The Trouble With Seduction. Victoria Hanlen

evil device’s spring chose that moment to unwind in a furious bout of buzzing, making her skin tingle all the way up and down her leg.

      “Oh!” Her eyes went wide, and she gripped her bouquet.

      Far from glowering at her with disapproval, as in her first fantasy of Mr Ravenhill, his gaze intensified on her face as if he didn’t dare look away.

      Her hand flew to her chest. “Dear me! I, I hadn’t anticipated such a… a kind invitation.” With Edward’s toy going on a rampage in her pocket and now this spur-of-the-moment offer from a man who made everything in her flutter, she bounded to her feet and nearly dashed to the window and back. “When do you suggest?”

      “Your enthusiasm is… exhilarating. How about now?”

      “Now?” Her insides somersaulted. Such a request needed consideration, a careful measurement of the propriety and formalities involved.

      Oh, dear. Why had she stubbornly resisted Gracie and Eliza’s pleas to buy new gowns?

      A ride with a gentleman caller while wearing mourning attire for her deceased husband would not be the thing. People would say she’d thrown decorum to the wind. Her aunt’s advice for happiness echoed in her mind. Would Mr Ravenhill consider it a slight if she refused to go with him?

      “Where do you intend on taking us?”

      “I thought a trot through the park. My team is in need of exercise.”

      “Well, I…”

      Megpeas, her butler, tapped on the doorjamb. “My apologies, my lady, one of the workmen begs a moment of your time.”

      “Please tell him I’m busy?”

      “I’m sorry, my lady, he insists it’s important.”

      The burly carpenter leaned around her butler. His gaze shot past her to narrow in on Ravenhill. Was it a trick of the light or did the expression in his eyes change dramatically? Turning, she found Ravenhill’s attention riveted on the carpenter. A sizzle of unspoken male hostility passed between the two men.

      What were they doing? Could this day get any stranger?

      She swallowed uneasily and addressed the carpenter. “What is it?”

      The carpenter returned his gaze to her, his expression and voice now wholly respectful. “I’m sorry, my lady. I thought it important to tell you another device has been found. You may want to inspect it before the police arrive.”

      “They just left!”

      Mr Ravenhill shoved himself to his feet in a stance bristling with power and aggression, while glaring at the carpenter.

      “No!” she almost shouted. What had got into these men? “Please make yourself comfortable, Mr Ravenhill. I’ll be back before you can blink twice.”

      ***

      For the second time that day, Damen encountered a face from the past. He’d recognized Hooker right away. While he’d not yet discovered how he knew the carpenter, something about him raised every last one of his hackles. By the hostile stare the man returned, he suspected the fellow had a better memory. But who was he?

      Damen went to the door to get another look at him. He took a few more steps for a clearer view. Before long, he found himself following the carpenter and Lady Strathford down several long halls and a flight of stairs. Hammers and chisels pounded so energetically the walls and floors seemed to shudder.

      By the time he ducked through a curtain-strung doorway, the carpenter had crowded Lady Strathford into the corner against a workbench, and was pointing to something.

      Two flashes of metal caught Damen’s eye. As he bent to retrieve the small objects off the floor, he found himself at a better angle to see her face. Clearly, the journeyman’s attentions made her uncomfortable.

      He crept up and wacked the carpenter’s ankle with his cane. The man lunged back, but Damen had anticipated his reaction and already stepped out of the way. “My apologies,” he said airily. “My cane caught on debris and quite unsettled my footing.”

      The carpenter drew his lips across his teeth like a dog threatening to bite.

      Now closer, he took the measure of the man and studied his rugged features. Animosity shone in his hard eyes along with that glint of familiarity.

      “I say, this is a nice big room.” Damen raised his cane and pointed to a charred bookcase, giving Lady Strathford a graceful way of extricating herself from the corner. “What do you plan on doing with it, my lady?”

      Her pallor had gone rather anemic. For a moment he wasn’t sure she’d respond. “An orangery,” she finally replied and stepped around the carpenter toward the bookcase.

      Damen shouldered his way into her spot at the workbench and gazed at the thing the carpenter had been pointing to. “A blasting fuse?” He reached to pick up the cord.

      The carpenter’s gnarled paw shot out to cover the fuse, a dangerous growl issuing from his lips. “That is evidence… we don’t want it damaged a’fore the police can examine it.”

      Damen shoved his hand into his pocket while he considered the man. They looked of an age. His other characteristics – a sturdy build, a thick, bent nose and a short temper – had been common among toughs in his old neighborhood.

      Clearly the carpenter remembered him. But did he know him as Damen, Cory, or both?

      How and where had he known this man? After his mother’s death, he rarely returned to London and had lived in Liverpool since university. Twenty years could strip memories and change faces, yet he was sure they’d met.

      He pointed to the bruises around his face and head. “Please excuse my jumbled memory, but I can’t help thinking we’re acquainted. When and where might we have met?”

      Hostility shone bright in the carpenter’s gaze before he looked away. “Haven’t seen you a’fore this day.”

      Lying was not the man’s strong suit.

      “I found this on the floor.” Damen pulled one of the metal pieces from his pocket and held out the auger bit. “Didn’t want you to lose this.” When the carpenter extended his other hand, he saw a small number six crudely tattooed in the center of his meaty palm. His little and ring finger were bent and gnarled, signs they’d been badly broken.

      A rough gang of child thieves had tattooed a number into their palms when Damen lived in St Giles. Most were abandoned or orphaned, surviving any way they could. Many died, some were hung, others transported. There’d been at least forty, who, for anonymity’s sake, only answered to their numbers.

      A memory, ripe with fury, flooded back. Granny Wilkins had been shuffling down the street using her cane, her basket slung over one arm. A street urchin raced out of an alley and grabbed hold of her basket. She fought as much as a cripple could. The urchin kicked and jostled her, all the while twisting at the basket. He finally gave her a hard shove, sending her into the street in front of a team of horses. They reared and screamed.

      Damen rushed into the street, grasped her under her arms and dragged her to safety. At nine, he’d been big for his age. Thankfully, Granny, a tiny bird of a woman, was not much bigger than himself.

      The next time Number Six struck, Cory was walking along the sidewalk playing with his little pop-up clown. The guttersnipe dashed out of a doorway, hit him in the back of the head with a brick and grabbed the toy. Cory fought, but his attacker pounced on him and was about to smash the brick into his face when Damen came to his brother’s rescue.

      He grabbed the urchin’s arm and squeezed his wrist hard. The boy cursed and dropped the brick to reveal the number six in his palm.

      And Damen didn’t stop there.

      He’d heard the guttersnipe had attacked a little girl a block away, leaving her with a badly broken