"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?"
Johnny wiped the back of one dirty hand over his soot-smudged cheek. He was a strapping young man of two and twenty whose father had been delivering coal to the Grosvenor Square
mansion for a decade. When his father passed away six months ago, Johnny had taken over the business. Now his gaze darted back and forth, obviously as anxious as she that they remain unseen and unheard in this recessed corner of the pantry where she'd pulled him.
"I'm awful sorry, milady," he said in an undertone. "My wife, she's been expectin' a baby, and don't ye know he had the bad timing to decide last night was when he wanted to be born. There were no one else to help her, and I couldn't leave. But I'll come tonight, I will, and make the moans and groans. Just like we'd planned."
Julianne felt as if the floor beneath her feet shifted. "You didn't come to the house last night," she said slowly, enunciating each word very carefully, watching his face.
Johnny looked at the ground and scuffed the toe of his dirty boot against the floor. Then he raised his chin. "No, milady. And 'tis real sorry I am."
"You didn't dress in a hooded robe and stand on my balcony?"
Johnny's mouth dropped open. "Glory be, milady. Wherever did ye get a daft idea like that?" His eyes widened, and he instantly looked abashed. "Beggin' yer pardon, I am."
She grasped his sleeves. "Did you write a note and leave it in my bedchamber?"
The young man's green eyes rounded to saucers. "Course not, milady. Why would I do such a thing? And 'tis not much of a letter writer I am."
She wanted to shake him, demand he tell her the truth, but she could see he was. Which meant…
Dear God, it meant that someone else had left the threatening note. Tried to gain access to her bedchamber. Someone with a knife.
A shudder of fear racked her, and she released Johnny to wrap her arms around herself to ward off the sudden chill gripping her. Who would do such a thing? And why? She recalled the crudely written words on the note, Yor next, and another chill ripped through her.
"Are ye all right, milady?" Johnny asked. "'Tis right pale yor lookin'."
"I'm fine," she lied.
"I'll come tonight. Swear I will."
Julianne frowned. She certainly didn't want to risk Johnny being hurt should last night's intruder return. "No. It's best if you don't."
"A promise is a promise, milady. Besides, with the new mouth to feed at home, I need the extra blunt." His eyes clouded with worry. "Ye'll still pay me if I come tonight instead of last night, won't ye?"
"I'll pay you for not coming tonight, or any other night." She reached in her pocket and slipped out two gold coins, which she pressed into Johnny's hand. Johnny opened his fist and gaped at his windfall. "For you. And your wife and baby."
"Thank ye, milady." He dashed off toward the servants' entrance, leaving Julianne alone.
Deeply disturbed, she exited the pantry and made her way up the servants' stairs to avoid walking through the kitchen where Mrs. Linquist would see her. After making certain she wasn't observed, she entered the corridor, smoothed her skirts, then made her way to the foyer.
"Your father wishes to see you at once, Lady Julianne," Winslow said as soon he saw her. "In his study."
Unable to speak around the lump of apprehension tightening her throat, Julianne merely nodded. She walked to the study on legs that felt heavy and wooden, then stood outside the door for nearly a minute before summoning her courage to knock. At her father's crisp order to enter, she opened the door and crossed the threshold. Her father glanced up from his desk then returned his gaze to whatever he was reading.
"Do you intend to simply stand there, or are you going to tell me wha
t you want?" he asked in that frigid voice that only served to make her more tongue-tied in his presence.
Swallowing her trepidation, she approached his desk. When she stood before it, she moistened her lips then said, "Winslow said you wished to see me?"
"Yes. Regarding Mr. Mayne."
Dear God. His forbidding tone and expression loosened her knees. Since he hadn't invited her to sit, she gripped the back of the chair in front of her.
"I've hired him to guard both you and the house until this matter is settled or you're safely married to Eastling and on your way to Cornwall, whichever comes first," her father announced. He glanced up, and his icy blue gaze bored into her. "Your activities will be severely curtailed. If it is necessary for you to go anywhere, Mayne will accompany you. You will continue to sleep in the blue room, and Mayne will take over your bedchamber—in the hopes that whoever tried to gain entrance last night will do so again and be captured. Hopefully tonight, so we can put a swift end to this nonsense." His gaze took on another layer of frost. "That is the way it is to be, and I'll not hear any arguments about it."
It took several seconds for his words to sink in. When they finally did, her heart soared. She looked down at the carpet to hide the triumph and elation she feared glowed in her eyes. "Yes, Father," she murmured, hoping she sounded sufficiently abashed.
"I don't want you discussing this matter, nor do I want His Grace getting wind of it. If he even suspected some knife-wielding hooligan might be after you, he'd no doubt cry off, and I'll be damned if I'll allow that to happen."
"Did you tell Mr. Mayne of my engagement?"
"Naturally. He had to be made aware of how imperative it is that nothing happen to you."
A bit of her elation evaporated. How had Gideon taken the news? Was he angry she hadn't told him herself? Or did he simply not care? She considered appealing to her father to reconsider the marriage but knew it was useless. Any entreaty would only fall on deaf ears. Nothing would disrupt her father's business arrangement with the duke. Instead she asked, "Will … will Mr. Mayne be dining with us?"
A look of pure distaste swam across her father's features. "Certainly not. He doesn't have the proper clothes or manners for the dining room. You'll be perfectly safe with your mother and me during dinner. Mr. Mayne will eat in the kitchen with the rest of the hired help."
Julianne's fingers knotted in her gown, and she pressed her lips together to hold back the flood of arguments she wished to present.
"Mr. Mayne is to accompany you everywhere," her father continued, "therefore don't get it into your foolish head to go haring off alone. Given the situation, it’s probably best you remain at home today and this evening." He frowned. "Eastling's soiree is tomorrow night, and you’ll need to attend. But for today, you're to remain here."
"Yes, Father." Keeping her expression carefully blank, she raised her head. "But what about my usual round of calls with Mother?"
"She can do them on her own today, as she did yesterday. Mr. Mayne will arrive within the hour." Her father's frown deepened. "After he does, I'll be off to my club." Without the slightest flicker of emotion, he returned his attention to his reading, and she knew herself dismissed.
Julianne turned and made her way across the room. It wasn't until she'd exited her father's study and closed the door behind her that she allowed the smile of triumph to curve her lips.
Gideon would be here, in her home, within the hour, hired to protect her. Her plan had worked.
But a shadow instantly clouded over her triumph. Yes, he would protect her, but instead of it being from an imaginary threat created by Johnny, it was from a real threat.
A real threat with a real knife.
Chapter 14
Before presenting himself at Julianne's home, Gideon had several stops to make. The first was conducted in a shadowed doorway on a narrow side street on the outskirts of Whitechapel lined by tall, soot-covered brick buildings. There he slipped a folded piece of vellum and a sovereign into the hand of Henry Locke, whose cunning ability at ferreting out information people wished to keep hidden made him a very useful asset to Gideon. The man would have made an excellent Runner but for his unfortunate habit of picking pockets.
"These are the people I want looked into," Gideon said, giving Henry the list he'd comprised of everyone he knew who had been at Julianne's home yesterday. He would have preferred to conduct the investigating himself, but he couldn't do that and guard Julianne. "There will be more names, but this will get you started."
Henry glanced at the list, and although it contained the names of some powerful society peers, he showed no reaction. "When do you want the information?"
"Yesterday. Until I tell you otherwise, you can contact me at the Gatesbourne mansion in Grosvenor Square
."
Something flickered in Henry's shrewd green eyes. "What brings you there?"
"Why do you ask?"
Henry shrugged. "No reason. I'll contact you as soon as I know something." He pocketed the list then slipped out of the doorway. Gideon watched him move like a wraith through the myriad twists and turns of the narrow alleys and disappear from view.
Picking up his portmanteau and giving a soft whistle for Caesar, he made his way back to the main street, where he hailed a hack. After giving the driver Logan Jennsen's direction, he sat back and closed his eyes.
Damn, he was tired. His eyelids felt gritty and heavy, a consequence of his sleepless night. But at least by not going home when he left the Drunken Porcupine, he'd accomplished something: gaining some information about Lord Beechmore that Logan Jennsen would find interesting. The investigative work had kept him from lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about things he needed to forget. Things he couldn't have.
The hack jerked to a halt and, after instructing the driver to wait, Gideon stood before Jennsen's home and stared at the sheer size and grandeur of the mansion. Bloody hell, the man was rumored to have more money than the entire royal family combined, and he obviously didn't have any qualms about spending it on his home.
A very proper butler answered his knock and several minutes later escorted Gideon down a long corridor. Jennsen's home rivaled that of Julianne's father, except Gatesbourne's house was, in a word, soulless, while Jennsen's was, in spite of the opulence and objets d'art and paintings that lined the walls, welcoming.
When the butler announced him at the door to a well-appointed study, Jennsen immediately rose from behind the massive mahogany desk and walked toward him.
"Mayne," he said, holding out his hand. "You have news for me?"
Gideon shook the American's hand and nodded. "I do."
"That was fast."
"I had some time and made good use of it."
"Surprised you've had any time at all, what with another robbery and murder on your hands. Terrible news about Lady Daltry." His gaze dropped to Caesar, who stood at attention next to Gideon, giving Jennsen a narrow-eyed look. "He's not going to chew off my leg, is he?"
"Only if he needs to. It's best not to make any sudden moves."
"Thanks for the warning. Would you like to sit down?"
"Thank you but no. I cannot stay. I just wanted to tell you what I learned about the matter you wished me to look into. According to my sources, Lord Beechmore recently suffered some serious financial losses."
Jennsen's gaze sharpened. "How recently and how serious?" "Last month, and very serious. He was involved in some high-stakes gambling on the Continent. He lost not only an enormous amount of money but two unentailed properties as well."
"Do you have an amount?"
"Not for the properties, but the monetary losses were reportedly fifty thousand pounds."
Jennsen nodded. "Anything else?"
"Just that he keeps a mistress in London, which is expensive, and has reportedly fathered a number of by-blows. Apparently he has a fondness for the household help."
Jennsen shrugged. "Not surprising. Based on my observations, the words gentleman and
morals have little to do with each other. Is that all?"
"For now. If I learn anything further, I'll contact you."
"Thank you. I'll see to your payment and include a bonus for acting so quickly. Actually, I planned to call on you today. I recalled where I saw the snuffbox."
Gideon's interest quickened. "Where?"
"Daltry's party. Soon after I arrived. I was standing with a group of gentlemen, one of whom took the box from his waistcoat pocket."
"Do you recall which gentleman?"
"Lord Haverly."
Gideon instantly added Haverly's residence as another stop he needed to make this morning. He thanked Jennsen for the information, then they walked to the study door. Before turning the brass knob, Jennsen remarked, "The Times is once again filled with lurid speculation about the murdering ghost robber. Any new developments?"
"Nothing I can discuss. But rest assured, he'll be caught."
Something glinted in Jennsen's eyes. "Not worried that his ghostly self will slip through your fingers, Mayne?"
"Not in the least. He will be caught. And punished for his crimes."
"So if I were a betting man, I should wager on you rather than the ghost."
"Unless you're fond of losing your money."
"Can't say I am. Indeed, I'm not fond of losing anything, in any manner, for any reason."
"Neither am I," Gideon said grimly. "And I don't intend to start now."
He left the house and gave the driver Haverly's direction. Fifteen minutes later he was shown into his lordship's dining room.
"Rather early for a visit," Haverly said, looking none too pleased at having his breakfast interrupted.
For a reply, Gideon held out the snuffbox. "Recognize this?"
Haverly's eyes widened. "Of course I do. It's mine. Where did you find it?" He reached for the box, but Gideon pulled his hand back.
"Find it?"
"Yes," Haverly said with a frown. "I lost it. Sometime during Daltry's party. Is that where you found it?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. Specifically, I found it beneath a window. One whose lock was tampered with. A window someone attempted to use to gain access to the house." Gideon's eyes narrowed. "Where, as you know by now, Lady Daltry was robbed and murdered."
SEDUCED AT MIDNIGHT Page 15
