Seduced at Midnight

you unawares.'

The silky timbre of his voice wasn't lost upon her, nor was his nearly calling her puny. Clearly the man was making sport of her. And clearly he didn't believe she was brave. You aren't brave, her annoyingly honest inner voice informed her.

Very well, she wasn't brave. At all. Never had been. Indeed, the bravest thing she'd ever done was follow him into this garden, and look how that had turned out. Obviously she was far from the adventurous, confident woman she longed to be. Her one chance for an adventure, and she'd mucked it up and made a total fool out of herself.

To her horror, her bottom lip trembled. She bit down on it, hard, and blinked back the tears threatening to flood her eyes. Yes, her first adventure had proven naught but a lie-filled calamity. He obviously thought her a foolish, senseless chit, and at the moment she felt like one. Anger-at herself for not listening to her common sense and for starting this crescendo of falsehoods-filtered through her with disheartening humiliation. It was time to abandon this disastrous outing and return to the party. Before she made an even bigger bird-wit of herself.

Before she could move, however, he continued, 'Do you know what I think?'

That I'm a liar. And a fool. And you're correct. Some modicum of her shredded pride made her hike up her chin a notch. 'No, but based on your tone, I'm certain you're going to tell me.'

'I think you'd have swooned at the first sight of an intruder and would have lain on the floor until one of the maids happened by and saw you.'

How annoying that he was most likely correct. But she wasn't about to confirm his suspicions. And what was one more lie at this point?

Stretching up to her full height, she said in her iciest tone, 'You clearly don't know me as well as you believe, Mr. Mayne. However, if your scenario were correct-and I assure you it is not-then I can only surmise a doctor would have been summoned, and at this very moment I'd be nestled in my bed, rather than here, listening to you laugh at me.'

'Assuming the intruder hadn't killed you.'

'Yes. Now, if you'll excuse me…'

She made to push away from the tree but found herself caged in when he slapped his other hand on the massive trunk next to her head. 'So the rose has thorns,' he murmured. 'Interesting.' Then he shook his head. 'I wasn't laughing.'

'You most certainly were.'

'Then I can only deduce you don't know what laughter sounds like.'

'I most certainly do, although I have to wonder if you do. Has anyone ever told you you're very dour?'

Although his expression didn't change, she sensed his surprise at her boldness. Indeed, she surprised herself. But since he already held her in such low regard, she at least could regain some respect for herself by standing up to him.

'Dour? No one who's lived to repeat the sentiment. Has anyone ever told you you're a spoiled princess?'

His question instantly deflated her, draining her momentary bravado. Of course he would think so. He'd only see what everyone else saw. He wouldn't see the daring adventuress lurking beneath the surface who desperately longed to break free from the constraints of her position in society and soar from her gilded prison. He wouldn't perceive the urgency that had driven her to enter the garden or the courage it had taken for her to walk alone into the darkness.

Feeling utterly defeated and suddenly exhausted, she said quietly, 'Yes, I've been told I'm a spoiled princess. Actually, it is but one of several similar endearments I'm subjected to every day.' Again she made to push from the tree, and again he stopped her, this time by shifting closer. Now no more than six inches separated them.

She leaned her head against the rough bark and looked up at him. She couldn't decipher his expression, but it was clear he wasn't happy.

'You shouldn't have come out here.' His voice resembled a growl.

'Yes. That is obvious.'

His gaze bored into hers with a heated intensity that burned her from the inside out. Dear God, the way he was looking at her… as if he were a starving beast and she was a tasty morsel he'd happened upon. And the way he made her feel… as if she were gasping for air and he was the last bit of oxygen on earth.

Holding her breath, she stood in an aching jumble of desperate want, need, apprehension, and anticipation, unable to move, waiting to see what he'd do next.

Just when she thought his hot scrutiny would incinerate her where she stood, his gaze shifted to study each of her features. When he came to her mouth, he lingered for several breath-stealing seconds before slowly raising his gaze back to hers.

'You should return to the house.'

Julianne had to swallow twice to locate her voice. 'Yes,' she whispered.

She should return. She knew it. But apparently her feet did not, as they remained firmly rooted in place. Perhaps she might possibly have convinced her feet to move, but then he lifted one hand from the tree trunk and touched a single fingertip to her cheek. And the only thing fleeing the garden were any thoughts of her leaving.

His finger followed the same path his gaze had just traveled, painting featherlight strokes over her face. The tip of his finger was hard. Blunt. Calloused. Yet infinitely gentle.

She watched him as he touched her, noting the avid way his gaze followed his finger. The muscle that ticked in his square jaw. With his finger lightly circling the outer curve of her ear-a bit of skin she'd had no idea was so sensitive-he leaned in. Brushed his cheek against her hair.

In an agony of anticipation, Julianne remained perfectly still, terrified that if she so much as breathed, he would stop. End this wondrous adventure. She heard him take a slow, deep breath, one he released in a ragged stream of warmth against her temple.

'Delicious,' he muttered. 'Bloody hell, I knew you'd smell delicious.' The last words ended on a low groan. 'What is that scent?'

How could he possibly expect her to answer questions? With an effort, she managed to say, 'Vanilla. It…it's my favorite flavor, so I commissioned a perfumer on Bond Street to make it into a fragrance for me.'

He pulled in another deep breath. 'You smell like the bakeshop: warm, sweet, scrumptious.' His lips brushed over her hair, and he groaned again. 'You really need to go back, Julianne. Now.'

The intimacy of that gravelly voice saying her name, without the formal use of her title, touched something deep inside her. She could no more have left the garden at that moment than she could have held back the tide. She'd longed for a moment like this, and nothing her common sense or conscience screamed at her could deter her.

'No,' she whispered. 'Not now.'

'Don't say you weren't warned.'

Perhaps she'd been warned, but she certainly wasn't prepared. For nothing could have readied her for the onslaught of his mouth capturing hers. With a hunger beyond anything even her darkest imaginings could have conjured. His tongue swept along the seam of her lips, demanding entrance, and with a gasp of shocking pleasure, she complied.

The delicious friction of his tongue tangling with hers rendered her light-headed. She'd read of such intimacies, most recently in The Ghost of Devonshire Manor, had imagined such a kiss, but the reality… the reality yanked her from her moorings, setting her adrift on a stormy sea of sensation, battering her from all sides.

Heart pounding, knees shaking, she opened her mouth wider, desperate to taste