam and a horsey acrobat.
With this latest surprise, Damen wondered how far the line of women went.
Shocking though their meeting had been, Matilda verified Cory returned to London two years before, as his journal said. Until now, Damen hadn’t quite believed it. Why would his brother slink in and out of town while letting Damen and his father believe he was in some faraway port?
Lumsley lumbered down the last few stairs and gave them his gap-toothed grin. “Couldn’t find the special treats they usually have here.” His gaze settled on Damen. “I say, Ravenhill. Have you already run into another pack of cutthroats? You should have waited for me.” He slapped him on the shoulder. “You certainly attract the meaner elements of our fair city. I could give you a few pointers on how to defend yourself, if you’d like.”
Damen ignored him and bowed to the women. “My apologies, I must put myself back to rights. The show is about to start again.”
***
At the conclusion of the entertainment, they took Lumsley’s carriage to Miss Collins’ home first.
Next, they took Sarah to Strathford Hall. Lumsley, the self-important dolt, hopped down the carriage steps and held out his hand to Sarah. “Don’t stir yourself, Ravenhill. I’ll escort Lady Strathford in.”
Damen’s jaw muscles worked as he labored to hold his tongue. This need of Sarah’s to be discreet had quickly become tiresome. Clearly, Lumsley had designs on her. Maturity and time often changed people, but he suspected the man hadn’t quite learned his lesson.
He pulled his lips tight over his teeth, hoping they approximated a smile. “Thank you for a lovely evening, my lady. Perhaps we can do it
again.”
Lumsley chuckled as he took Sarah’s hand to help her down the carriage steps. “Yes. We make an excellent party. Miss Collins and Ravenhill… and me and Lady Strathford.”
As they proceeded to Sarah’s door, a memory drifted back to Damen. While at Cambridge, he’d been invited to a stag party for one of the older students. It had been wild, even for a lad who’d seen plenty of wickedness in St Giles. The party took place in the second-floor banquet room of a local tavern.
Prostitutes and a band were part of the entertainment. While some of the ingrates took their pleasure with an audience, private ‘conversations’ could be enjoyed in adjoining rooms.
Agnes, one of the barmaids, made regular trips up and down the back stairs replenishing food and drinks. She was young and rather shy and she’d waited on Damen and his mates when they came in for ale.
As Damen sat listening to the band, a fellow who’d been waiting in line for one of the prostitutes followed Agnes out the door.
There’d been a glint in his eye, a liquor-fueled determination he recognized from customers in his grandfather’s pub.
He set down his tankard and followed him into the hall only to find he’d disappeared. One or two partiers skulked around the doorway. He thought he heard sounds coming from the end of the hall, but couldn’t tell with the racket coming from the banquet room.
Strolling toward the noise, he heard a loud crash, muffled cries, thumps...a harsh groan.
Damen tried the door. Finding it locked, he lunged, easily breaking it open.
The miscreant was sprawled over Agnes on a bed. Her legs kicked and arms flailed in an effort to escape, but she was too small to dislodge such a large fellow. Tears and blood streamed down her face as the man clenched his hand over her mouth.
Damen grabbed the reprobate by the heels and pulled him off the bed.
Even with his loose trousers impeding his movement, the fellow managed to launch to his feet and get in a few swings. Damen hit him once, twice, three times. On the fellow’s next swing, Damen caught his ring and little finger and twisted, cracked them over one knee, and wrenched the fingers off to the side. The bones made a satisfying pop while the villain wheezed out a cry of surprise.
Lumsley’s appearance had changed in the intervening years, but his fingers still bore the signs of that confrontation.
Loud whistling gave Damen a start, bringing him back from his reverie. Footsteps resounded off Strathford Hall’s walkway as the culprit from his memory nearly skipped across the bricks.
Lumsley bounded through the door and threw himself into the seat, making the carriage bounce. “What a splendid evening!” He let out a suggestive exhale and yucked. “Lady Strathford may not show it, but she is the most passionate woman I’ve ever met. Absolutely gone over me. Smart woman, as well. She may toy with those beneath her station, but she only marries titled lords.” A grin stretched across his face as he used his handkerchief to pat the sides of his lips suggestively.
Damen gripped the hilt of his cane with such umbrage one of poorer construction would have snapped in two. He should have insisted on going to the door with them.
Lumsley clutched the handhold for balance as the carriage lurched forward.
The sight of that incriminating appendage filled Damen with anger. Hidden inside his expensive glove were those ugly bent fingers.
Sarah said he’d been her brother’s boon companion and spoke of him as if he were a harmless, rather tiresome, long-time family friend. Could she truly have shone passion to such a puffed-up windbag and be ‘gone’ over him?
Maybe Lumsley needed another lesson.
“What a night. What a night. And that tarty acrobat!” He whistled. “She certainly showed us the goods, didn’t she? Ever wonder what it would be like to ride an acrobat? Hey, hey. Hey, hey.” He stroked his bushy mustache and patted his breast pocket. “Have that little memento she tossed me to follow up on.”
By the time they reached Falgate Hall, Damen needed to restrain himself from breaking a few more of Lumsley’s fingers.
“Here we are, here we are,” the miscreant chortled as the carriage finally rolled to a stop. “Don’t forget, Ravenhill, my offer still stands. If you want pointers on how to handle yourself with a scoundrel or two, let me know.”
Damen slid out of the carriage to the sidewalk. A gas lamp flickered above on an ornate pole at the front gate. He placed his hat on his head and pulled his lips tight over his teeth. “I may just do that.” As the carriage pulled away, he turned to lift the gate latch and heard the rustle of silk off to one side. Every muscle tensed in alarm.
“Baron help?” Mrs Ivanova stepped out from behind a hedge bordering the tall iron fence. With the mist snaking around the sidewalk, her black gown, bonnet and veil gave her the unsettling appearance of a wraith.
Damen sucked in a breath and gritted his teeth, his irritation spiking. “Following me around won’t get the plans found any faster.”
She pointed toward the departing carriage. “He want Lady Strathford.”
“Clearly.”
“You want Lady Strathford.”
It didn’t matter what Damen wanted. Once Sarah got to know the real him, she’d know him for the deceiving brute he was. There could be no future with Sarah. Just as well he was impersonating Cory. It kept his head on straight. “Are you jealous?”
She hissed out an oath. Or at least it sounded like one. “Remember Vesele?”
“No.”
“You promised.” Her strong voice thinned and she muttered something in her native tongue. “Read note?” she said with more urgency.
He didn’t want to admit he couldn’t read it. The note she’d handed him in front of the solicitor’s had been in some sort of Slavic writing. Though Cory was good with languages, it seemed improbable his brother could decipher such hieroglyphics. But he didn’t know for sure. He glared at the black veil, hoping Mrs Ivanova would think him angry for her pestering him. Which he was.
“No more patience.”
If Damen didn’t know better, her angry words sounded like they were colored with unshed tears. Was it an act?
He gritted his teeth. They were standing in the street. The cold mist was creeping down his collar making him itch and he needed to get back to Lady Strathford’s. This annoying woman was holding him up. “I. Don’t. Know. Where. They. Are.”
“If Lady Strathford love, she tell. Make her love… you.” She pointed at him.
That was impossible. If he were Cory, Lady Strathford would already have fallen at his feet. But women didn’t fall ears over toes for Damen. Besides, he was a deceiver, a brute, and unworthy of her love.
He couldn’t deny Sarah now owned a piece of his heart. More fool he. Right now, he’d like nothing better than to go to her and make slow, bone-tingling love.
After spinning so many lies, he knew there could be no happy ending. The best he could hope for was to sort out what Cory had been doing, find the plans and leave while he and Lady Strathford were still on friendly terms. He’d enough bruises on the outside; he didn’t need an extra set on the inside.
“Must hurry! Need plans now!”
He already knew that. The plans needed to be found and quickly. The most likely place still remained at Strathford Hall.
But he would do it his way.
He was tired of being a party to Mrs Ivanova’s deviousness. A part of him had begun to wonder if she might be as dangerous as the villains who’d attacked Cory.
“Must take plans to Vesele. Soon!”
“You have no say over what I do, or how I do it,” Damen said in Cory’s smooth vowels. “If I find the plans, they will be used as Lady Strathford sees fit. Do I make myself clear?”
CHAPTER 21
One lone lantern glowed in Strathford Hall’s vestibule as Sarah stopped at the large, gilt-framed mirror before launching into another circle around the room. Too much energy raced inside her. What was keeping Ravenhill?
When Lumsley saw
her in, he took it upon himself to grab her. She wrinkled her nose at the memory. One moment he was saying goodnight, and the next he’d pounced on her, his bristly mustache nettling her upper lip and nose.
It was all she could do to wriggle out of his unwelcome clutches and forbear giving him a well-deserved slap. The man’s professed affections and unwanted attentions sorely tested her patience.
She brushed her lower lip with her little finger. It was Ravenhill’s lips and embrace she wanted. After sinking into the depths of his intense gaze during the lightshow, everything in her called to him.
Her gown swished through another impatient turn. He’d whispered in her ear right before leaving Astley’s that he’d something to tell her and would return after they’d dropped her off. She glanced at the row of clocks on the vestibule’s marble table. Lumsley’s carriage had departed over an hour ago.
She stopped in front of the entry mirror to gaze at her new blue gown. Flutters tickled her insides. All night she’d kept it hidden under her pelisse, too shy to reveal so much of herself. Years had passed since she’d worn a pretty, feminine dress.
She stood straighter and felt a quiver of nerves as she studied how the deep neckline framed the soft mounds of her breasts. The tight waist, tasteful flaring of petticoats, and delicate tiers gave it a dramatic flow.
Its slick texture and sinuous lines made her feel like a vixen. She stroked her trembling hands down the sides of her breasts, across her waist, and over her hips, imagining them to be Ravenhill’s hands.
Sarah never attempted to entice either of her husbands. Neither one stimulated this overwhelming desire. But Mr Ravenhill… oh, Mr Ravenhill brought everything inside her alive. Last night, after their caresses became so heated, she’d thought there’d be more. Instead, he said goodnight and left.
Frustration and longing inspired new determination.
She gazed at her figure’s shapely profile in the mirror. Her plans were in place. She’d overwhelm him with so much desire, it would take all his strength to keep his hands off her.
The Trouble With Seduction Page 18
