The Trouble With Seduction. Victoria Hanlen

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      She turned.

      The carpenter mopped a sleeve over his forehead and slid a stub of pencil behind an ear. The movement drew attention to the flexed muscles outlined by his tight work smock. “It is over here, my lady.” In three long, languid steps he arrived at a worktable in the opposite corner.

      Sarah followed, growing testier by the second.

      Leaning forward, his broad shoulders crowded her against the table. His scent of soap and charred wood suffused the air. He pointed to what looked like a half-burned cord.

      She clutched her high collar and sought to calm her clambering pulse. “What is this… thing?” The nearness of such an overtly virile male made her insides jumpy.

      “A spent blasting fuse, my lady.” His voice lowered to a breathy scratch. “Fuses like this one are used in mines to blast out rock. Not the sort of thing generally found lying about stately mansions.”

      “My husband was an inventor. He collected many unusual items for his contraptions.”

      “Did his inventions include explosions?”

      Not in the usual sense. She pulled at her collar. “I wouldn’t know.”

      “This fuse was not totally destroyed in the blast.” He motioned to the charred walls.

      The ominous sound in his voice made Sarah’s mouth go dry. “What are you saying?”

      “It appears, my lady, your husband’s laboratory may have been purposely destroyed.”

      “Is this what the foreman wanted me to see?”

      “Yes, my lady. He has gone for the police.”

       CHAPTER 2

      Not far away, Damen Aloysius Ravenhill, eldest son and heir to Viscount Falgate, trudged down the dim, rock-lined corridor of Falgate Hall. The cold fortress remained as forbidding as ever. With each step, dread clawed deeper, forcing him to hesitate in the bedchamber’s doorway at the prospect of what he would soon find.

      He took a step into the dark-paneled room. A mammoth four-poster bed dressed in a green canopy and intricately carved ebony bedposts stood in its center. At the head of the bed, Damen could barely make out a large, bowl-shaped wrap of bandages.

      Viscount Falgate, his father, sat in a wheelchair at the side of the bed, hunched forward, gently holding a lifeless hand. Cornelius’s distinctive amber ring glinted on the hand’s little finger.

      Deep bags spilled over the viscount’s prominent cheekbones. His once robust physique now appeared shrunken, desiccated to a bird-like fragility. Damen hadn’t seen his father since he’d visited Liverpool six months before. His decline verged on frightening.

      Falgate glanced at him through puffy red eyes and croaked angrily, “I told you not to come.”

      Damen had caught the first train to Falgate Hall anyway. Worry rode with him every twist and turn of the journey.

      Heart heavy with foreboding, he took another step. Now he could see his battered, almost unrecognizable younger brother propped up against the headboard. From his eyebrows upward, layers of bandages circled his skull like a turban.

      “Cory.” Damen barely recognized the tight rasp of his own voice.

      His father swallowed audibly. “The villains tried to make it appear a mugging.”

      “Who did this?”

      With the briefest of shrugs, his father muttered, “Before dying, his footman said they’d been following a bawd when five ruffians attacked. He said Cory knew one of the villains. Our coachman found your brother and his footman the next morning in an alley behind the Mission of Mercy in St Gi—” A wracking cough stole his breath.

      St Giles? Why was Cory in St Giles?

      The last time he’d seen his brother had been in Liverpool five years before when he’d shipped out on a vessel bound for the Orient.

      His father’s face contorted. “He’d barely been back in London two weeks.” After a moment, he regained control and turned to Damen, scrutinizing him. “Are there no barbers in Liverpool?”

      Resisting the urge to rake his fingers through his long beard, he took halting steps toward the bed. He grasped the bedpost and finally let his eyes drift over his brother. If not for his occasional shallow gasps, Cory appeared a corpse.

      Sentiment wrapped its talons around his heart and squeezed painfully. Had they used his brother’s head as a battering ram against a brick wall? His fists ached to pound the bastards into a bloody pulp. “Do the police have any leads?”

      “I prefer they not be involved.” Anger vibrated in his father’s hoarse voice. His gaze drifted back to Damen’s beard, almost making it itch.

      The police in St Giles had been an unscrupulous, overbearing lot when Damen was a boy. Clearly, his father still considered them corrupt. “Is there anything I can do?”

      Anguish lined the viscount’s face as he shook his head.

      “Why was Cory in St Giles?”

      “Suspicious fires destroyed parts of our warehouses and properties. He’d been investigating them. I’ve lost the stamina to fight this.” His shoulders slumped. “If they’re not stopped, there’ll not be a pot left to pi—” He coughed deeply, dug into a pocket for a handkerchief and wiped his mouth.

      Damen paced to the window. He should have been here. Sorrow and barely repressed fury boiled inside. Only a year apart, as boys he and Cory looked enough alike to be twins. They’d often used their resemblance to fool marks and shopkeepers – running them in circles.

      Cory was the charmer. He’d seen him talk his way out of trouble too many times to count. When that didn’t work, Damen had always been there with the heavy fists and dirty tricks to chase whomever needed chasing off.

      “You should have sent word.” He cut a sharp glance toward his father. “You know I’m better at dealing with rabble than he is.”

      “You had your hands full in Liverpool. Cory offered to help.”

      Mementos from the pranks he and his younger brother had enjoyed as youths lay scattered about a heavily carved table. Lifelike decoy ducks used on their hunting trips lined the table’s back. Damen twiddled the movable feet of a small metallic duck as he studied the new, exotic items brought home from his brother’s recent travels.

      The assault on Cory couldn’t have come at a worse time. Crews were in the midst of constructing two warehouses – a risky, weighty task. Fists, brawn and cunning ruled the Liverpool docks. He should be there right now to safeguard his family’s interests.

      Still, he and Cory were as close as any two brothers could be. Not since his mother passed had his powerlessness so frightened him. He had to do something. He couldn’t bring Cory out of his coma, but he could catch the brutal villains who’d done this and put them behind bars. An idea СКАЧАТЬ