Seduced at Midnight

against me. Surely Lady Ratherstone and Mrs. Greeley were killed because they came upon the thief during the commission of the robbery.'

'I considered that both women would still be alive if they hadn't happened upon the thief; however, it's just as likely-more so in my opinion-that the ladies both knew their killer. That that's how he gained entry into their homes. And were killed for their trouble. Therefore I think it's rather odd for the robber to give warning to his next victim. To afford your family the time and opportunity to take precautions against an imminent theft.'

Julianne frowned. Botheration. Perhaps she'd overplayed her hand. Still, she hadn't asked Johnny to leave the note; the enterprising young man had done that on his own. How could she have known that by hiring the coal porter to make ghostly noises he'd improvise in such a way?

Of course, she could have just ignored his note. Slipped it into her pocket and pretended she hadn't seen it rather than bringing it to her father's and Gideon's attention. But at the time it had seemed the most expeditious way to accomplish her goal-to make her ghost story real enough to convince both her father and Gideon. So that Gideon would investigate. Thus enabling her to spend time with him. It had all seemed perfectly plausible, but now, with Johnny acting on his own without consulting her… she needed to tread carefully so as not to trip into the dark abyss of her own lies.

She cleared her throat. 'Yes, a robber giving his victim warning does seem a bit odd, although it's no secret my parents are hosting a ball next week. More than two hundred guests are expected.'

'In Lady Ratherstone's case, precisely the sort of occasion after which the criminal struck.'

'Perhaps our would-be thief isn't concerned, because he truly is a ghost.'

'I'm afraid I don't share your belief in the fanciful. A real, live person left that note in your bedchamber.' He leaned toward her just a bit, but it was enough to make her forget how to breathe for several seconds. Not only because of his nearness but due to the unsettling sensation that he could somehow see directly into her soul. Discern each and every one of her falsehoods. 'Make no mistake-I will find out who's responsible.'

She prayed she didn't sound as breathless as she felt. 'Excellent. Yet so far your only suspects are servants who have been loyal to my family for years and esteemed members of society seeking my hand in marriage.' She cocked a brow. 'Are you always so suspicious?'

'Yes. It's the only reason I'm still alive.' He moved a step closer to her. Now only two feet separated them. She could see the fine grain of his clean-shaven jaw, skin her fingers itched to explore.

'Everyone lies, Lady Julianne,' he said softly, and she found herself nearly lulled into a trance by the movement of his lips.

Pulling her gaze back to his eyes, she asked, 'Even you, Mr. Mayne?'

'Everyone, Lady Julianne.' Before she could think up a reply, he lifted his hand. And she stared.

Dangling from the end of one long finger were her embroidery scissors. She blinked, and her hand flew to the pocket in her gown. Her empty pocket.

'How did you-?'

'Everyone,' he repeated softly. 'Although it appears your claim that you carry embroidery scissors was truthful.'

'Of course it was.' There was no need for him to know that she'd developed her long-standing scissor-carrying habit only that morning. Adopting a very put-upon air, she held out her hand.

'Everyone has secrets,' he said, setting the small gold scissors in her palm. His calloused fingertips brushed her skin, and she pulled in a quick breath at the contact. 'Facets of ourselves we don't share with anyone else.'

She couldn't refute his words, as she'd never shared her inner longings with anyone, not even her closest friends. She'd never heard anyone voice such an opinion, and it prompted her to say, 'It's as if there are different people inside us… people known only to ourselves.'

'Yes.' He inclined his head and studied her. 'Who are those different people inside you, Lady Julianne?'

Daring, adventurous women. Who want to know all about you. Who want to touch you. Kiss you. Who want to feel again the magic you made me feel last night. 'No one you would recognize, I'm sure. Who are the people inside you?'

Something flickered in his eyes, then a curtain seemed to fall over his features. 'No one you would care to know.'

She shook her head. 'I disagree. I think you're-' She pressed her lips together to cut off her words. Before she admitted too much. Allowed him to see just how intriguing and compelling she found him.

He leaned forward and set his hands on the pianoforte on either side of her. 'You think I'm… what?'

Fascinating. She could feel the heat emanating from his body. She drew in a deep breath, and his clean scent flooded her senses. It was all she could do not to arch her back and curve into him. 'I… I think you're… wrong. I'd like to know about the people inside you.'

'Indeed? Now why would a purebred princess like you want to know about a mutt like me?'

Princess. A flash of annoyance tempered her rapid heartbeat. 'I'm a student of human nature; I enjoy studying people.' She gave the mere foot of space between their bodies a pointed look. 'You have a habit of caging me in, Mr. Mayne.'

'You have a habit of allowing yourself to get trapped, Lady Julianne.'

Botheration. Had she just thought him fascinating? 'Has anyone ever told you you're quite irritating?'

To her further annoyance, his lips twitched with clear amusement. 'No one who's ever lived to repeat the sentiment.'

Recalling that they'd shared a similar exchange last evening, Julianne's own lips threatened to curve upward. Instead, she adopted a stern expression. 'Then allow me to be the first. You're quite irritating.'

'You don't fear my reprisal?'

'Not at all. Do your worst.'

His eyes seemed to darken. 'So… the porcupine has quills. Interesting.'

A half-dismayed, half-amused sound escaped her. 'Porcupine? That's hardly flattering. I much prefer your 'rose has thorns' analogy of last evening. Do you have any idea what a porcupine looks like?'

'Of course. There's one painted on the sign leading to the Drunken Porcupine pub. I pass it every day on my way to Bow Street.'

'And this is what I remind you of? The Drunken Porcupine? '

'Yes. Well, except that you're not drunk. At least I don't think so…' He leaned forward, brushing his cheek against hers, and drew in a slow, deep breath, effectively stalling her own. Then he leaned slowly back. 'You smell like dessert, not spirits. Definitely not drunk.'

Perhaps not. But dear God, she felt intoxicated. 'That's not very… complimentary.'

'You think not? I actually meant it as one.'

'Indeed? It's not one I've ever heard before.'

'Then perhaps you'll remember it. I'm certain you don't need another man to tell you you're beautiful.'

In spite of herself, her lips twitched. 'I'm certain I don't need another man to tell me I remind him of a drunken porcupine.'