Seduced at Midnight

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.

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.

'Well, my lady?'

His warm breath touched her cheek, igniting her skin. Answer… she needed to answer him. Before he concluded she was a bird-witted mute. She searched her mind for something to say and grasped at the first thing that entered her brain.

'The ghost.' The two words exploded from her mouth like twin pistol shots. 'I… I wish to discuss the ghost with you.' She barely swallowed the horrified ack that rose in her throat. Dear God, what was she saying?

'What ghost?'

Botheration, now that she'd embarked upon this perfidious path, there was no turning back. 'The one I u C. '1emnderstand you're trying to find.'

'You mean the murdering thief I will find.'

'Er, yes.'

'What about him?'

Yes, Julianne, what about him?her inner voice taunted. 'Well, I, um… believe he tried to rob my household.'

Another horror-stricken ack vibrated in her throat. Good God almighty, her mouth had totally run amok. It was as if she had no control over her own words. Her lips parted, and lies spewed forth like steam from a boiling kettle.

His gaze narrowed. 'When?'

I haven't the faintest idea. 'Last night.'

'What happened?'

I lay alone in my bed. And thought of you. 'I…I was awakened by strange groaning sounds.'

'Did anyone else in the household hear them?'

'Not that anyone said.' That much at least was true.

'Did you report these noises to your father?'

'No.' As he seemed more interested than suspicious, she warmed to her fabrication and improvised, 'I'd assumed what I heard was the wind and actually didn't think of it again until…' just now. 'Until I read the story about Mrs. Greeley this morning in the Times. I checked our valuables and found nothing missing.'

He was silent for several seconds, tiny spaces of time during which she wondered if he could smell the stench of her lies rising from her skin like a noxious cloud.

'What made you decide that the sounds you heard weren't actually the wind?' he asked.

The question felt like a bottomless chasm yawning in front of her. One misstep on her part, and she'd fall into the depths of hell-and he'd realize she was lying faster than a horse could trot.

After considering for several seconds, she said, 'Upon reflection, I realized that the sounds came from the direction of the corridor rather than outside.'

'Did you enter the corridor to investigate?'

Good heavens, the man was full of questions. Not wishing him to picture her cowering beneath her covers like a molly-coddled milksop, she raised her chin and said, 'Of course I investigated. I'm not a coward.'

'I see,' he said, his tone so dry it was clear he didn't believe her claim-which only served to irk her and make her want to prove him wrong. 'Was anyone in the corridor?'

'No.'

'What if there had been?' He leaned a bit closer, and she drew in a sharp breath. Dear God, he was so… large. Broad. Tall. Had the sun been out, his sheer size would have cast her in a shadow. 'What if you'd happened upon the murdering ghost robber absconding with your jewels?' he whispered close to her ear.

Heat sizzled through her, and she had to swallow to find her voice. 'I… I would have screamed. Coshed him with my candlestick. As I said, I'm not a coward.'

'Brave words from a brave woman. What if he'd coshed you first?'

Unlikely, as I'd have swooned at the first sight of him. 'Unlikely as I'd have… stabbed him first with my embroidery scissors.' Yes. That's what a brave woman would have done.

'Oh? Like you did to me?'

'Naturally I don't carry my embroidery scissors to formal gatherings.'

'But you carry them in your nightclothes?'

Blast. He had a point. Thinking quickly she fabricated, 'Except for formal occasions, I always carry embroidery scissors. I leave them on my night table before retiring. When I heard the noises, I slipped them into my robe's pocket.'

'How resourceful, although I feel it my duty to inform you that such a puny weapon, yielded by such a pu-petite woman, would prove little or no use against a man. Especially one who caught