The Trouble With Seduction

by Victoria Hanlen

  CHAPTER 32

  Two days had passed since her mission’s celebration almost ended in disaster. Lord Falgate and his men had saved not only her mission, but hundreds of people as well. Sarah knew a sincere thank you was in order, but given her history with the Ravenhills, she feared her bad feelings about them might make a mockery of her attempt at civilized behavior.

  The din of passing wagons and coaches echoed around the street as she alighted from her carriage and approached their towering London mansion. Once the heavy doors closed behind her, however, all sounds ceased. Only cold silence pervaded the stark interior. It almost looked like she’d stepped through a portal into an ancient castle.

  She now stood in a rock-lined hallway, fidgeting with her bonnet ribbons and trying to take an even breath. Words kept replaying in her mind: “Dare she beard the lion in his own den?”

  Not so long ago, she would never have considered making such a call, but a note of thanks simply wouldn’t cover it. And if she were honest with herself, a horrid bit of curiosity needled as well.

  “My lord, Lady Strathford to see you,” the butler announced at the heavy oak doors.

  Sarah entered the cavernous room filled with dark paneling and gloom. High-backed leather chairs sat like monoliths commiserating over low plank tables. Immense, gilt-framed battle scenes dangled from cables along the walls.

  Overstuffed bookcases dominated at least a quarter of the study. The rest of the walls featured lances, pikes, and battle axes – organized in troops – all marching toward an enormous fireplace where large jewel-handled swords rested on the mantle shelf.

  The place nearly shouted of medieval masculinity, including the cold draft eddying around her shoulders. The only items missing were chainmail and tooled armor.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man stood silhouetted in the window. His long shadow, cast by the afternoon sun, stretched across the scarred plank floor, nearly reaching the hem of her gown.

  Her weak leg trembled and she took a step back. Even his shadow intimidated. She could still see him whirling on the five villains in the alley and knew they presented no more challenge to him than matchsticks.

  He made a slow turn and she shivered at what she saw. Never had she seen a more menacing-looking brute.

  “Lord Falgate.” She quickly curtsied.

  “Lady Strathford,” he rumbled in a deep voice, strangely reminiscent of Cory’s, but richer, with an unfamiliar accent. He executed a stern bow and stepped closer, looming.

  Sarah swallowed reflexively and eased her foot back another step.

  This man had the appearance of an aggressive industrialist crossed with an iron-willed medieval conqueror.

  Ebony waves covered his ears and curled past his collar. His dark beard bristled atop his cravat, at odds with London’s more groomed fashions. Glasses gave him a look of keen perception even as they hid the rest of his face.

  Cornelius’s clothes had been lordly and elegant, describing his well-built physique. This man’s clothes draped shapelessly over him. His baggy, dark frock coat and loose-fitting waistcoat and trousers were about as stylish as a rusty old barge.

  After his demonstration in the alley, she knew they allowed freedom of movement, and permitted the tall, strapping man to be as formidable as this fortress and the weapons on the walls.

  Falgate’s dark brows beetled and she could see nothing of his eyes through the glare of his spectacles. Her heart thudded in her ears. Was he deciding how far he could throw her?

  Prickles formed on her skin – first on her lips, then each feature in turn, on down to her bosom, then back up to her hairline. Her pulse fluttered like a hummingbird’s wing and she couldn’t decide if it was intimidation she felt or sharp arousal. Maybe a bit of both.

  “Lady Strathford, what may I do for you?” His words emerged in a no-nonsense, Liverpudlian directive, as if he’d pressing business needing his immediate attention.

  “I don’t wish to take up much of your time, my lord,” she exhaled in a rush, “but I must thank you and your men for coming to our rescue in the recent attack on my mission. You saved it from destruction and kept many people from being hurt.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She’d not got a good look at him before. The alley’s darkness after he’d thrashed his five attackers, and the handkerchief covering his face when he’d saved the two little boys, made him difficult to see. It had come as a surprise to discover he was Lord Falgate, Cornelius Ravenhill’s older brother. Apparently, he’d brought a small army of men to help put out her mission’s fire.

  His hands flexed at his sides making tight fists.

  Her gaze cut to his skinned knuckles, evidence of the recent attack on him. Did all the Ravenhill men attract ruffians? At least this brother managed to make a good showing for himself. Only his hands displayed signs of a struggle and not his head and face.

  “And is your mission back in order?” A stray gesture, the twist of his head, contained an odd familiarity, but his manner was more studied, evaluative, in contrast to Cornelius’s sultry charm.

  “The fires are extinguished. Repairs will be needed, but it could have been worse. Thank you again.”

  She didn’t want to be cynical, but self-interest probably played a large part in the new viscount’s concern. In her quest to help the poor with their rent increases, she’d finally discovered Falgate owned many of the properties surrounding her mission.

  If the explosion hadn’t been so quickly contained, his tenements, lodging houses, and other buildings might also have gone up in smoke. Fires sometimes burned whole neighborhoods before they could be stopped.

  “Your brother volunteered at my mission.”

  “Did he, now?” He turned his head to one side as if other things occupied his attention.

  “Yes, he was most helpful. He’d a surprisingly keen understanding of the tricks villains play on the unsuspecting.”

  “Always a big heart, my brother.”

  “How is he?” Her voice caught.

  Falgate’s head twisted back in her direction. “The country has proved healthful. He’s regaining strength daily. The doctors hope for a full recovery.”

  “Oh… that is good.” She gazed down at her clenched, gloved fingers. She’d not heard anything about him in so long. The relief that settled over her quite took her by surprise. “It is… good… he’s recovering.”

  “I gather you and Cornelius had… an alliance.” White teeth briefly shone out from behind his dark beard before he turned toward his desk as if urgent paperwork called to him.

  Apparently, both brothers had an ornery streak they disguised with wicked wit. He must know his brother was a terrible womanizer. Sarah’s mere mention of acquaintance had probably clued Falgate to the fact there’d been much more between them.

  She no longer cared what people thought. “We were friends, yes.” Cornelius had his faults, but he’d taught her to fight and stand up for herself.

  She stood straighter and threw her nose into the air. “He assisted me in investigating my husband’s alleged murder.”

  Falgate folded his arms over his chest. “And were you able to bring it to a successful conclusion?”

  “I was exonerated, yes.”

  “That is… good,” he rumbled. Another flash of white teeth.

  An understatement, to be sure. Hooker made egregious claims and assertions with little or no evidence. Cornelius had given her very good advice to be prepared for his treacherous tricks. And so she had been. “Your brother should be happy to know Inspector Hooker is no longer on the force.”

  “You managed that?”

  “In the course of things, yes. His days of sloppy, corrupt police work are over.”

  “I’ll be sure and tell my brother.” His voice held a note of admiration. He turned abruptly and strode to his desk. Clearly, he’d decided the interview was over.

  Sarah took a deep breath, stood taller, and arranged an uncompromising expression across her face.


  “The second reason I’m here is to prevail upon you to lower your rents.”

  “My rents?” he growled.

  She’d suspected this was the reason he seemed so intent on quickly ending the interview. He’d probably seen the handbills regarding rent-gouging landlords. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already discovered she was the one who’d posted them and contacted his solicitor to present her papers to cease and desist.

  “Yes, my lord. After much effort on my part, I discovered Viscount Falgate owned most of the properties surrounding my mission. Your rent increases have overburdened tenants to the extent they must now crowd several families into a tiny dwelling barely livable for one.”

  Falgate rubbed his beard and dodged her determined gaze.

  “Most of the tenements are filthy, unsanitary, and present a severe health risk. Families are forced to live in conditions worse than the horses in my stables.”

  He still said nothing. His beard masked any emotion that might cross his features. The afternoon light glinted off his glasses, preventing her from seeing the expression in his eyes. He stood very still, like a panther hiding in the grass.

  She got the distinct impression he was studying her. A wisp of something prickled the back of her neck.

  After a moment, he strode purposely back to the large, multi-paned window, clasped his hands behind him, and gazed outside. Sarah couldn’t help comparing the two brothers. Where Cornelius walked with a very manly swagger, his brother moved with the fluid stride and strength of an athlete.

  From behind, he could be Cornelius wearing sober, conservative attire. Both brothers had similar broad shoulders. Even draped in a shapeless frock coat, she could tell he’d a strapping physique. A pang of longing hit her.

  Perhaps any man who vaguely resembled Cornelius might reawaken her thoughts of him. Family members often possessed similar characteristics. But the two men’s bearings held little in common. Responsibility and power nearly bristled off Lord Falgate.

  How different he was from his brother.

  Cornelius had been a charmer – handsome, carefree, and flamboyant. With a wink and a waggle of his brows, he’d frequently postured and preened in his fashionable clothes.

  It had all been in jest, of course, making fun of his good looks. Underneath she knew he’d a sharp intelligence. Even jumbled by assault, he’d proven to have a keen mind. She still smiled at memories of his self-deprecating humor.

  She hadn’t stretched the truth when she said they’d been friends.

  If she looked past his philandering, Cornelius was pleasant company, well-informed, and admirably altruistic to those less fortunate. He’d built up her self-confidence, extolled her intelligence and competence, and given her the tools and courage to fight for herself. With him she was not an embellishment; he believed in her and, during the short time they’d shared, he’d made her feel like the most cherished woman alive.

  The viscount turned toward her and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, causing his frock coat to flare out behind him revealing his narrow hips. “My father had been ill for some time. The extent of his problems only came to light after his death.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, my lord.”

  “Thank you. As you may know, my family has encountered a number of problems, a few of which I’ve managed to sort out. My men and I rounded up members of a gang headed by Inspector Hooker. He’d been on the police force nearly twenty-five years while his ring of criminals terrorized St Giles.”

  “Hooker?” Sarah gritted her teeth.

  “He’d a long-standing vendetta against us. Every so often my father had to clean out the nests of criminals in his St Giles properties.”

  The viscount pushed his glasses up his nose. “After one of my father’s raids, Hooker’s two sons and brother were put on trial and deported to Botany Bay. Unfortunately, their ship sank. When Hooker discovered my father was the one who’d prosecuted them, he swore vengeance on my brother and me in retribution.”

  She gasped. “So he was behind your brother’s assault?”

  “He as much as admitted so.”

  Sadness suddenly gripped her. Cornelius had tried so hard to find the men who’d attacked him, but in the end, the villains won.

  “My father received a series of letters vowing to kill his family. After that, he found ways to keep us from London. Cory returned a few times, never staying long enough for anyone to take notice. With my father’s failing health, he moved back to help. Hooker found out and tried to kill him.”

  Falgate rubbed his neck.

  “So, to address your question, my father’s properties are currently under review. I intend to root out the rest of Hooker’s gang of criminals and garner influence in the proper quarters to establish reliable law enforcement in St Giles.” His Liverpudlian accent thickened. “I dealt with similar elements in Liverpool, but I can make no promises until the situation here is brought under control.”

  By his commanding tone and resolute physical presence, she could see he’d be an implacable adversary. Ridding St Giles of the criminal gangs would go a long way to improve the lives of the poor.

  “You handled those five ruffians in the alley behind my mission admirably.”

  A gleam momentarily flashed behind his glasses. Though veiled, the potency of it was reminiscent of… what?

  At that moment, the clouds outside parted. A ray of sun shot through the window, struck the mirror over the fireplace, and exploded into beams of brilliance, awakening a memory of the light show at Astley’s.

  Sarah’s breath caught. It must have been a trick of the light. For an instant, she thought she saw that same dark longing behind his spectacles.

  “Do you know your brother led me through the rookery to escape villains? I think that’s when I fell in love with him.”

  His gaze seemed to intensify, heating her skin.

  “I can’t help but note the resemblance between you and your brother.”

  “Occasionally people find it so.” His words, though softly spoken, had an edge.

  Her thoughts churned. Little flashes of remembrance filled her mind’s eye. “Your brother had a deplorable memory.”

  Falgate pointed to his temple. “Too many thumps to the brainbox.”

  “No, I think it was all the lies. He couldn’t keep them straight.”

  He stood there, a towering Adonis of a man, hunched his shoulders, and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. His dark brows pulled down as he pinned her with a hard stare. “He was not good at juggling, either.”

  She was getting tired of him sidestepping the subject.

  “Did Cornelius Ravenhill ever truly exist?”

  “Ah, now what’er you talkin’ about?” His sing-song Liverpudlian thickened. “He’s at our estate in Essex, recuperating from his assault.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “I’m his brother, Falgate. Who should I be?” A dark glint escaped as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Was she imagining things? The flash lasted a fraction of a second. She’d nearly missed it.

  But it was there.

  “What…! Who are you…? How is this? HOW COULD YOU?” She practically shouted the words. “What are you playing at, my lord? Am I so gullible you thought to have a lark with me?”

  He stood stock still, watching her from behind his glasses.

  “What kind of twisted game is this? Did you have a good laugh at the fool you made of me?”

  She found herself gasping with insult and anger. Her eyes burned like someone had thrown acid in them. “I must leave before I say something I shouldn’t!”

  ***

  Paralyzed by the pain clutching his chest, Damen could only watch Sarah dash from the room. Amputation of a limb wouldn’t have been more agonizing. In all of his daydreams, he’d never pictured a more disastrous reunion. What a hash he’d made of things – again.

  He’d get over it, though. He had to get o
ver her. If he was lucky the pain would dull, and he might be able to sleep again.

  In the deafening silence, the mansion almost seemed to hold its breath as the light patter of her shoes receded down the hall. It reminded him of leaves blowing down a lane, the end of a season, the last chance at a once-in-a-lifetime love he’d botched from day one.

  A sound deep inside welled up his throat.

  “Saraaah!” His voice sounded like the cry of a wounded bear.

  Her footfalls stopped, started forward, hesitated, then backed up, faltered again.

  His ears strained toward the sound. “Forgive me,” he croaked.

  Suddenly, she stood in the doorway, looking at him as if she would faint.

  In three steps he had her in his arms. “Please forgive me, Sarah.” He covered her face with kisses, tasting her salty tears as his heart knocked wildly in his chest.

  “I knew it,” she panted, matching kiss for hungry kiss.

  Her familiar peach and lavender perfume filled his senses. He felt as if they were floating off the floor, so lost was he to her caresses. The woman he loved was finally in his arms.

  His hands roamed up and down her back. “Ah, Sarah,” he muttered between heated caresses. “Why wouldn’t you leave me be? I’m no good for you.”

  She melted into him, quaking. “Let me be the judge of that.” She kissed him deeply and then pulled back, swiping at a tear. “You have a lot to answer for, my lord. It’s well past time you gave a proper accounting of yourself.”

  He brushed away another tear with his thumb. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  “Positively,” she hiccupped.

  “Well, then…” He gazed about her face like a thirsty man would an oasis in a vast desert. “We’d best have a seat.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Sarah’s voice nearly failed her as she attempted to speak. “So are you saying you impersonated your brother?” Her mind grappled with the impossibility. This man didn’t even smell like the Cornelius she’d known. Instead of an expensive male fragrance of sandalwood and citrus wending its way through the air, she couldn’t detect a scent of any kind.

  “I deeply regret leading you to believe I was someone I am not, my lady. But my brother’s assailants were still out there, and as you can see…” – he held up his skinned knuckles – “…they intended to do away with us. I finally managed an element of surprise when I returned with a small army of my own.”