The Trouble With Seduction Read Online Free Page A

in his eye. “I’ll need your help to make this charade convincing, Gorm.”
    “You can count on me, Mr Ravenhill. Might I suggest putting a bit more swagger in your mannerisms? Don’t forget your fondness for revelry and irresponsibility, and that you quite fancy yourself a ladies’ man.”
    An apt description of his younger brother. He’d the luxury of being unreliable. As boys, he and Cory tore around St Giles, getting into mischief like two little hellions. In many ways, Cory was still that happy-go-lucky boy… with their mother’s infectious laugh.
    Gormley made a careful adjustment to Damen’s gold-specked cravat. “As to your speech, you favor lengthening ‘ah’ sounds and over-softening ‘R’s’.”
    “Right. Picked up a bit of Liverpudlian, have I?”
    The valet nodded. “And how do I put this politely… you must remember to include in your speech a little more irony and self-deprecating humor. And on occasion, when things don’t go your way, you resort to…” – he cleared his throat – “…clever wit and charm.”
    Damen frowned and growled. “I’m capable of clever wit and charm. When they’re warranted.”
    “Of course,” Gormley sniffed.
    Had the whiskey also released a bit of cheek in the ordinarily stiff valet? Damen suddenly realized playing his carefree, easy-going brother might be a little more challenging than he’d thought. “And what are those small exotic statues in… Cor… I mean,
my
room?”
    The valet pursed his lips. “One of them is your Buddhist guardian.
You
told me their hand gestures represent a mudra with deep symbolic meaning.”
    “I have a Buddhist guardian? What do I do with it?”
    “I’m not sure. Although one time I found you sitting cross-legged on the floor chanting indecipherably. You’re quite limber for a man of your size.”
    “Indeed.” Inwardly, Damen groaned. “And as to my fiancée, did I reveal any details about Miss Lambert?”
    “You said you’d only met her the once when you made your brief proposal.”
    “Did I mention what I thought of her?”
    “Not directly. But apparently she’s not shy about making her will known and inspired immediate action. On your first and only visit she discovered one of Rufus’s hairs on your sleeve.”
    “Who is Rufus?”
    “Your dog.”
    “I have a dog?” Damen winced. He liked dogs well enough, but they barked and chewed on things and, well, basically raised havoc with his neat and orderly life.
    “A big jolly fellow. At her instruction, you came home and banished the poor hound to the stables.”
    “Am I that easily influenced?”
    “Perhaps you’d hoped to create the impression of pleasing her? I rather doubt your mistress is aware of your betrothal, either.”
    “I have a mistress?” Damen almost choked. Why was he surprised? His brother loved women. He hadn’t thought any further than putting Cory’s attackers in irons. Women were another matter, though. They could put a tangle in things. His brother’s irresponsibility always spawned confusion, emotion, drama. He’d forgotten how mixed up Cory’s messes could get.
    “I assume Mrs Ivanova is your mistress.” Gormley sniffed. “A message arrived from her this morning. Perhaps you should have a look at it.”

CHAPTER 3
    The next day, Damen sat in a dark corner of his grandfather’s old pub, the Painted Lady, fingering a greasy tankard of ale. Mrs Ivanova’s note had been precise: two o’clock, back table, left side. There’d been no endearments or sweet words, not even a hint of sexual lure. Perhaps Slavic mistresses didn’t use such coquetry? The mystery and uncertainty made him feel like he was inching along the slippery side of a precipice.
    Surreptitiously, he gazed about the grimy pub. Childhood memories rose at every turn. He’d remembered the place being bigger, cleaner and filled with laughter. The new proprietor had added more tables and rebuilt the bar. A highly polished mirror – clearly the pride of the