The Trouble With Seduction. Victoria Hanlen

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      “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 СКАЧАТЬ