Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

by Lorraine Heath

  An orchestra played lively music. From time to time, as he and Eleanor strolled along, she would sway slightly as though caught up in the rhythm of sound that floated through the gardens. He considered escorting her to the dance platform, but taking her in his arms and gliding her over the wooden flooring was likely to lead to disaster, because he was having a devil of a time keeping his hands from wandering over her now. The balloon ascent had been pure torture with her nestled against him. He’d felt the small tremors cascading through her. If he’d thought he could have successfully carried her down one of the ropes that kept the balloon tethered, he’d have swung her over his shoulder and delivered her safely to the ground. However, all he’d been able to do was offer distractions. While they worked for her, they failed miserably for him. He’d gazed into her blue eyes and all he wanted was to have a private moment with her. No, not a private moment-but a thousand of them. The two of them alone where intimacy could flourish, where he could truly forget the past and not consider the future. Where the present could tick along, holding all responsibilities at bay.

  Eleanor distracted him from his purpose. He’d brought her back to the scene of their first meeting, because he planned to gently lead her into revealing why she’d truly been in the gardens that night. He needed her to trust him enough to confide in him, so he could get to the bottom of this matter. The policeman inside him knew that.

  But the man inside him had other ideas. He’d embraced her notion of enjoying the present, and that meant ensuring that she enjoyed it, that there be no subtle interrogation, no prying.

  A boom sounded as the first burst of fireworks filled the sky. With her arm intertwined with his, she used her free hand to squeeze his arm as she exclaimed, “Oh my word.”

  The fireworks could be seen for miles, and many a night while walking through Chelsea he’d spied them, until he became impervious to their magnificence. But watching Eleanor, he remembered the first time he’d seen them scattered across the velvet blackness and how they’d taken his breath away. He’d felt then the way he felt watching her-as though nothing would ever compare.

  Her head was tilted back slightly, her eyes wide, her lips parted in wonder. Her hair wasn’t nearly as tidy as it had been when they’d begun their afternoon outing only a few short hours ago. Wisps had worked their way free of the pins and now framed her face. Even as he wanted to touch them, to tuck them into place, he yearned to remove her hat, release all the pins, and watch her hair tumble down her back. He wanted to pull her farther back into the shadows. He wanted to live up to his reputation as a scoundrel. He wanted to seduce her into revealing her secrets, he wanted to seduce her into revealing her body.

  The sky was again lit with a flash of white stars that shot in all directions before fading into the night. Eventually she would fade away as well from his life. But at that particular moment she was still in it, vibrant and lovely, a touch of innocence, a touch of daring.

  “My God, but they’re so beautiful,” she whispered reverently.

  “Not nearly as beautiful as you.”

  Her attention turned from the sky to him. He’d promised her they’d not leave until after the fireworks, but he was of a mind to create his own sparks. There were shadows aplenty, and as the next boom sounded, he snaked his arm around her waist and urged her away from the gathered crowd and the gaslights. She offered up only token resistance, no doubt initially forgetting that they weren’t supposed to be influenced by the past this evening. Impatience had him lifting her the last few steps, and then he was ensconced in heaven: her rose scent filling his nostrils, her taste tempting him to seek more as her mouth reshaped itself to fit seamlessly against his. Like some sort of clinging vine her arms wound around his neck, her fingers scraping up his scalp, becoming entangled in his hair. He was taken off guard by how desperately he wanted her.

  Nearly a week had passed since he first became aware of her existence, and yet he felt as though he’d known her a lifetime. It was inconceivable that he could harbor such strong feelings for a woman about whom he knew so little.

  With a hushed moan, she pressed her body nearer to his, her breasts flattening against his chest. Of their own accord, his hands slid down her sides to her hips, pushing her against his hard, tortuous arousal. He was acutely aware of her slight stiffening, as though taken aback by what he had no ability to hide from her. Of course she’d be disarmed by it. She was a lady in the truest sense of the word.

  With a crude curse to emphasize the differences in their stations, he tore his mouth from hers and backed even farther into the shadows.

  “Mr. Swind-”

  “Christ, Eleanor, I would think after that blistering kiss we could dispense with formalities.”

  “You’re angry.”

  “Not with you. Finish watching the fireworks. I’ll join you momentarily.” Once this horrendous ache left him in peace.

  “I can see them from here.”

  “Eleanor,” he ground out, hoping the impatience in his voice would be enough to drive her away.

  “James.”

  His name whispered so sensuously and with such longing was nearly his undoing. She was too innocent to understand the torment she could so effortlessly inflict on him. What in God’s name was he doing with her?

  He felt her tentative touch on his cheek, was aware of the slight trembling in her fingers. Covering her hand with his, he turned his face into her palm and pressed a kiss to its heart. Regret flooded him. Regret over his past. Regret over his true reason for being with her. Regret that he could so easily set his orders aside and seduce her nearer with no thought to how she’d feel afterward when she realized he was there because of duty. Christ! He was no better than Rockberry.

  Swindler had no doubt that Rockberry had used her sister to his own ends. He was guilty of the same. Even as he had the thought, he prayed some noble cause guided him. Prevention, protection. He’d gone to work for Scotland Yard because he wanted to save people as he’d never been able to save his father.

  The tension left his body, the ache dissipated. He drew her into the circle of his arms, guiding her so she faced away from him. Where moments ago he’d longed to see her hair released from its confines, now he welcomed her bared nape by pressing a light kiss there before whispering near her ear, “You do tempt me, Eleanor.”

  “I thought you were a scoundrel.”

  “One with a conscience it seems.”

  “And if I don’t want you to have a conscience?”

  “Then we are either headed toward heaven or doomed to hell.”

  Chapter 6

  As the carriage traveled swiftly through the streets, she didn’t want this magical night to end. Leaning against James, her head on his shoulder, was scandalous, and yet she seemed unable to help herself. She wanted his arm around her, but she knew that was far too much. It was enough that he held her gloved hand in his.

  Whenever she’d imagined a kiss, it had never involved a man boldly sweeping his tongue through her mouth, exploring every inch of it as though he owned it. With James’s kiss, the heat had swirled in her belly and rolled outward until even the tips of her fingers and toes burned.

  Oh, he was very skilled at seduction-her James Swindler. Yet as he caused pleasure to build within her, it was as though he revealed things about himself as well. He was strong, confident, accustomed to having his way-yet he acquired what he wanted not by force, but by persuasion. She thought she could have easily disappeared into the shadows behind the trees with him, never to return and never to regret it.

  The kiss had shaken her to the core. Judging by his reaction, it had done the same to him.

  Had Rockberry done this with Elisabeth? Had he charmed her, kissed her, pushed her away, only to lure her back in?

  She didn’t want Rockberry to intrude on her thoughts tonight, not when they were so filled with James. She wished she’d come to London for another purpose entirely, wished she’d been the first daughter sent, wished she and James had
crossed paths a year ago when she wasn’t consumed with grief and the need for retribution. It was horrible to hate someone as she did Rockberry. It tainted even the most glorious moments, made her feel as though she didn’t deserve them because her sister had never experienced them.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.

  Once again she was amazed how he always seemed to know when to speak and when to remain silent.

  “How different I was before Elisabeth died. How I wish you’d known me then.”

  “I like you very much now.”

  “Tragedy changes us, not always for the better, I think.”

  “It can give purpose to our life.”

  She peered up at him. “Is that what it did for you?”

  “After my father died, yes.”

  “You became a thief. Hardly an ambition for which to be commended.”

  “I sought to survive, any way that I could. We do what we must.”

  Would he understand if she explained to him what she must do? “You must have been very grateful when Lord Claybourne took you into his home.”

  “Not at first.” James gave a low chuckle, a rasp that settled on the night air and lingered to tease her senses, to make her smile. “He insisted we be clean, bathe every week, rather than once a year. I thought for certain that we were done for, that we’d all take ill and die. But we didn’t. He bought us clothes that fit. He hired tutors. I was terrified of him, so I didn’t dare disobey.”

  “Did he beat you?”

  “No,” he said succinctly. “Never raised a hand to any of us except possibly his grandson. I never quite understood why he took in the rest of us. Maybe because of his love for his grandson. We were his friends. Perhaps he didn’t want him to be alone in his new surroundings.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Ten. The youngest of the lot.”

  “Then, earlier, when I said I wanted to see where you grew up, I suppose I misspoke. It wasn’t the rookeries. It was Lord Claybourne’s.”

  “No, I grew up far more in the rookeries than I did at Claybourne’s. It’s a myth that age is determined by years. I didn’t stay at Claybourne’s all that long. A few years. When Jack Dodger and Frannie left, so did I.”

  “Who are they?” She enjoyed listening to him talk. Wanted to know every detail of his life, even when she wasn’t willing to share hers.

  “Jack Dodger, a scoundrel of the highest order. A very wealthy one at that. He owns Dodger’s Drawing Room. A very exclusive gentlemen’s club.”

  Where Rockberry was a member. He’d gone there twice now since she’d arrived in London. James paused to study her, and she wondered what he was searching for-if he knew she was well acquainted with Dodger’s and what it represented.

  “And Frannie…she recently became the Duchess of Greystone,” James finally continued.

  She heard deep abiding affection in his voice when he spoke of Frannie. A spark of jealousy flared, and she fought valiantly to tamp it down. What right did she have to experience such a reaction to a name, to a woman who could be more to him that she ever could? “She’s special to you.”

  She wished she could have taken the words back. What was it about this night that made it perfect for slipping beneath the surface of whatever was developing between them? Why was she even asking all these questions when she knew he would never have a permanent place in her life?

  “She was-is-special to all of us. She’s always been like a little mother. When we were no longer children, she sought out other orphans, built a children’s home for them. Oversees it. Plans to build another.”

  “And is a duchess. It’s almost like a fairy tale isn’t it? A daughter of the streets becoming a duchess.”

  “I suppose your father had hoped that for you and your sister. A titled gentleman.”

  She imagined she heard more in his words, in his inflection-a reminder that he himself was not titled. And while she knew her father had wanted her to marry a man with a title, she only said, “I think he wanted us to marry well, and for my father, I believe that meant marrying a man who would make us happy.”

  “What would make you happy, Eleanor?”

  Happiness was fleeting, she was discovering. A few hours ago she’d been overflowing with it, and now it was seeping out of her just like the air that had escaped from the balloon so they could return to earth. The nearer they traveled to her lodgings, the more reality began to shove aside dreams and possibilities.

  “This evening made me very happy, James.”

  She was aware of him scrutinizing her as they passed beneath the streetlamps, and she knew that he intuitively understood what she hadn’t said. They settled back into silence as though they both knew they were destined to make choices that would leave them each alone.

  When the driver pulled the carriage to a stop in front of her lodgings, the groom climbed down and opened the door, handing her down. James joined her and walked her to the front door.

  “How long will you be in London?” he asked.

  “I’m not certain.”

  “If I were to bring the carriage back ’round two tomorrow, would you grant me the pleasure of going on a picnic with me?”

  She smiled warmly. “I would.”

  Lifting her hand, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and in spite of the gloves, she felt the heat of his mouth through the cloth. “Tomorrow, then.”

  Taking her key, he unlocked the door and stood on the stoop until she closed the door. As she walked up the stairs, she thought her step should have been light. Instead, it was weighted down with guilt and deception. And she wondered when the time came, how she would ever walk away from him.

  Swindler was not a man who often made mistakes, but when he did they were large and regrettable. During the past week, he’d arranged a series of outings for Eleanor and accompanied her on each one: Madame Tussaud’s, an opera, picnic in the gardens, another visit to Cremorne for the fireworks that so delighted her. He began each day with the best of intentions-to deduce her purpose regarding Lord Rockberry-but he became protective of his time with her. He didn’t want to discern her purpose where Rockberry was concerned.

  Swindler was more interested in learning all he could about the lady herself, and his mind was further occupied in striving to determine how to have private moments alone with her in order to secure another kiss. He’d thought to seduce her, and he was the one being seduced.

  But the time had come when he needed to face his responsibilities. Before he did, however, he wanted to give Eleanor one lasting gift, a night she’d long remember, even if she came to despise him afterward.

  It was the very reason that he’d come to the home of the Duke and Duchess of Greystone, who he knew had returned from their wedding trip several days prior to his arrival.

  “Jim!”

  Standing in the elaborate entry hallway, Swindler turned at the calling of his name and looked up the grand sweeping staircase that Frannie was descending. He’d expected this moment of seeing her for the first time after her marriage to Greystone to be awkward, for his heart to give the little pull it always did when his gaze lit upon her, knowing she would never be his.

  But his heart didn’t begin to ache for wanting, his chest didn’t tighten. He had none of the usual reactions that often accompanied him when he was in her presence. He felt gladness at seeing her, but nothing more. No longing, no yearning, no desire for anything beyond friendship.

  She looked as she always did: beautifully elegant, with her vibrant red hair pinned up and her face aglow with joy. Her dress, however, was finer than anything she’d worn when she worked as a bookkeeper at Dodger’s gentlemen’s club. Her green dress was silk and lace, befitting a duchess.

  Her husband followed closely behind her. He was fair, well-turned-out. His mantle was his title. He could have been wearing nothing at all and he still would have commanded respect, still would have drawn attention when he strode into a room.

  Coming to a stop befor
e Swindler, Frannie took his large hands in her delicate ones and squeezed tightly. Having been brutalized as a child, she’d always been extremely reserved with her hugs, so he hadn’t expected one in welcome. What surprised him was that neither did he desire one. It seemed when he thought of a woman holding him, the only image that came to mind was that of Eleanor.

  “Your Grace,” he said to her, then nodded at Greystone.

  “Oh, Jim, please, I’m still Frannie. Don’t be formal with me. I’ll take it as an insult.”

  “You’re a duchess now.”

  “I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

  He could see in the green depths of her eyes how important his answer was. “Yes, of course you are.”

  She smiled happily at him. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “You’re looking well.”

  He’d have thought it impossible but her smile grew. “The South of France was wonderful. Sterling and I had a marvelous time.”

  Even knowing that marvelous time would have included lovemaking, Swindler felt no jealousy. He felt nothing except gladness that Frannie was so obviously happy.

  “We’ve been home for a couple of days now,” Frannie said. “I was afraid…I’m glad you came by to visit. Shall we go into the parlor?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer but stole her arm around his and led the way.

  “What can I offer you to drink, Swindler?” Greystone asked as he walked to a table with decanters.

  “Nothing, thank you. I fear this isn’t exactly a social call.”

  “Scotland Yard sent you here?” Frannie asked as she sat on the settee.

  Swindler dropped into a chair opposite her while Greystone took his place beside her. “Not intentionally, no. But I’m in need of a bit of assistance with a case I’m working.”