The Trouble With Seduction. Victoria Hanlen
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 took form as Damen gazed at the decoy ducks again. “I’ll find Cory’s attackers.”
“NO!” his father barked with surprising force. “This is precisely why I told you not to come!”
“I spent my boyhood in St Giles. I know the ways of that world. No one is more prepared than I.” As a boy, against his parents’ orders, he’d explored the rookery’s labyrinthine underworld. There, villains could melt into the murk, their identities amorphous, ever shifting. If anyone could find them, he could.
“Cory and I were often mistaken for one another. No one would—”
“I forbid it!” His father’s voice came out as thin and sharp as a dagger nailing him to the wall. “You were nine when you left, still a boy. Your full attention is needed for our growing business in Liverpool. I wanted you there for a reason… to keep you as far from St Giles as possible.”
“Farnsworth, my superintendent, can take over in my absence.”
The muscles worked in his father’s emaciated jaw as he gazed up at the ornate cast plaster on the high ceiling. “You underestimate the danger.”
“I know the police can’t be trusted, and the villains’ trail grows colder by the minute.”
His father’s face turned crimson. A new vigor seemed to revive him. “Stubborn fool!” He pounded his cane on the floor. “How can you be so brilliant yet so dense? If they were bold enough to do this to him, they will not hesitate to do the same to you!”
“Why?”
“You are my sons. Over the years I’ve had to do… things.”
“But who are they?”
His father rubbed his forehead with trembling fingers. “An ever-changing sewer of villains that thrive in the shadows with gangs and networks of underlings.”
Damen fisted his hands in his pockets. “You know I can do this. I’m familiar with their underhanded tricks and deceits. I lived there long enough to know how to fight dirty.” He made sure his next words were delivered with unmistakable conviction. “And I intend to root out his assailants whether or not you agree.”
Moments passed while his father sat in silence. His voice came out a low croak. “What are you suggesting?”
“You said Cory had been looking for an arsonist. Perhaps he stumbled onto something more.”
“That something more was five ruffians, not one sole arsonist.” His father glared at him.
“In any event, it appears he found the problem, or, rather, the problem found him.”
“Wandering through St Giles after dark was the biggest problem.”
“This was not some random attack, Father. The footman said Cory knew one of the villains. What I find odd is that neither of us has been in London for years. Cory may have an enemy that followed him here?”
“What do you plan to do?” His father sounded like he was tiring.
“Given our resemblance, it shouldn’t be difficult to proceed as if I were him. I intend to goad his assailants out into the open. With any luck I should have them in irons within a few days.”
His father’s lips curved sourly. “Before you dive into the mire, you should know a marriage has been arranged between Cornelius and a woman of means – a Miss Eugenia Lambert.”
Damen’s gaze shot to his comatose younger brother. “Cory is taking a wife?”
“In