Seduced at Midnight

Chapter 12

With Caesar keeping pace beside him, Gideon walked along the dark street, his thoughts as gloomy as the shadows that surrounded him. Tendrils of fog rose from the ground, and puddles filled the uneven pavement, soaking his boots. The rain had stopped, but a damp chill infiltrated the still air. His strides ate up the ground, each one taking him farther from the Grosvenor Square mansion he'd departed five minutes ago and closer to Covent Garden. To his own modest home. Where he belonged.

She will be married to the Duke of Eastling.

The words clanged through Gideon's mind as they'd ceaselessly done since the earl had uttered them, like rusty chains hobbling criminals on their way to the gallows. The news had stunned him, and he'd gone perfectly still. On the outside. On the inside, it felt as if everything shifted and tumbled. Crashed and shattered. Then the reverberating words were replaced by an agonized Noooooo!that had screamed through his head.

It had taken him several seconds to recover, and when he had, anger and betrayal stabbed him like daggers in the back. She'd known. Known she was betrothed to another man, yet she'd deliberately set out to entice him. Then a keen sense of self-disgust filled him. He'd done a great many things he wasn't proud of, but by damn, he'd never cuckolded a man. Even if he'd desired the woman and she'd been willing. Even if he'd disliked her husband.

For years he'd been forced to witness the damage and pain that sort betrayal could cause. And he wanted no part of it. How many vicious rows had he listened to while watching the light fade from his mother's eyes after his father came home stinking of some trollop's cheap perfume? More than he wanted to recall. There were bloody few lines he hadn't crossed, but that was one of them. Until she'd deceived him. Not to mention the point of pride and honor that he didn't take things that didn't belong to him. And unbeknownst to him-because she'd deceived him-she belonged to someone else.

Now, on the cold walk home, he passed under a gaslight, the fog shifting eerily in the pale yellow glow, and he heaved out a long sigh. In spite of both the betrayal and self-disgust, an aching, profound sense of loss all but strangled him. Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? Why had the earl's announcement hit him with the force of a blow to the head? He'd seen the parade of suitors tramping through the house. The men who flocked to her at parties. It certainly wasn't as if he ever could have thrown his name on the silver platter bearing those of her countless admirers.

Still, the news of her imminent marriage had caught him off guard. And he didn't like being caught off guard.

She will be married to the Duke of Eastling…

Unreasonable, white-hot jealousy ripped through him with a viciousness that wouldn't allow him to deny what it was. Bloody hell, the thought of that bastard putting his hands on Julianne, taking her without a care to her pleasure as he had Lady Daltry at last night's soiree, made him want to break things. Most specifically, that bastard's face.

Fancy gowns and parties are not important to me. Not nearly as much as other things. Love. Laughter. Companionship. Desire. Romance. Passion. They are what I long for.

In his mind's eye he saw her saying those words, the despair and vulnerability and yearning reflected in her expressive eyes. He clenched his teeth so hard he was surprised they didn't crumble to dust. She sure as hell wouldn't get all those things from a cold bastard like the duke.

The only time I've ever felt free of that glass coffin is when you kissed me.

Damn it, the taste of her still lingered on his tongue. In spite of the chill, dank air, he could still smell her. Feel her curves against him, and her warmth surrounding him. It was as if she were tattooed on his senses.

How the hell was he ever going to forget her?

Especially now that he'd agreed to protect her?

He dragged his cold hands down his face and released a pent-up breath that fogged the air. God knows he hadn't wanted to agree. Had wanted to tell her arrogant father that Gideon Mayne couldn't be bought. And he hadn't been bought-by the money. That he could have walked away from. But as much as he cursed himself for it, he couldn't walk away from Julianne when she was in danger. He would find the bastard threatening her and stop him. He'd do his job.

And then he'd walk away from her.

She'd marry the duke and move to Cornwall.

And that would be that.

All he needed to do was make sure he kept his damn hands and his damn mouth off her.

But now that he knew she belonged to someone else-that her betrothal wasn't simply something nebulous that would happen someday-his tarnished honor demanded there be no further intimacies between them. All he needed to do was hold on to that sense of anger and betrayal he'd felt upon hearing the news, the realization that she'd deceived him, and he'd succeed. Surely he could do that.

Wouldn't have mattered if you'd known, his inner voice taunted. The evening would have ended the same way. With you lifting her skirts.

His hands tightened into fists, and he shook his head to dislodge the insidious voice. No. He would have found the strength to resist her had he known.

You wanted her more than you wanted your next breath.

True. But the knowledge that she was betrothed would have cooled his ardor.

Wouldn't it?

Yes!his tarnished honor roared. Absolutely yes.

He turned off the main road onto a narrower cobbled street. Almost home. Where he'd climb into bed and get some much-needed rest.

You won't rest, you idiot. You'll lie awake and stare at the ceiling and remember what it felt like to kiss her. To bury your face between her soft thighs.

Heat raced through him, settling in his groin, and he grimaced as he swelled against his breeches. The fact that he hadn't had a woman in two months wasn't helping the situation. Not since he'd first seen Julianne. He hadn't wanted anyone other than her.

His lips compressed into a thin line.

That was going to change. Tonight. And he knew just the place.

He looked ahead, and his gaze fastened on the sign coming up on the next corner. The Drunken Porcupine. He hadn't been to the tavern since he'd met Julianne. In fact, he'd been living like a monk since that night. Well, no more. He quickened his pace, and a moment later, he pushed open the heavy oak door.

Loud guffaws, ribald singing, and the sound of a fiddle spilled out, along with a haze of smoke and the scent of sausage and cooked cabbage. Two months might have passed, but nothing had changed. Booths lined the outer walls, and wooden benches set in front of long, pockmarked tables ran the length of the room.

He made his way through the dimly lit interior, Caesar at his heels, nodding greetings to a few men he knew, returning the glares of several he didn't. When he reached the well-worn bar, he chose an empty stool in the corner that afforded him a good view of the room and put the wall at his back. Caesar settled himself at Gideon's feet.

"Well, look wot the storm blew in."

Gideon turned and found himself the subject of a narrow-eyed stare from Luther, the giant of a barkeep who polished a thick glass mug with the corner of his apron. The dim light reflected off Luther's shiny bald head and glinted on the small gold hoop in his earlobe. The tattoo of a rose decorated a beefy forearm. In spite of standing behind the bar, he still looked very much like the brawny sailor he once was. "Thought mayhap ye'd died and hadn't bothered to tell me."

"Couldn't very well tell you if I had."

Luther considered that, then nodded. "I suppose not. What'll ye have? Yer usual nip o' ale?"

"Whiskey."

Luther made no comment, and seconds later his ham-sized hand set down two glasses in front of Gideon. "I'll join ye," Luther said, pouring a generous shot of amber liquid into each glass. When he finished, he picked up his glass and raised it. "Here's to ye still bein' alive."

Gideon raised his glass. "And you as well."

"Thank ye."

Gideon tossed back the potent liquor in a single gulp then closed his eyes against the scrape of rough fire that burned its way down his throat. When he opened his eyes, Luther was setting down his empty glass and staring at Gideon with a speculative expression.

"Can't recall I've ever seen ye drink whiskey," Luther said.

"I rarely do," Gideon said. "Probably because it tastes so foul." A shudder ran through him. "Jesus. I think my guts are melting."

Luther gave a bark of laughter. "Probably are. Best whiskey in London right here." Then Luther sobered and rested his massive forearms on the bar and leaned forward. "Ain't right that ye stayed away so long, Gideon. Ain't no way to treat a friend."

Gideon met his gaze and gave a tight nod. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Luther nodded his acceptance then flashed a grin. "Especially a friend who's so much bigger than you."

Gideon allowed himself to grin back. Gideon stood several inches over six feet, but Luther was still a half a head taller and probably a good four stones heavier. "I could squash ye like a spider," Luther said, grinning.

"You'd have to catch me first."

"That'd be a problem," Luther agreed, shooting his left leg a rueful expression. A wound sustained in a knife fight on the docks had ended Luther's seafaring ways. "Speedy bastard, ye are."

"It's what keeps me from getting squashed like a spider."

Luther poured them each another whiskey. After Gideon had taken a swig-a much smaller one than last time, although it most likely didn't matter as his insides had already corroded-Luther said, "Interestin' that ye'd stop in tonight."

"Why's that?"

"Someone were here earlier askin' about ye."

"Oh? Who?"

"Gave the name o' Jack Mayne. Said he were yer father." Gideon's hand froze halfway to his mouth, and his fingers tightened on the glass. An unpleasant cramp seized his insides.

Luther leaned in a bit farther. "Thought I recalled ye once sayin' yer father were dead."

"He is." Gideon slowly lowered his hand but continued to grip the glass. "At least as far as I'm concerned."

Understanding dawned in Luther's dark eyes, and he nodded. "Know a few blokes like that meself."

"What did he look like?" Maybe, just maybe, it hadn't really been Jack Mayne.

Luther considered for several seconds. "Like you around the eyes. Rough. Haggard. Had a jagged lookin' scar here." Luther pointed to his own chin.

Bloody hell. That was Jack Mayne. The fact that he and his light fingers were back in London didn't bode well for the fine citizens who valued their possessions. "What did you tell him?"

"That I hadn't seen ye in weeks and weren't expectin' to."

"He say anything else?"

"Just to let ye know he were lookin' for ye should ye come in."

Gideon nodded slowly and took another sip of whiskey. Jack must be in dire circumstances to seek out his son. Their last parting four years ago hadn't been pleasant. If they were unfortunate enough to run into each other now, Gideon knew it wouldn't be any more pleasant. He didn't want to throw his own father in Newgate, but unless Jack Mayne had turned over a new leaf-which he very much doubted-he suspected it might come to that. And if Gideon himself didn't do it, one of the other Runners would. For as crafty as Jack Mayne was, someday he'd get caught.

Luther moved down the bar to service other customers, and Gideon cradled his drink between his hands and stared into the amber liquid. Memories he'd refused to let surface pushed at him, but he ruthlessly shoved them aside. After years of practice, he was good at suppressing the unpleasant recollections. Besides, there were other things to think about. Like the reason he'd come here tonight.

When Luther returned, Gideon gave the tavern a look-over then asked casually, "Where's Maggie?"

"She ain't workin' tonight. Off to Vauxhall with some bloke she met a few weeks back. Seems a decent sort." Luther picked up another glass to polish. "She the reason ye're here tonight?"

Yes. No. Bloody hell, he didn't know. "I was just wondering where she was."

"And now ye know." Luther shot him a speculative look. "Don't think she'd a-taken' up with this other bloke 'cept she got tired of waitin' for you. I wager she'd come runnin' back if ye so much as crooked yer little finger."

Gideon didn't respond. He knew Luther was correct. Maggie Price had made it clear from the first time she met Gideon six months ago-on her first night working at the tavern-that she'd like to serve him more than drinks. And on several occasions she had-when Gideon's work-consumed, solitary existence had proven too lonely for even him.

He liked that she didn't ask a lot of questions and didn't make any demands on him. She didn't like to talk about her past, which was fine with him, because he didn't like to talk about his. He'd even been tossing around the idea of maybe pursuing something a bit more frequent between them than the occasional roll in the hay.

And then he'd met Julianne. And all thoughts of any woman besides her had fled. His mind knew how bloody ridiculous that was, but try as he might, he couldn't change it. Since he didn't have any logical excuse for not bedding Maggie, he stayed away. He knew she wouldn't have denied him, but she deserved better than to be a stand-in for another woman. She deserved a man who would care for her. For a brief moment he'd thought he might be that man. They got on well together. They pleased each other in bed. He didn't love her, but he liked her. Wasn't that enough?

Given how he'd stayed away and barely thought of her since meeting Julianne, he guessed not.

"Why don'tcha just spit it out?"

Luther's question jerked back Gideon's thoughts. "Spit what out?"

"The reason ye came here tonight. Ye can start with 'er name. And don't say Maggie, 'cause it ain't her who's got ye all tied up in knots."

"What makes you think it's a woman?"

Luther looked toward the ceiling. "Between ownin' this place and havin' been married nigh on twelve years, I know woman trouble when I see it." He nodded toward Gideon's half-finished whiskey. "Must be bad for ye to be swillin' that rotgut."

"You said this was the finest whiskey in London."

"Don't mean it won't rot yer guts. So who is she?"

"Maybe it's Maggie."

Luther shook his bald head. "If it were, ye'd have been out the door on yer way to Vauxhall as soon as I said she were there with another bloke." He stroked his chin and gave Gideon a speculative look. "Is she somebody accused of a crime ye know she didn't commit? Or worse-that she did commit? Well, split me windpipe! Have ye lost yer heart to a murderess?"

Gideon shot him a frown. "She isn't a murderess, and I haven't lost my heart." He dragged his hands down his face. "Just my mind."

Luther nodded sagely. "Drive ye to the brink, a woman will. If I didn't care for my Rose the way I do, I'd've tossed her into the Thames long ago."

Gideon's lips twitched at the mention of Luther's diminutive wife. Rose was small, but she was very handy with a cast-iron skillet. She didn't tolerate any nonsense from the Drunken Porcupine's clientele. Or from her husband.

"Toss her in the Thames?" Gideon scoffed. "I'd like to see you try. She'd flatten you with that skillet of hers before you ever got her hefted over your shoulder."

Luther rubbed the back of his head as if he'd been coshed. "Yer right about that. Course once I hefted her over me shoulder, it wouldn't be to the Thames but to bed I'd be takin' her." He blew out a gusty sigh. "Ah, well, that's wot happens when ye let a woman get under yer skin and fall in love. As yer clearly findin' out."

Gideon went perfectly still. Took a single careful breath. Then said slowly and distinctly, "I haven't fallen in love." Heavily in lust, but certainly not in love. He might be foolish, but he wasn't a complete idiot.

Luther nodded. "Right. Yer just tied up in half hitches and miserable and so randy ye can barely think."

Since that perfectly described what he was feeling, Gideon felt compelled to admit, "Something like that. I suppose."

Luther let out a bark of laughter then clapped Gideon on the shoulder with an enthusiasm that would have sent a lesser man to the floor. "Well, wot do ye think love feels like, ye horse's arse? Best watch yerself, or next thing ye know, she'll be swattin' ye upside yer head with a skillet. And I can tell ye, thathurts like a bugger."

Gideon tried to imagine stunning, aristocratic, ladylike Julianne wielding a skillet and simply couldn't.

Luther planted plate-sized fists on the bar and grinned. "So who's the wench who's finally stolen yer cold heart? Anybody I know?"

Gideon stared into the remnants of his whiskey for several long seconds. Then he lifted his gaze to Luther's. "My heart isn't stolen, but I can't deny I… want her. You don't know her, and I can't have her."

The merriment leaked from Luther's eyes. "Why can't ye have her?" A dumbfounded expression came over Luther's ruddy face. "Don't tell me she's not wantin'you? Can hardly spit but find a woman that isn't givin' ye the eye."

"She's getting married." He tossed back the rest of his whiskey. "In a fortnight. Then moving to Cornwall."

Luther nodded slowly. "That's a pickle, all right. But maybe if she cares for ye, she'll call off the weddin'."

"Wouldn't matter." He debated whether to go on, then figured what the hell. Even though he was still miserable, having someone to confide in made him feel just a bit less awful. "She's an earl's daughter."

Luther's eyes widened, then he gave a low whistle. "Well, that's a right mess ye've got there, my friend."

A bitter sound escaped Gideon. "Yes, it is."

"Wot the hell are ye doin' even lookin' at a bird like that?"

"Damned if I know. She's nothing but a spoiled, pampered princess."

He said the words fiercely, wanting them to be true, but the instant they passed his lips, his insides cringed. Fancy gowns and parties are not important to me. Not nearly as much as other things. Love. Laughter. Companionship. Desire. Romance. Passion. They are what I long for. Yes, she was pampered, as everyone of her class was. But from the first instant he'd seen her, he'd suspected there was more to her. And after tonight he was very much afraid he was right. And he desperately didn't want to be. Didn't want her to be anything more than a spoiled princess.

"Wouldn't expect an earl's daughter to be anythin' else," Luther said. "Must be beautiful to have turned yer head like this."

"Yes." Beautiful and vulnerable and captivating. And completely unavailable. Hoping for some sage, coolheaded advice, something that would slap him out of the lust-induced fog that threatened to choke him, he asked, "What do you do when temptation is about to eat you alive?"

"Temptation? Mostly I try to avoid it." A wide grin split Luther's rough features. "Unless I absolutely can't resist." He grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured another round. "Cheer up, mate. Look on the bright side. Ye've got an entire fortnight to tup her. That'll cure ye of what's ailin' ye. Then the best part is the fancy bird will fly the coop to Cornwall! She'll be out of yer sight and then out of yer mind. Especially after ye find yerself another beautiful bird."

Gideon forced himself to nod, but he knew that even once Julianne was out of sight, it would take a very long time before he got her out of his mind. And he realized what a fool he'd been to think coming here tonight would in any way help him forget her.