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 b
etween 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?
Sarah needed someone to whom she could pour out her disappointment. Lumsley wisely predicted Ravenhill’s pretense, and now sat perfectly positioned to be there for her when their flirtation ended. His friend would be the one she’d cling to, so she wouldn’t be left alone again. He was a genius.
For Sarah’s sake, Niles now needed to apply every ounce of persuasion he possessed to see this to the appropriate conclusion.
He stretched extravagantly, approached the mirror over the fireplace, ostensibly to straighten his cravat, while he studied her reflection. “How are you this fine morning, Sis?”
She tsked and frowned.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come down so that I might talk with you.”
Her lips thinned. She cut him a quick glare and looked down again at the folded newspaper on her desk. Ah, so she also hid behind the paper to avoid conversation.
He sighed. This should probably wait until she was in a better mood. When that would be, he didn’t know. Since she’d shown Ravenhill the door, she’d been in a perpetual pet.
She couldn’t avoid her problems much longer, however. A big heap of trouble had landed on her doorstep and would only get worse if something wasn’t done, and quickly.
“I’ve considered the news your solicitor delivered, Sis, and thought you should know I’m at your disposal should you need any help.”
“Thank you, Niles.” With her attention still glued to the paper, she’d pinched her lips together so tight they’d almost disappeared.
That wasn’t exactly the response he’d been hoping for, but he’d offered his help and done his brotherly duty. Both he and she knew it was merely for show. Problems tended to get bigger, not smaller, when he got involved. Niles tiptoed to the door and let himself out.
***
A few lines in the newspaper’s society column had chilled Sarah to the bone. As she read it again, her heart squeezed painfully.
‘After an unfortunate mugging some weeks ago, one of
our returning citizens, Mr R, has had the misfortune to suffer
another assault. Our sources say he’s retired to the country
to convalesce.’
Convalesce? That sounded horrible. What happened to him? According to the woman in black, if Sarah didn’t give them the plans, bad men would hurt Mr Ravenhill, the woman in black, and their baby. Tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes.
A knock at the door sent her scrambling for her handkerchief. “Yes, what is it?”
When the door opened, an enormous bouquet floated in, as if airborne. Lumsley peered out from behind it with an ear-to-ear grin. He tramped toward her. “My lady, I know how you’ve missed your flower garden, so I brought someone else’s for you to enjoy.”
Little of what he said registered as her mind continued to dwell on Ravenhill. How badly was he hurt? Removing himself to the country sounded so ominous. Had he been irreparably damaged?
Not so long ago she’d imagined him as her other half – the man with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Then she’d discovered his vile deceptions. She’d told him she never wanted to see him again.
So he’d left.
She hiccupped and blew her nose.
Her feelings of betrayal, stupidity, and foolishness now didn’t seem to matter.
Was she responsible for his injury – possibly permanent – because she couldn’t locate the plans?
Dazed, she took the flowers from Lumsley and held them up as if to smell their fragrance. She quickly mopped at her eyes. “Thank you, my lord.”
“No need for tears, my dear.” He gave her a sympathetic, gapped-toothed smile. “There are plenty more where these came from. If you wish, I will see that you have a houseful from now on.”
She carried the bouquet to her desk and set them in the middle. “What can I do for you today, my lord?” she sniffed.
“Now, now,” he said, stepping up from behind and curling his arm around her. “Let’s sit you down. Nothing is as bad as all that. Tell me your troubles, and I’ll see about fixing them.”
Once they’d settled on the settee, exhaustion seeped into her bones. She’d never wept so much nor slept so little as she had in the past week. She craved the sound of Ravenhill’s voice, so rich and soothing to the ear. She wanted to hear him make a clever joke, wrap his big muscular arms around her, and calm her worries.
As if answering her wish, fine wool and warmth pressed against her side and shoulders, surrounding her.
She wanted to hear his heartbeat under her ear as she had when they’d made love and he’d held her against him in the aftermath.
A light thumping registered in her ear, granting her wish.
And she imagined his kiss against the top of her hair as he whispered words of love.
Something scratchy brushed against the top of her head and her nose prickled. Bear-grease pomade?
“There, there now. I’m all ears, my dear.”
Good Heavens! While she’d been pining for Ravenhill, Lumsley had wrapped his arms tight around her. Any closer and he’d have her in his lap. The realization made her as tense as an overwound clock.
She threw out her arms, breaking free of his embrace, and scooted to the edge of the settee where she clutched at her high collar and gazed back at him. “I’m, I’m at a loss for words, my lord.”
He smiled at her again, slowly easing across the settee to her side. He gently took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “There’s something I’ve wanted to speak with you about. Something well overdue.” He continued to hold her hand and toyed with her little finger. “You should know I hold you in the highest regard. Have since I… I hate to finally admit this… since Niles first brought me to your father’s country estate when I was fifteen.”
Sarah didn’t like where this was headed. S
he tried to slip her hand out of his, but he held fast.
“I’ve reached a time in my life where I must think to the future. I’ve searched far and wide and none but you has remained so steadfast in my heart. Being near you over the past few weeks has increased my affection tenfold. And…”
He turned his hand over and glanced at something written on his sleeve before he smiled at her again. “And… therefore…” – he slid off the couch and landed on one knee with a soft grunt, his mouth pulled into a strained grin – “you would make me the happiest of men if you would consent to be my wife.”
He gazed up at her with pure, unadulterated hope.
The declaration quite startled Sarah out of her reverie about Ravenhill. Here was a man she’d known most of her life who now revealed he’d loved her since they were practically children. If that didn’t shout devotion, nothing could.
For the first time she looked past his lack of physical attraction and weighed everything she knew about Lumsley. He had a fair amount of intelligence, though no comparison to Edward. He appeared to have a comfortable living, though certainly not in the league of her first husband, Lord Hardington. And he seemed a reasonably caring man – though sometimes a bit self-important, but certainly no more pompous than Niles.
He was of average build, looks and personality, and did not attract women like bees to honey as Ravenhill did. Nor was he excessively prone to gambling or drink, like many a young lord.
Emphasis on young.
He was barely three years older than herself. By all appearances, he would make as steadfast and constant a husband as any man. Plus, Lumsley was already practically family and, with the straits she was in, her father would have had no trouble blessing their marriage.
She clenched her hands in her lap and looked into his medium-brown eyes. The air in the room seemed to close in on her, and her words emerged in a breathless stream, “My lord, I am flattered beyond words…” The bouquet on her desk tugged at her attention.
The Trouble With Seduction Page 24
