Seduced at Midnight

But if he were foolish enough to let himself feel more for her… to care for her… to allow her to scale the walls he'd built around his heart… well, then, he'd be cast adrift on stormy seas without so much as a rowboat in sight.

His anger drained away, leaving him with nothing save a deep, aching want. One that would have to go unsatisfied.

'I have very little time left before my marriage, and I don't wish to spend it in morose reflection or consumed with sadness. I want to do something. Toward that end, won't you please teach me a bawdy song? If you do, I'll teach you something in return.'

He should have flatly refused. But once again his lips had a mind of their own and asked, 'Such as?'

A hint of mischief touched her eyes. 'Embroidery?'

'Not very useful on Bow Street, I'm afraid.'

'Ah. Then how about fisticuffs?'

'And what do you know about fisticuffs?'

'Absolutely nothing. So I'm afraid that won't do.' She tapped her finger against her chin and frowned. Then brightened. 'I could teach you to play a song on the pianoforte.'

'I'm afraid my hands are too clumsy.'

'Nonsense. I'll teach you a simple song. About flowers and sunshine and grass- filled meadows.' She held out her hand. 'Do we have a bargain, Mr. Mayne?'

He knew he should say no. Tell her to just read or sit in the corner. But damn it, he suddenly wanted to teach her a bawdy song. Watch her cheeks turn scarlet and that unexpected impudence to shine in her eyes. As she'd said, only a short time remained before she'd be married and gone. Why not make that time as pleasant as possible for her? Otherwise he'd feel as if he were just tossing more dirt on the glass coffin in which she'd dreamed of herself confined. He could control himself. He would control himself.

Reaching out, he took her hand and shook it. And firmly ignored the jolt of heat that shot up his arm.

'You have a bargain, Lady Julianne. Let the lessons begin.'

Chapter 15

'If I'm to learn the melody, you'll need to at least hum it,' Julianne said, resting her fingers on the smooth ivory keys.

She looked up at Gideon from her seat on the piano bench. There was no doubt in her mind that the only reason he'd agreed to teach her a bawdy song was to distract her thoughts from the murders. For which she was grateful. Except that his consideration only made her admire him more. Which only made her want him more.

As had his story about the woman he'd planned to marry. The woman who'd been lucky enough to be loved by Gideon. And whom he'd so tragically lost. Whose death he'd heroically avenged. He'd shared a piece of himself she was certain he normally didn't allow people to see. Which did nothing to calm the maelstrom of emotions he evoked in her.

Which unfortunately was not good.

At the moment, however, she found herself suppressing a grin. Goodness, he did not look happy. He stood beside her, one large hand resting on the polished wood, scowling at the keys so fiercely she was surprised they didn't yell eek!and hop off the instrument and run away.

'Bow Street Runners don't hum,' he informed her.

'I'm certain they do if they don't know the words.'

'I know the words.'

'Very well, if they're too afraid to sing the words.'

His scowl deepened, and she had to bite the insides of her cheeks to refrain from laughing. 'I'm not afraid. I'm being considerate. Of your ears.'

'My ears are made of very stern stuff, I assure you.' She lifted an eyebrow. 'Are you reneging on our agreement?'

'No.'

'Excellent. Besides, I don't see what you're so worried about. It's just a song. Indeed, I wonder if you've told me a Banbury tale. I don't see how a tune entitled 'Apple Dumplin' Shop' can be considered bawdy.'

A glint she could only describe as devilish entered his eyes, and she caught her breath. Dear God, how was she going to refrain from begging this man to kiss her again? To touch her. To put his hands and his mouth on her. To make her feel as he had last night. She didn't want to tempt him-or beg him-to compromise his honor.

Did she?

God help her, she didn't know. She'd known he was honorable the first time she'd met him, and she deeply admired him for it. But she desperately wanted more of the intimacies they'd shared. Being this close to him and not touching him was torture. But if she forced him into a situation that impinged on his honor, he might leave. And that would be an even worse torture. He was here. She'd enjoy his company-especially the company of this entertaining, teasing man she found utterly captivating. And that would have to be enough.

'Clearly you don't know what an apple dumplin' shop is, Princess.'

She looked toward the ceiling. 'It's a place where apple dumplings are sold, of course.'

'Maybe in your upper-crust world. But in the less fashionable sections of London, it's a woman's…' his gaze drifted slowly down to her chest, lingered for several seconds, then moved back up again. 'Bosom.'

Heat suffused Julianne, and her nipples hardened into tight peaks.

'Is that bawdy enough for you?' he asked, a hint of amusement lurking in his voice.

'Yes, that will do nicely,' she replied in her most prudish voice. 'Do you intend to sing it, or must I guess at the words?'

He raised a dark brow. 'Has anyone ever told you you're impudent?'

'Has anyone ever told you you're impossible?'

'No.'

'Fine. I shall stand alone in my opinion. Now sing.'

'Fine.' He cleared his throat then began, 'Down went my hand in her bodice top, to visit her sweet apple dumpin' shop-'

His rendition was cut off by a mournful howl from the doorway. Julianne smothered a laugh and watched him shoot a glare at Caesar, whose doleful bay tapered off into silence.

'As if you could do better,' he muttered to the dog. He then cleared his throat and continued, 'Her apples were so plump and merry, and on the top there was a cherry-'

Another deep, mournful howl, this one accompanied by a high-pitched one courtesy of Princess Buttercup, cut off his song. He shot the dogs a scowl surely meant to send them both slinking from the room with their tails between their legs. But instead their tails wagged as they clearly thought this was a grand game. Julianne covered her mouth with her hand to contain her merriment and his gaze snapped to her.

'Are you laughing?' he asked, sounding more than a little threatening.

'Certainly not,' she said with as much dignity as she could muster, considering her insides were quivering with suppressed mirth. 'I'm merely wondering how a woman's breast could be 'merry.''