The Trouble With Seduction (22 page)

“Ooor…” his father wrinkled one side of his lips. “Should
she
cry off...”

Understanding slowly sank in and he nearly choked on a laugh. His father had frequently been secretive, rarely giving explanations for what he did. But had he always been this devious?

Was it that simple? Get Miss Lambert to cry off? Damen arched a brow. “Then Cory would be released from the marriage contract. I’ll find a way to pay back the advance, and have an extra week or two to capture the villains.”

***

As Damen was getting ready for Astley’s that evening, he thought to get his valet’s thoughts on the matter. “I’ve some questions for you, Gorm.”

“I’ll do my best, Mr Ravenhill.” The valet helped him out of his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair.

“When I first decided to step in for Cory, you related a little about his intended.”

“Ah, yes. Miss Lambert.” He expertly removed Damen’s waistcoat, braces and shirt.

“You told me they only met the one time and she’d found one of Rufus’s hairs on his sleeve. He came home and banished the hound to the barn. Do you recall Cory discussing anything more about the woman?”

Gormley laid the garments on the chair seat and applied a brush to the jacket as if another hair had appeared. “Not that I remember.”

Damen tugged off his shoes, unbuttoned his trousers, and divested himself of the rest of his clothes, placing them on the bed. “Did you know I met her today?”

The valet paused momentarily. “Did you?”

“Not the most pleasant of experiences. I can’t fathom what Cory was thinking.”

“A mystery, that,” the valet muttered.

Damen stepped into the oversized tub and sank down into the hot water. “To put it bluntly, Gorm, I must find a way to get Cory’s fiancée to cry off.”

Gormley walked at an even pace with jacket in hand to disappear into the closet. Then returned and methodically brushed the trousers. “Perhaps a dog.”

“I don’t want to endear her to me.” Damen soaped up a cloth and scrubbed it across his chest.

“You misunderstand. She made your brother send his favorite friend to the stables. It would seem she doesn’t like dogs. Or maybe it’s something more fundamental. Some people have an intolerance to them.”

Damen slid down against the back of the tub to gaze at the ceiling and enjoy the hot water. “Yes. Perhaps that’s the problem with her voice. Rather nasal and whiny.” A plan suddenly took form in his mind. “Gorm, I think you’re on to something.”

CHAPTER 20

Sarah sat on the edge of her seat in their box at Astley’s applauding enthusiastically. She didn’t know when she’d so enjoyed herself. The variety of entertainments, the exuberant crowd, and the energy flowing through the theater quite kept her agog.

To her right sat Calista and Lumsley. To her left sat Mr Ravenhill. While the orchestra played a spritely tune in the pit, the red velvet curtains closed in front of the line of bowing actors on the main stage.

Sarah pressed her hand to the collar of her dark, chin-to-toe pelisse and gave Calista a grin. “You chose well.”

Horns suddenly blared, followed by a drum roll. The announcer shouted, “And nooow the spectacle you’ve all been waiting for!”

Hundreds of thousands of gas flares whooshed around the theater.

Flames rose, blazing golden white in the colossal chandelier hanging from the center of the theater’s high ceiling. Smaller chandeliers on the walls and box fronts came to life. Gas lights danced, rising and falling in brilliant configurations, filling the theater with glittering splendor.

Sarah watched agape, unable to take it all in. Never had she seen such a spectacle. More lights flared, delighting her with their designs and glistening fountains of flame.

Another row of gas jets whistled to her left. She glanced at Mr Ravenhill to find his gaze fixed on her, rather than the light show. The potency of it registered almost as a physical jolt.

His abrupt departure last night and his lack of conversation this evening had made her wonder if he’d decided she was not his cup of tea.

Even though the theater was full of flashing light, his eyes had become exceedingly dark. He held her gaze as if he’d discovered something rare and fascinating and couldn’t resist its allure. Heat flared in his eyes and drew her into their depths.

The flashing, glorious light show receded. A vision took form with them twined in each other’s arms – touching, caressing, moving as one. The moment might have lasted a second, possibly minutes, before she realized she needed to breathe and found her heart thumping wildly.

“And nooow,” the ringmaster shouted into his speaking trumpet, “give a warm welcome to the Leaping Amazonians and their War Steeds!”

The announcement finally broke through their shared longing. Neither had moved so much as a hair. Yet, for a few moments, their intoxicating connection held her enthralled.

Sarah found herself warm and wet in delicate places, and without much thinking she moved her slippered foot under her skirts and placed it on Mr Ravenhill’s boot.

He captured her gaze again, his chest still rising and falling as if he were out of breath. Slowly, he leaned his leg into hers as he directed his attention toward the show.

From their front-row, second-floor box seat, Sarah had a perfect view of the ring. A clown ran in yelling as if he were being chased, cartwheeling and tumbling around the ring in a furious approximation of seeking escape, to the enthusiastic laughter and applause of the audience.

Three magnificent horses cantered in from the sidelines followed by four colorful acrobats. The men wore jester costumes while the woman wore a revealing dress with a form-fitting bodice and layers of fluttering, gauzy material ending at her knees. All bounded into the ring and up the sides of the horses like they wore springs in their feet.

To her left, Mr Ravenhill slowly tucked a broad shoulder behind her chair. “As a lad I tried to stand on my mount’s back like them.” His warm breath tickled her ear.

She inclined her head toward his. “And could you do it?”

“Briefly, until my horse decided to change directions. He was a mulish hack, full of orneriness, and didn’t have the constitution or the patience for such maneuvers.”

A memory of Sarah’s gray mare intruded. She’d also attempted standing on the back of her sweet-tempered horse. “Did he learn any tricks?”

“Yes, he got good at brushing me off on a fence post and racing home for his oats.”

Below, makeshift jumps were being set up in the ring. The sight filled her with regret.

Guilt seeped in, subduing her good spirits. When she was twelve, Niles brought home a handsome friend to visit over one of his school holidays. They’d all gone riding. The boy teased her for being scared to take her horse over a tiny jump.

Of course, she was scared. Her father had forbade jumping her horse and she rode side-saddle while the boys rode astride. In the throes of her first infatuation, she finally gave in to his goading.

Soon she was following them over fences and hedgerows. On the last one, something happened. All she remembered was seeing the ground rush toward her and felt her horse fall across her leg. She spent months bedridden with a bad break. Her efforts to impress a handsome boy had left her with a weak leg.

And the worst of it was her sweet-tempered mare, whom she loved dearly, hadn’t been hurt. But her father shot her horse anyway, for disobeying him.

Applause brought her back as the jumps were removed from the ring. The male acrobats bounded on to the horses again and tumbled over one another. They hung upside down, made pyramids, and bounced across each others’ shoulders.

The woman joined the group, scrambling up the side of a horse. Her skirts ruffled and flew, showing a good amount of leg. She climbed around the other acrobats like they were a ladder and finally stood atop their shoulders, raising her leg and arms in a series of arabesques.

Long ribbons flowed from her hands, whipping in circles behind her like kites’ tails, to the applause of the crowd. Unconcerned, the well-trained horses cantered at an even pace around the ring.

The woman then raised her hand and blew a kiss at – could Sarah have seen correctly? – their box. When she came round the ring again, she tossed her garter at them. Lumsley dove for it and stuffed it into his pocket, grinning with satisfaction.

When the acts changed, an usher tiptoed up behind them. “Is there a Mr Cornelius Ravenhill in this box?”

He raised a finger and the man placed a slip of paper in his hand.

Having never visited a venue such as Astley’s, the delivery of notes filled Sarah with questions. She tried not to be obvious in her furtive glances. All she could see was Ravenhill’s name clearly printed on the outside and the initials M.T. at the bottom of the note.

Revealing nothing in his expression, he scanned the paper and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

He and Lumsley had insisted they escort her and Calista to prevent any rogues from making advances. Did the note pertain to such a proposition? Yet it was delivered to Mr Ravenhill by name. Odd, that.

And then there was the acrobat’s kiss blown toward their box and the garter thrown at Lumsley.

The image of the veiled woman in black placing the note into Ravenhill’s hand and Eugenia Lambert stopping him on Bond Street came to mind. It appeared their aristocratic protectors were in more danger of advances than themselves.

As her first foray into entertainment for the masses, she wasn’t sure of the customs. She’d seen women fight like alley cats over men in St Giles. In reality, would she and Calista need to protect their escorts?

***

At intermission, Damen found his way backstage. Four burly stagehands were moving set pieces around. Several women stood in their colorful costumes talking and laughing with one another.

“I’m looking for someone with the initials M.T.,” he said, holding the note out to one of the women. Her friends turned and gave him speculative smiles.

“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.