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.
Chapter 13
Julianne paced the blue guest room where she'd slept last night-or rather tossed and turned last night-her thoughts a jumbled mixture of vivid recollections of her interlude with Gideon and worries about what had transpired between her father and Gideon after she'd retired. Had her father guessed she and Gideon had shared intimacies? Had he dismissed Gideon-or worse, threatened him? Had he told Gideon about her engagement? Would she ever see Gideon again?
Those plaguing questions had been interspersed with reliving the incredible moments she'd spent in his arms. She'd read of such intimacies in the scandalous selections favored by the Ladies Literary Society, but reading about them and experiencing them were two completely different things. Never had she imagined that she could feel such passion. Incite such passion. Want or need another person so much. Care so profoundly. So that nothing else mattered. But now that she knew, now that she had been offered that intoxicating glimpse, she wanted to see it, feel it, again. She wanted those intimacies, and more.
Therefore it was now time to gather her courage and face her father. And discover if Gideon, the only man she wanted to share those intimacies with, had been banished from her life even before her wedding.
She exited the bedchamber and headed down the corridor but paused before
the door to her own bedchamber. After making certain she wasn't observed, she turned the brass knob and slipped inside.
Bright morning sunshine filled the room, spilling over the gold and green carpet and neatly made bed. Her gaze fell on the window leading to her balcony, and a shudder ran through her. After speaking with her father, she'd have her chat with Johnny. But first she needed to take care of one thing.
She crossed to her wardrobe and opened the double doors. Crouching down, she pulled a book-sized wooden box from its hiding place beneath the old pair of ankle boots she wore when picking flowers in the garden. Then she stuck her hand into the left boot and withdrew a small brass key. She unlocked the box, lifted the lid, and gazed upon her trove of treasures. She lovingly added her newest cherished items to the velvet-lined box: her copy of The Ghost of Devonshire Manor. And Gideon's handkerchief.
She'd held the linen square all night against her heart. She raised it now to her lips and breathed deeply. His scent clung to the material, that wondrous smell of starch and adventure and warmth that belonged to him alone. The one that was permanently etched in her memory. Even with her eyes closed, she could have picked him out of a crowd simply by inhaling.
She should return it-after all, he hadn't given it to her to keep. But she simply couldn't part with it. It would serve as a secret reminder in the long, lonely years to come of what, for one magical night, she'd shared with a man who'd captured every aspect of her mind and imagination.
"You are now the most beloved of my treasures," she whispered into the handkerchief. After carefully placing the linen square on top of her other beloved items, she locked the box and replaced it and the key in her wardrobe. As she stood, she caught sight of herself in the full-length cheval glass in the corner. Did she look different? Unable to resist, she crossed to the mirror, watching herself as she moved. Was there a new sway in her step? Surely there must be. She stopped an arm's length in front of her reflection and critically assessed her appearance. Outwardly she appeared the same as always. But inside… inside nothing was the same. And it never would be.
She felt like a new Julianne. One who'd finally experienced something of life. Of adventure. Of passion. One with a secret that lived inside her like a beating heart. Not the sort of secret she could ever share or confide to her friends, but one that burned brightly within her, warming her as if she'd swallowed the sun.
Raising her hands, she brushed her fingertips over her cheeks. Perhaps her skin bore a bit of a glow. She touched her lips that still felt kiss-swollen. Then ran her fingers down her neck, over her collarbone to her chest. Her breasts felt sensitive, and beneath her gown they bore several traces of red where Gideon's stubble had abraded her tender skin. Outward signs, but ones that would remain known only to her.
Still, was there some other outward sign? Something in her demeanor? Something her father might have noticed last night? Her stomach cramped at the thought. She glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel, dismayed to note the time. Father would be at breakfast now, and she knew better than to disturb him before he'd finished his meal and newspaper. Better to speak to Johnny first then seek out Father. In the meanwhile, she could only pray he hadn't guessed that something improper had occurred. And if he had, surely Gideon had denied it. It was nothing, Lady Julianne.
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Oh, but Gideon was wrong. It had been everything.
Opening her eyes, she studied her dreamy expression in the mirror. Surely she should be appalled at what she'd done, at the shocking liberties she'd allowed him. She should regret her actions.
But she did not. Instead, she prayed she'd have the opportunity to repeat them.
She drew a bracing breath. Now it was time to face Johnny. And then her father.
* * *
"Yor not an easy man to find."
Gideon halted in the act of adding three folded shirts to his portmanteau and forced himself not to whirl around. He was startled, which irritated him. He'd learned his lesson well, and not many men could sneak up on him unawares. But this particular man had always had the uncanny ability to move like a ghost and gain access to places he didn't belong.
The slightly raspy voice hadn't changed in the years since he'd last heard it. Bloody hell, he'd hoped to never hear it again. The eggs and bacon he'd finished eating for breakfast a short time ago suddenly felt like stones in his stomach.
If he hadn't let Caesar outside to explore the patch of grass that constituted their yard, the dog would have warned him. But it was too late now. Gideon released the shirts, pulled in a deep breath, and slowly turned. And looked into dark eyes that exactly matched his own.
The voice hadn't changed, but Jack Mayne had, and Gideon had to force his features not to register any surprise. He was considerably thinner, and his hair, while still thick, had gone completely gray. Deep lines were etched along the sides of his mouth, across his forehead, and around his eyes. The last time Gideon had seen him, he'd been dressed in little better than rags. Now he wore decent boots, fine breeches, a snowy shirt and neatly tied cravat, and a superfine jacket. And a bloody top hat.
With that devilish grin Gideon knew so well, his father doffed his hat and offered a mocking bow. "Aren't ya glad to see yor old man, Gideon?"
There'd been a time, many years ago, when Gideon the small boy had indeed been thrilled to see his father. Those days were long since past.
"Jack," he said, his voice flat. He hadn't called him Father since the day he'd walked out of the hovel where they used to live. On the day there hadn't been any more reason to stay. "What do you want?"
"Why, I want to see my boy! It's been a long time."
Four years, two months, and sixteen days. Not nearly long enough. "You've seen me." Gideon nodded toward the doorway. "Now get out of my house."
"Ah, now don't be like that, Gideon," Jack said. "Nice set of locks you've got on yor doors and windows. Don'tcha wanna know how I got in?"
"No. I just hope you didn't break whichever lock you picked. I'm not in the mood to replace it."
A reproachful look filled Jack's eyes. "You insult me, Son. As if I'd be so careless." He waggled his fingers. "Still the best there is. Of course, it was thoughtful of you to set yor guard dog outside. Wouldn't have cared to have his teeth attached to me arse when I entered the house." He made a sweeping motion, encompassing Gideon's bedchamber, and nodded. "You've come up in the world. Not the fanciest section of London, but far from the worst."
Gideon folded his arms across his chest and stared at the man who he'd had to turn his heart against. While he still had any of it left. "What do you want, Jack?" His gaze raked over his father's clothes. "Is it money? Because if so, you should have worn your rags instead of cleaning yourself up so prettily."
"No, I don't need money," Jack said with an injured air. "I might be gettin' on in years, but old Jack Mayne can still take care of himself. In fact, I recently came into a nice little nest."
"Which means you found a fat bird to pinch. You'd be wise not to forget that we're not on the same sides of the law."
"I'm not likely to forget." Jack gave him a broad wink. "Of course, yor the one on the wrong side."
"Just one of many things we disagree on."
"Indeed we do. Talented hands ye've got Gideon. I should know. I taught them everything I know."
"They are indeed talented-at catching criminals and sending them to Newgate. Why are you in London?"
"Heard tell of some fine opportunities here for a man with my gifts, and as ya can see…" He tugged on his lapels and grinned, "I heard right. Figured as long as I was here, I'd give ya a visit."
Gideon didn't have any doubt that Jack's "opportunity" was the sort that could result in a trip to Newgate. "If I hear you've done something, if I catch wind of anything, I-"
"Won't protect me," Jack said. "So you've said a hundred times. Well, I don't need yor protection, boy. And you'd have to go some to catch me doin' anything-if I were doin' anything."
"I'm glad you understand. Now, if you'll excuse me…" He shot a pointed look at the doorway.
"Is it off to work yor goin'…" Jack slanted his gaze toward the open portmanteau on the bed, "or on a holiday?"
"Work."
Jack nodded. "Yor a busy man. That's good." His brows shot up, and keen interest glittered in his eyes. "I don't suppose yor involved with the case everyone's talkin' about and that's been in the Times-that murderin' ghost robber? Now there's a clever bloke."
Gideon's instincts tingled. "Why do you ask?"
Jack gave a nonchalant shrug. "It's a fascinatin' story. Got any leads on who the bloke is?"
Gideon crossed to the bed and grabbed the scuffed leather satchel. "I have to go."
"Course you do," Jack said, nodding in an approving fashion. "Lots of criminals to catch around here, I'm sure."
Gideon looked him in the eyes. "Don't be one of them."
Something flickered in Jack's eyes, then he grinned. "Not to worry. Yor old da is still pretty spry."
Which, Gideon knew, meant Jack didn't think he'd get caught. But someday he would. And Gideon didn't want to have to be the one to catch him.
"I'll be seein' ya around, Son," Jack said. He tipped his hat, then turned on his heel and quit the room. Gideon walked to the doorway and watched as Jack, softly whistling under his breath, left the house.
It wasn't until the door closed behind him and Gideon was once again alone that he realized he'd been holding his breath and his hands were tightened into fists.
Having Jack Mayne gain access to his house and sneak up behind him was not a stellar way to start his day-a day he'd have to spend resisting, er, guarding Julianne.
Bloody hell, it was doing to be one damn long day.
* * *
Julianne stared at Johnny, trying to comprehend what he'd just said. And simply couldn't. "What do you mean you didn't come here last night?"
Seduced at Midnight Page 14
