Seduced at Midnight

Chapter 9

Cold rain dripped down Gideon's face and neck, seeping beneath his collar to trickle down his back, a discomfort he ignored as he'd reached his saturation point hours ago and couldn't possibly get any wetter. He could only hope the foul weather wouldn't keep the so-called murdering ghost robber-or whoever had left that note in Julianne's bedchamber-from attempting his scheme tonight. For that's precisely what it would it be-an attempt-as Gideon had every intention of catching the bastard.

Especially now, since the bastard had struck again. The magistrate's disturbing news, spoken to Gideon less than two hours ago, echoed through his mind. Lady Daltry… robbed of her jewels… and murdered.

Lady Daltry, who had been alive and well this morning when Gideon had checked for footprints outside the window of her home.

"She's the last one, you bastard," Gideon muttered. "The last one you're going to rob and kill."

Hopefully, the note leaver and the ghost robber were one and the same, so he could put a quick end to this. Not only for the sake of the fine citizens of Mayfair but for himself. He needed a new assignment. To get away from here. From her. From the agonizing, overwhelming temptation that strangled him, that he couldn't seem to fight, every time he was near her.

Keeping to the shadows, he slogged through the mud, eyes and ears alert, Caesar at his heels. He often brought Caesar on missions such as this, and the keenly intelligent animal had proven himself a worthy partner. Caesar had taken a bite out of more than one fleeing criminal's arse.

They turned the corner leading to the front of the mansion, and Gideon heard what sounded like a faint cry. He paused, knife at the ready, straining to hear above the thunder growling in the distance. Caesar halted beside him, and he felt the dog's sudden tension.

The sound came again, louder, stronger, and this time unmistakable. A scream. From inside the house.

Julianne.

Gideon raced forward, Caesar on his heels. Heart pounding, he was running up the stone steps, prepared to smash through the door or the window or both-whatever he needed to do to get to her-when the front door swung open.

Winslow, expression anxious, candle in hand-which blew out the instant the oak panel opened-stood on the threshold. Gideon caught a glimpse of Julianne standing in the foyer, clasping a candelabra with both hands, her eyes wide with obvious fright.

"What's wrong, Winslow?" Gideon asked, taking the stairs three at a time.

The butler started, then visibly relaxed when he recognized him. "Oh, I'm so glad you're here, Mr. Mayne. I was just about to call for you. Lady Julianne-"

Gideon pushed past him, leaving a trail of mud and rain on the marble floor, and halted in front of Julianne. The terrified look in her eyes twisted his gut. He too fl ok the candelabra from her, noting she was shaking, and passed it to Winslow, who'd shut the door and joined them.

Gideon gently grasped Julianne by the shoulders, absorbing her tremors. "What happened?"

"I… I saw someone. Just outside my bedchamber window. On the balcony." A shudder ran through her, and she briefly squeezed her eyes shut. Twin tears rolled down her pale cheeks. "He had a knife. And he was trying to get in."

Gideon's fingers involuntarily tightened, then he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, realizing too late it was too wet of be of any use. Still, Julianne accepted it with a nod of thanks. "That's the window that I relocked earlier today after finding it unfastened. What did he look like?"

"I couldn't tell. He wore a black cloak with a hood. I saw him. Then I screamed. And ran. I couldn't stop screaming."

"I heard you." Yes. And his heart had nearly stopped.

Just then two more people rushed into the foyer, both of whom Gideon recognized from his interviews with the servants that afternoon. The first, a strapping young footman named Ethan who, instead of his impeccable livery, now sported bare feet and sleep-flattened hair, and wore an obviously hastily tied flannel robe. Ethan was followed by the cook, Mrs. Linquist, an older, heavyset woman, ensconced from chin to toes in white nightclothes. Her mobcap was badly askew on her frizzy gray hair, and she brandished a small cast-iron pot in one hand.

"Wot's happenin'?" Ethan asked at the same time Mrs. Linquist asked, "Who screamed?"

"Lady Julianne saw someone outside her window," Gideon said tersely. "I want you all to stay right here. Don't move from this spot. I'm going upstairs to investigate. If you see or hear anything, yell. Do not open the door to anyone. Understood?"

They all nodded. Gideon turned to Winslow. "Are you armed with anything besides that candlestick?"

Winslow's eyes widened. "Certainly not."

"Then it will have to do." He looked at the brass candlestick the footman held. "Same for you." After giving the cook and her cast-iron pot an approving nod, he turned to Julianne. "Get those embroidery scissors out of your pocket."

Gideon pointed to the dog sitting patiently next to his boots. "This is Caesar. He'll watch over you while I'm gone." Looking down into Caesar's intelligent brown eyes, he ordered in a low voice, "Guard."

Without another word he strode from the foyer, moving swiftly toward Julianne's bedchamber. He entered cautiously, knife ready, but instantly sensed the room was empty. After assuring himself that was indeed the case, he examined the windows, both of which were securely locked. He stepped onto the balcony but found no evidence of an intruder. He noted the sturdy tree close by. The branches would hold a man's weight. A reasonably fit man could certainly make the climb or use a rope to gain access to the balcony. And Lady Julianne. There was no doubt in his mind that whoever had left the note in Lady Julianne's room had also unlocked her window in order to gain entrance when he returned tonight.

He left the room, then quickly checked the rest of the house, making sure the windows remained locked, inwardly cursing the number of rooms in the household. When he'd satisfied himself that no one had gained admittance, he reentered the foyer. Julianne and the servants remained exactly where he'd left them with Caesar standing before them like a sentry.

"No one has entered the house," he reported, pleased that she'd followed his instructions and noting the relieved looks on everyone's faces. He looked at Mrs. Linquist. "Lady Julianne could use some hot tea."

"Of course she could," the woman said, making clucking noises like a mother duck fussing over her young. "Such a fright she had. I'll see to it at once."

Gideon nodded at Ethan. "Go with her."

"I'll fetch a mop," said Winslow, glancing at the muddy, wet mess Gideon's boots had made of the pristine floor.

After they left, Gideon looked at Julianne. Her eyes were still huge, but they'd taken on a fierce gleam, and she was no longer shaking. She clutched her embroidery scissors to her chest and looked fully prepared to use them against anyone foolish enough to attempt harming her.

Something in his own chest turned over at the sight of her: beautiful and frightened, yet determined and brave. She might have started off screaming, but by God, she'd pulled herself together. Hadn't succumbed to the vapors or tears. He had to lock his knees to keep from giving in to the overpowering urge to take her in his arms.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"I'm going to check outside."

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. "But what if he's out there? That knife-"

"Given the alarm you raised, I'm certain he's gone. And I have a knife, too."

Her glance flicked down to the blade he held. "His knife is bigger."

Bloody hell, she was worried about him. When was the last time anyone had worried about him? He couldn't recall. Still, he wasn't certain if he was more touched by the sentiment or insulted. "I have another knife as well, so he's outnumbered."

She reached out and grabbed his sleeve. "You'll come back?"

He glanced down at her slim, pale hand on his wet, black sleeve. Bloody hell, he liked the way it looked there. Felt there. Not trusting his voice, he jerked his head in a nod. After stepping back, he looked down at Caesar and commanded softly, "Guard." Then he exited the house and, after hearing her lock the door behind him, he made his way to the rear of the mansion.

The rain had tapered off to a relentless, cold drizzle. When he reached the tree outside Julianne's bedchamber window, Gideon crouched down. Even in the dark he could discern the muddy, rain-filled impressions of a man's boot, which meant the bastard had used the tree to climb up. It also meant the man he sought was agile, athletic.

He crouched down to study the footprints. They appeared to be the same size as those he'd discovered beneath Lord Daltry's window this morning. Gideon followed the prints, which led along the perimeter of the garden to a gate leading to the mews. The gate was locked, but a man who could climb a tree to the balcony was certainly capable of scaling the eight-foot wall. Gideon unlocked the gate, but as expected, the mews were deserted. Grim, he returned to the house.

The instant Winslow admitted him, Julianne asked, "Well?"

"It appears he climbed the tree to gain access to your balcony. Since I didn't see him nor did Caesar sense him, I believe he must have known of my presence. He waited until I'd left the rear of the house, then entered through the mews. He would have had ample time to do so before I made my way around the property back to the rear of the mansion. Since he obviously knows which bedchamber is yours, you'll need to sleep in a different room until he's caught-one without a balcony or tall trees outside the windows. Nor an adjoining door to another room that has either. Is there such a chamber?"

She considered then said, "Yes. The room two doors down from mine. Do… do you think he'll be back?"

"I doubt he'll attempt to return tonight, although I won't be letting down my guard in case he does. But after tonight… yes. I think he'll be back. And I've no intention of allowing him to get away again."

She frowned, clearly troubled. Which was bad, because that made him want nothing more than to reach out and brush his fingers over the furrow between her brows. To reassure her that he'd allow no harm to come to her. And since the urge was so strong, he needed to get away from her. As quickly as possible.

"Winslow, I'll need a list of every person who entered the house today: servants, deliverymen, callers, everyone."

"Yes, sir. I'll consult with the housekeeper in the morning and prepare the list."

"Good. One more thing…" He withdrew the snuffbox from his pocket and held it up so both Winslow and Julianne could see it. "I found this last night. Do either of you recognize it?"

He handed the piece to Winslow, who held it up to the candlelight. He frowned, hesitated, then shook his head before passing it to Julianne. "I've never seen it before."

Julianne studied the ornate box for several seconds, then handed it back. "It's not familiar."

Gideon tucked the box back into his waistcoat pocket and turned to Winslow. "If you'll stay with Lady Julianne, I'll return to my rounds."

Before the butler could answer, Julianne said, "You'll do nothing of the kind. You're soaked to the skin and must be half-frozen." Turning to Winslow, she said, "Please light the fire in the drawing room and instruct Mrs. Linquist to bring the tea there. Mr. Mayne will require towels and-" she turned toward Gideon, and her gaze skipped down his wet length. "Do you have a change of clothes?"

"No. And there's no point, as it's still raining."

"As you've already ascertained that the intruder is no longer about, I see no reason for you to return outside, at least until my parents return home. Besides, since it appears I'm the intruder's target, I'd feel much safer if you remained with me."

Damn it, she had a point. He should remain with her. Needed to remain with her and not let her out of his sight for a minute. The thought of what might have happened to her if that knife-wielding bastard had gained entrance to her bedchamber-

He cut off the thought, forcing it from his mind. She was unharmed. But to insure she remained that way, he needed to stay with her until her parents returned home. He had to keep her safe.

Yet one look at her, so beautiful, those huge eyes staring up at him, filled with trust and unmistakable admiration, as if he were some sort of hero, and he knew he was in deep, deep trouble. The need to touch her, taste her, breathe her in, clawed at him with razor-sharp talons. Just who the bloody hell was going to keep her safe from him?