The Trouble With Seduction. Victoria Hanlen

      Hooker positioned his hat on his head while he stared pointedly at him. The same kind of intimidation he’d used on him countless other times. Back then the man had only been a constable.

      The butler opened the door and saw the inspector out, then quickly motioned to Damen’s card. “I will see to this immediately, Mr Ravenhill.” A few moments later the butler returned and led him to what appeared to be a sitting room or perhaps a small gallery. On the shelves and in display cases sat automatons and what he assumed to be Lord Strathford’s small inventions.

      Damen couldn’t help a surge of curiosity as he scanned the little mechanical devices. Could the tiny engine be among them? Something caught his eye. On top of a side table sat an unusual object, painted yellow.

      ***

      “He’s finally here.” Sarah’s insides took flight. Not since her brief infatuation with the miller’s son when she was sixteen had she awaited a man with such anticipation. How could she describe what his visit did to her? After so many years of ennui, he filled her with hope. Hope that life might contain joy, and that perhaps, for once, she’d be granted the attentions of a handsome gentleman whose wit and vigor filled her with excitement.

      Smoothing down her skirts, she resisted the urge to run to Edward’s invention gallery. Four uneasy days had passed since she’d met Mr Ravenhill at the Crystal Palace Dinosaur Park.

      After the first day, she’d decided his request to visit her had been a hollow appeal. After the second, she’d thought he’d had another mental lapse. And after the third, she’d resigned herself that he’d suddenly remembered why he’d considered her beneath his attention in the first place.

      Today had started badly with Niles again popping by with Lumsley. It worsened with the police inspector’s insinuations. But Mr Ravenhill’s presence restored her belief that good and bad eventually balanced.

      The novelty of this visit by a man who’d somehow invaded her daydreams had her feet barely touching the floor. Plus, he was the first gentleman caller who’d come of his own volition.

      While other young women of her station had London seasons, she’d never enjoyed the attention of beaux. She’d married her first husband practically out of the schoolroom. There’d been no wooing or courting, just straight to the altar with an old man she barely knew.

      And the fantasies she’d had of Mr Ravenhill… Not only was he nearly her own age, he was – injuries aside – one of the most attractive men she’d ever met.

      She paused in the doorway and tried to calm the excitement pulsing through her veins. He stood at the side table with his back to her. The sight of his broad shoulders and robust physique quite took her breath away.

      Ravenhill set his walking stick against the wall and picked up something on the table in front of him. She heard the clickety-click of a key winding a spring. Then the oh-so-familiar zzzzz.

      She froze, heat blossomed across her cheeks. What was that doing in here?

      His shoulders worked as he moved the toy from hand to hand, then held it up for closer inspection. He set it on the table to let it dance about, happily buzzing and jumping around the mahogany. Picking it up again, he seemed to be doing something with it in front of him. He let out a little snort of laughter and slowly extended his arm, pressing the Buzzy Bee to the back of his neck.

      Her breath caught.

      Mr Ravenhill startled at the noise and abruptly turned toward her. If anything, the bruising and swelling around his face had become more pronounced.

      His jaw went slack. “It tickles,” he said sheepishly, manipulating it, pressing it into his palms to demonstrate.

      She clutched the collar of her high-necked gown. Seeing him caressing it in his big hands made her breathing turn rather shallow.

      With a slow, furtive reach, he set the toy on the table behind him.

      Undaunted, the Buzzy Bee bounded about, thumping the wood, hammering out its own Irish jig as it whipped in noisy skips and circles, exuberantly demonstrating how its mechanism rivaled the durability of an eight-day clock.

      Ravenhill stood there, brows furrowed, acting as if the Buzzy Bee no longer existed.

      Awash with mortification, Sarah rallied every last scrap of self-possession, marched over to the table and picked up the bouncing contraption. How had her little toy got into Edward’s gallery and what possessed Mr Ravenhill to play with it?

      “Dare I ask what demonic instrument of torture I unleashed?”

      “Instrument of tort…” Sarah bit her tongue and quickly moved to the desk, pulled open a drawer and shoved it in. The little fiend buzzed and bounced against the wood like a caged wasp, causing the whole desk to vibrate.

      “My husband made it to relieve his aching muscles,” she lied. If Mr Ravenhill had any inkling of the part of her person it was meant to relieve, she would surely die of embarrassment. She retrieved the Buzzy Bee and opened one of the display cases on the wall. After setting it inside, she closed the glass door.

      “I didn’t realize he also invented items for personal use. I always thought he was a big machinery kind of fellow.”

      “If he needed something and he couldn’t buy it, he made it.” Bespoke. Designed. Measured. And adjusted for faultless performance. Her face felt positively crimson.

      Like a little dog eager to escape, the Buzzy Bee continued to bounce and jitter around until all the other devices on display rattled.

      She quickly moved the contrivance to a wooden cupboard and placed it on a shelf. It immediately jumped off. Barely catching it, she stuffed it into her skirt pocket and set her jaw. Then nodded toward Ravenhill as if she’d finally fixed things.

      A muffled, less emphatic zzzzz buzzed in her pocket. She prayed her skirts and petticoats would absorb the sound and fixed an expression of assurance on her face. “I believe its spring is running down.”

      Clasping her hands at her waist, she ignored the vibration against her leg, determined not to let Edward’s little toy spoil this visit. “Now then. How have you been, Mr Ravenhill?”

      He gazed at her face and then down at the zzzzz in her skirt pocket. His shoulders seemed to quiver. Was he biting his lip?

      Dear Heavens, could he possibly know of the Buzzy Bee’s true use?

      He straightened, and went very still. “I’d say I’ve been trying to stay out of trouble, but you’d know it for a lie.” He quickly turned toward the table. She heard a quiet gulping sound and watched his shoulders rise and fall with several deep breaths.

      When he turned back he’d retrieved a bouquet. “Fortunately, I had the forethought to bring a peace offering.” Using his cane, he slowly walked across the carpet and held out his flowers. “My lady, I saw these White Roses and Blue Lilies of the Nile and thought of your lovely eyes.” One side of his mouth pulled up in a grin. Were it not for the injury to his face, she imagined the man would be beaming.

      The sweetness of the gesture quite took her by surprise. She accepted the bouquet and breathed in their fragrance. “Thank you. How thoughtful. Shall we sit? I can’t help notice the foot I stepped on still pains you.”

      He dipped his head gallantly and followed.

      She sat on the comfortably large sofa and held the bouquet while he positioned himself on the far end. Even so, such a tall, brawny man somehow made it shrink.

      The smile continued to quiver on one side of his lips, while he gazed at her as if drinking in her countenance.

      How she’d hoped he’d look at her thus. But with the Buzzy Bee still vibrating against her leg, the most improper images took form.

      She searched for something innocuous to say. “May I offer you some refreshment?”

      The question