Seduced at Midnight

door.

Loud guffaws, ribald singing, and the sound of a fiddle spilled out, along with a haze of smoke and the scent of sausage and cooked cabbage. Two months might have passed, but nothing had changed. Booths lined the outer walls, and wooden benches set in front of long, pockmarked tables ran the length of the room.

He made his way through the dimly lit interior, Caesar at his heels, nodding greetings to a few men he knew, returning the glares of several he didn't. When he reached the well-worn bar, he chose an empty stool in the corner that afforded him a good view of the room and put the wall at his back. Caesar settled himself at Gideon's feet.

'Well, look wot the storm blew in.'

Gideon turned and found himself the subject of a narrow-eyed stare from Luther, the giant of a barkeep who polished a thick glass mug with the corner of his apron. The dim light reflected off Luther's shiny bald head and glinted on the small gold hoop in his earlobe. The tattoo of a rose decorated a beefy forearm. In spite of standing behind the bar, he still looked very much like the brawny sailor he once was. 'Thought mayhap ye'd died and hadn't bothered to tell me.'

'Couldn't very well tell you if I had.'

Luther considered that, then nodded. 'I suppose not. What'll ye have? Yer usual nip o' ale?'

'Whiskey.'

Luther made no comment, and seconds later his ham-sized hand set down two glasses in front of Gideon. 'I'll join ye,' Luther said, pouring a generous shot of amber liquid into each glass. When he finished, he picked up his glass and raised it. 'Here's to ye still bein' alive.'

Gideon raised his glass. 'And you as well.'

'Thank ye.'

Gideon tossed back the potent liquor in a single gulp then closed his eyes against the scrape of rough fire that burned its way down his throat. When he opened his eyes, Luther was setting down his empty glass and staring at Gideon with a speculative expression.

'Can't recall I've ever seen ye drink whiskey,' Luther said.

'I rarely do,' Gideon said. 'Probably because it tastes so foul.' A shudder ran through him. 'Jesus. I think my guts are melting.'

Luther gave a bark of laughter. 'Probably are. Best whiskey in London right here.' Then Luther sobered and rested his massive forearms on the bar and leaned forward. 'Ain't right that ye stayed away so long, Gideon. Ain't no way to treat a friend.'

Gideon met his gaze and gave a tight nod. 'You're right. I'm sorry.'

Luther nodded his acceptance then flashed a grin. 'Especially a friend who's so much bigger than you.'

Gideon allowed himself to grin back. Gideon stood several inches over six feet, but Luther was still a half a head taller and probably a good four stones heavier. 'I could squash ye like a spider,' Luther said, grinning.

'You'd have to catch me first.'

'That'd be a problem,' Luther agreed, shooting his left leg a rueful expression. A wound sustained in a knife fight on the docks had ended Luther's seafaring ways. 'Speedy bastard, ye are.'

'It's what keeps me from getting squashed like a spider.'

Luther poured them each another whiskey. After Gideon had taken a swig-a much smaller one than last time, although it most likely didn't matter as his insides had already corroded-Luther said, 'Interestin' that ye'd stop in tonight.'

'Why's that?'

'Someone were here earlier askin' about ye.'

'Oh? Who?'

'Gave the name o' Jack Mayne. Said he were yer father.' Gideon's hand froze halfway to his mouth, and his fingers tightened on the glass. An unpleasant cramp seized his insides.

Luther leaned in a bit farther. 'Thought I recalled ye once sayin' yer father were dead.'

'He is.' Gideon slowly lowered his hand but continued to grip the glass. 'At least as far as I'm concerned.'

Understanding dawned in Luther's dark eyes, and he nodded. 'Know a few blokes like that meself.'

'What did he look like?' Maybe, just maybe, it hadn't really been Jack Mayne.

Luther considered for several seconds. 'Like you around the eyes. Rough. Haggard. Had a jagged lookin' scar here.' Luther pointed to his own chin.

Bloody hell. That was Jack Mayne. The fact that he and his light fingers were back in London didn't bode well for the fine citizens who valued their possessions. 'What did you tell him?'

'That I hadn't seen ye in weeks and weren't expectin' to.'

'He say anything else?'

'Just to let ye know he were lookin' for ye should ye come in.'

Gideon nodded slowly and took another sip of whiskey. Jack must be in dire circumstances to seek out his son. Their last parting four years ago hadn't been pleasant. If they were unfortunate enough to run into each other now, Gideon knew it wouldn't be any more pleasant. He didn't want to throw his own father in Newgate, but unless Jack Mayne had turned over a new leaf-which he very much doubted-he suspected it might come to that. And if Gideon himself didn't do it, one of the other Runners would. For as crafty as Jack Mayne was, someday he'd get caught.

Luther moved down the bar to service other customers, and Gideon cradled his drink between his hands and stared into the amber liquid. Memories he'd refused to let surface pushed at him, but he ruthlessly shoved them aside. After years of practice, he was good at suppressing the unpleasant recollections. Besides, there were other things to think about. Like the reason he'd come here tonight.

When Luther returned, Gideon gave the tavern a look-over then asked casually, 'Where's Maggie?'

'She ain't workin' tonight. Off to Vauxhall with some bloke she met a few weeks back. Seems a decent sort.' Luther picked up another glass to polish. 'She the reason ye're here tonight?'

Yes. No. Bloody hell, he didn't know. 'I was just wondering where she was.'

'And now ye know.' Luther shot him a speculative look. 'Don't think she'd a- taken' up with this other bloke 'cept she got tired of waitin' for you. I wager she'd come runnin' back if ye so much as crooked yer little finger.'

Gideon didn't respond. He knew Luther was correct. Maggie Price had made it clear from the first time she met Gideon six months ago-on her first night working at the tavern-that she'd like to serve him more than drinks. And on several occasions she had-when Gideon's work-consumed, solitary existence had proven too lonely for even him.

He liked that she didn't ask a lot of questions and didn't make any demands on him. She didn't like to talk about her past, which was fine with him, because he didn't like to talk about his. He'd even been tossing around the idea of maybe pursuing something a bit more frequent between them than the occasional roll in the hay.

And then he'd met Julianne. And all thoughts of any woman besides her had fled. His mind knew how bloody ridiculous that was, but try as he might, he couldn't change it. Since he didn't have any logical excuse for not bedding Maggie, he stayed away. He knew she wouldn't have denied him, but she deserved better than to be a stand-in for another woman. She deserved a man who would care for her. For a brief moment he'd thought he might be that man. They got on well together. They pleased each other in bed. He didn't love her, but he liked her. Wasn't that enough?

Given how he'd stayed away and barely thought of her since meeting Julianne, he guessed not.