SEDUCED AT MIDNIGHT

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  Haverly blinked. "And you think I am in some way responsible?"

  "Are you?"

  "Certainly not." Haverly tossed down his napkin and stood. A red hue colored his face. "How dare you ask such a question. Why would I do such a thing?"

  "I'm not certain. Yet."

  "Well, I wouldn't. And I didn't. Obviously whoever did either found or stole my snuffbox."

  "Rather careless of 'whoever' to drop it after taking the time to steal it," Gideon said, watching him carefully.

  "Perhaps it was dropped on purpose. To implicate me."

  Gideon set the box on the table. "Perhaps. But rest assured, I'll discover the truth. I'll show myself out."

  He left and settled himself in the waiting hack, this time giving the driver the Duke of Eastling's direction.

  His Grace was no more pleased to see him than Haverly had been. "I'm leaving in precisely five minutes for an appointment," the duke said, after Gideon was shown into his private study.

  "I'll be brief. You're aware Lady Daltry was robbed and murdered yesterday."

  "Yes. Terrible tragedy."

  "You knew Lady Daltry well?"

  "Known the entire family for years."

  "You consider Lord Daltry a friend?"

  A hint of annoyance flashed across the duke's features. "Of course. As I said, we've known each other for years."

  "Did he have any objections to you tupping his wife?"

  The flash of surprise in the duke's eyes was nearly imperceptible, but Gideon had been expecting it. "That's an ill-mannered thing to say about a dead woman."

  "I was saying it more about you."

  "What makes you think we were … involved?"

  "I saw you together. At Daltry's party. In his private study. Next time you decide to lift the skirts of a friend's wife and bend her over a chair, you might want to lock the door."

  The duke's eyes turned to slits. "If you're suggesting that because Lady Daltry and I enjoyed a private moment together I had something to do with the robbery and her death—"

  "I'm merely suggesting the timing of those two events is … curious."

  "Then I'm certain you'll also find it curious that I wasn't the only one lifting her skirts. Lady Daltry was a woman of insatiable appetites. Indeed, I wasn't the first man she'd had that night."

  Gideon raised his brows. "Now who's saying ill-mannered things about a dead woman?"

  "Unfortunately, it appears I must be less than discreet to defend myself."

  "How do you know you weren't her first lover of the evening?"

  "She told me."

  "Did she give you a name?"

  "No. But you won't have any difficulty finding former lovers. I'd wager most of the male guests at the party had at one time or another enjoyed the lady's charms." He rose. "Is that all?"

  Bloody hell, it was exceedingly difficult not to show his extreme dislike for this man. This man who had everything yet clearly valued nothing. At least not friendship. Or marriage vows. Or a lady's reputation. This man who would be Julianne's husband. Even though she'd deceived him and he was angry with her, the thought of her married to an immoral bastard like the duke made Gideon sick inside. "That's all for now," he said, matching His Grace's chilly tone.

  He departed and this time gave the hackney Julianne's direction. As the hack rumbled along the cobblestones toward Grosvenor Square

  , he wondered how many lies he'd been told this morning.

  * * *

  After surrendering his portmanteau to Winslow—who gave him the list he'd asked for of everyone who had come into the house the previous day—Gideon sat through a brief interview with the earl during which he was reminded of his duties and told he'd be taking his meals in the kitchen. No big surprise there. He hadn't expected the earl to treat him like anything other than what he was. More hired help.

  Gideon then wrote a copy of the list Winslow had provided and arranged to have it delivered to Henry. That done, he made his way down the long corridor leading to the music room where the earl told him Lady Julianne awaited, and the earl departed for his club.

  Caesar padded silently along at Gideon's side. "Looking for your little princess friend?" Gideon asked, cocking a brow at the dog.

  Caesar licked his chops then started to pant. Gideon shook his head. Bloody hell. How the mighty had fallen. And smote by such a ridiculous thing as Cupid's dart no less. "Best turn your attention to a more attainable mutt, my friend. You know you'll find that fancy, tulle-skirted, tempting ball of fluff already promised to a purebred of her own breed."

  Caesar shot him a defiant look, and Gideon frowned in return. "Fine. Don't listen. But don't say I didn't warn you. You'd be smart to harden your heart. Just as I've done." Right. He'd allowed his desires to get the better of him once. He wouldn't be allowing it again.

  Once? his inner voice asked incredulously. Once?

  His frown deepened. Bloody well fine. More than once. But it wouldn't happen again. Especially now that he knew she was engaged. And hadn't told him. Had purposely deceived him. Surely that would help him keep his distance.

  They were still several doors away from their destination when Gideon's footsteps slowed at the sound of slow, lilting piano notes floating through the air. The melody was hauntingly beautiful, and he was drawn to it like a moth to flame. He approached the room and halted in the doorway, struck still by the sight of her.

  She sat at the pianoforte, her back to him, the foreground to a backdrop of golden sunshine that spilled through the tall French windows, gilding her with an almost ethereal glow. Her shiny blond curls were caught up in a simple knot and woven with pale blue ribbons that matched her short-sleeved gown, a color he knew would highlight her extraordinary eyes. A single pale tendril bisected her ivory nape—a bit of skin that looked like creamy velvet his fingers and mouth itched to explore.

  He clenched his hands and pressed his lips into a tight line to suppress the urge. And forced himself to recall that she wasn't his. Never would be. Never could be. That she'd lied to him and enticed him, knowing she belonged to someone else. His anger resurfaced—thank God—and he latched onto it as if it were a lifeline and he'd been tossed overboard into storm-ravaged waters.

  Her back was perfectly straight, her head bent slightly forward, her shoulders swaying as she caressed the keys to coax forth the haunting melody, one that suddenly changed tempo and mood, shifting from what had sounded like a dreary winter's day to a burst of spring sunshine. He stood in the doorway, entranced by the beauty of the music that swelled around him. Never before had he heard anything so lyrical, any tune that conjured such clear, vivid pictures in his mind, and he wondered if his thoughts matched what the composer had intended.

  After several minutes the music changed again, slowing down, back into the mournful notes he'd heard when he first entered the room. He imagined the laughter and sunshine and happiness slipping away, replaced by shadows, clouds, and sorrow. The tune ended on a desolate note that reverberated through the room until it vanished into silence. It was the most evocative, beautiful thing he'd ever heard, yet one that only further emphasized their divergent circumstances. Women in his world didn't while away their time playing the pianoforte in their mansions. Nor did they become engaged to dukes. Or share intimacies with the hired help.

  He was about to speak, but before he could, a series of yips from near the fireplace broke the silence. Gideon turned and saw Princess Buttercup, who'd clearly been napping on an oversized pillow near the hearth, rise from her satin throne and dash toward him and Caesar as if they were her long-lost best friends. Today the small dog wore a pink tulle skirt with a matching bow holding her snowy fur out of her gleaming black eyes. She launched herself at Gideon, a blur of canine joy.

  Amused in spite of himself, he crouched down and scratched behind her soft, furry ears and tickled her warm tummy. After bestowing a frenzy of kisses on his hand, she abandoned him and turned her attention to Caesar whose wagging tail thumped furiously
against the doorjamb. Gideon stood and allowed his besotted pet a moment to reacquaint himself with his lady love, then commanded softly, "Caesar, guard." Caesar immediately ended the frivolity and posted himself in the doorway. Princess Buttercup plopped her bottom next to him and stared adoringly up into his jowly face.

  He turned his attention back to the pianoforte. Julianne had risen and stood beside the velvet tufted bench, her hands clasped in front of her. Her sheer beauty struck him insensate for several seconds, but he quickly recovered himself and walked toward her, his boots muffled against the thick carpet. He stopped when six feet remained between them. His gaze raked over her, and he clenched his hands. Bloody hell, her lips still looked kiss-swollen, and his own lips tingled at the memory of that which he wanted nothing more than to forget.

  She said nothing for several long seconds, just looked up at him with those big blue eyes that surely would have melted his insides if he hadn't steeled himself against them. Then she said, "My father told me about his arrangement with you. I'm very glad and relieved you'll be here, especially given Lady Daltry's robbery and death."

  "He's paying me extremely well."

  Disappointment flickered across her features at his cold words, but then her spine seemed to stiffen. "I see. Well, money is the one thing of which Father has plenty, and he's an expert at discovering how much of it is required to get what he wants. He's fond of saying 'everyone has their price.'" She raised her chin. "Clearly he found yours. I'm not certain which of you to congratulate."

  A flush of shame heated Gideon's face. Damn it, he'd purposely made it sound as if he'd accepted the job of protecting her because of the pay—as opposed to anything personal between them—and she'd neatly hoisted him on his own petard. "You're insinuating I was bought."

  "I'm not insinuating it. I'm stating it outright." She gave an elegant shrug. "'Tis of no importance. You're in very exalted company. Father's latest acquisition is the Duke of Eastling—as a husband for me. But you already know that."

  "Yes. Your engagement is something you conveniently neglected to mention." He tried to keep his tone bland and impersonal, but the words came out harsh and abrupt.

  Scarlet suffused her cheeks, but her gaze didn't waver. "Would it have mattered?"

  No. "Yes. I'm not in the habit of making a cuckold of another man. In fact, I've a strong aversion to it."

  "He is not yet my husband."

  "He is your betrothed and will be your husband in a fortnight." Anger mixed with unwanted jealousy spread through Gideon like a poison infecting his entire body. "Bad enough that I compromised your innocence. In my ignorance of your engagement, I also compromised my honor. I don't take things that belong to others."

  Her bottom lip trembled, and she seemed to deflate, as if all her bravado leaked out of her. "You didn't take anything. Still, you're right, of course. I … I should have told you, but—"

  "There are no buts," he broke in coldly. "You should have told me. As for last night—it didn't happen."

  Her eyes glistened, twin pools of distress that threatened to melt his resolve like ice left out in the sun. Before he could succumb, he advanced a single step, using his size to full advantage, and pinned her in place with his stare. "It did not happen."

  To her credit, she didn't back away. She pressed her lips together, jerked her head in a tight nod, then looked at the floor. Silence swelled between them. Then she raised her head, and this time her eyes resembled burned-out ashes, left dead after a fire. "Did my father tell you the engagement will be officially announced at our party here next week?"

  "No." Bloody hell, this investigation had better be finished by then, because the thought of being here to witness such an announcement, to see the duke formally claim her, was something he hadn't the stomach for.

  "It's going to be the social event of the year," she said, her tone as flat as her expression. "I suppose you think I'm very fortunate."

  "Aren't you?" he asked, a bitter edge to his voice.

  She looked away, trailing her fingers over the piano keys, then moved to the fireplace where she stared down at the low-burning flame.

  "Fortunate … I'll be a duchess. By virtue of marrying a man I barely know. A man I care nothing for and who cares nothing for me. Fortunate … I'll live in a magnificent home. That is hundreds of miles away from my dearest friends and everything familiar to me. Fortunate … I'll have more baubles and gowns than I could ever wear and will never want for anything."

  She turned to look at him, and the combination of anger and hopelessness in her eyes seemed to reach inside his chest and squeeze his beating heart. "I'll have everything except a husband's love. A husband I love in return. Laughter. Friendship. Companionship. Passion."

  Her expression tore at him, replacing a portion of his anger with an unwanted compassion that compelled him to say something, anything, that might offer some comfort. "Perhaps you'll come to care for him." He forced the words out, and they tasted like sawdust on his tongue.

  A humorless laugh escaped her. "Obviously you've never met the duke."

  "I've met him." And disliked him on sight.

  "Then I fail to see how you can suggest I'd ever come to care for him. If I had to describe him in one word, it would be humorless. Still, given his exalted position and handsome visage, most anyone would consider me very fortunate indeed."

  "But you are not 'most anyone.'" He hadn't realized he'd spoken the words out loud until she nodded in response.

  "Apparently not, as I consider myself trapped. Although not by His Grace himself. In truth, it wouldn't have mattered which of my suitors Father had chosen, as they are all interchangeable with the duke: men I barely know who don't care for me beyond my dowry, nor I for them. None of them inspire the least excitement. Light the slightest spark within me." Her gaze flicked to his mouth, and heat shot through him as if she'd stabbed him with a hot knife. "Do you know what I am talking about?"

  Did he know? Bloody hell, the mere thought of her made his heart pound. The mere sight of her set him on fire. "Yes, I know."

  She took a small step toward him, and his heart jumped. "How?"

  Because you're here. Close enough to touch. "I've experienced lust. Passion. Desire." His eyes narrowed. "As recently as last night. As you damn well know."

  "What about love? Have you ever been in love?"

  An image flashed through his mind. Dark hair, dark eyes. He shoved it back, but he couldn't deny it. "Yes." And he had loved Gwen. Yet still, what he'd felt for the woman he'd known and loved three years ago seemed utterly tame compared to the maelstrom of conflicting, unwanted, confusing emotions Julianne inspired. But then, what he'd felt for Gwen had been … simple. Uncomplicated. While it had lasted.

  "Was it … wonderful?"

  "No. It was painful." He dragged his hands through his hair, ruthlessly battering back the memories that shoved at him. "Your romantic notions are unrealistic and will lead you only to heartbreak."

  "Was your heart broken?"

  He pressed his lips together. Bloody hell, how had the conversation drifted on to these treacherous waters? Time to change the subject. But then he frowned. Maybe he should tell her. Give her a taste of what the real world was like. The world beyond the castle of riches and privilege in which she dwelled. Maybe then she'd realize how lucky she was. And quit looking at him with those vulnerable eyes that reflected her every emotion, that gazed upon him far too frequently with admiration. Which would certainly help his ability to resist her.

  "Yes, Princess," he said with a sneer. "My heart was broken. By a woman I'd planned to marry."

  His revelation clearly surprised her. "What happened?"

  Memories rammed into him, and for several seconds he felt crushed under their weight. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came forth. Anger and sorrow and guilt clamped his throat shut around the words that still, after three years, remained so precariously sutured. He swallowed, painfully, then the words suddenly poured out of him, words he ha
dn't spoken since it had happened. "She died. She worked as a maid. I always came to escort her home, but one night I was delayed. Instead of waiting for me, she walked alone. And was accosted by a footpad. She fought back, but he was stronger. And had a knife." His hands clenched, and the fury he'd felt at the time rose in him again. "He stole what little money she had. Then gutted her like a fish. She died in my arms."

  "Dear God. Gideon…" Her eyes filled with a combination of horror and sympathy. With her gaze on his, she walked slowly toward him. His instincts warned him not to let her get too close, but he felt as if he were nailed in place. She stopped less than an arm's length from him. He wanted to look away, walk away from her, but he simply couldn't move. Reaching out, she gently laid her hand on one of his clenched fists. "I'm so sorry. Inadequate words, I know, but I don't have any others." She hesitated then said, "The monster responsible … was he apprehended?"

  Another wave of dark memories washed over him. "Yes. I caught him. In the act of hurting another woman. She survived. He did not." Gideon had made damn sure of that.

  "You saved that woman's life. And undoubtedly many other women's lives by ending his."

  "Yes. But I didn't save the life that mattered to me."

  She gently squeezed his hand. Heat rushed up his arm, filling him with anger that she could affect him so effortlessly. "I'm sorry your heart was broken in such a cruel way."

  Her words yanked him from the past, and he forced himself to recall the here and now: his sense of betrayal. He pulled his hand away from hers and stepped back. "My heart is none of your concern," he said in a harsh voice. "What should concern you is your penchant for lying."

  "If you're referring to the duke—"

  "You know damn well I am."

  "I didn't lie."

  "You didn't admit the truth. That's the same thing."

  "Actually, it's not." She raised her chin. "Have you admitted everything about yourself to me?"

  "Seems to me I just admitted a whole damn lot." Certainly more than he'd meant to. "You know everything you need to know—the whole of which is that I've been hired to protect you and to catch whoever tried to enter your bedchamber last night."