Seduced at Midnight

ghost caught his attention. It seemed Lady Julianne and her friends thought they knew a ghost named Gregory? He situated his ear closer to the crack. And barely refrained from looking toward the ceiling. Good God, 'twas clear one of their friends, this Lady Elaine, had performed some sort of seance and conjured herself a ghostly lover and now Lady Julianne and her friends were taken with the idea. Only instead, they wished to summon the ghost criminal and solve the crimes everyone was talking about. Bloody ridiculous. He was half tempted to appear at their seance and-

'Are you all right, Julianne?'

Gideon recognized Lady Surbrooke's voice, and he strained to hear the reply. When he did, his entire body tensed. Eastling? Lady Julianne's father would entertain an offer from that bastard? An image flashed through Gideon's mind… of the duke bending Lady Julianne over a leather settee as he had Lady Daltry. His fingers gripping Julianne's bare flesh. Thrusting between her legs.

A red haze seemed to dull his vision. The thought of that reprobate touching her… He clenched his jaw and tried to banish the image. And succeeded-only to have it replaced with one of himself. Bending Lady Julianne over a settee. Thrusting into her.

Bloody hell.

He continued to listen, his tension mounting as her friends named a veritable stable of purebred lords who would make an acceptable match for Lady Julianne. Haverly? Good God, the man was nothing but a bald bore. As for Penniwick, Gideon considered it a testament to his self-control that he hadn't poked out the viscount's eyeballs after the way he'd ogled Lady Julianne's breasts while they'd danced. Beechmore wasn't shy; he was a cold, aloof bastard with a nasty temper.

As for Jennsen, Gideon suspected there was much more to the man than he presented to the world. And he found himself greatly relieved when Julianne said her father wouldn't consider a commoner. Somehow the thought of Julianne with Jennsen-a powerful man who women obviously found attractive- suffused him an uncomfortable sensation that felt like a cramp. As for Walston-his lips twitched when he heard Julianne's 'dry' assessment.

'Your interest lies in a different man. One we haven't mentioned… who is it?'

Gideon strained to hear Lady Julianne's reply. She denied there was another man, but he suspected from her hesitation and her voice that she wasn't being truthful.

So there was someone she desired. Obviously one of those fancy-pants titled bastards. An odd sensation invaded his chest. One that felt like a toxic mixture of envy and yearning and jealousy.

'We'd best return to the party…'

The words broke through the fog that had engulfed him. He quickly closed the door, then froze as he heard it click into place. A soft, barely audible sound, but one that seemed to him to reverberate off the walls.

Had the ladies within heard it?

'Did you hear that?' came Lady Julianne's voice.

Damn it all to hell and back again. Cursing his uncharacteristic carelessness, he looked for the nearest escape. With the second door out of the question thanks to the duke and Lady Daltry, and the first too far away, he dashed toward the fourth door and quickly entered. Just as he closed the door behind him-taking extra care not to repeat his error-he heard the third door open.

He swiftly scanned the chamber, relieved to find it empty. Another sitting room of some sort. Bloody hell, how many sitting rooms did these aristocrats require? A body only had but one arse to plop into a chair.

He drew a deep breath and leaned back against the oak panel. A bit too close, that escape.

Of course, given his current mission, he was perfectly within his rights to be wandering the corridors and peeking into rooms. Still, he had no wish to be caught eavesdropping at a door crack by Lady Julianne and her friends. Bloody humiliating, that's what that would have been. An insult to his abilities as a Bow Street Runner to be discovered in such an ignominious fashion. And such detection would make it necessary to converse with Lady Julianne-without time to prepare himself first. Not something he cared to contemplate when the first thing that popped into his mind whenever he thought of her was, I want you.

And bloody hell, it seemed as if he thought about her all the time.

Just then he noted a sound in the corridor. He pressed his ear to the crack in the door and heard the quiet rustle of gowns. Once the sound faded, he peeked into the corridor. Lady Julianne and her cohorts were just turning the corner, clearly on their way back to the party. Good. He'd wondered what she was up to, and now he knew. So now he could focus on what he needed to concentrate on: discovering the identity of the murdering ghost thief. Excellent.

Not wanting to return to the party directly on the heels of Lady Julianne's group and risk any chance of it appearing he'd followed them, he decided to recheck the windows to make certain they remained locked. Experience had taught him one could never be too careful or thorough. Yet even while that task should have fully occupied him, his mind was filled with her. As it had been from the first moment he'd seen her two months ago. A day he'd rue until his last breath.

The damn woman was nothing but pure distraction. By damn, it was all her fault he'd nearly been caught. All her fault he'd felt compelled to follow her. All her fault he'd even known she'd slipped away from the party. While his watchful gaze had carefully scanned the drawing room, looking for any activities that could be deemed in the least suspicious, his eyes had been drawn to her again and again. The only reason he'd known she left the party was because he was so thoroughly, painfully aware of her. A bloody irritating situation he found himself, unfortunately, unable to control.

Bad enough to have a woman on his mind when he needed to focus on work. But to have this particular woman embedded in his thoughts… he shook his head. Bloody hell, it was nothing short of madness, and he was nothing short of a bloody idiot. Might as well be fixated on a damn royal princess. Or on owning a fancy Mayfair town house like the one in which he now stood. Or inheriting a hundred thousand pounds. All things he would never have.

He'd learned long ago not to waste his time and energy chasing after the impossible. Better-and much wiser-to set goals he could actually achieve. A woman like Lady Julianne Bradley was so far beyond his sphere as to be utterly laughable. Indeed, if he were insane enough to admit his ridiculous fascination with her to anyone-something that wouldn't occur without benefit of a severe blow to his head-he'd be laughed out of England.

Yet still she haunted him. Night and day, although the nights were the worst. When he lay alone in his bed, staring at the ceiling, imaging his fingers skimming over her creamy skin. Wreaking havoc with her perfect, blond curls. Memorizing every curve. Her body over him. Under him. His body sliding deep into her silky heat-

He cut off the thought with an exclamation of disgust and moved along to check the final window. Like the others, it remained locked. In an effort to escape his torturous thoughts, he exited the room. His intention to return to the party was waylaid as he approached the third door. The door she'd entered.

Instinct and something else he refused to examine too closely had him slipping into the room. After closing the door behind him he drew a deep breath. And smelled only the scent of beeswax and the leather volumes that lined the walls.

Hoping for a whiff of her, weren't you?his annoyingly honest inner voice asked.

He wearily leaned his head back against the oak panel and dragged his hands down his face. Yes, damn it, that's exactly what he'd hoped-that her scent still lingered. What was wrong with him?

Lady Julianne Bradley is what's wrong with you, you oaf.

God help him, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't deny it. From the moment