SEDUCED AT MIDNIGHT

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  Her thoughts cut off at the sight of Gideon. He stood near the French windows leading to the terrace, scanning the crowd with a sharp-eyed gaze. His granite-hewn features, uncompromising jaw, and a nose that had clearly been broken at some point were set with determination. A man looking for something and intent upon getting what he wanted. Just then, his dark gaze settled on her.

  And suddenly everything and everyone populating the expanse of parquet floor between them seemed to vanish. Gone were the clinking glasses, the conversations, the laughter, and the lilt of music. The party guests seemed to waver before her eyes then melt away. Julianne heard nothing save the pounding of her heart. Saw no one except the vital, mysterious, rugged man across the room. Felt nothing save the same wild, raw, pulse-pounding exhilaration she experienced every time she laid eyes on him.

  Their gazes held for the space of several heartbeats. Something flickered in his eyes. A flash of fire that even from across the room heated her, curled her toes inside her satin slippers. For a single wild instant she thought he meant to cross the room to her. But then he stiffened and only offered her a nearly imperceptible nod before shifting his attention beyond her.

  She tried to pry her gaze from him, but she simply couldn't. He gave the room one last sweeping glance, one that avoided her, then he slipped out the French windows.

  "Julianne?"

  Emily's voice seemed to come from very far away. Julianne blinked twice then turned toward her friend. "Yes?"

  "Are you certain you're all right?" There was no mistaking the concern in her friend's voice.

  Dear God, she didn't know. All she knew was that everything in her strained in the direction of the terrace. She yearned to go beyond those glass-paned doors and follow the man she'd been unable to erase from her mind. Just to steal one more glimpse. Just to feel the heat of his gaze one more time.

  She couldn't, of course.

  Forcing her attention back to her friends, she said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone, "I'm fine. Truly. Just a bit tired." Her gaze flicked back to the French windows. No one would have to know.

  She drew a bracing breath. Straightened her spine. Then firmly shoved aside the guilt and cowardice nudging her. "I see Mother sitting near the potted palms. I think I'll join her for a bit. Find out if she's cast her matchmaking eye on some young, handsome viscount."

  "And I believe I hear the start of a waltz," said Matthew to Sarah. "Shall we?"

  The couple moved toward the dance floor, followed by Carolyn and Daniel. They'd no sooner moved away than Emily's face puckered as if she'd bitten into a sour pickle. "Botheration, I just caught sight of Logan Jennsen," she whispered.

  Julianne turned and noticed the wealthy American, whose fortune guaranteed him a place on every hostess's guest list, chatting with a group of gentlemen near the punch bowl. Emily made no secret of her dislike of Mr. Jennsen, although Julianne wasn't certain of the cause of her antipathy.

  "There is just no escaping that uncouth man," Emily grumbled in an undertone. "He's like dust—everywhere and impossible to get rid of. If you'll excuse me…" She hastily melted into the crowd.

  Julianne looked at the French windows again then at her mother by the potted palms. She firmly told herself again that she couldn't follow Gideon. If her mother even suspected Julianne would consider following a man onto the terrace, she'd fly into the boughs and never let her out of her sight.

  Mother wouldn't have to know, her inner voice whispered. No one would have to know.

  Everything in Julianne stilled. She'd always longed for an adventure, and this might well be her last chance. There certainly wouldn't be any adventures once she was bound for life to the chillingly forbidding duke or someone of his ilk.

  A wave of resentment toward the strict restraints under which she lived, would always have to live, swamped her. A lifetime of breeding, of being raised in the confines of the aristocracy and under the weight of her mother's oppressive thumb enabled her to present the perfect picture of the perfect earl's daughter.

  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 h
edges, 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.

&nb
sp; 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.