Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

Chapter 7

Eleanor has accepted my invitation. I’ve promised to send a carriage ’round for her at half past eight. Send word if you’d rather do the honors. -F

Swindler had known Frannie would win Eleanor over. To the lad who’d delivered the message, he simply said, “Tell her I’ll see to it.”

He then sent word to Claybourne that he needed to borrow his carriage for the night, knowing full well that Claybourne would use his coach to arrive at the ball. He always escorted his wife around in the coach, because it was grander and worthy of the lady he loved.

Swindler then took great care in preparing himself for the evening. While he’d have preferred that his friends leave him behind, he’d known they wouldn’t and that sooner or later he would be invited to one of their grand social events. So, months ago, he’d visited one of the better tailors in London.

Now he stood before the mirror admiring the cut of the black swallow-tailed jacket, hunter green silk brocade waistcoat, pleated white shirt, and white cravat. He wasn’t quite as rough-looking as usual. If he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit he looked quite elegant. He’d fit in nicely with the lords who’d be strutting about. He didn’t want to admit that he cared how Eleanor viewed him, that he didn’t want to be seen as lacking in her eyes. He had little doubt that her dance card would fill up within minutes of her walking into the ballroom. Frannie was providing her with an opportunity to be seen, to be informally introduced into society. If she caught some young man’s fancy, it might be enough to turn her attention away from Rockberry.

It was only as Swindler’s hands began to ache that he looked down and realized that he’d balled them up into tight, punishing fists. He didn’t want to think about her in the arms of another man, waltzing with him, smiling up at him, bestowing her smiles upon him, charming him with her laughter. While her father’s title hadn’t been hereditary, she was still part of the aristocracy. She had every right to expect some lord’s son to favor her-a second son, a third son, even a tenth son of a second son would be more worthy of her than Swindler.

But the reality regarding his lack of a position didn’t stop him from wanting her.

He’d sought to gain her trust in order to learn why she was obsessed with Rockberry and what she hoped to accomplish by shadowing him, and all he had managed to do was come to desire Eleanor as he’d never desired any woman-not even Frannie. He wanted Eleanor in his bed, his body pounding into hers, her cries echoing around him. He wanted the woman who smelled of roses and wasn’t afraid to shower him with seductive smiles.

He jerked on his white gloves, understanding the wisdom in wearing them. If his bare skin were to touch hers, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to control himself. He was growing damned tired of his duty, of this assignment. He’d learned nothing of any value to Scotland Yard. He knew only that each moment spent in Eleanor’s presence was both heaven and hell.

Perhaps tonight he’d put duty aside, put his own needs, wants, and desires first. In so doing, perhaps he’d discover if the young lady was as aware of him as a man as he was of her as a woman. And finally gain what he’d been searching for all along: the reason behind her interest in Rockberry.

Once he had that, perhaps he could give her another reason to stay in London.

It was the most exquisite gown to ever touch her skin. Even the two gowns her father had paid handsomely to have made for Elisabeth paled in comparison. As she stared at her reflection in the cheval glass, with her hair pinned up and adorned with a diamond tipped hairpin her father had given her, she thought she’d never looked more beautiful.

Vanity was a tool of the devil, she knew that well enough, but she seemed unable to help herself. If it wasn’t for the fact that tears would ruin the entire affect, she would have wept. She’d wanted desperately to have a Season, to attend a ball. She wasn’t deserving of this night and yet she couldn’t turn away from it.

She picked up the small matching purse that she’d found in the box. It seemed the duchess had thought of everything. Little wonder James thought so highly of her, referred to her as a little mother.

James. She never should have begun to think of him as anything other than Mr. Swindler.

James created a sense of intimacy that should have been forbidden between them, and yet it seemed so right. She couldn’t explain what she was feeling where he was concerned. Intrigued, charmed, infatuated. She longed for his kisses and his touch. Elisabeth had written about wantonness that had led to her downfall.

And now she feared she was traveling the same path.

Before she could convince herself that she should stay in tonight, she hurried out of her rooms. At the top of the stairs she heard a deep masculine voice floating up. She would have recognized it anywhere, from a thousand miles away. Her body went languid, because she knew he’d come for her.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, his gaze shot past Mrs. Potter to settle on her. His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. She could see the deep satisfaction reflected in his eyes, along with a bit of possessiveness. Any other woman might have taken offense, might have resented the implication that she belonged to him-but how could she resent what she knew was true, at least for tonight?

He was so remarkably handsome in his black swallowtail jacket. Looking at him dressed as he was, no one would question his origins, no one would even consider for a single moment that he wasn’t a gentleman of the highest order. He possessed such confidence. He might have been disgusted by his origins, but tonight they were nowhere to be seen. Standing before her was a man who’d risen from the gutter, and nothing on earth would ever send him back to the filth.

And judging by the heat smoldering in his beautiful green eyes, he wanted her desperately. She couldn’t deny that she wanted him in equal measure.

“Oh, I say, you look lovely,” Mrs. Potter said, breaking the spell.

She felt the heat creep along her cheeks, but her eyes never left him. “Thank you.”

“I have something for you,” he rasped, his voice husky, the way she imagined a man who’d only just awakened from a night of passionate lovemaking might sound. He extended a velvet box toward her.

Without even opening it, she said, “Oh, I can’t accept something like that.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“It looks to be jewelry. It would be improper.”

“It’s not for you to keep, only for you to borrow.”

“Is it from the Duchess of Greystone?”

His mouth curled up into a teasing smile. “It can be if it’ll make it easier for you to open.”

Laughter almost erupted from her, because she could tell that he thought she was being silly. What did it matter who it came from? Only it did. Especially if it came from him, if it was his thoughtfulness. Her hand was trembling as she took the box, opened the lid, and stared at the beautiful string of pearls.

“I thought it possible that you might not have jewelry to wear tonight,” he said quietly.

“I can’t accept this,” she repeated.

“As I said, it’s only a loan. A lady shouldn’t attend a ball without her pearls, should she, Mrs. Potter?”

“I daresay she should not.” Her landlady stepped forward and smiled kindly. “It’s a special night, Miss Watkins. I can see no harm in it.”

Before she’d even agreed, James was taking the necklace from the box. His hands were bare, no doubt so his fingers could better control the clasp. His warm flesh brushed along her sensitive neck, causing heated desire to pool throughout her. She thought if she were a candle, she’d most assuredly melt into a molten pool of wax.

He withdrew his hands and said, “Just as I thought. They’re as perfect as you are.”

Sidestepping around him, she went to the mirror in the entryway. They were perfect, resting just above the hollow at her throat. She had this absurd need to weep. “I feel like a princess.”

“Perhaps you are.”

“I never pictured you as the fanciful sort, Mr. Swindler. I hardly know what to say for so precious a gift, even if it will only be mine for a few hours.”

Suddenly, without making a sound, he was standing behind her, locking his gaze with hers in the mirror. “Reserve a dance for me.”

“You may have them all.”

“That, sweetheart, would create a scandal.”

An emotion flickered over his face too quickly for her to accurately read it, but if she had to guess, it seemed something about his words bothered him, and she wondered if it was the endearment, if it had slipped out with his giving it no thought, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it.

“We should be off,” he said, as though he’d decided he needed to put distance between them.

“Enjoy yourself, Miss Watkins,” Mrs. Potter said. “And Mr. Swindler, tell your sister that next time she simply must come in as well.”

As he ushered her through the door, he said, “Thank you, Mrs. Potter, I will. As I said, she’s a bit shy.”

Once they were outside, she said, “I didn’t realize you had a sister.”

“I don’t. But neither did I want Mrs. Potter to think you were traveling in the carriage without a chaperone.”

“What will you tell people at the ball?”

“I don’t think anyone will ask. Frannie is taking you under her wing, and she’s married to one of the most powerful lords in Great Britain. You could walk in wearing not a stitch of clothing and they’d all compliment you on your gown.”

The laughter bubbling up from her throat served to calm her nerves. She was scared to death of making a fool of herself tonight. But it occurred to her that with James by her side, she could get through anything.

As the carriage rattled to a stop, a footman standing in the drive opened the door and assisted her out. James quickly followed, put his hand beneath her elbow and escorted her toward the grand residence. Carriages were dropping off other couples and they were strolling more quickly toward the open doors.

But she wanted to take her time, to absorb every facet of the night.

“It’s almost like a palace, isn’t it?” she whispered.

“A little too large for my tastes,” James said.

She peered up at him. “I quite agree, but still I don’t mind visiting.”

He led her through the double open doors into the entry hallway where the massive chandelier glittered. A footman took her pelisse and James’s hat, then directed them toward the parlor.

“But everyone else is going up the stairs,” she said quietly to James.

“It’s all right. We’re special.”

In the parlor, a dark-haired gentleman and lovely blond-haired lady stepped forward. “Ah, you must be Eleanor,” the lady said. “I’m Lady Catherine and this is my husband, Lord Claybourne.”

The gentleman pressed a kiss to the back of her gloved hand. “A pleasure.”

“James has told me about you,” she said to Lord Claybourne.

“Not too much I hope.”

She couldn’t imagine that this man had grown up on the streets. Nobility was evident in his bearing.

“I didn’t tell her anything to make her think less of you,” James said.

“Then the conversation about me must have been rather short,” Claybourne said with a grin.

“Frannie told us you were coming,” Lady Catherine said. “We didn’t think Jim would provide you with a chaperone so we shall serve in that role, if you’ve no objections. No sense in starting gossip straightaway.”

“I would be honored.”

“Let’s go, then, shall we?”

Nodding, she thought of the distant cousin with no real connections who’d brought Elisabeth to London. How different things might have been had a countess stood at her sister’s side.

“I daresay, you and Jim make a lovely couple,” the countess said quietly as she led the way up the sweeping stairs, with the gentlemen following.

Heat warmed her cheeks, and she could think of no adequate reply.

“I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you,” the countess said. “Jim is a dear friend. I’m most pleased to see him happy.”

“He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Most of these scoundrels are.”

“Scoundrels?”

She laughed lightly. “It’s how I think of my husband and his friends. They’ve become respectable, but a small bit of being a scoundrel remains to them. Don’t let it alarm you. It can come in quite handy at times.”

Halfway up, they turned onto a landing that ended at the large ballroom. People were waiting in line to be introduced.

Her heart pounded as she looked over the elegant ladies and handsome gentlemen. They all seemed so confident, so comfortable-smiling, talking, and laughing. Anticipating the night.

“You’re as good as any of them,” James murmured near her ear.

Turning to smile up at him, she nodded. “I can’t imagine an entire Season of this.”

“I think it would grow tedious rather quickly.”

She shook her head. “No, I think each night would be wonderful.”

As they approached the door, Catherine spoke to a man there. He nodded. Then his voice boomed out, “Lord and Lady Claybourne, Miss Eleanor Watkins, Mr. James Swindler!”

She looked out over the grand ballroom and thought she’d never seen anything so magnificent in her life. Coming from a small village, she thought it was almost like stepping into a dream. Little wonder Elisabeth had fallen for Rockberry’s charms.

As she glided down the steps, she was grateful to have a woman of experience beside her. At the bottom of the stairs, Catherine greeted their host and hostess.

“Frannie, Sterling, I hope you’re pleased with everything.”

“Dear sister,” the duke said, “I never had any doubts you would provide us with a night to remember. And this must be Miss Watkins. My wife enjoyed visiting with you this afternoon. It’s a pleasure to have you in our home.”

She curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to be here, Your Grace.” She turned to the duchess. “Your Grace, thank you so much for the loan of the gown.”

“You’re welcome to keep it. I have far too many. And who knows? After tonight you might have need of it again.”

“You’re most generous.”

“Enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, I will.”

Looking back, she met James’s gaze and saw in his green eyes that this night was hers, all hers. As Catherine escorted her away, she suddenly found herself being introduced to one gentleman after another.

Unlike Elisabeth, she would not be a wallflower. In spite of the marvels and excitement that surrounded her, she felt a moment of sadness that her sister had not experienced anything near this much attention. Then all her sorrow floated away as the first gentleman escorted her to the dance area.

Swindler had yet to dance with Eleanor. From the moment she’d walked down the stairs into the grand salon, she’d captured everyone’s imagination and attention. Not that he could blame them for being fascinated by her. The gown she wore accentuated every curve. He desperately desired the opportunity to put his hands on her waist, draw her near.

He snatched a flute of champagne from one of the passing footmen and downed it in one swallow.

“Preparing to go into battle?”

Giving Claybourne a sharp glare, he gratefully accepted the tumbler of scotch he offered and tossed it back as easily as he had the champagne.

“Easy there, Jim, you look as though you’re on the verge of killing someone. You’d best slow down. You know the liquor only serves to make you angrier.”

Swindler had always admired Claybourne the most of all of Feagan’s lads. Perhaps because his origins had been the upper crust of society, he’d never appeared to really belong with Feagan’s motley gang of thieves. “I’m not angry.”

“You’re giving a good imitation.”

Claybourne was almost as tall as Swindler, but he had a slender, aristocratic build. He was also the only person, other than Frannie, who Swindler truly trusted. “I didn’t expect all the gents to be fawning over her.”

“Why not? She’s a beautiful woman.”

Truer words were never spoken.

“Your anger is preventing you from seeing the situation clearly,” Claybourne said somberly, handing Swindler his own tumbler of scotch.

Swindler hurled the liquid to the back of his throat, relishing the slow burn that spread through his chest. “I said I’m not angry.”

“Jealous, then.”

Bloody hell. Swindler nodded. “Mayhaps.”

“She has no interest in any of the other gents.”

Swindler released a scornful scoff. “How can she not? She may be at the lower end of it, but this is her world. She’s danced with a duke, two marquesses, four earls, and so damned many second sons that I’ve lost count.”

“I didn’t think you knew that many in the nobility.”

“I was standing near when they were lining up like paupers hoping for a bowl of gruel. Worst of all, she danced with Dodger, no doubt the wealthiest man in all of London.”

“He’s also very happily married.”

“God, those are words I never thought I’d hear strung together when talking about him.” He wanted another gulp of scotch, whiskey, rum, gin. It didn’t matter as long as it had the ability to burn away this powerful torment that had wrapped itself around him.

“And why hasn’t she danced with you?”

Swindler held his tongue. Claybourne elbowed him in the ribs. “Because you haven’t asked?”

“I wanted tonight to be special for her. Her sister had the opportunity to come to London and Eleanor didn’t. I wanted to give this to her.”

“She’s not enjoying dancing with the other men, you know. Have you not noticed the way her gaze never stays on them long? Or how it darts around the room as though she’s searching for someone? Her smile is so frozen that her jaws must be aching. Ask her for a dance.”

“Her dance card is probably filled.”

“Wouldn’t stop me if I wanted to dance with Catherine.”

Normally it wouldn’t have stopped Swindler either. What the devil was wrong with him? he wondered. Guilt over his deception. He should tell her the truth, but even as he thought the words, he knew everything between them would change as soon as they were uttered. Her affection for him would turn to loathing. Her interest in him would wither away like a rose plucked from the vine and left too long without water.

The final strains of a violin echoed into silence. Eleanor didn’t even have to leave the dance floor as her next eager partner replaced the previous one.

Swindler handed the tumbler back to Claybourne and, without another word, strode through the crowd to the area where the dancers were just beginning to step in time to the music. He patted Lord Milner on the shoulder. The man looked as startled as he did when he was playing cards at Dodger’s and was dealt a good hand. “Sorry, m’lord, but this one’s mine.”

If he’d been a larger man, Lord Milner might have challenged Swindler. Instead, he excused himself. Before the next beat of music sounded, Swindler had Eleanor in his arms and was sweeping her across the dance floor.

She’d waited the whole night for this moment. “What took you so long?”

He gave her a wry grin. “I wasn’t certain you’d want to give up a dance with a lord for a man who has little to offer except two clumsy feet.”

“You sell yourself short, James. You are quite the accomplished dancer.”

“As are you, Eleanor.”

They circled the dance floor as though no one else was upon it. It occurred to her that they were closer than was proper, but she didn’t care.

Earlier one of her partners had mentioned that she reminded him of a lady he’d danced with last Season. He couldn’t remember her name. Was it her? he’d asked. Sadness had swamped her because her sister had been in London and no one remembered her clearly. Just as she was certain no one would remember her tonight.

She was part of these people’s lives for only a fleeting moment in time. Tomorrow night there would be other dance partners for them, while she would hold close the precious memories. And the one that was being created now with James would be the most precious of all-or at least of all the ones from the ball.

They hardly spoke. It was as though no words were needed between them. They conversed with a look, a squeeze of a hand, the brush of a thigh.

When the dance ended, he removed her dance card from her wrist, slipped it into his pocket, and claimed the next dance as his own. She didn’t protest. It was what she wanted more than she wanted to breathe.

During their third dance he asked, “Will you save the last dance for me?”

“I’m perfectly fine with this being the last dance of the night.”

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.

“No,” she said, wondering where the sultriness in her voice had come from. “But I am ready to leave with you.”

When the music ended, they said good-night to their host and hostess. Outside the air was cool. While he draped her pelisse over her shoulders, it was his nearness more than the cloth that warmed her.

As they settled into the carriage, he said, feigning surprise, “Well I wonder where my sister has gone off to. Whatever will happen between us without a chaperone?”

She cradled his face with her gloved hands. “It is my hope, James, that we’ll kiss.”

As the carriage rolled away, she found her hope being realized as he crushed his mouth against hers, and she parted her lips to receive what he offered. Once again she was amazed by his taste, but tonight it was different. No meat pie. Rather, it was rich and smooth and decidedly dark. Not champagne. He’d had something else to drink, something strong, something that would appeal to a man. Whatever it was, she liked it-enjoyed the flavor on his tongue as it stroked hers.

His arms stole around her back and hips, and she found herself being pulled onto his lap. Almost immediately the angle of the kiss shifted and deepened, as though he was intent on touching her heart. How was she to tell him that he already had, in so many small ways, like a ball made up of scraps of yarn that came together to create an intriguing whole? The loan of the pearls, the fireworks, the drives through London. Conversations and waltzes. An invitation to a ball. She’d come to London with a goal, and he’d slowly worked his way into her life until she had a difficult time remembering what her plans had been.

Selfishly, to her everlasting guilt, Rockberry seemed insignificant when compared with what she might have if she turned her focus away from the vile man.

James’s heated mouth trailed along the curve of her jaw, then journeyed over her throat, leaving a damp mist in its wake. Her pelisse fell away from her shoulders, baring them to him. Without hesitation, he began to nibble on the exposed skin. His teeth gently nipped her collarbone, before his tongue tenderly apologized.

Squirming on his lap, she pressed her legs together, relishing the tiny tremors of pleasure that seemed to originate there and spread outward. She’d never experienced anything like this. It was as though by touching her in one place, he had the ability to create that touch over her entire body. Everything wanted to curl into itself, tighten and expand.

His harsh breathing echoed through the confines of the carriage as his large hands traveled over her. She felt the hardness of him bulging against her hip. His raspy groans filled her ears before he returned his mouth to hers with a hunger that exceeded her own.

She had no doubt that he desired her, that he was hers to command, that she was his to treasure.

The carriage came to a halt, and he released a low groan as he tore his mouth from hers and pressed his forehead against hers. She knew she should have moved off him, was certain he knew he should have pushed her away.

But instead they clung to each other, as though they were both drowning in a tumultuous sea. Even when the footman opened the door, James didn’t loosen his hold.

“Give us a moment,” he ground out hoarsely.

The door immediately closed, blocking out the world that required chaperones and propriety, enclosing them in their own world where behavior was dictated by them.

“It’s been the most magical night of my life,” she whispered, her heart pounding so hard that she was certain he could hear it. “I don’t want it to end, not here, not like this.”

He drew back, and in the shadowy confines of the carriage, she felt more than saw his gaze wandering over her face as though he was searching for an explanation of her words. “What are you saying, Eleanor?”

“I want to stay the night with you.”