Seduced at Midnight

he'd laid eyes on her, he'd wanted her. With a raw, intense hunger unlike anything he'd ever experienced. A hunger that confounded and confused him.

With an effort he pushed off from the door and headed across the room to recheck the multitude of windows. But the task was too mundane, one that allowed his thoughts to remain fixated on the exact thing he wished to purge from his mind. Julianne.

Part of him wanted to simply stare at her, drink in the almost shocking flawlessness of her beauty. Never had he seen a more exquisite woman. He was accustomed to ugliness, so used to it that beauty never failed to surprise him. But never more so than her beauty. Because it was so utterly, completely pure. Of course he knew enough of her class to know her outward beauty wouldn't extend inward.

Still, outwardly, everything about her was perfect. Her silky golden blond curls. Her smooth, creamy complexion. The perfectly matched dimples that flanked her gorgeous, perfectly shaped mouth. Her fine, delicate cheekbones. The clear sapphire blue of her eyes. He'd taken one look at her and completely forgotten the murder investigation that had brought him to her home.

But then the other, darker half of his fascination for her had kicked in, one that hit him like a blow to the gut. The one that didn't want to simply admire her from afar but desperately longed to yank her against him, wreak havoc with all that golden blond perfection, and put out this damnable fire she'd inexplicably lit in him.

What the bloody hell was it about her that affected him this way? Yes, she was beautiful, but it wasn't as if he'd never seen a gorgeous woman before. He'd even sampled several upper-class ladies and discovered they were not at all to his taste. Nothing but bored aristocrats looking to relieve their ennui by tupping a commoner. A brief nibble of the forbidden lower class, of a man who didn't require padding beneath his clothes to give the illusion of musculature, that titillated for a few moments before they returned to their fancy homes and neglectful husbands. He'd found those women shallow and spoiled and had forgotten them quickly once the physical passion was spent, as he was certain they'd forgotten him.

So why was he so fascinated by Lady Julianne? Ridiculous as it seemed, part of what continually drew his eye was the way she moved: graceful, yet with an underlying energy. So many ladies of her class were so bloody limp and languid they reminded him of soggy bread. It was as if silk resided under their skin rather than bones. But Lady Julianne walked as if she had a purpose for doing so. Punctuated her words with elegant gestures of her slim hands.

During his previous investigation he'd observed her dancing at several soirees and had been unable to tear his gaze from her. He'd never danced in his life, had never wanted to or even considered doing so. But during those waltzes, while he watched her gracefully whirl and twirl in the arms of some lucky bastard, he'd found himself wishing he were that lucky bastard. That he could sweep her into his arms and lead her around the dance floor. Feel the energy and grace of her while they became lost in the music.

Yet it had to be more than her poise and elegance. It's those eyes, his inner voice whispered. The innocence and vulnerability shining in their deep blue depths. Possibly. He wasn't accustomed to seeing innocence in any form. Clearly the novelty of it had affected him. Made him want to admire it. But then, as he damn well knew, he'd want to steal it. Take it away from her. Make it his own.

You're good at stealing. His conscience slyly raised its head from the grave in which he'd long ago buried it. Money. Secrets. Innocence. Lives…

He roughly shoved that hated inner voice back to the dark, dank depths of his soul from where it had escaped. He closed his eyes, and his mind instantly conjured Lady Julianne's image. Yes, damn it, it was those eyes. She had eyes a man could get lost in. And every time he'd seen her since that first time, he had to force himself not to succumb to the temptation to drown in those shimmering blue pools. Then there was the way she looked at him… as if she were equally as fascinated with him, something he'd obviously misread. Why would an innocent earl's daughter give a man like him so much as a second thought?

She wouldn't, you dolt. So it's time to forget about her and concentrate on the task at hand.

Right. The murdering ghost thief. A disparaging sound rose in his throat. Ghost indeed. There was no such thing. The person responsible for the recent rash of crimes was just that: a person. A very clever person. A very clever person Gideon had every intention of catching.

'You might be clever,' he muttered, 'but you're going to make a mistake. And when you do, I'll be right there. Waiting.'

And speaking of waiting… He'd finished checking the windows and had lingered here long enough. It was time to continue his search. And he'd best remember he was looking for a criminal and not that fancy bit of aristocratic fluff. She was destined for the Duke of Eastling-his teeth clenched at the mere thought-or another fop of the same ilk. No matter what, a purebred princess like Lady Julianne would never, could never, belong to a lower-class mutt like Gideon. Which was perfect, as he didn't want or need a purebred princess. Plenty of willing women right in his own little unfancy corner of London. All he needed to do was put that distracting woman from his mind. And he would. Starting right now.

He opened the door a crack. After ascertaining the corridor was empty, Gideon slipped from the room. He was about to head back to the party when from the corner of his eye a slight movement at the opposite end of the corridor caught his attention. Turning, he narrowed his gaze at the window marking the end of the long hallway. And saw it again. A slight ruffling of the blue velvet curtain.

With a well-practiced silence he slipped his knife from his boot. Keeping his back against the wall, he cautiously made his way forward, every sense on alert. When he reached the end of the corridor, he quickly discovered the culprit.

The window, which he knew had previously been locked, was now slightly open.

Upon examining the lock, Gideon saw that it had not only been disengaged but very cleverly incapacitated in a way that would make it seem as if the lock were in place should anyone attempt to resecure the window.

He cautiously opened the glass panels. Chilly air blew through the opening. After making certain no one was lurking about in the flower beds below, he stuck out his head and looked down at the narrow walkway along the side of the house. No footprints were visible in the soft, moist dirt.

Leaning back inside, he inspected the sill and carpet below the window. No mud. Which meant that the window had been opened by someone in the house, and no one had used it to gain entry or escape. Yet. If he had to guess, he'd wager someone had opened the window with the intention of returning later and using it to enter the house. Of course, if the Times got wind of this, they'd no doubt speculate that a ghost wouldn't leave footprints.

After closing the window, he used his knife to hack off a small triangle of wood from the corner of the sill then wedged the piece between the frame and the sill to create a makeshift lock. He tested his handiwork to make sure it held. Merely a temporary fix, but one that would prevent an intruder from the outside entering until Lord Daltry replaced the lock.

Satisfied, Gideon crouched low and pushed aside the left velvet panel. Nothing save some small balls of dust. He moved aside the right panel, and grim satisfaction filled him at the glint of gold. Reaching out, he picked up the object and turned it over in his hand.

A snuffbox. Enamel depicting a hunting scene, trimmed with gold. Obviously expensive. And obviously not the property of a ghost. A closer examination revealed no initials. Dropped by the person who opened the window? Definitely possible. No dust marred the outside of the piece, so it hadn't been behind the curtain for long.

Gideon rose and slipped the small box into his pocket. First he'd recheck the inside of the house, then head outside to make certain no one lurked on the grounds, tasks that would require all his focus and attention, leaving no room for things he shouldn't be thinking about.

Thank God.