With few exceptions, every minute of every day was planned and scheduled, orchestrated and overse hoed and en by her mother's sharp gaze and, when he bothered to notice her at all, her father's forbidding countenance. It was only a matter of time-and she suspected a dismayingly short amount of time-before her life would be taken over and ruled by a husband. A man who no doubt wouldn't give any more thought to her wishes than her parents did.
A strangling emotion gripped Julianne, one she only allowed to escape her soul during the dark of night. That aching mixture of despair, anger, yearning, resentment, and longing. It grabbed her in a vise, nearly choking her with its intensity, threatening to break the facade she presented to the world.
Outwardly, she was the perfectly mannered, impeccably groomed, infinitely demure aristocratic earl's daughter. But inside… inside seethed all the emotions and wants and needs she ruthlessly repressed. Inside lived the daring, bold, adventurous young woman she longed to be. The woman who always knew the right thing to say. The woman who didn't struggle to overcome painful shyness. A woman who was admired for more than her looks, gowns, title, and family fortune. A woman who was wanted. And needed. And loved. Not merely an expensive piece of marriageable chattel to be sold to the wealthiest bidder.
A woman who was free to make her own choices.
Her gaze shifted back to the French windows, to the darkness beyond them. And once again the noise surrounding her dissolved, now replaced by the inexorable ticking of a clock. Of time slipping through her clenched hands.
Before she could stop herself, she headed across the room. Her mind screamed at her to halt, but her feet refused to obey. Her better judgment told her this was a mistake, but her heart refused to listen.
She stopped in front of the French windows. Her reflection in the glass panes showed a young woman whose eyes glittered with a combination of trepidation and excitement. A young woman whose lips were parted in deference to her rapid breaths.
A young woman on the verge of an adventure.
Pausing only to ascertain that her mother remained busily chatting, Julianne slipped through the doors and entered the shadows beyond. She darted away from the circle of light spilling onto the terrace from the drawing room and was immediately swallowed by thick darkness. Heart pounding, she swiftly descended the flagstone steps into the garden below. Once there, she pressed her back against the rough brick wall and fought to calm her shallow, uneven breathing.
Gloom surrounded her, enveloping her in what felt like a suffocating cloak. Her heart stuttered then beat in frantic thumps. After a moment her breathing and heart rate settled, and she forced herself to keep inhaling slowly, deeply, until her vision adjusted to the shadowy gloom.
Clouds obscured both the moon and stars, blanketing the sky in unrelieved black. A brisk, chilly breeze rustled the leaves, biting through the thin muslin of her gown, and the hint of rain hung heavy in the mist-filled air. But she barely noticed the discomfort as she breathed in the heady scent of night.
And freedom.
Peering through the dense dark, she noted with relief that she was alone. Clearly the ne. Clehe chilly, moist weather had discouraged the guests from venturing outdoors. All the guests save one: Gideon Mayne.
But where was he?
Eyes and ears alert, she made her way slowly around the shadowy perimeter of the garden, forcing herself to recall that Gideon was close by. Even so, everything inside her urged her to return to the safety of the crowded drawing room, to leave this dark place where unknown evils lurked. Everything inside her except that inexorably ticking inner clock. And her heart, both of which compelled her to continue.
You're not alone, her heart whispered. Yes. Gideon was here. All she needed to do was find him.
When she reached the back of the garden, she paused. With her arms wrapped around herself in a feeble effort to ward off the chill, she looked around but saw no sign of him. Unless he'd hidden himself in the thick privet hedges, or skulked behind one of the enormous trees looming in front of her-she craned her neck to make certain he didn't-he'd either gone into the mews-a dark, dangerous place she wouldn't consider entering-or he'd returned to the house.
Which is precisely what she needed to do. Before she was discovered missing. Or caught the ague from the cold.
Botheration, here she'd finally screwed up her courage, taken some action, and it was all for naught. Her first adventure certainly hadn't turned out the way she'd hoped. Her better judgment told her it was for the best she hadn't found Gideon. God only knows what might have passed if she'd happened upon him here in the shrouded privacy of the garden.
An image of him drawing her into his arms, kissing her with those beautiful lips that in spite of his uncompromising mouth still managed to somehow look soft, flashed in her mind, rippling a heated tingle down her spine.
Swallowing her disappointment, she turned to make her way back to the house.
Suddenly a muscular arm wrapped around her waist with a viselike grip, jerking her backward, trapping her against a body that felt like a stone wall. Her breath whooshed from her lungs. Before she could pull in enough air to scream, she saw the silver glint of a knife. Then felt the cold press of the blade against her throat.
Chapter 4
" If you scream, it'll be the last sound you ever make."
The harsh warning whispered past Julianne's ear, and for several frantic heartbeats she froze, immobilized by terror, chilled to her core with fright. Then sheer panic set in, along with the desperate instinct to struggle, an urge she fought to suppress lest she end up with a slit throat.
Her assailant dragged her deeper into the shadows, behind one of the soaring elms. With a deft move, he turned her, pinning her between himself and the tree. He then captured both her hands in one of his, trapping her with strong, calloused fingers, and raised her arms above her head. Rough tree bark bit into her wrists and her back through her gown. The cold knife blade pressed against her throat. And the heat of him sea="1„red her from chest to knee.
Held motionless by the weight of his body and the fear pounding through her, she lifted her gaze to her attacker. And stared.
At Gideon Mayne. Whose stark, angular features appeared set in granite. His gaze raked her face, and recognition flashed in his eyes, followed by a flare of fire that stole what little breath fright hadn't robbed her of. Her relief that he'd recognized her was short-lived, however, when, rather than lowering his knife and releasing her, his forbidding countenance grew even more stern. Was it possible he didn't recognize her after all?
Julianne wet her dry lips then stretched her neck in an attempt to relieve the pressure of the knife. "Mr. Mayne… 'tis I… Julianne Bradley."
He remained silent for several seconds, his gaze boring into hers. Finally he spoke, muttering an obscenity that scorched a blush to her cheeks. She felt him turn the knife a bit, hopefully so that the sharp blade didn't gouge her skin, although he didn't lower the weapon. "So I see. What the bloody hell are you doing out here?"
His voice was a rough rasp that sent another tingle skittering down her spine. With a calm she was far from feeling, she managed to reply, "I'd be delighted to tell you as soon as you remove that knife from my throat."
Instead of instantly complying, he narrowed his eyes. "You're lucky I didn't slit your damn throat."
She raised her brows. "So it would seem. But unless you still intend to do so, I must ask you to remove your weapon."
Without taking his gaze from hers, he slowly lowered the knife, and she swallowed. He did not, however, release her hands or step back.
With her initial fright abated, she became acutely aware of him. His hard body resting against hers. The heat emanating from him. His large, calloused hand holding hers over her head. The fire simmering in his gaze. And suddenly she no longer felt in the least bit cold. Indeed, she felt as if she stood in a circle of flame.
She drew in an unsteady breath and caught his subtle scent. It was crisp and pleasing, and
somehow… familiar? Unlike the usual gentlemen of her acquaintance, Gideon didn't smell like any fragrance from a bottle. He simply smelled clean, like fresh soap and warm skin, but with an added dash of dark, elusive danger and adventure. The scent intoxicated her, and she found herself pulling in another long, slow breath.
Her common sense coughed to life, demanding that she order him to release her. To step back. But her lips refused to form the words.
"The knife's gone, so now you'll answer my question," he said brusquely. "What are you doing out here?"
"I…" was looking for you. Hoping for a glimpse. Never daring to dream I'd feel you touching me. "… felt the need for some fresh air."
His scowl deepened. "So you ventured outdoors alone?"
His tone clearly indicated how foolish he thought her, and an embarrassed flush sizzled up from her neck. Before she could think of a reply that wouldn't necessitate admitting she knew she wouldn't be alone, knew he was in the garden, he continued, "Where the bloody hell is your chaperone? Don't you know there's been a rash of crimes? That thieves and murderers and all manner of dangers lurk in the darkness? Of all the bloody stupid-"
"I wasn't alone." The truth rushed from her lips before she could stop it.
He went perfectly still, then his expression turned flat. "I see." He gave a quick glance around. "So where is the… gentleman?" He seemed to spit out the last word.
A frisson of anger worked its way through her heated awareness of him and the remnants of her fear and surprise. Clearly he thought her not only stupid but promiscuous as well. She hadn't ventured into the garden without careful consideration. As for being promiscuous, nothing could be farther from the truth-at least in deed. Surely her private thoughts and secret desires didn't count. Why, she'd never even been kissed!
She raised her chin and squarely met his gaze. "He's right in front of me. Although based on the way you grabbed me, nearly slit my throat, and continue to manhandle me, I'm not inclined to describe you as a gentleman at the moment."
His gaze roamed over her with bold thoroughness, lingering for several seconds on the skin above her bodice before rising to meet her eyes. A wave of heat swamped her. Had he detected the frantic beating of her heart-a staccato rhythm that was entirely his fault?
"No one has ever accused me of being a gentleman," he said with the hint of a sneer, making it clear that was quite all right with him.
"Do you normally treat women you meet in gardens in such a barbaric manner?"
"I wasn't aware we'd planned an assignation, Lady Julianne."
"You know as well as I that we hadn't."
"Well, then. As for my 'barbaric manner,' I don't trust anyone who's behind me. Something you'd do well to remember, since it's clearly your habit to skulk about in places you shouldn't be."
Annoyance-at herself for being caught in such a mortifying fashion and at him for catching her-stiffened her spine. "I assure you I wasn't skulking. I saw you leave the drawing room and… I wished to speak to you. I knew you could protect me from any dangers lurking in the dark."
"Indeed?" The single word was spoken in a silky whisper that breathed warm against her cheek. "And just who do you suppose is going to protect you from me?"
His question, the speculative intensity with which he was looking at her, as if assessing from which angle to best pounce upon her, stole her breath. She moistened her dry lips, observing how his sharp eyes noted-and seemed to darken at-the gesture. "Do I need protection from you, Mr. Mayne?"
Silence stretched between them. Did he feel this same taut tension as she? Could he hear her heart pounding? God knows she could. Hear it and feel it. Reverberating in her ears. Pounding at her throat. Pulsing between her thighs.
Finally he said, "Any woman foolish enough to venture outdoors alone, in the dark, requires protection. For your own sake, I hope you won't do so again." He then released her wrists and stepped back several paces.
Julianne instantly missed his heat. The feel of his strong fingers wrapped around her flesh. His large body trapping her against the tree. His subtle scent surrounding her.
Yet even as she missed his nearness, annoyance had her lifting her chin. "I assure you I wasn't being foolish. As I said, I knew you were out here and wished to speak to you."
One ebony brow hiked upward. "You could have spoken to me in the drawing room."
Under her mother's sharp-eyed scrutiny? Hardly. If Mother suspected for even an instant her fascination with Mr. Mayne, she'd see to it that Julianne never laid eyes on him again.
"The drawing room wouldn't do, as what I wish to discuss with you is of a… private nature."
His eyes glittered in the darkness. She could feel him assessing her. Feel his gaze roaming over her like a heated caress. One that obliterated the air's biting chill.
Setting one large hand against the tree trunk next to her head, he leaned forward slightly and said in a low, rough whisper, "Well, then, my lady, speak up. We have all the privacy you could possibly want right here."
Speak? Dear God, she could barely breathe. His proximity, the warmth emanating from him, his intoxicating scent all conspired to overwhelm her. Rob her of her wits. And even if she were capable of it, she didn't want to speak. She wanted to touch. To rest her fingertips against his rugged, clean-shaven jaw. To explore the texture of his skin. Then slip her fingers into his thick hair. To see if it felt as silky as it looked.
Then taste… to brush her lips against his. To discover if that firm, uncompromising mouth could be… compromised. To experience what she knew in her heart would be an incomparable kiss. Because surely a man like Gideon would know how to kiss a woman. And God help her, she so desperately wanted to be kissed. By him. This man who'd launched countless sensual fantasies.
And then she wanted to bury her face against the strong column of his neck and simply breathe him in. Absorb his heat and strength and delicious scent.
"Well, my lady?"
His warm breath touched her cheek, igniting her skin. Answer… she needed to answer him. Before he concluded she was a bird-witted mute. She searched her mind for something to say and grasped at the first thing that entered her brain.
"The ghost." The two words exploded from her mouth like twin pistol shots. "I… I wish to discuss the ghost with you." She barely swallowed the horrified ack that rose in her throat. Dear God, what was she saying?
"What ghost?"
Botheration, now that she'd embarked upon this perfidious path, there was no turning back. "The one I u C. "1emnderstand you're trying to find."
"You mean the murdering thief I will find."
"Er, yes."
"What about him?"
Yes, Julianne, what about him?her inner voice taunted. "Well, I, um… believe he tried to rob my household."
Another horror-stricken ack vibrated in her throat. Good God almighty, her mouth had totally run amok. It was as if she had no control over her own words. Her lips parted, and lies spewed forth like steam from a boiling kettle.
His gaze narrowed. "When?"
I haven't the faintest idea. "Last night."
"What happened?"
I lay alone in my bed. And thought of you. "I…I was awakened by strange groaning sounds."
"Did anyone else in the household hear them?"
"Not that anyone said." That much at least was true.
"Did you report these noises to your father?"
"No." As he seemed more interested than suspicious, she warmed to her fabrication and improvised, "I'd assumed what I heard was the wind and actually didn't think of it again until…" just now. "Until I read the story about Mrs. Greeley this morning in the Times. I checked our valuables and found nothing missing."
He was silent for several seconds, tiny spaces of time during which she wondered if he could smell the stench of her lies rising from her skin like a noxious cloud.
"What made you decide that the sounds you heard weren't actually the wind?" he asked.
The question fel
t like a bottomless chasm yawning in front of her. One misstep on her part, and she'd fall into the depths of hell-and he'd realize she was lying faster than a horse could trot.
After considering for several seconds, she said, "Upon reflection, I realized that the sounds came from the direction of the corridor rather than outside."
"Did you enter the corridor to investigate?"
Good heavens, the man was full of questions. Not wishing him to picture her cowering beneath her covers like a molly-coddled milksop, she raised her chin and said, "Of course I investigated. I'm not a coward."
"I see," he said, his tone so dry it was clear he didn't believe her claim-which only served to irk her and make her want to prove him wrong. "Was anyone in the corridor?"
"No."
"What if there had been?" He leaned a bit closer, and she drew in a sharp breath. Dear God, he was so… large. Broad. Tall. Had the sun been out, his sheer size would have cast her in a shadow. "What if you'd happened upon the murdering ghost robber absconding with your jewels?" he whispered close to her ear.
Heat sizzled through her, and she had to swallow to find her voice. "I… I would have screamed. Coshed him with my candlestick. As I said, I'm not a coward."
"Brave words from a brave woman. What if he'd coshed you first?"
Unlikely, as I'd have swooned at the first sight of him. "Unlikely as I'd have… stabbed him first with my embroidery scissors." Yes. That's what a brave woman would have done.
"Oh? Like you did to me?"
"Naturally I don't carry my embroidery scissors to formal gatherings."
"But you carry them in your nightclothes?"
Blast. He had a point. Thinking quickly she fabricated, "Except for formal occasions, I always carry embroidery scissors. I leave them on my night table before retiring. When I heard the noises, I slipped them into my robe's pocket."
"How resourceful, although I feel it my duty to inform you that such a puny weapon, yielded by such a pu-petite woman, would prove little or no use against a man. Especially one who caught you unawares."
Seduced at Midnight Page 4
