Seduced at Midnight

Chapter 2

Gideon watched Lady Julianne leave the crowded drawing room. She'd timed her exit well; no one else appeared to notice her slip away from the party. Except him. But then, he'd noticed everything she had done since the moment she'd arrived at Lord and Lady Daltry's soiree.

Keeping close to the wall, he unobtrusively made his way to the curved archway through which she'd escaped. A few of the guests looked his way, but with that inborn, innate ability the aristocracy possessed, they clearly recognized that he wasn't one of them, and their gazes didn't linger. No doubt they thought he was one of the hired help. Which he was. Hired to catch a murdering thief.

Could Lady Julianne somehow be connected to the criminal?

His instincts, which had served him well through the years, told him no, yet based on her furtive departure, she was clearly up to something. And he was determined to find out what that something was. For investigative purposes only. Because his training and commitment to his task demanded he leave no avenue unexplored. Certainly not because he was compelled by an irritating curiosity and need to know what she was up to.

He entered the corridor and found it empty. His gaze swept the area, detecting no changes from his earlier scouting. After turning the corner, he noted the four doors. In his mind's eye he pictured the layout of the house he'd committed to memory during his inspection before the party began, when he ascertained all the windows were securely locked.

Slowing his pace, he strained his ears for any sound but heard nothing save the muted hum of conversation from the party.

He silently opened the first door. A swift perusal of Lady Daltry's femininely appointed sitting room proved it empty. He continued on to the second door, behind which was Lord Daltry's private study, and silently entered the room. And instantly knew he wasn't alone. With his back pressed against the paneling, his gaze swept the deeply shadowed chamber. The oversized desk. Hunting trophies mounted on the walls. Tall bookcases flanking the windows.

A low, guttural groan came from the corner. Gideon's gaze shifted. Narrowed. And then he saw them. A woman, whose white blond hair rendered her instantly recognizable as Lady Daltry. She was bent over the arm of a leather settee, her fine gown gathered up about her waist, her bare arse hoisted in the air. And a man. Standing behind her, with his breeches open.

"Spread your legs wider."

The man's impatient demand was met by a rustle of material and a querulous female whisper. "Don't you dare leave me hanging as you did last time, Eastling."

Eastling? Gideon grimaced at the name and focused his attention on the man. Though he could only see his profile, Gideon indeed recognized the duke. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in a grimace of pleasure. Gideon couldn't tell if Lady Daltry was receiving any pleasure, but based on her words, His Grace had fallen short in providing it during their last tryst. As best Gideon could tell, the duke was currently more interested in his own pleasure than that of his partner. Not surprising, based on what he knew of the man. He briefly wondered if Lord Daltry knew or cared about this tryst. Apparently marriage vows meant little to the peerage. But he'd already known that.

Neither the duke nor his partner noticed him, and he quickly exited the room. Bloody hell, now that unappetizing image of the duke's fingers pressing into Lady Daltry's buttocks was burned into his brain. A shudder rolled over him as he approached the third door, which led to the library. With his hand curved around the brass knob, he paused to listen and heard the unmistakable murmur of muted whispers. He opened the door a crack.

"It was extremely sensual as well…" The words trailed off into a sigh, and Gideon froze. He'd recognize Lady Julianne's voice anywhere. But sensual certainly wasn't a word he'd have expected to pass her lips.

"Nothing stopped Maxwell's seduction."

Seduction? Maxwell? A sensation that felt precisely like jealousy but couldn't possibly have been seared Gideon. Who the bloody hell was Maxwell? And who the bloody hell had he seduced? Surely not Lady Julianne-

"Lady Elaine. Over and over again. In some very inventive ways."

Gideon frowned, annoyed at his immense relief that Maxwell, whoever the hell he was, had apparently seduced Lady Elaine, whoever the hell she was.

"Passionate." Lady Julianne uttered that single word, and an image rose unbidden in his mind. Of him. And her. Locked in a passionate embrace. Her hands on him. His hands on her. His mouth on her. Everywhere.

He briefly squeezed his eyes shut to banish the vivid mental picture. Damn it, she wasn't supposed to be talking about such things. She should be discussing the weather. Fashion. The latest gossip.

He continued to listen, trying to decipher what they were talking about. The word ghost caught his attention. It seemed Lady Julianne and her friends thought they knew a ghost named Gregory? He situated his ear closer to the crack. And barely refrained from looking toward the ceiling. Good God, 'twas clear one of their friends, this Lady Elaine, had performed some sort of séance and conjured herself a ghostly lover and now Lady Julianne and her friends were taken with the idea. Only instead, they wished to summon the ghost criminal and solve the crimes everyone was talking about. Bloody ridiculous. He was half tempted to appear at their séance and-

"Are you all right, Julianne?"

Gideon recognized Lady Surbrooke's voice, and he strained to hear the reply. When he did, his entire body tensed. Eastling? Lady Julianne's father would entertain an offer from that bastard? An image flashed through Gideon's mind… of the duke bending Lady Julianne over a leather settee as he had Lady Daltry. His fingers gripping Julianne's bare flesh. Thrusting between her legs.

A red haze seemed to dull his vision. The thought of that reprobate touching her… He clenched his jaw and tried to banish the image. And succeeded-only to have it replaced with one of himself. Bending Lady Julianne over a settee. Thrusting into her.

Bloody hell.

He continued to listen, his tension mounting as her friends named a veritable stable of purebred lords who would make an acceptable match for Lady Julianne. Haverly? Good God, the man was nothing but a bald bore. As for Penniwick, Gideon considered it a testament to his self-control that he hadn't poked out the viscount's eyeballs after the way he'd ogled Lady Julianne's breasts while they'd danced. Beechmore wasn't shy; he was a cold, aloof bastard with a nasty temper.

As for Jennsen, Gideon suspected there was much more to the man than he presented to the world. And he found himself greatly relieved when Julianne said her father wouldn't consider a commoner. Somehow the thought of Julianne with Jennsen-a powerful man who women obviously found attractive-suffused him an uncomfortable sensation that felt like a cramp. As for Walston-his lips twitched when he heard Julianne's "dry" assessment.

"Your interest lies in a different man. One we haven't mentioned… who is it?"

Gideon strained to hear Lady Julianne's reply. She denied there was another man, but he suspected from her hesitation and her voice that she wasn't being truthful.

So there was someone she desired. Obviously one of those fancy-pants titled bastards. An odd sensation invaded his chest. One that felt like a toxic mixture of envy and yearning and jealousy.

"We'd best return to the party…"

The words broke through the fog that had engulfed him. He quickly closed the door, then froze as he heard it click into place. A soft, barely audible sound, but one that seemed to him to reverberate off the walls.

Had the ladies within heard it?

"Did you hear that?" came Lady Julianne's voice.

Damn it all to hell and back again. Cursing his uncharacteristic carelessness, he looked for the nearest escape. With the second door out of the question thanks to the duke and Lady Daltry, and the first too far away, he dashed toward the fourth door and quickly entered. Just as he closed the door behind him-taking extra care not to repeat his error-he heard the third door open.

He swiftly scanned the chamber, relieved to find it empty. Another sitting room of some sort. Bloody hell, how many sitting rooms did these aristocrats require? A body only had but one arse to plop into a chair.

He drew a deep breath and leaned back against the oak panel. A bit too close, that escape.

Of course, given his current mission, he was perfectly within his rights to be wandering the corridors and peeking into rooms. Still, he had no wish to be caught eavesdropping at a door crack by Lady Julianne and her friends. Bloody humiliating, that's what that would have been. An insult to his abilities as a Bow Street Runner to be discovered in such an ignominious fashion. And such detection would make it necessary to converse with Lady Julianne-without time to prepare himself first. Not something he cared to contemplate when the first thing that popped into his mind whenever he thought of her was, I want you.

And bloody hell, it seemed as if he thought about her all the time.

Just then he noted a sound in the corridor. He pressed his ear to the crack in the door and heard the quiet rustle of gowns. Once the sound faded, he peeked into the corridor. Lady Julianne and her cohorts were just turning the corner, clearly on their way back to the party. Good. He'd wondered what she was up to, and now he knew. So now he could focus on what he needed to concentrate on: discovering the identity of the murdering ghost thief. Excellent.

Not wanting to return to the party directly on the heels of Lady Julianne's group and risk any chance of it appearing he'd followed them, he decided to recheck the windows to make certain they remained locked. Experience had taught him one could never be too careful or thorough. Yet even while that task should have fully occupied him, his mind was filled with her. As it had been from the first moment he'd seen her two months ago. A day he'd rue until his last breath.

The damn woman was nothing but pure distraction. By damn, it was all her fault he'd nearly been caught. All her fault he'd felt compelled to follow her. All her fault he'd even known she'd slipped away from the party. While his watchful gaze had carefully scanned the drawing room, looking for any activities that could be deemed in the least suspicious, his eyes had been drawn to her again and again. The only reason he'd known she left the party was because he was so thoroughly, painfully aware of her. A bloody irritating situation he found himself, unfortunately, unable to control.

Bad enough to have a woman on his mind when he needed to focus on work. But to have this particular woman embedded in his thoughts… he shook his head. Bloody hell, it was nothing short of madness, and he was nothing short of a bloody idiot. Might as well be fixated on a damn royal princess. Or on owning a fancy Mayfair town house like the one in which he now stood. Or inheriting a hundred thousand pounds. All things he would never have.

He'd learned long ago not to waste his time and energy chasing after the impossible. Better-and much wiser-to set goals he could actually achieve. A woman like Lady Julianne Bradley was so far beyond his sphere as to be utterly laughable. Indeed, if he were insane enough to admit his ridiculous fascination with her to anyone-something that wouldn't occur without benefit of a severe blow to his head-he'd be laughed out of England.

Yet still she haunted him. Night and day, although the nights were the worst. When he lay alone in his bed, staring at the ceiling, imaging his fingers skimming over her creamy skin. Wreaking havoc with her perfect, blond curls. Memorizing every curve. Her body over him. Under him. His body sliding deep into her silky heat-

He cut off the thought with an exclamation of disgust and moved along to check the final window. Like the others, it remained locked. In an effort to escape his torturous thoughts, he exited the room. His intention to return to the party was waylaid as he approached the third door. The door she'd entered.

Instinct and something else he refused to examine too closely had him slipping into the room. After closing the door behind him he drew a deep breath. And smelled only the scent of beeswax and the leather volumes that lined the walls.

Hoping for a whiff of her, weren't you?his annoyingly honest inner voice asked.

He wearily leaned his head back against the oak panel and dragged his hands down his face. Yes, damn it, that's exactly what he'd hoped-that her scent still lingered. What was wrong with him?

Lady Julianne Bradley is what's wrong with you, you oaf.

God help him, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't deny it. From the moment he'd laid eyes on her, he'd wanted her. With a raw, intense hunger unlike anything he'd ever experienced. A hunger that confounded and confused him.

With an effort he pushed off from the door and headed across the room to recheck the multitude of windows. But the task was too mundane, one that allowed his thoughts to remain fixated on the exact thing he wished to purge from his mind. Julianne.

Part of him wanted to simply stare at her, drink in the almost shocking flawlessness of her beauty. Never had he seen a more exquisite woman. He was accustomed to ugliness, so used to it that beauty never failed to surprise him. But never more so than her beauty. Because it was so utterly, completely pure. Of course he knew enough of her class to know her outward beauty wouldn't extend inward.

Still, outwardly, everything about her was perfect. Her silky golden blond curls. Her smooth, creamy complexion. The perfectly matched dimples that flanked her gorgeous, perfectly shaped mouth. Her fine, delicate cheekbones. The clear sapphire blue of her eyes. He'd taken one look at her and completely forgotten the murder investigation that had brought him to her home.

But then the other, darker half of his fascination for her had kicked in, one that hit him like a blow to the gut. The one that didn't want to simply admire her from afar but desperately longed to yank her against him, wreak havoc with all that golden blond perfection, and put out this damnable fire she'd inexplicably lit in him.

What the bloody hell was it about her that affected him this way? Yes, she was beautiful, but it wasn't as if he'd never seen a gorgeous woman before. He'd even sampled several upper-class ladies and discovered they were not at all to his taste. Nothing but bored aristocrats looking to relieve their ennui by tupping a commoner. A brief nibble of the forbidden lower class, of a man who didn't require padding beneath his clothes to give the illusion of musculature, that titillated for a few moments before they returned to their fancy homes and neglectful husbands. He'd found those women shallow and spoiled and had forgotten them quickly once the physical passion was spent, as he was certain they'd forgotten him.

So why was he so fascinated by Lady Julianne? Ridiculous as it seemed, part of what continually drew his eye was the way she moved: graceful, yet with an underlying energy. So many ladies of her class were so bloody limp and languid they reminded him of soggy bread. It was as if silk resided under their skin rather than bones. But Lady Julianne walked as if she had a purpose for doing so. Punctuated her words with elegant gestures of her slim hands.

During his previous investigation he'd observed her dancing at several soirees and had been unable to tear his gaze from her. He'd never danced in his life, had never wanted to or even considered doing so. But during those waltzes, while he watched her gracefully whirl and twirl in the arms of some lucky bastard, he'd found himself wishing he were that lucky bastard. That he could sweep her into his arms and lead her around the dance floor. Feel the energy and grace of her while they became lost in the music.

Yet it had to be more than her poise and elegance. It's those eyes, his inner voice whispered. The innocence and vulnerability shining in their deep blue depths. Possibly. He wasn't accustomed to seeing innocence in any form. Clearly the novelty of it had affected him. Made him want to admire it. But then, as he damn well knew, he'd want to steal it. Take it away from her. Make it his own.

You're good at stealing. His conscience slyly raised its head from the grave in which he'd long ago buried it. Money. Secrets. Innocence. Lives…

He roughly shoved that hated inner voice back to the dark, dank depths of his soul from where it had escaped. He closed his eyes, and his mind instantly conjured Lady Julianne's image. Yes, damn it, it was those eyes. She had eyes a man could get lost in. And every time he'd seen her since that first time, he had to force himself not to succumb to the temptation to drown in those shimmering blue pools. Then there was the way she looked at him… as if she were equally as fascinated with him, something he'd obviously misread. Why would an innocent earl's daughter give a man like him so much as a second thought?

She wouldn't, you dolt. So it's time to forget about her and concentrate on the task at hand.

Right. The murdering ghost thief. A disparaging sound rose in his throat. Ghost indeed. There was no such thing. The person responsible for the recent rash of crimes was just that: a person. A very clever person. A very clever person Gideon had every intention of catching.

"You might be clever," he muttered, "but you're going to make a mistake. And when you do, I'll be right there. Waiting."

And speaking of waiting… He'd finished checking the windows and had lingered here long enough. It was time to continue his search. And he'd best remember he was looking for a criminal and not that fancy bit of aristocratic fluff. She was destined for the Duke of Eastling-his teeth clenched at the mere thought-or another fop of the same ilk. No matter what, a purebred princess like Lady Julianne would never, could never, belong to a lower-class mutt like Gideon. Which was perfect, as he didn't want or need a purebred princess. Plenty of willing women right in his own little unfancy corner of London. All he needed to do was put that distracting woman from his mind. And he would. Starting right now.

He opened the door a crack. After ascertaining the corridor was empty, Gideon slipped from the room. He was about to head back to the party when from the corner of his eye a slight movement at the opposite end of the corridor caught his attention. Turning, he narrowed his gaze at the window marking the end of the long hallway. And saw it again. A slight ruffling of the blue velvet curtain.

With a well-practiced silence he slipped his knife from his boot. Keeping his back against the wall, he cautiously made his way forward, every sense on alert. When he reached the end of the corridor, he quickly discovered the culprit.

The window, which he knew had previously been locked, was now slightly open.

Upon examining the lock, Gideon saw that it had not only been disengaged but very cleverly incapacitated in a way that would make it seem as if the lock were in place should anyone attempt to resecure the window.

He cautiously opened the glass panels. Chilly air blew through the opening. After making certain no one was lurking about in the flower beds below, he stuck out his head and looked down at the narrow walkway along the side of the house. No footprints were visible in the soft, moist dirt.

Leaning back inside, he inspected the sill and carpet below the window. No mud. Which meant that the window had been opened by someone in the house, and no one had used it to gain entry or escape. Yet. If he had to guess, he'd wager someone had opened the window with the intention of returning later and using it to enter the house. Of course, if the Times got wind of this, they'd no doubt speculate that a ghost wouldn't leave footprints.

After closing the window, he used his knife to hack off a small triangle of wood from the corner of the sill then wedged the piece between the frame and the sill to create a makeshift lock. He tested his handiwork to make sure it held. Merely a temporary fix, but one that would prevent an intruder from the outside entering until Lord Daltry replaced the lock.

Satisfied, Gideon crouched low and pushed aside the left velvet panel. Nothing save some small balls of dust. He moved aside the right panel, and grim satisfaction filled him at the glint of gold. Reaching out, he picked up the object and turned it over in his hand.

A snuffbox. Enamel depicting a hunting scene, trimmed with gold. Obviously expensive. And obviously not the property of a ghost. A closer examination revealed no initials. Dropped by the person who opened the window? Definitely possible. No dust marred the outside of the piece, so it hadn't been behind the curtain for long.

Gideon rose and slipped the small box into his pocket. First he'd recheck the inside of the house, then head outside to make certain no one lurked on the grounds, tasks that would require all his focus and attention, leaving no room for things he shouldn't be thinking about.

Thank God.