The Trouble With Seduction. Victoria Hanlen

you doing here?”

      She stood at the opened gate bisecting the brick wall. Two pink smudges colored her creamy high cheekbones. Sunlight reflected off her crown of tight braids creating something of a halo around her head. Her graceful hands rested on the shoulders of two urchins peering around her skirts.

      His heart bounded into a faster beat. Had he ever seen a lovelier, more feminine sight? A Madonna, an angel.

      She gently turned the children back inside and closed the gate to approach him. Her high-collared, dingy, dark gown, typical of a St Giles matron, made a wise ensemble for this part of town. But her exquisite countenance was a rarity for any part of town.

      Part of him wanted to take her in hand and bustle her back to Mayfair. This was no place for a beautiful woman. Even angels were in jeopardy in St Giles. Plenty of dangers overtook the locals. More befell those who appeared like they had something to steal. “Have you lost your way, my lady?”

      “I might ask you the same.” Her sparkling gaze drifted about his face, settling in on his lips, stirring in him a completely inappropriate response.

      She pointed to the three-story brick building behind her that looked like a factory. “On the other side of this wall is one of the charities I support – my Mission of Mercy. Several of the teachers have been watching you and wondering what you’re about.” Damen peered around the upper-floor windows. He now realized one or two faces peered back.

      “This is where our coachman said he found us. My footman said five ruffians set upon us.” An idea came to him. “Did anyone at your mission see the attack?”

      “Oh, dear. What time did it occur?”

      “I was told in the wee hours of the morning.”

      “The mission is open from seven to seven. I can ask if anyone saw anything suspicious.” She gazed around the path as he’d done. “It must have been a squeeze for seven men. Are you certain you didn’t crawl in here to escape?”

      “The thought did cross my mind.” Damen paced to one end of the short passage where it intersected with a larger road. Various buildings and tenements populated the street. Near the entrance stood a second-hand store, a gin shop, a store that sold small animals, and several gambling saloons. As far as he knew, Cory hadn’t been a gambler. If he had entered one of those establishments, it was likely in pursuit of someone.

      Sarah approached him at the path’s entrance and looked back toward her mission. “This is a well-known shortcut through the neighborhood.”

      Damen turned to follow her gaze. “Yet another confusing piece to the puzzle. What brought me to your mission, and why was I attacked practically on your back doorstep?” Could Cory have known of Lady Strathford’s mission and hoped he might get help?

      “Have any of your memories returned?”

      He rubbed the side of his head and hoped to sound convincing. “There is something. You said when we danced at the Grancliffe party my gaze had been fixed on the doorway, and afterward I disappeared? I think I might have seen someone at the party, someone who might have been responsible for the attack on me and my footman.”

      “What did this person look like?”

      “Not sure. I only know I was shocked to see them.” If Damen read the two exclamation points in Cory’s journal correctly, his brother had been surprised.

      “You 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