Seduced at Midnight

Dear God, how was it possible to hurt so badly when she felt so numb? She managed to jerk her head in a tight nod. 'I… I think it's best if I retire now.' She pushed the words past the lump clogging her throat, but with the tears pushing behind her eyes she knew her hold on her emotions was tenuous.

Walking as swiftly as she could, she made her way to the blue bedchamber. She heard Gideon walking behind her, heard Caesar trotting next to his master, and Princess Buttercup panting as she jogged to keep up. When they reached her chamber, she scooped up her dog and waited in the corridor while Gideon checked the room.

'All is secure,' he said a moment later. 'Caesar will remain outside your door. No harm will come to you.'

'Thank you,' she said tonelessly. No point in telling him the harm had already been done.

And that she'd never, ever be the same.

* * *

After seeing Caesar settled in the corridor outside Julianne's door with a command to guard, Gideon entered his bedchamber. He shut the door behind him then leaned back against the oak panel.

Bloody hell. What a night.

He closed his eyes, a mistake, as he was instantly bombarded with the images he desperately wanted, needed to forget. Of Julianne smiling. Laughing. Teaching him to waltz. Lifting her face for his kiss. Succumbing to her climax. Looking at him with her heart in her eyes.

And what had he done to deserve such an adoring look? He had treated her no better than a common doxie and disgraced himself like a green lad to boot.

He forced his eyes open and scrubbed his hands over his face. Damn it, he'd tried not to touch her, but his resistance had worn down, and he'd thought what harm could there be in a simple dance? And he might have made it through the evening without falling on her like a rabid dog, but then she'd shown him that damn box. Her Box of Wishes and Dreams.

Looking at those items that hadn't cost so much as a single shilling, those things she regarded as her most valued treasures, had forced him to «font acknowledge that which he'd adamantly tried to ignore: Julianne was as lovely on the inside as she was on the outside. That she wasn't spoiled and vain but a unique, kind, admirable, vulnerable, and lonely young woman. One with a romantic nature who longed to break free of the social confines she found so suffocating. It was an insight into her character he hadn't wanted to see, to acknowledge, but once it was staring at him so blatantly, he could no longer ignore it.

Any more than he could have ignored her plea for him to kiss her. He pressed the heels of his palms to his forehead. Bloody hell, the way she'd looked at him, touched him, brushed her body against his… it was as if he were gunpowder, and she'd tossed a lit match on him. His control had exploded in a flash fire of want and need and desire so strong, he'd been helpless to stop it. Yet even as he'd given in, dishonored himself and her, a tiny voice in the back of his mind kept chanting, Just one more touch then I'll stop. The problem was that when he perhaps could have stopped, he didn't want to. And when he finally realized he had to stop, he couldn't. His need, his desire had been so sharp-edged, so deep, he'd been utterly helpless against it.

And then her offer… that heart-stopping offer… that they be together, as lovers, until her marriage. Until she left to start her life as another man's wife. Where he'd found the strength to refuse, he didn't know. God knows he'd wanted nothing more than to take what she offered and damn the consequences- which for him were negligible. But Julianne… she stood to lose everything, her innocence being the least of it. The scandal that would erupt, should anyone discover she'd taken a lover, would ruin her. It would only be that more salacious and sordid if the lover proved a lowly commoner like him.

And what did he stand to lose? Nothing.

Well, nothing except his heart.

You lost that two months ago, his inner voice informed him with a hollow laugh. He blew out a long sigh, tried to deny it, then shook his head. What was the point in lying to himself? He'd taken one look at those eyes, that face, and he'd lost his heart right then and there. He hadn't been the same, felt the same, since the moment he'd met her.

But unlike two months ago, when he merely desired her because she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, now that desire had turned into something so much deeper. Yes, he wanted desperately to make love to her, but now he wanted more than that. He wanted to simply be with her. Talk to her. Look at her. Laugh with her. Walk with her. Wanted it all with a bone-deep yearning and an ache he'd never felt before. Not even for Gwen, a woman he'd loved. A woman he'd planned to marry and make a life with. Julianne touched something deep inside him, a spot he hadn't known was there until she came along and proved its existence. Which could only mean one thing.

He didn't merely lust after her. No, he'd bloody well gone and fallen in love with her.

'Arghhhhh,' he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Perhaps there was a bigger idiotic fool in the kingdom, but he sincerely doubted it.

Fallen in love with a woman he could never have. A woman who in a matter of days would be married to another man. Another man who would touch her and bring her to his bed. A man who didn't love her but who would have every right to her. A man who would take her far away to Cornwall. A man who could give her everything-except the things she truly wanted.

His hands fisted as a wave of white-hot jealousy washed over him. The thought of that bastard Eastling touching her made him want to break things. An image of his fists rearranging the duke's perfect nose flashed through his mind; yes, that would be a bloody well perfect thing to break.

The image faded, and a sense of sheer despair and exhaustion washed over him, leaving him physically and mentally drained. He badly needed rest but doubted sleep would come. He crossed the room and looked out the window to the gardens below. The moon cast the area in a silvery glow. Would the 'ghost' attempt to enter the room tonight? He hoped so, so he could catch the bastard and put an end to all this. Then he could pick up the pieces of his life that had scattered like feathers in the wind on that fateful day he'd first met Julianne. How he was going to do that, he didn't know. Especially right now, when it hurt to merely breathe.

Determined to focus on why he was here, in this room, he crossed to his portmanteau and withdrew a spool of black thread. Moving back to the French windows, he tied one end to the brass doorknobs, then trailed the spool back to the bed. The darkness in the room rendered the thread invisible. After removing his boots, he lay down on the counterpane then tied the other end of the thread around his wrist. He was a very light sleeper, but because he was so tired, he didn't want to take any chances. If he fell into a deep sleep and the door opened, the string would pull on his wrist and awaken him.

He settled himself in the bed and stifled a groan as her scent surrounded him, inundating his senses. Closing his eyes, he turned his face into her pillow and breathed deeply. Vanilla. And Julianne. Bloody hell, he'd never get any sleep.

For a long time he lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening for the least sound that might be out of place, his thoughts a torturous swirl of recalling moments he needed to forget, futilely yearning for things he couldn't have, uselessly wanting things to be different. If only Julianne were the daughter of a barber or baker. If only he were a nobleman.

If only things were different.

Eventually his eyes grew heavy, and he must have slept, for the next thing he knew, he was bolting upright in the bed, breathing hard, sweat dampening his skin, the dream so fresh in his mind, so vivid, he had to blink several times to realize it was indeed a dream. His gaze flew to the French windows. They remained closed and locked, a filter to the first mauve streaks of dawn staining the sky. Then he looked at his wrist to which the thread remained tied and undisturbed.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and ran shaking fingers through his