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“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 seemed to snap him out of whatever reverie he’d been in. “No, thank you.” He shifted toward her, capturing her gaze. “I’d hoped you might accompany me for a ride in my new phaeton.”
The 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 arm. Granny Wilkins could have been killed if the wagon driver and his horses had been any less attentive. Number Six was ready to bash Cory’s skull in with a brick.
Damen grasped the boy’s ring and little finger and twisted, cracking them over his knee. The urchin screamed in pain. Then he wrenched the boy’s fingers toward the other side, feeling bones pop. The boy shrieked and jerked his hand away, mewling loudly as he ran off.
Number Six’s fingers were the first he’d broken in retribution after coming to a victim’s aid.
Lady Strathford approached and grasped his elbow. “I think we’re done here. Mr Ravenhill, would you please escort me back?”
Damen allowed her to guide him out. Inside he fought a battle between guilt and wanting to tear the carpenter limb from limb.
CHAPTER 6
“I must confess,” Sarah said an hour later when they entered a straightaway in Hyde Park, “you are the first gentleman caller to take me on a carriage ride through the park… ever.”
Mr Ravenhill gave her a quizzical smile and dipped his head. “I’m honored.”
“My friends experienced this when they were still green girls. I seem to live life in reverse. I married, was widowed twice, and finally am invited for a carriage ride around Hyde Park.”
He placed his hand over his heart and affected a wounded expression. “And here I thought spending time with me was the reason for your eagerness, when all along it was the carriage ride you anticipated. Well then, is it everything you imagined?”
As he reined the horses, the smooth play of his muscular arms and broad shoulders stole her attention. She tore her eyes away only to have them land on his long, sinewy thighs, perfectly described by his tight continental trousers. Her pulse made a funny little skip.
She quickly averted her eyes to something safer, like his dark hair, fluttering in the wind around the rim of his top hat. An image of running her fingers through those thick, shiny waves made her blood surge even faster.
She turned around in her seat in an attempt to give the impression she was surveying the carriage, when in fact, she wanted to keep her gaze from locking on to some other delicious part of him. By now her attraction to him battled so with her ingrained propriety, she lost control of her mouth’s somewhat faulty filter. Raw thought gushed forth without restraint.
“The carriage is certainly one of the finest made and the horses couldn’t be more beautiful or well trained, but…”
He winced. “Thank you, my lady… but?”
She looked up at him, trying not to wince at the cuts and bruises spoiling what she knew to be a most attractive face. “But I never imagined my escort would appear like he’d recently fought in a prize fight… and lost!... Badly!”
Mr Ravenhill let out a bark of laughter. “You do speak your mind. I’ll have you know I worked hard for these bruises.”
Sarah realized, too late, her unforgivable frankness and demurred. “I’m sure it was most uncomfortable.”
“Now you have me blushing, my lady. Either my valor or my fighting skills have been called into question. I can’t decide which.”
She clutched at her high-necked collar, incredulous that such words had come from her mouth. “Please forgive my unfortunate tendency to misspeak.” Heat rose up her neck.
“No. An apology will not suffice. A forfeit is required.”
“A forfeit!” The butterflies already flitting around her stomach staged a riot. “Surely you must understand, it was a slip of the tongue.” She’d never had anyone express disapproval once she’d made a sincere apology.
“As your forfeit you must reveal something embarrassing about yourself.”
Sarah nearly choked. Hadn’t she already embarrassed herself enough? Some women could blithely talk and flirt with handsome, enticing men. Her isolated upbringing and marriages had kept her apart from society, preventing her from learning the finer points of flirting and conversation. More heat flushed her face. Couldn’t he tell what he was doing to her?
Then her mind latched on to the Buzzy Bee. Ooooh. Is that what he’d been driving at all along? The brakes finally slammed down on her internal chaos. Her lips drew into a peeve. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Why is Inspector Hooker sniffing around your home?”
So it was the inspector and not Edward’s little toy that had tweaked Ravenhill’s curiosity? Sarah exhaled in relief. “You saw that loathsome police inspector leaving?”
“Indeed,” he said grimly, adding curious weight to the word.
“You know him?”
“Regrettably.” One side of his mouth curved down. “He enjoys putting a squirm into everyone he meets. I attribute it to his low self-worth and stupidity.”
“Oh! Well said! Well said!” She clasped her hands to her chest. “You do know him.”
He dipped his head again. “Why is he loitering about your parlor?”
“I believe he thinks I murdered Lord Strathford.” She clamped a gloved hand over her mouth. Mercy! What was the matter with her? Of all things to let slip. “I… I mean,” she stammered, “he tried to bully me into saying I had something to do with his untimely death.”
“Did you?”
She sputtered at his bold response. “NO! I’d thought his laboratory explosion a horrid accident. I loved my husband and haven’t the slightest idea how to operate the fuses the workmen found. But the inspector persists.”
“Does he have any evidence you did it?”
“He said I must have hired someone.”
“Accusations and conjecture,” Ravenhill muttered. “He hasn’t changed, the lazy cockroach. The workmen could have easily placed them when they started remodeling your home.”
Sarah bit her lip. “I should have thought of that. When Strathford died, an investigation was conducted. They found nothing to suggest foul play. The inspector also said a Professor Bodkin claims my husband drew up plans for a small engine they’d been working on together. The professor now demands I give them to him.”
“Bodkin? Now why does his name sound familiar? How very odd.” Mr Ravenhill’s undamaged brow furrowed. “Didn’t your husband die some time ago? Why is Bodkin only now coming forward?”
“I have no idea, but my solicitor promised to investigate his claims.”
Mr Ravenhill readjusted the reins before turning to her. She tried not to watch the play of his arm and shoulder muscles against his lightweight jacket.
“Competing inventors have a long and impressive history of envy and violence. Do you know where to find the plans?”
“No. Lord Strathford must have made them for his inventions, but it never occurred to me to ask where they were kept.”
“You might want to have a look around, my lady.”
She gazed at him squarely. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
A glint formed in his uninjured eye and then darkened as it drifted over her face, down her neck to her bosom and back up again. The admiration in his gaze made her feel like she was the most ravishing woman he’d ever seen. Her heart skipped a beat. She’d never experienced such a thrill from any man, let alone one as thoroughly arousing as Mr Ravenhill.
“Perhaps I could offer my assistance,” he quietly rumbled. “But I will need to become familiar with your home and anywhere else your husband could have secreted away his plans. It may require our working together closer than is customary.”
***
“So you wish to be my lover, Mr Ravenhill?” Two guileless pools of blue gazed back.
Damen gulped – shocked she’d put into words a thought he’d kept at bay since their first meeting. “No! That’s not what I… I mean, it’s not entirely… More to the point…”
He glanced around. A carriage quickly approached from the rear. Had they heard? The woman did not embrace subtlety or coy airs. He’d never considered himself easily surprised, but sometimes she said the most astounding things. Was she purposely trying to fluster him?
“Let me square away the team.” He rapped the reins, sending the horses into a trot down a side trail, hoping the distraction would give him time to collect his scattered thoughts.
She’d misconstrued his intensions; well, maybe not entirely, but he would now have to be very careful how he phrased his next question – one for which he desperately needed her agreement in order to find his brother’s assailants. He cut a quick glance toward her, while trying to determine her state of mind.
Was her little upturned nose twitching mischievously or was she deep in contemplation? He couldn’t tell. Tiny freckles scattered across her pronounced cheekbones. From the sides of her bonnet, unruly flaxen curls bounced in the breeze.
Her eyes sparkled as they traveled over his arms, across his shoulders and up his neck. With determination, he resisted falling into them.
When he’d put a fair distance between their carriage and others, he took another run at the topic. “Let me put it another way, my lady. It has come to my attention, although I have no memory of it, that the men who attacked me thought I knew the whereabouts of a certain set of plans.”
Another wayward curl escaped her bonnet. “Do you think they meant the same ones as Lord Strathford’s?”
“It seems highly possible. I find it too coincidental that I was nearly killed and your husband may have been murdered over a set of plans with a similar description. It’s imperative we quickly find them.”
“I see.” But her confused expression belied her words. She gave him a tight smile. “I’m not saying I’m agreeing to… an alliance…”
Anticipating her refusal, he insisted, “What I am proposing is completely above board, I assure you.”
“Why would I want to do such a thing?”
“You scratch my back, I scratch yours,” he smiled. “Figuratively, of course.”
At the look of incredulity that flashed across her features he stammered, “Or perhaps more accurately, a favor for a favor.”
Mrs Ivanova had suggested seduction. Of course he desired Lady Strathford, but had he been that obvious? Perhaps her two previous marriages had taught her the subtle signs. He quickly added, “It appears you might be forced to prove your innocence, which means you must find the true murderer or murderers. I wish to find the men who attacked me. It is possible they are one and the same.”
***
This time, before speaking, Sarah took greater care in measuring her words. “You and I would make very easy targets for tittle-tattle. I am a widow and you are the fancy-free second son of a viscount. Whether or not it is true, we would be considered lovers.”
“Perhaps,” he acknowledged, “if we were not discreet.”
She bit her lower lip. Was this how affairs began? She’d made light of her Aunt Eliza’s comment that she should take a lover, yet here was a most desirable man suggesting just that. The flutters that had been tickling her insides now flitted through her veins. Not two hours before she’d despaired of ever seeing Mr Ravenhill again. Now he wished to assist her discreetly?
Part of her exulted at his suggestion until more pragmatic considerations threw a bucket of ice-cold reality onto it. Her life until now had been staid, isolated and private. Neither of her deceased husbands had ever been underfoot. They’d kept their lives, even their bedrooms, comfortably separate.
Now, if she agreed, not only would a very attractive man be ‘underfoot,’ she would have to worry about them being discovered. They could easily become the topic of rumors and gossip and… oh, dear, what would her brother say?
Though her father died nearly a year before, memories of his unrelenting discipline and rants meant that at nearly thirty her first thought was still for her and her family’s reputation. Even beyond the grave, his rigid rules of decorum held sway.
“The most probable place for the plans would be in my home,” she intoned carefully. “With all the servants and workmen marching about, it would be difficult for you to go unnoticed. Should you become too familiar about my home, it is likely we would be called lovers. I cannot risk my own or my family’s reputation.”
“You do make remarkably quick leaps of logic, my lady. Quite left me in the dust for a moment.” He pulled at his collar and quirked up one side of his mouth. “I can understand your fear of tittle-tattle, but I must ask you to consider which would be the worse gossip – your arrest for murdering your husband or being the secret lover of Dame… uh, Mr Cornelius Ravenhill?”
Sarah straightened in her seat. Even though the inspector frightened her, the logical part of her latched on to what Mr Ravenhill had said earlier. The inspector was an incompetent. He’d nearly accused her of hiring someone to set blasts in her husband’s laboratory, a total untruth and fabrication.
The professor and plans could be another of his groundless allegations. Edward was not shy about discussing his successes. He would have told her if he’d made a unique engine.