The Trouble With Seduction

by Victoria Hanlen

  His mind wandered to Sarah again.

  Since he’d returned to London, she was never far from his mind. Would she recognize him – a decidedly un-dandyish, hirsute, myopic new Viscount Falgate?

  Would she forgive him if he told her the truth about his foray into impersonation and all its absurdity? And could they ever be anything other than enemies now that he was officially one of London’s biggest slumlords.

  When he walked into Falgate Hall a while later, the house seemed strangely quiet, as always, even though a big city percolated close to its doorstep the stillness underscored his loneliness.

  Then and there he decided he wanted a large family to fill the vast silence with children’s chatter and laughter. And in his imagination, some of those children would have wild blonde hair that would defy any pins or hats that tried to contain it.

  A knock sounded at his door.

  “Come,” he growled.

  The family butler entered and presented a salver with an envelope. Damen glanced at the writing and ripped it open. The sight of the familiar block lettering tightened a muscle in his neck.

  ‘Viscount Falgate,

  I have important information regarding your brother

  Mr Cornelius Ravenhill. Meet me at McConnigan’s

  in St Giles at five o’clock.’

  No signature, but a large letter ‘I’ was scrawled at the bottom.

  Damen read the short message again. This could be another ambush.

  Mrs Ivanova conjured countless questions.

  She’d managed to cling to his heels during his previous sojourn in London. Only Gormley and his father knew about the deception. Had she figured it out? Could she possibly have known he went to Liverpool?

  Given how she claimed she carried Cory’s baby and convinced Sarah he was the devil incarnate, he itched to confront the mysterious Muscovite.

  And what about the tiny engine? Had it or the plans been found? Or did the little therapeutic devices Strathford had been working on somehow get misconstrued?

  He glanced up at his butler. “Ready the men and dogs.”

  ***

  Damen arrived at the tavern five minutes early and found a seat at the back wall. He wanted a clear view of everything in the place – the bar, the front door, and the hall to the kitchen. He ordered an ale but only held it in his hands while he waited.

  Whoever attacked Cory had been deadly serious. The first gang would have done the same to Damen and Sarah had he not known the rookery. He’d survived the Painted Lady pub assault and the two alley fights with bare-knuckle grit and St Giles dirty street fighting.

  His father knew he needed to clean out the nests of villains in his properties. Both he and Mary Turner said it would take an army. Since his father’s decline, the criminals now infested the place like an epidemic. If they were bold enough to attack the wealthy and powerful, no doubt they fell on the poor like packs of ravenous wolves.

  Damen knew he must fix the problem. The local police were outmatched, incompetent, and corrupt.

  On his side, he’d brought three dozen hard, ex-military men, and a dozen detectives. Twelve now blended in with the patrons at the tavern. The others were stationed in the street out front and in the back alley with the hounds.

  Customers came and went. A crowd now jammed the place. Unless Mrs Ivanova was a man or dressed like one, she hadn’t arrived. At nearly six he stood, readying to leave. One of the barmen approached and said a woman wanted to speak with him in the alley.

  Damen caught the eye of two of his men, wordlessly sending the message to follow. As he entered the narrow hall leading out back, thugs ambushed him. One of his men blew a whistle. Bottles and tankards began to fly. Chairs crashed, tables overturned. Toughs around the tavern rose up to throw punches and corner his men. The villains had brought reinforcements.

  It was all-out war.

  Only a dim lantern lit the narrow hall. Damen fended off the men’s knives and cudgels. A metal pipe flew out, taking him by surprise.

  When he managed to wrench the pipe from the villain’s hands, he noticed the number six tattooed in his palm. Damen kicked and scratched and pounded and heaved until he’d fought his way out the back, dragging Number Six with him. His men quickly gagged and manacled the carpenter and shoved him to the floor of one of the waiting carriages.

  “Gather the men,” Damen said to his second-in-command.

  The carriages drove straight to a vacant Falgate warehouse.

  It took four of his men to drag the large, muscular carpenter inside, rope his arms and legs to a chair, and lift it on top of a table. The lantern light shed grotesque shadows across the brick walls. An ugly taste filled Damen’s mouth.

  He looked at Number Six’s bent little and ring fingers, the ones Damen had broken when they were boys. Here was the man who, as a boy, nearly killed Granny Wilkins, bashed Cory in the head with a brick, and might have been the acquaintance the doomed footman said Cory recognized when he’d been attacked and put into a coma.

  The dark bruise coloring Number Six’s cheekbone would soon blacken his eye. His knuckles oozed. The bastard and his friends had tried to kill him again, only this time Damen had brought his own men.

  He shuddered to think this animal had roamed around Sarah’s home. It didn’t take much imagination to see him planting the incriminating fuses.

  “Ungag and toss that bucket of water on him. Let’s see if he has anything to say.”

  The carpenter jolted awake when the cold water hit his face. “Bloody hell,” he rasped, and shook his head like a dog with water in his ears.

  Damen stepped forward. “Do you know who I am?”

  The carpenter looked him up and down and snarled, struggling against his bindings.

  He could almost see the wheels turning in Number Six’s head, calculating his escape.

  “No? You don’t recognize me? Then let me introduce myself. I am the man who will see you hang.”

  The carpenter spat in his face and spewed forth a creative string of St Giles expletives.

  “I’d sit still if I were you. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a noose around your neck. It won’t take much to tip that wobbly table you’re sitting on, and then the rope will do the rest.”

  Realization finally entered the carpenter’s eyes. “What do you want?”

  “Who gave you instructions to attack me and my men?”

  “No one. I’m their leader,” he said mulishly.

  “I think not.” Damen pressed his foot against the table, making it shimmy.

  “I was told to give you a message.” He leaned in to whisper. “A certain brothel madam sends her love.”

  The carpenter’s lips curled into a snarl.

  “She said she will always cherish… was it Ergatroit?”

  The man gasped in a breath while his features rearranged into horrid disbelief. “Where is she?”

  “For safety’s sake, I cannot say, but she fled because she was sure the Scythe would kill her if she stayed.”

  The carpenter’s skin grew ashen. “The Scythe?”

  “Aye. That’s what she said. So, would you like to amend your statement? Who is he?’”

  CHAPTER 31

  An hour later, six carriages pulled along the edge of the street, within a block of what once had been Mary Turner’s brothel. The first floor had been converted to a white-tablecloth dining room. A fine chef had been hired and turned it into one of the best gentlemen’s eateries in the city.

  If food wasn’t what a customer wanted, they could climb the red-carpeted stairs to the second floor for drinks, various games of chance, or their choice of comely strumpets.

  Damen and his men now wore jackets and neckerchiefs to fit into the establishment. Fifteen of his men entered the dining room in small groups. More surrounded the front and back.

  While Damen and three of his detectives were seated at a table and read the specials, he looked around for the man Number Six said called himself the Scythe. On h
is third glance about the room, one man seemed familiar.

  He’d changed into better clothes as well. Other than his size, he still looked so understated Damen almost passed him over. He was the second farrier who’d barely said a word when he and Sarah visited the Falgate warehouse.

  Just then, the bearded farrier appeared from the hallway leading to the back. As if making a stage entrance, Inspector Hooker finally emerged in all his surly glory.

  As Hooker and the farrier took their seats, Damen caught the eye of his own lead man.

  He got to his feet, approached the inspector, and placed his hands on his hips. “It’s time we had a chat.”

  The two farriers lurched forward, but Hooker held up his hand to stop them. He squinted one eye while the other bulged. “We’re busy,” he sneered, dangerously.

  “You might want to take a look around this fine establishment,” Damen said in a quiet, controlled voice. “The room is filled with my men. I’d prefer not to have to tear the place apart, but I will if you insist.”

  Hooker’s lips thinned as he sniffed. The farriers acted on the signal and heaved the table. Food and dishes flew.

  Hooker dashed toward the back hallway.

  The men had been ready. While several subdued the farriers, Damen pursued the inspector through the kitchens, where he flung pots of boiling food, knives, skewers – anything he could get his hands on.

  As Hooker slammed out the back door, Damen lunged and tackled him. Several of his men rushed forward and helped subdue the inspector. Then hauled him to a waiting carriage.

  When they arrived back at the Falgate warehouse, his men dragged Hooker into a small workshop and tied him to another chair. The lantern light made the interior look like a dark cell.

  Damen stood gazing at the devil who’d hidden behind a horde of villains and victimized countless people. His pocked face, bulging eye, and crooked mouth were creased with deep lines from a lifetime of ugly sneers. His hair had turned salt and pepper. A sizable paunch protruded from his gut.

  “This is kidnapping,” he growled.

  Damen drew his lips across his teeth. “Kidnapping is the least of your troubles.”

  Hooker’s bulbous nostrils flared. “What ‘r yuh want?”

  “For starters, you’re done scratching your gang’s symbol on my property.”

  “S’elp me, God, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Why did you send your men to kill my brother?

  “You’re bolloxed.”

  Damen kicked the chair over backwards. Then stepped heavily onto Hooker’s chest.

  The inspector turned red in the face.

  Lifting his foot, he glared at the man. “Answer my question.”

  “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “No. I doubt you’ve ever dirtied your own hands. You have your men do the work while you enjoy a fine dinner in a brothel you stole. I repeat, why did you send your men to kill my brother.”

  “You’re wasting your time—”

  Damen stepped on his chest again, leaning harder this time. “Nor am I a patient man.”

  The inspector soon turned purple.

  When he finally eased up on his foot, Hooker gasped in air. “I hate all you Ravenhills.”

  “Why?”

  Hooker’s lips puckered and he spat.

  The effort was so pitiful, all Damen could do was shake his head. He wiped the spittle off his shoe onto Hooker’s face and slid the toe of his boot against his throat.

  As the inspector’s skin changed shades, his face contorted, and his tongue lolled.

  “We can keep playing this game until you choke,” Damen said quietly and released some of the pressure from his foot.

  “Your father destroyed my family,” Hooker gasped. “He had my sons and brother deported. The ship never reached Botany Bay. My wife died of a broken heart.”

  “That’s rich. You ran your gangs in St Giles for decades. Others were captured, hung, and deported, and you kept yourself hidden, letting others pay the price while you orchestrated all manner of heinous crimes. So it’s an eye for an eye, is it?”

  “And anyone you care about,” he spat.

  “What do you mean? Is that why you threatened Mrs Ivanova?”

  “Who?”

  Damen wondered if he’d revealed too much. After the earlier pub fight, he’d wondered if Mrs Ivanova worked with the gangs. “A Muscovite woman who conceals herself behind a black veil.”

  Hooker squinted and curled his lip as if Damen were daft.

  “She was after the same plans you claimed a Professor Bodkin wanted.”

  “I don’t know any Muscovite woman. I received paperwork signed by a Professor Bodkin demanding we obtain the drawings for Strathford’s small engine.”

  “Were they ever found?”

  “Lady Strathford has them. Mark my words.”

  “I’ve wondered about your interest in them. And you know what I came up with? Either you decided you needed your cut, or it was you who had Strathford make the engine. I’m guessing you had a foreign buyer, possibly an arms dealer supplying the Crimea? And when Strathford wouldn’t sell it to you, you blew up his laboratories.”

  “You and your Lady Do-gooder have quite the imaginations. His twisted his lips. “She has a lesson coming.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her and her damned mission. She stole my pigeons… and she thinks she doesn’t owe protection money? He cut a glance over his shoulder at the darkened window.

  “She may have won the first round, but I still control the streets! She’s having a celebration tonight…” – he made an ugly smile – “…and I’ve sent her a special present.”

  Goosebumps rose on Damen’s skin. “What kind of present?”

  Hooker’s eyes lit up with a feral gleam. “Fireworks!”

  ***

  Damen left guards on Hooker and Number Six and raced with the rest of his men toward the carriages.

  Could they already be too late?

  Ten minutes later, the coaches slowed a block from Sarah’s mission, unable to go any farther. He and his men jumped out to work their way through the crowd.

  On the sidewalk out front, musicians played a quick polka for the bobbing couples. Two large lanterns at the top of the steps shone on a cloth draped above the front door with the painted words ‘Happy Fifth Birthday Mission of Mercy.’

  Hooker’s sneering words echoed in his mind: “Fireworks!”

  Damen gazed about. Where would the villains have put the devices? The inspector had been far too smug and pleased with himself. With all the people milling around the mission, he shuddered to think what an explosion might do.

  And then he saw them. Sparks started to shower down the mission’s shingles, illuminating rows of barrels and rockets.

  Damen pushed through the revelers and pointed to the mission’s roof. “Fire! Everyone run! Fire!”

  BOOM! One of the rockets exploded.

  People screamed and ran in all directions, stumbling over one another to get away.

  Damen dashed up the steps into the mission. Families jammed the hallways. Where was Sarah? He ran out to the small back patio. The five villains who’d chased him and Sarah ran out the back gate into the alley.

  “Stop!” Damen dashed after them.

  Two of the men wheeled on him. The narrowness of the alley impeded movement, but Damen managed to get in a few good punches. The other three doubled back and set on him with their hammers and wrenches.

  ***

  Sarah was standing in one of the classrooms on the third floor of her mission, talking to parents, when a loud blast rattled the ceiling. Screams rose over the music out front. Men started shouting curses in the alley below.

  “What on earth?” She gazed out the window overlooking the alley. In the dim light cast by her mission’s lanterns she could see five men attacking one large man in a dark business suit, glasses, and a thick black beard.

  In a whir of motion,
he knocked two of them into the walls. Three others set upon him with deadly intent, swinging their heavy tools. The man knocked their weapons from their hands and grabbed them by the hair, stomped on their feet, kneed them, clouted them across the head, neck and stomach, twisting their arms and hands. The first two righted themselves and jumped on his back.

  “Heavens! What’s going on?” Sarah rushed down the stairs.

  On reaching the first floor, she got caught in the flood of people screaming and pushing out the back door. They poured across the patio and into the play yard. She ran to direct everyone out into the alley, swung open the gate, and saw the tall, bearded man straightening his jacket. His five attackers lay sprawled in the mud behind him.

  “Tie up these ruffians. We’re taking them back for questioning,” he called to the two burly men who appeared at her sides.

  Just then, something exploded above her. She looked up to see pieces of her mission’s roof fly into the air, showering sparks and fire.

  “My mission!” Sarah cried and pushed her way back inside. While she tried to help people safely out of the building, she saw the bearded man rush out the front. The fire bell clanged. A commanding voice cut through the chaos, shouting instructions. She ran up to the top floor and worked her way down to make sure everyone was out. Fingers of flame crept down from above.

  When she finally made it out front she saw a woman struggling to get out of a man’s clutches. “No, let me go! I have to get them! They’re in there!”

  “Is someone still inside?” Sarah gasped.

  Just then, the tall, bearded man charged out of the cloud of smoke pouring from the entrance, a squirming little boy tucked under each arm. He’d tied a handkerchief around his face against the smoke.

  “He found them!” The woman broke free and grabbed her little boys up into her arms, kissing them over and over.

  Sarah looked around. The fire engine had arrived, and a bucket line now trailed from the fire wagon up the steps to her mission. She got in line to pass buckets. As she heaved the containers of water, she turned to the man next to her, a sturdy, hard-looking fellow. “Do you know the name of the man who saved those two little boys?

  “Yes. He’s Lord Falgate.”