Seduced at Midnight

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