The Trouble With Seduction (7 page)

“My friends experienced this when they were still green girls. I seem to live life in reverse. I married, was widowed twice, and finally am invited for a carriage ride around Hyde Park.”

He placed his hand over his heart and affected a wounded expression. “And here I thought spending time with me was the reason for your eagerness, when all along it was the carriage ride you anticipated. Well then, is it everything you imagined?”

As he reined the horses, the smooth play of his muscular arms and broad shoulders stole her attention. She tore her eyes away only to have them land on his long, sinewy thighs, perfectly described by his tight continental trousers. Her pulse made a funny little skip.

She quickly averted her eyes to something safer, like his dark hair, fluttering in the wind around the rim of his top hat. An image of running her fingers through those thick, shiny waves made her blood surge even faster.

She turned around in her seat in an attempt to give the impression she was surveying the carriage, when in fact, she wanted to keep her gaze from locking on to some other delicious part of him. By now her attraction to him battled so with her ingrained propriety, she lost control of her mouth’s somewhat faulty filter. Raw thought gushed forth without restraint.

“The carriage is certainly one of the finest made and the horses couldn’t be more beautiful or well trained, but…”

He winced. “Thank you, my lady… but?”

She looked up at him, trying not to wince at the cuts and bruises spoiling what she knew to be a most attractive face. “But I never imagined my escort would appear like he’d recently fought in a prize fight… and lost!... Badly!”

Mr Ravenhill let out a bark of laughter. “You do speak your mind. I’ll have you know I worked hard for these bruises.”

Sarah realized, too late, her unforgivable frankness and demurred. “I’m sure it was most uncomfortable.”

“Now you have me blushing, my lady. Either my valor or my fighting skills have been called into question. I can’t decide which.”

She clutched at her high-necked collar, incredulous that such words had come from her mouth. “Please forgive my unfortunate tendency to misspeak.” Heat rose up her neck.

“No. An apology will not suffice. A forfeit is required.”

“A forfeit!” The butterflies already flitting around her stomach staged a riot. “Surely you must understand, it was a slip of the tongue.” She’d never had anyone express disapproval once she’d made a sincere apology.

“As your forfeit you must reveal something embarrassing about yourself.”

Sarah nearly choked. Hadn’t she already embarrassed herself enough? Some women could blithely talk and flirt with handsome, enticing men. Her isolated upbringing and marriages had kept her apart from society, preventing her from learning the finer points of flirting and conversation. More heat flushed her face. Couldn’t he tell what he was doing to her?

Then her mind latched on to the Buzzy Bee. Ooooh. Is that what he’d been driving at all along? The brakes finally slammed down on her internal chaos. Her lips drew into a peeve. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Why is Inspector Hooker sniffing around your home?”

So it was the inspector and not Edward’s little toy that had tweaked Ravenhill’s curiosity? Sarah exhaled in relief. “You saw that loathsome police inspector leaving?”

“Indeed,” he said grimly, adding curious weight to the word.

“You know him?”

“Regrettably.” One side of his mouth curved down. “He enjoys putting a squirm into everyone he meets. I attribute it to his low self-worth and stupidity.”

“Oh! Well said! Well said!” She clasped her hands to her chest. “You do know him.”

He dipped his head again. “Why is he loitering about your parlor?”

“I believe he thinks I murdered Lord Strathford.” She clamped a gloved hand over her mouth.
Mercy! What was the matter with her? Of all things to let slip.
“I… I mean,” she stammered, “he tried to bully me into saying I had something to do with his untimely death.”

“Did you?”

She sputtered at his bold response. “NO! I’d thought his laboratory explosion a horrid accident. I loved my husband and haven’t the slightest idea how to operate the fuses the workmen found. But the inspector persists.”

“Does he have any evidence you did it?”

“He said I must have hired someone.”

“Accusations and conjecture,” Ravenhill muttered. “He hasn’t changed, the lazy cockroach. The workmen could have easily placed them when they started remodeling your home.”

Sarah bit her lip. “I should have thought of that. When Strathford died, an investigation was conducted. They found nothing to suggest foul play. The inspector also said a Professor Bodkin claims my husband drew up plans for a small engine they’d been working on together. The professor now demands I give them to him.”

“Bodkin? Now why does his name sound familiar? How very odd.” Mr Ravenhill’s undamaged brow furrowed. “Didn’t your husband die some time ago? Why is Bodkin only now coming forward?”

“I have no idea, but my solicitor promised to investigate his claims.”

Mr Ravenhill readjusted the reins before turning to her. She tried not to watch the play of his arm and shoulder muscles against his lightweight jacket.

“Competing inventors have a long and impressive history of envy and violence. Do you know where to find the plans?”

“No. Lord Strathford must have made them for his inventions, but it never occurred to me to ask where they were kept.”

“You might want to have a look around, my lady.”

She gazed at him squarely. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

A glint formed in his uninjured eye and then darkened as it drifted over her face, down her neck to her bosom and back up again. The admiration in his gaze made her feel like she was the most ravishing woman he’d ever seen. Her heart skipped a beat. She’d never experienced such a thrill from any man, let alone one as thoroughly arousing as Mr Ravenhill.

“Perhaps I could offer my assistance,” he quietly rumbled. “But I will need to become familiar with your home and anywhere else your husband could have secreted away his plans. It may require our working together closer than is customary.”

***

“So you wish to be my lover, Mr Ravenhill?” Two guileless pools of blue gazed back.

Damen gulped – shocked she’d put into words a thought he’d kept at bay since their first meeting. “No! That’s not what I… I mean, it’s not entirely… More to the point…”

He glanced around. A carriage quickly approached from the rear. Had they heard? The woman did not embrace subtlety or coy airs. He’d never considered himself easily surprised, but sometimes she said the most astounding things. Was she purposely trying to fluster him?

“Let me square away the team.” He rapped the reins, sending the horses into a trot down a side trail, hoping the distraction would give him time to collect his scattered thoughts.

She’d misconstrued his intensions; well, maybe not entirely, but he would now have to be very careful how he phrased his next question – one for which he desperately needed her agreement in order to find his brother’s assailants. He cut a quick glance toward her, while trying to determine her state of mind.

Was her little upturned nose twitching mischievously or was she deep in contemplation? He couldn’t tell. Tiny freckles scattered across her pronounced cheekbones. From the sides of her bonnet, unruly flaxen curls bounced in the breeze.

Her eyes sparkled as they traveled over his arms, across his shoulders and up his neck. With determination, he resisted falling into them.

When he’d put a fair distance between their carriage and others, he took another run at the topic. “Let me put it another way, my lady. It has come to my attention, although I have no memory of it, that the men who attacked me thought I knew the whereabouts of a certain set of plans.”

Another wayward curl escaped her bonnet. “Do you think they meant the same ones as Lord Strathford’s?”

“It seems highly possible. I find it too coincidental that I was nearly killed and your husband may have been murdered over a set of plans with a similar description. It’s imperative we quickly find them.”

“I see.” But her confused expression belied her words. She gave him a tight smile. “I’m not saying I’m agreeing to… an alliance…”

Anticipating her refusal, he insisted, “What I am proposing is completely above board, I assure you.”

“Why would I want to do such a thing?”

“You scratch my back, I scratch yours,” he smiled. “Figuratively, of course.”

At the look of incredulity that flashed across her features he stammered, “Or perhaps more accurately, a favor for a favor.”

Mrs Ivanova had suggested seduction. Of course he desired Lady Strathford, but had he been
that
obvious? Perhaps her two previous marriages had taught her the subtle signs. He quickly added, “It appears you might be forced to prove your innocence, which means you must find the true murderer or murderers. I wish to find the men who attacked me. It is possible they are one and the same.”

***

This time, before speaking, Sarah took greater care in measuring her words. “You and I would make very easy targets for tittle-tattle. I am a widow and you are the fancy-free second son of a viscount. Whether or not it is true, we would be considered lovers.”

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged, “if we were not discreet.”

She bit her lower lip. Was this how affairs began? She’d made light of her Aunt Eliza’s comment that she should take a lover, yet here was a most desirable man suggesting just that. The flutters that had been tickling her insides now flitted through her veins. Not two hours before she’d despaired of ever seeing Mr Ravenhill again. Now he wished to
assist
her
discreetly
?

Part of her exulted at his suggestion until more pragmatic considerations threw a bucket of ice-cold reality onto it. Her life until now had been staid, isolated and private. Neither of her deceased husbands had ever been underfoot. They’d kept their lives, even their bedrooms, comfortably separate.

Now, if she agreed, not only would a very attractive man be ‘underfoot,’ she would have to worry about them being
discovered
. They could easily become the topic of rumors and gossip and… oh, dear, what would her brother say?

Though her father died nearly a year before, memories of his unrelenting discipline and rants meant that at nearly thirty her first thought was still for her and her family’s reputation. Even beyond the grave, his rigid rules of decorum held sway.

“The most probable place for the plans would be in my home,” she intoned carefully. “With all the servants and workmen marching about, it would be difficult for you to go unnoticed. Should you become too familiar about my home, it is likely we would be called lovers. I cannot risk my own or my family’s reputation.”

“You do make remarkably quick leaps of logic, my lady. Quite left me in the dust for a moment.” He pulled at his collar and quirked up one side of his mouth. “I can understand your fear of tittle-tattle, but I must ask you to consider which would be the worse gossip – your arrest for murdering your husband or being the secret lover of Dame… uh, Mr Cornelius Ravenhill?”

Sarah straightened in her seat. Even though the inspector frightened her, the logical part of her latched on to what Mr Ravenhill had said earlier. The inspector was an incompetent. He’d nearly accused her of hiring someone to set blasts in her husband’s laboratory, a total untruth and fabrication.

The professor and plans could be another of his groundless allegations. Edward was not shy about discussing his successes. He would have told her if he’d made a unique engine.

“At the very least,” Mr Ravenhill continued, “I suggest you stop work on your renovation and secure the premises. Hire top blasting specialists of your own to examine the suspicious fuses and where they were found. Inspector Hooker is devious and not to be underestimated. To be on the safe side, I’d even contact friends and acquaintances who have influence with top police and judicial offices. If Hooker makes any more allegations, no matter how outlandish, be sure to have your own experts investigate to counter his claims.”

Sarah took a moment to consider his recommendations. They certainly seemed logical, if perhaps a little excessive. The commanding way he spoke had a stern authority she’d not expected from such a charming rogue.

What a puzzling man.

It could be said she was a little starry-eyed. Mr Ravenhill, more than any gentleman she’d ever met, certainly drew her. There was nothing medium about him. Additionally, he was intelligent, well spoken, mannered, the son of a viscount and he seemed to like her.

On the other hand, she’d only met him three times. He’d recently returned from abroad, giving minimal accounting of his years away. His story of traveling the world as a merchant of curiosities didn’t jibe with his debonair mien and the occasional shadow of aloofness and command.

For certain, she needed to find Edward’s plans and prove her innocence. But her ingrained propriety and memories of her father’s tirades about ‘loose women’ made her quail at the prospect of prurient gossip.

She clasped her hands in her lap, resigned to the only decision she could make. “While it appears we both have need of my husband’s mysterious plans, for the time being, I’m sure I can search my home myself. If and when I find plans that resemble your description, I will be sure to keep you informed.”

CHAPTER 7

“Lord Strathford’s widow is not cooperating and I need her help,” Damen confessed to Cory the next day as if he would open his eyes, give him a crooked smile, and tell him he was still a ham-fisted bungler when it came to women.

The drapery had been pulled to filter the morning sunlight into the dark-paneled bedchamber. Damen gazed about the purple bruises circling his brother’s closed eyes. “I’m doing everything I can to find the villains who did this to you, but I’ve run into a problem.”

He sank down into the chair next to the bed and placed his hand on Cory’s arm. A slow pulse beat beneath, proof life still existed inside, but could he hear him? Could he understand?