Seduced at Midnight

Chapter 6

Gideon sat in an obscure corner of Lord Gatesbourne's foyer and seriously contemplated kicking the elegant arse of the next man who walked through the oak double doors. Yes, kicking him-perhaps tossing in a punch or two for good measure-then flinging him on his bruised posterior into the privet hedges. Headfirst. He'd been waiting on this damned uncomfortable mahogany bench that was probably worth more than all his own furniture combined for over an hour. If he had any sense, he'd get up and leave rather than suffering the humiliation of-

Of what?his inner voice jeered. Waiting on a titled gentleman's schedule?

Hardly. He'd been doing that for years. Any man foolish enough to work among the rich knew the world revolved around their agenda.

Yet what had his every muscle tensed and his entire body on edge wasn't the lowly bench he'd been relegated to, leaving him with nothing to occupy his time save watching haughty gentlemen come and go, being escorted down the long corridor by the earl's perfectly proper butler, Winslow. No, it was the parade of nose-in-the-air aristocrats themselves that had him ready to commit mayhem. Because he knew exactly why they were here. Every one of the bastards was vying for Julianne's hand.

Lords Haverly and Beechmore had come and gone, as had Lords Penniwick and Walston, although none of them were granted the amount of time bestowed on the Duke of Eastling.

None of them had spared Gideon so much as a glance.

While watching His Grace accept his walking stick and top hat from Winslow, Gideon had noted the shadows beneath the duke's frigid pale blue eyes. The slightly gray cast to his complexion. The man didn't look well rested. Of course, one didn't get much sleep when one was busy lifting the skirts of the fine ladies of the ton.

Just then another man entered the foyer, and Gideon inwardly frowned as but yet another flash of jealousy burned through him-this one more intense than the others. What the bloody hell was Logan Jennsen doing here? Other than gobs of money, what made the American more suitable for Julianne than Gideon himself? Jennsen held no title, nor did blue blood run through his veins.

Gideon had first met Jennsen when he'd interviewed the American, along with dozens of others, in relation to the same murder investigation two months ago during which he'd first met Julianne. He'd instantly known that Jennsen had secrets. The sort of secrets a man didn't share. With anyone. Easy for Gideon to recognize that look in Jennsen's eyes-the same way he recognized it in his own, every time he looked in the mirror. Yet it seemed gobs of money-something Gideon certainly didn't have-could buy an audience with Julianne's father. Bloody hell.

"His lordship will see you now," the dour-faced butler said to the wealthy American.

"Thank you, Winslow," Jennsen replied.

Tucked away on his bench, Gideon watched Winslow lead Jennsen down the corridor. The butler returned to his post a moment later, not offering Gideon anything more than a frown-but one only tossed in his general direction. Normally Gideon would have been mildly amused by this obvious display of someone who worked for the haughty upper echelons behaving equally as haughty as his employer when faced with someone not of the peerage or great wealth. But not today. Not when he had to force himself to remain seated rather than stalk down the corridor, grab Jennsen by his fancy cravat, and demand to know his intentions toward Julianne.

Bloody hell, he felt as if steam were about to erupt from his pores. Had he thought that merely tossing these bastards on their arses was enough? Ha! What he needed was a sword. With a very sharp point. To hasten their retreat. Toward the Thames. Perhaps a dip in the cold water would cool their ardor. In that case, you'd best jump in with them, his inner voice murmured.

Damn bloody pesky inner voice.

But at least it had kept him, for several seconds, from thinking about her.

Julianne.

Her name wound through his mind, coiling around his brain. Indeed, he'd thought of nothing else but her all night. All morning. Every minute until he'd left his Bow Street office, during the long walk to Grosvenor Square-one he'd hoped would clear his head but had not. Her scent, her taste, the feel of her in his arms were tattooed upon his senses, etched so deeply he despaired of ever exorcising them. Bloody hell, how long would it take before he forgot that kiss?

Never, his inner voice whispered. You'll never forget it.

Stupid inner voice. He would forget it. He had to forget it. He knew damn well there was no point in hungering for things he couldn't have. And Lady Julianne was most definitely one of those things.

Still, his heart had beat ridiculously and annoyingly fast as he'd approached the mansion. Would she be at home? Would he see her?

He hadn't, and he firmly told himself he was glad. Yet that hadn't stopped him from listening for her voice, her footsteps, hoping for a glimpse of her every second he'd sat on this damned uncomfortable bench. Had Julianne visited with the gentlemen callers? Gideon clasped his hands between his spread knees, and with his forearms resting on his thighs, he leaned forward and stared at the glossy black-and-white marble tiled floor, as if it held the answer. In his mind's eye he imagined her, perched gracefully on some priceless antique settee, dazzling each man with her beauty. He visualized each man ogling her, looking into her extraordinary eyes, wanting her, touching her. His fingers tightened, and his jaw clenched. Bloody hell, he felt like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

Those extraordinary eyes…did she have any idea how expressive they were? The instant the thought filtered through his mind, sanity returned. Of course she knew. Women always knew that sort of thing and used their wiles to their advantage. Yet something told him she was different, screamed she was, especially after last night. Her eyes reflected a sadness, a vulnerability that in spite of his best efforts to ignore, reached inside him. There was nothing calculated in her demeanor, and God knows he'd known women whose every word, every gesture struck him as a devious move in some stealthy chess game. But not Julianne. No, she had an innocence about her that fascinated him. And scared him-because that fascination ran so very deep.

The sound of footfalls broke through his reverie, and he looked up to see Logan Jennsen stride into the foyer. To Gideon's surprise, rather than ignore him as had all the previous callers, the American made his way to the uncomfortable bench.

Gideon rose and accepted the hand Jennsen extended. "Mayne," Jennsen said, his gaze sharp but unreadable. "What brings you here? Another investigation? The murdering ghost robber perhaps?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. And you? Are you another suitor?" Gideon inwardly slapped himself. Damn it, he hadn't meant to ask, and certainly not so abruptly. Or in a tone that resembled a growl.

But Jennsen merely laughed. "God, no. I've no desire to take one of these overly delicate society maidens to wife."

An annoying, ridiculous, and completely inappropriate wave of relief washed over Gideon. Jennsen's gaze grew speculative, and he continued, "Although, now that you mention it, I must admit there is something about Lady Julianne. She is undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. And there's a sweetness about her yet also a determination."

Gideon's gut tightened in an unpleasant way that resembled a cramp. "Actually, I didn't mention it."

"I understand the Duke of Eastling's in the running. Along with a number of others." Jennsen lifted a brow. "Are you one of them?"

For several seconds, Gideon could only stare, nonplussed. "Hardly. A Runner could never aspire to an earl's daughter."

Jennsen shook his head. "Damn ridiculous, all these society rules and titles you Brits encumber yourselves with. Can't imagine being a slave to a pile-of-bricks estate and some foolish name." He flashed a grin. "Part of my American charm."

Gideon didn't bother to point out that Jennsen's "American charm" rendered him the only man to come through the foyer who'd deemed to talk to him. Although he sensed Jennsen had his own reasons for doing so. He doubted the man ever did anything without a good reason. But what could that reason be?

"There's no pile of bricks I'm enslaved to," Gideon said, "but a man's name is important-as is his honor-whether there's a title attached to it or not."

Something flickered in Jennsen's eyes, gone so fast Gideon wondered if he'd imagined it. "Agreed," Jennsen said. "So, how goes your investigation? Have you captured the culprit?"

"No. But it's only a matter of time. Criminals always give themselves away eventually. They make mistakes."

Was that another flicker in Jennsen's eyes? "And you find those mistakes."

It wasn't a question, and Gideon wished he knew what the man was thinking. "Yes. And I don't give up until I do."

Jennsen nodded slowly then said, "That's precisely the sort of skill and dogged attitude I'm looking for. I've a project in the works that requires some investigation. From what I've seen and heard, you're one of the best. Certainly you did an outstanding job with the murder investigation two months ago."

Gideon inclined his head in thanks. "What do you need?"

Jennsen shot a quick look at Winslow, who was occupied giving instructions to a footman. "Someone to make discreet inquiries," Jennsen said in an undertone. "A certain individual has approached me with a business venture. I've been unable to find any unsavory information on this man, and I'm certain there must be something."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because everyone has something… if you know what I mean."

Gideon nodded slowly. "Yes, I do."

"Would you be interested in looking into it for me? I'd make it worth your while."

"I'm a bit tied up right now with this recent rash of crimes-"

"I'm not in a rush." A smile that didn't reach his eyes curved Jennsen's lips. "I'm a patient man."

"In that case, yes. Who is this man you want information on?"

"Lord Beechmore. Before I seriously consider his proposition, I need to know more about him. Everything about him. Not surface information-I already have that."

"I understand. I'll look into it and let you know what I find."

"Excellent. I look forward to hearing from you."

"Jennsen, before you go…" Gideon slipped the snuffbox he'd found the previous evening from his pocket and held it out, carefully gauging Jennsen's reaction. "Would this be yours?"

Jennsen shook his head. "No. I don't partake of snuff. Nasty habit, if you ask me." Speculation glittered in his eyes. "Since you've asked me about it, the box clearly isn't yours. Where did you get it?"

Gideon debated whether to tell him, then decided it couldn't do any harm. "I found it beneath an open window during Daltry's party."

"May I?" Jennsen asked, holding out his hand. Gideon handed him the box, and Jennsen studied it more closely. "I've seen this piece. And recently. But at the moment I can't recall where or who had it." He handed it back to Gideon. "If I remember, I'll let you know."

After Jennsen departed, Winslow announced, "His lordship will see you now."

Gideon followed him down the corridor, his footfalls swallowed by the blue and gold patterned runner. Gilt-edged mirrors and fine paintings-some landscapes, some dour gentlemen who were no doubt Gatesbourne ancestors-lined the paneled walls. Fresh-cut flowers arranged in crystal vases dotted gleaming tables, their floral scent mixing with a hint of beeswax. Every inch oozed wealth and privilege.

Winslow announced him at the threshold to what he surmised was the earl's private study. Sunlight poured in from the bank of windows lining the far wall, highlighting the masculine mahogany and leather furniture, massive fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The Earl of Gatesbourne sat behind a highly polished desk, watching Gideon approach with all the enthusiasm one might bestow upon a large insect.

"What brings you here, Mayne?"

The curt greeting didn't surprise Gideon. People were rarely excited to receive a call from a Runner. With a negligent wave of his hand, the earl indicated the leather chair opposite the desk. After seating himself, Gideon told the earl the purpose of his visit.

When he finished, the scowling earl remained silent for several long seconds. Finally he said, "Quite frankly, I've never heard of anything so ridiculous as this nonsense about ghosts." He regarded Gideon through narrowed eyes that held not the slightest trace of warmth. Indeed, if Gideon had to describe the earl in a single word he'd choose frigid. Everything in his demeanor and tone bespoke of iciness.

"As for this outlandish tale my daughter told you last night and me this morning," the earl continued, "I can only conclude the foolish chit's imagination got the best of her. Just like a woman to blow something as simple as a branch scraping against a window all out of proportion."

Gideon's jaw clenched at the earl's disparaging tone and less than complimentary words about Julianne. They raised an overwhelming urge in Gideon to defend her-a surprise, as he'd questioned her story himself. And because he himself had thought her foolish last night for venturing into the garden alone. Foolish… and achingly desirable.

Yes, if he had to describe Julianne in just one word, that word would be desirable. And foolish would be reserved for him. Or perhaps idiotic was more apt, for giving in to his craving to kiss her, to touch her had surely been the height of idiocy.

"I've instructed my groundskeeper to trim the branches around Julianne's windows so there won't be any further disturbances tonight as there were the last two nights."

The earl's voice roused Gideon from his brown study and he frowned. "Last two nights? Lady Julianne heard the moaning sounds again last night?"

"She heard the wind. For the last two nights. I assure you she won't hear the sounds again tonight."

Something in the man's tone set off warning chimes in Gideon's mind, and his fingers involuntarily clenched. He was well acquainted with men like the earl. Men who ruled by intimidation. Gideon certainly recognized a bully when he saw one. But he was long past being intimidated by anyone's father.

"While I don't believe in ghosts, given the recent rash of crimes, I think Lady Julianne's claims bear investigating," Gideon said, keeping his tone even and his expression carefully blank-talents honed from years of practice.

Another layer of ice glazed over the earl's eyes. "Nothing is missing from my home. I was not robbed; no one in my household was murdered. There is no proof of an intruder outside of my daughter's frivolous imagination. She should not have mentioned her outlandish story to you. I assure you she won't make such an error again."

Gideon's shoulders tensed. He didn't know how the earl planned to assure that Julianne didn't make such an error again, but he did know that all his protective instincts were on alert. "Perhaps you weren't robbed, but I believe this so-called ghost meant to burgle Lord Daltry last night." After telling the earl about the opened window at last night's soiree, he said, "I checked the area outside Lord Daltry's home early this morning. There were footprints in the flower bed beneath the window. Someone had tried to gain entry. The window, however, had not been opened after I'd jammed it closed. I interviewed Lord Daltry's entire staff this morning. Except for one footman who believes he saw a shadowy figure leaving the garden about an hour after the party ended, no one saw or heard anything."

"So Daltry wasn't robbed, and no one was hurt."

"No. Not yet."

"And neither was I robbed."

"No. Not yet."

"Nor do I intend to be."

"An excellent sentiment, one I applaud. However, the so-called ghost criminal may have other ideas."

The earl pushed his leather chair back from his polished mahogany desk and stood. "My home is secure, and there is no proof that anyone attempted to gain entry. There is nothing here to investigate, Mr. Mayne-"

A knock cut off his curt dismissal. Shooting a dark scowl toward the door, the earl said, "Come in."

The door opened, and Lady Julianne crossed the threshold. And it felt to Gideon as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

Bloody hell, she literally stole his breath. She wore a high-waisted blue gown that exactly matched her incredible eyes. The garment, although modest, hinted at lush feminine curves. Golden hair framed her beautiful face, the glossy curls upswept except for the artful tendrils that curved next to her cheeks and along her slender neck. Caught in a ray of sunshine, she looked like an angel.

His gaze settled for several seconds on her mouth… on those lush lips that had parted so eagerly beneath his. Lips he now knew were pillowy soft. And warm. And tasted like vanilla. He felt a sudden urge to squirm and forced his gaze upward, where it collided with hers.

Although he did his damnedest to conceal the flare of desire that ignited in him every time he looked at her, he wasn't certain he succeeded, especially after a scarlet flush washed over her cheeks.

"Did you come to stand mutely in the doorway, Julianne, or is there some reason why you've seen fit to interrupt my meeting?" There was no missing the annoyed chill in the earl's words. Gideon watched her attention jump to her father. She moistened her lips in an unmistakably nervous gesture then ventured several hesitant steps into the room.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Father, but I wished to speak to both you and Mr. Mayne. Regarding this." She drew what appeared to be a bracing breath then crossed the rug, her steps more confident, and held out a dirty piece of vellum to her father.

"What is it?" the earl asked in an impatient tone.

"A note. I found it on my bedchamber floor just inside the door-as if someone had slid it underneath."

"And why would either I or Mr. Mayne find that of any interest?"

"Because the note is… odd."

"What does it say, Lady Julianne?" Gideon asked.

"It says-"

Before she could say, the earl snatched the missive from her and snapped it open. Then he frowned. "What the devil does this mean?"

"May I?" Gideon asked, holding out his hand.

The earl thrust the note at him. Gideon looked down at the crudely printed, misspelled words. "Yor next." He raised his gaze to Lady Julianne. "When did you find this?"

"Just a few minutes ago."

"How long since you'd been in your bedchamber?"

She considered then answered, "At least two hours."

"You're certain the note wasn't there earlier?"

"Positive. I saw it as soon as I opened the door. I would have noticed the pale paper against the dark wood floor if it had been there earlier."

"Do you recognize the handwriting?"

"No."

"Have you ever received a missive such as this before?"

She shook her head. "No."

The earl cleared his throat. "Clearly it was written by someone nearly illiterate. Probably one of the servants dropped it and it was kicked beneath the door."

Gideon raised his brows. "That's an abundance of coincidences, my lord. And I must tell you: I cast a very suspicious eye on coincidences."

The earl favored him with a cold stare. "Then what are you suggesting, Mayne?"

"I'm suggesting that your staff be questioned. Because if one of them didn't coincidentally drop this note, which then coincidentally found its way beneath Lady Julianne's bedchamber door, then we must consider that it's exactly what it appears to be." His insides tightened, and he had to force out the words. "A threat against Lady Julianne. Made by someone who was or still is inside your home."