The Trouble With Seduction. Victoria Hanlen

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СКАЧАТЬ don’t think one of the guests…”

      “I don’t know what to think.” Damen slapped his cap against his knee. “Do you remember seeing anyone in the doorway?”

      “No.”

      “If we could get a list of those in attendance, you and I could review the names and, together, perhaps identify this person.”

      Sarah studied him with a raised brow. “Is this your sly way of luring me into working with you?”

      Damen gazed about her lovely face, wanting to pull her close and whisper exactly how he’d like to work with her. Her jaw dropped ever so slightly and her subtle gasp raised her chest as her eyes traveled over his neck and shoulders.

      The moment stretched.

      A heavily laden dray rumbled by, loudly hitting a pit in the street, shattering the cocoon of awareness around them.

      Damen realized he’d forgotten to breathe and tried to return his attention to the problem at hand. “The more I discover, the more I’m convinced my attack and your husband’s death are connected.”

      “The party seems an odd place to find such a villain.” Her words came out rather breathy with a slight quiver. “It was meant to introduce Miss Collins to a few of Lord and Lady Grancliffes’ acquaintances. A few new arrivals to London were added to the guest list at the last moment, as I assume you were.”

      “How can I get a list of everyone there?”

      Sarah straightened at his words and her brows went up again.

      “Yes, yes, I know…” His voice drifted into his more impatient business tones before he managed to clamp his lips shut. She thought he wanted to use the list as an excuse to get closer. Unlike his servants and employees, she didn’t have to follow his orders. A different approach would be needed.

      Contriving his best Cory smile, he leaned down and gazed about her face as if she were the only star in his cosmos. “It would be so very helpful…” Instead of being the in-control charmer, he fell into the infinite blue of Sarah’s eyes, and lost track of everything around him.

      His hands were circling her waist when her lips pulled into a thin line. He dropped his arms to his sides and stepped back.

      Her mouth continued its downward curve as she sniffed. “Perhaps I could send a note to Lady Grancliffe, but I’m not promising anything.”

      ***

      “The man is a scoundrel and too charming by half,” Sarah muttered to herself as she marched back up her mission’s brick walkway. A silly smile kept trying to work its way across her lips.

      No man ever affected her like this. Even with his face a mass of bruises, one glance from him made her light-headed. When he bent to her, peered deep into her eyes and gave her that look like he could devour her, she felt a thrill all the way down to her sturdy-soled boots.

      For goodness’ sake. The way Mr Ravenhill’s work smock outlined his muscular torso approached indecency. And Heavens! She must be going daft. For a moment she’d almost broken all sense of propriety, reached out and smoothed down his collar.

      Clearly he was an inveterate ladies’ man bent on beguiling and manipulating her. It seemed far-fetched that her husband’s death and the attack on Ravenhill could have been perpetrated by the same villain or villains. Edward had been dead over two years and Mr Ravenhill only returned to London several weeks before.

      This whole situation put her mind in a muddle. First of all, she could not conceive of why someone would want to hurt dear Edward. While it appeared his elusive plans might somehow be involved in his death, she’d been unable to find any evidence they existed.

      The inspector insisted Professor Bodkin filed a complaint that she return them. But why would he kill for something as trivial as drawings? Now Ravenhill thought he’d seen someone suspicious at Amelia’s party. Sarah certainly didn’t remember anyone there by the name of Bodkin or even a professorial type. And then there were those blasting fuses. Where had they come from? No. Things did not fit together at all.

      ***

      Two hours later, Alfred Marbanks, Falgate’s man of business, came out from behind his large mahogany desk and grasped Damen’s hand. “So good to see you again, Mr Ravenhill. What may I do for you?” He gazed briefly at his bruises without comment, motioned for him to be seated in a plush leather side-chair, and settled into the one next to him.

      Damen gazed around the tastefully decorated office with its gilt-framed landscapes and brown and gold velvet drapery. “As you might recall, I was here a few days ago…”

      Marbanks gave his twin tufts of white hair several vigorous rakes, resettled his glasses on his nose and cleared his throat in a series of what appeared to be ritualistic tics. He finally gripped his hands and pressed them hard to one knee.

      “My memory is a bit hazy about the meeting.” Damen pointed to his bruised forehead by way of explanation. “Be so good as to recount our discussion and where I said I was going afterward.”

      “Uhmm-Uhmm, I’d be delighted, Mr Ravenhill.” Marbanks scrubbed his hand through his tufts again and coughed. “We went over the ledgers for the Falgate properties in London. As you left, you said you would visit the Painted Lady to talk with one of the property managers.”

      “May I see the ledgers?”

      “Most certainly.” Marbanks jumped to his feet and scuttled to the oak-paneled door. He and his assistant soon returned with several large ledgers, set them on the desk and opened their heavy bound covers.

      At the sight of them, the hairs prickled on Damen’s arms. He was heir to all these London properties, but for some reason, his father kept them secret. After university, he’d sent him to Liverpool to manage and enlarge the family’s holdings.

      Damen sat forward, running his finger down the columns of addresses as he flipped through the ledger. He’d known his father owned warehouses but never imagined he had so many lodging houses and tenements.

      “Lord Falgate used to take a more active role in his properties. He’d three men who oversaw the building managers and reported directly to him. A few months after your father became ill they disappeared. How is he?”

      “About as well as can be expected. Thank you for asking.” Damen turned the page. His eyes flew to the Painted Lady’s address and those above and below. It appeared his father owned nearly every building on the block. He turned more pages to find the addresses of tenements surrounding Lady Strathford’s Mission of Mercy.

      Damen squinted at the writing and pointed to several ledger entries. “What do these red marks mean?”

      “Those are the buildings that suffered fires.”

      “And what is this column in blue?”

      “Those are the rent declines compared to a year ago. As you can see, the vast majority of properties have fallen an average of thirty percent.”

      Muscles tightened in Damen’s neck and down one arm. Cory had been investigating the fires and this was what he’d found: massive rent declines? While their father СКАЧАТЬ