The Trouble With Seduction (35 page)

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.”

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.