SEDUCED AT MIDNIGHT

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  Gideon opened the French windows leading to the terrace. Caesar trotted through the opening, then dashed down the flagstone steps leading to the garden. Gideon closed the door behind him, glancing into the room. His gaze met Julianne's through the glass, and for several seconds he couldn't move. Could only stare. And try his damnedest to tamp down the flood of wants that surged through him. With an effort he turned away and moved to the edge of the terrace, where he pulled in some much-needed breaths of fresh, cool air. He risked one quick peek over his shoulder and noted that the four women had scooted nearer to each other. Their heads were bent close together, obviously in whispered, furtive conversation.

  Alarm bells clanged in his head. What the bloody hell were they talking about?

  * * *

  Julianne pulled her gaze away from the French windows through which Gideon had just departed. And found three pairs of wide eyes staring at her.

  "Oh my heavens," Emily said.

  "Oh my Lord," murmured Carolyn.

  "Oh my, oh my, oh my," whispered Sarah.

  Julianne wasn't precisely sure why, but heat rushed into her cheeks, and she quickly reached for the teapot. Emily forestalled her by gently grabbing her hand. "How can you possibly think of tea at a time like this?"

  "A time like this?" Julianne repeated. "You mean the murders?"

  "I mean that man," Emily whispered, jerking her head toward the terrace. "Did you not see the way he looked at you?"

  Julianne tried her best to keep her features blank, but she wasn't certain she succeeded or if it even mattered, given the heat scorching her cheeks. "What do you mean?"

  Carolyn scooted closer and leaned in. "She means that Mr. Mayne clearly finds you … attractive."

  Sarah made a snorting sound. "Well, of course he would find her attractive. Good God, what man wouldn't? What Emily means is that he clearly finds you more than just merely attractive." She waved her hand in front of her face. "The heat you two generated was enough to steam the air."

  "What Emily means," Emily said, shooting a frown around the group, "is that until I saw him in this room with Julianne, I'd never seen Mr. Mayne's eyes be anything other than cool and impassive. Dispassionate, really. And they were when he looked at anything or anyone in this room except you, Julianne. When he looked at you, his eyes seemed to—"

  "Breathe fire," Sarah broke in.

  "He is clearly smitten," Carolyn agreed. "Certainly he desires you." Her gaze settled on Julianne. "And based on the way you looked at him…"

  Carolyn fell silent, but her eyes were filled with concern.

  Oh, dear. "How did I look at him?" Julianne asked, hoping her dismay didn't show.

  "As if his desire for you was mutual," Carolyn said softly. She reached out and clasped Julianne's hand. "You mustn't do anything foolish. Think of the repercussions—"

  "Just because he desires her—and truly what man wouldn't," Emily broke in, "doesn't mean she desires him. Heavens, why would she? He's nothing like the men of the ton."

  "Which is not necessarily a bad thing," Sarah said.

  Emily looked toward the ceiling. "Says the new marchioness. You didn't marry a Bow Street Runner; you married a marquess."

  "Because I was in love with him," Sarah whispered. "I didn't care a jot for Matthew's title. Or his money—which, as you'll recall, he didn't have any of at the time. I'd have married Matthew if he were a sailor or a—"

  "Yes, yes, that's fine for you to say, but you didn't grow up as Julianne did," Emily insisted. "She's the daughter of an earl. Cavorting with a Runner simply isn't done."

  "Who says I'm cavorting—?" Julianne tried to break in, but Sarah rolled right over her, saying, "You'd prefer that she marry a man she doesn't love, a man she barely knows, simply because he's a duke?"

  "At least the duke is of our class," Emily said.

  Sarah straightened her spine and raised her chin. "I'm not of your class, Emily. Neither is Carolyn. Our father was a mere physician."

  Emily huffed out an exasperated breath. "You're taking this the wrong way, Sarah. I'm not trying to be haughty—"

  "Yet you are being so just the same—"

  "I'm merely pointing out that the man is a commoner—"

  "As were Carolyn and I until our marriages."

  "But you were both completely respectable."

  "What is not respectable about a man who captures criminals and upholds the law?" Sarah demanded.

  Emily's lips tightened. "Nothing," she admitted after a long pause. "But he has no business casting his eye on Julianne, who is so far above his station as to be laughable. Why, it's like that odious Mr. Jennsen thinking he was good enough for Carolyn."

  "Actually, the problem wasn't that I thought Mr. Jennsen wasn't good enough for me," Carolyn broke in. "It was that my heart already belonged to Daniel." Her troubled gaze rested on Julianne. "But Emily is correct; I was not born an earl's daughter and as such my marriage was a huge social step up for me. What I think we're all trying to say," she continued in her calm voice, squeezing Julianne's hand, "is that we're concerned and want what's best for you. One can't fault a man for desiring a beautiful woman like you; it merely shows he has excellent taste. So long as he doesn't act on those feelings. Desire can be a very strong temptation, but you mustn't do something you'll regret. You must be very cautious, especially as he's staying here in the house."

  "Cautious?" Sarah repeated softly. "As you were cautious with Daniel, Carolyn? As I was with Matthew?"

  Before Julianne could even think of a reply, the French windows opened. She turned and saw Gideon stepping over the threshold. His gaze scanned the group. "Am I interrupting?" he asked.

  "Not at all," Sarah said with a bright smile. She stood. "Although it is time for us to depart."

  Carolyn and Emily rose, as did Julianne. She escorted her friends to the foyer, where Winslow handed them their shawls and bonnets. As Emily hugged her good-bye, her friend whispered, "Don't forget you're soon to be a duchess. Which is what you deserve to be. We'll talk more tomorrow night at the duke's party." Next, Carolyn hugged her and whispered, "Don't do anything you'll regret. If you need me, send word."

  Sarah merely kissed both her cheeks and followed Emily and Carolyn from the house. Julianne watched them from the open door, her thoughts in a whirl. They were halfway down the path leading to the street when Sarah exclaimed, "Heavens, I left my reticule. I'll be right back."

  She walked swiftly back up the path and reentered the foyer and turned to Winslow. "I forgot my reticule in the drawing room, Winslow. Would you be so kind as to get it for me?"

  "Of course, Lady Langston."

  As soon as Winslow departed, Sarah grabbed Julianne's hand. "Emily and Carolyn are wrong," she said, her bespectacled gaze serious. "I don't believe Mr. Mayne merely desires you, Julianne. I think he is in love with you."

  Julianne had to lock her knees to keep them from sagging. "How … what makes you say that?"

  "I've been watching him—not just today, but at Lord Daltry's party, and even before that, when we first met him two months ago. I suspected he harbored strong feelings for you, but seeing him today solidified my suspicions. He may not realize the depth of his feelings himself yet—men tend to be slower to comprehend matters of the heart. But I'd stake everything I own that he's in love with you." She studied Julianne's eyes. "Do you care for him?"

  The love and understanding shining from Sarah's eyes made it impossible for Julianne to lie. "I … I cannot deny I'm attracted to him. But it doesn't matter—"

  "Of course it matters. Julianne … is he the one who kissed you?"

  Julianne dropped her chin and looked at the floor. Then nodded miserably and looked up. "Yes."

  Sarah gripped her shoulders and gave a grim nod. "I thought so. Thank you for telling me. I know it can't have been easy to share something so personal, nor has it been easy to keep all this inside you. Having recently gone through the same confusing upheaval of emotions, I know." Her gaze searched Juliann
e's. "Believe me, I know. And now that I know the who, we can work on the how."

  Julianne frowned. "What do you mean?"

  The sound of footsteps had her turning toward the corridor. Winslow approached, his brow puckered. "I'm afraid your reticule wasn't in the drawing room, Lady Langston. Perhaps you left it in your carriage?"

  Sarah's eyes widened, then she laughed. "Heavens, I just recalled I didn't even bring a reticule with me." She gave Julianne a quick hug and whispered in her ear, "Chin up. We'll talk more tomorrow at the duke's party. In the meanwhile, follow your heart, Julianne. Your heart knows what is right. And you'll always, always have my love and support."

  And then she was gone, leaving Julianne with far more questions than when she'd arrived. But one thought reverberated through Julianne's mind, wrapping around her, refusing to let go.

  Was it possible that Sarah was right? Could Gideon be in love with her? A scary question indeed. But not nearly as frightening as the one that followed on its heels: a question she'd deliberately and steadfastly refused to even consider until now, when it hit her too hard to ignore.

  Was she in love with Gideon?

  Chapter 16

  Gideon stood in the foyer, watching the earl accept his hat and walking stick from Winslow, and the countess adjust her gloves. He tried to recall the last time he'd found himself in the company of such a disagreeable couple and came up blank. After eating dinner in the kitchen, he'd walked the perimeter of the house and grounds, making certain all was secure, then checked every last window and door in the house. Everything was locked.

  "We'll be home early," the countess said, frowning at Julianne, who stood still as a statue. "Although I can't abide Lady Foy's annual musicale, we must of course put in an appearance." Her gaze raked over Julianne, and she made a tsking sound. "You're to retire early. There are shadows beneath your eyes, and that will never do. You must look perfectly fresh and stunning for the duke's party tomorrow."

  "Yes, Mother."

  A muscle ticked in Gideon's jaw. Everything about the countess grated on his nerves. Her voice. Her demeanor. And the bloody nasty tone she used toward Julianne. He would have liked nothing more than to stomp across the fancy marble tiles and stick his nose in her fancy face and tell her to shut her bloody stupid mouth. She showed not the slightest bit of sympathy toward her daughter with regard to the fright she'd suffered, and if her concern stemmed from anything more than a worry about what the duke's reaction might be, she kept it well hidden.

  And surely the woman must be blind, because he couldn't imagine how anyone could look more stunning or perfect than Julianne. Dressed in a pale green gown with her golden hair pulled into a simple yet lovely style that left soft tendrils surrounding her face and accentuating the slender column of her neck, she literally stole his breath.

  "Your gown will be arriving from Madame Renee's in the morning," the countess continued, "and you must try it on immediately to make certain it's perfect."

  "All of Madame's creations are perfect," Julianne said quietly. "I'm certain this one will be no different."

  The countess's mouth puckered like a purse string, and she narrowed her eyes. "I'll tolerate no arguments from you, Julianne. You will be prepared to try on your gown the instant it is delivered. Nothing can go wrong for tomorrow night."

  Julianne looked at the floor. "Yes, Mother."

  "And stop mumbling," the countess snapped. "Botheration, you not only look haggard, you sound haggard as well." She heaved out a beleaguered sigh and turned toward her husband. "Whatever am I going to do with her?"

  "Nothing," said the earl, his voice a cold snap in the air. "In a very short period of time she will no longer be our concern. Just make sure she looks her best tomorrow night." He turned to Julianne and fixed his icy glare on her. "You'll retire early, Daughter, and rid yourself of those unbecoming circles beneath your eyes so that tomorrow night the duke will have no reason to believe you've any cause to lose sleep."

  The earl then shifted his attention Gideon. "You'll see to it that there are no disturbances tonight—but if there are, this time I expect you to catch the person responsible."

  "That is why I'm here," Gideon said, returning the earl's frigid stare with one of his own. He didn't doubt his ability to protect Julianne from an intruder, but he seethed at his inability to safeguard her from the unkind barbs thrown at her by her parents. In spite of his profession, in spite of the violence in his past and that which he lived with every day on London's mean streets, he didn't consider himself a violent man. He used force only when necessary to protect himself or someone else from being made a victim.

  But the earl's cold, dismissive unkindness toward Julianne settled like a red haze over Gideon's vision. In his mind's eye he saw himself picking up the nobleman by his perfectly tied cravat and shaking him like a terrier with a rat. Then telling him in no uncertain terms that if he ever heard him speak to her in such a cutting manner again, he'd shove his bloody teeth down his bloody throat. And while Gideon had never committed violence against a woman, the very elegant countess tested his patience to the limit. He would have taken great pleasure in telling the supercilious woman precisely what he thought of her—right after he tossed her into her very elegant privet hedges. A grim smile compressed his lips at the mental image. I'd wager that would cause a few unsightly shadows beneath your eyes, Countess.

  A light pressure on his sleeve pulled Gideon from his brown study. He looked down and saw Julianne's pale hand resting against his dark jacket. Based on her quizzical expression, she'd just asked him something. He had no idea what.

  "Does that meet with your approval?"

  He glanced around the foyer and realized that her parents had departed. "Er, yes." Bloody hell, he hoped so, yet he couldn't think of anything she'd ask him to do that he'd deny her.

  One corner of her mouth quirked upward. "Where did you go? You seemed a thousand miles away."

  I was planting your arrogant father a facer and tossing your condescending mother into the hedges. "I was here. Just … preoccupied." He cleared his throat. "Do you plan to retire?"

  She gave him an odd look, one that made him wonder exactly what he'd missed while he was mentally planting that facer. "Yes. As soon as we're finished." She turned to Winslow, who was rearranging a group of walking sticks into a tall porcelain urn next to the door. "Has the ballroom been readied?"

  "Yes, Lady Julianne. It is just as you requested."

  "Excellent." She turned back to Gideon and offered him a shy smile. "Follow me."

  Bloody hell. He didn't know what awaited him in the ballroom, but when she looked at him like that, he'd follow her anywhere—a fact that simultaneously confounded and alarmed him. He gave a soft whistle, and Caesar followed, shadowed by Princess Buttercup, who wore what appeared to be a … tiny fur coat? Good God.

  He walked beside Julianne down a series of long corridors, painfully aware of her. Her shoulder brushed his sleeve, and his nostrils flared, pulling in a sharp breath, which only served to fill his head with a tantalizing whiff of her vanilla scent.

  She brushed against his shoulder again, and he barely refrained from groaning. He needed to take a quick look at whatever she wanted to show him, then send her off to bed. That way he'd know she was safe, and there would be a wall between them.

  Feeling the need to say something to break the tension gripping him, he said, "You're very … patient with your parents."

  Bloody hell. Certainly not the most diplomatic thing he could have uttered, but instead of appearing offended, she merely shrugged. "If you were to ask them, they are the ones who are patient with me. I'm a great trial to them, you see."

  "In what way?"

  She shot him a surprised sideways glance then leaned a bit closer, as if imparting a great secret. "I'm not a boy."

  His gaze involuntarily coasted down her luscious form. "Obviously. Why does that make you a trial?"

  Her brows shot up. "Because it renders me useless. I cannot inh
erit the title. Were I not so uncooperative, recalcitrant, and a trial, I would have been born what I was supposed to be: a male. Because I choose to be born a useless girl, Father's younger brother Harold will inherit, a fact that galls my father no end, especially as he detests Harold."

  The news that the earl didn't like his younger brother didn't surprise Gideon in the least. In fact, it led him to ask, "Does your father like anyone?"

  She pursed her lips and considered. "No, I don't think so. Certainly he doesn't like me. He barely tolerates Mother." She snapped her fingers. "His horse. He's very fond of Zeus."

  Even though she sounded very matter-of-fact, he sensed her underlying sadness, and sympathy tugged at him. He knew all too well what it felt like to be a grave disappointment to one's father. Of course, in Gideon's case, the feeling was mutual. And he suddenly realized that that was something he and Julianne had in common, for there was no doubt she was disheartened by her father's attitude. She'd accepted it, just as he had with Jack, but accepting something and being happy about it were two very different things.

  "Of course, there were times I was a trial." She shot him a sideways glanced filled with mischief. "Once, when I was ten, I had the audacity to go about in Brighton without my bonnet, resulting in a sunburn. Mother flew into the boughs, declaring my complexion ruined for eternity."

  He sent her a look of feigned shock. "You are indeed awful."

  "Yes. Although my retribution didn't do me much good."

  "What did you do?"

  "The next day I went to the beach and, while I kept my bonnet on, I removed my shoes and stockings and purposely allowed my feet to cook in the sun. I thought I was very clever—getting sunburned where Mother wouldn't see it." She chuckled softly. "I was quite done in my by own cunning when my skin ended up so tender I couldn't bear to wear shoes for the next three days." She gave him a rueful smile. "I'm afraid my private rebellion wasn't very successful."

  "Have you had others?"

  "Other what? Sunburns?"

  "Private rebellions."

  She shrugged. "A few here and there. Looking back, not as many as I wish I'd had. But over the past few months I've remedied that somewhat."