Seduced at Midnight

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  Seduced at Midnight

  Jacquie D’Alessandro

  The Ladies Literary Society of London gathers again for a ghost story…

  Lady Julianne Bradley has always longed for wild adventure. Unfortunately, the man with whom she wishes to share her fervor can never be hers. Tormented by her desire, she's preparing for a suitable marriage when ghostly occurrences straight out of her latest read start happening – and to protect Julianne, her father hires the very man her heart cries out for.

  Jacquie D’Alessandro

  Seduced at Midnight

  The third book in the Mayhem in Mayfair series, 2009

  This book is dedicated to Cindy Hwang and Leslie Gelbman. Thank you for loving the Mayhem in Mayfair series! And to Collyn Milsted, a wonderful teacher. Thank you for sharing your time, expertise, and stories of England, and for giving me the opportunity to spend time with your students.

  And as always, to my wonderful, encouraging husband, Joe. You are brilliant and have so much integrity-I'm so proud to be your wife. And to my fantastic, beautiful son, Christopher, aka Brilliant/Integrity, Junior-I'm so proud to be your mom.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank the following people for their invaluable help and support:

  All the wonderful people at Berkley for their kindness, cheer-leading, and help in making my dreams come true, including Susan Allison, Leis Pederson, Don Rieck, and Sharon Gamboa.

  My agent, Damaris Rowland, for her faith and wisdom, as well as Steven Axelrod, Lori Antonson, and Elsie Turoci.

  Jenni Grizzle and Wendy Etherington for being such great buds.

  Barbara Hosea for her wonderful haircutting talent, Andrea Moore, and Kathy Burgess for making me laugh and calling me Darlin'.

  Thanks also to the wonderful Sue Grimshaw of BGI for her generosity and support. And as always to Kay and Jim Johnson, Kathy and Dick Guse, and Lea and Art D'Alessandro.

  A cyber hug to my Looney Loopies: Connie Brockway, Marsha Canham, Virginia Henley, Jill Gregory, Julia London, Kathleen Givens, Sherri Browning, and Julie Ortolon, and also to the Temptresses the Blaze Babes.

  A very special thank you to the members of Georgia Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America.

  And a very special thank you to all the men and women serving in our armed forces for the sacrifices you and your families make to keep our nation safe.

  And finally, thank you to all the wonderful readers who have taken the time to write to me. I love hearing from you!

  Chapter 1

  London, 1820

  From theLondon Times:

  Do you believe in ghosts? Mrs. Marguerite Greeley was found murdered and robbed last night in her Berkeley Square town house, in a crime identical to the robbery and murder of Lady Ratherstone only last week. Mrs. Greeley's butler reported hearing eerie moaning sounds coming from her private sitting room where her jewel box was located. Upon entering the room, the butler discovered the body and missing jewels and stated that all the windows and doors were locked from the inside. Similar sounds and locked windows and doors were reported at Lady Ratherstone's home. It seems clear Mrs. Greeley is the latest victim of Mayfair's cleverest, most diabolical, seemingly invisible, and thus far uncatchable criminal. Which begs two questions all of London is asking: Could the thief indeed be a ghost? And who is next?

  After making certain she wasn't observed, Lady Julianne Bradley slipped from the crowded drawing room and walked down the candlelit corridor. Although her heart pounded in anticipation, urging her to hurry, she forced her feet to keep a sedate pace. She had no wish to call undue attention to herself should she happen upon anyone.

  Music and laughter, the hum of conversation, and the tinkling of crystal faded as she made her way farther from the center of Lord and Lady Daltry's elegant soiree. She turned a corner then counted the rooms as she passed… one, two… she slowed as she approached the third door.

  The feeling that she was being watched suddenly flooded through her. A heated flush, the sort that always stained her pale skin a telltale red whenever she experienced any sort of nervousness, whooshed upward from her neck, flaming her face.

  She turned, scanning the area, and saw nothing amiss. She was alone. Your imagination is running amok as usual.

  Hoping she didn't look as furtive as she felt, she took one last glance around, then opened the third door. She stepped quickly into the room, closing the door behind her.

  "It's about time you arrived."

  The whisper came from directly beside her, and Julianne barely squelched the startled cry that rose to her lips. Leaning back against the oak panel, she looked around the shadowed library, illuminated in a curtain of dull gold from the low-burning fire glowing in the grate. Three pairs of eyes scrutinized her.

  "We were beginning to think you weren't going to come," said Lady Emily Stapleford, impatiently pulling Julianne away from the door. "At best we have only a few minutes together before someone notes our absence from the party. What on earth detained you?"

  "It was difficult to escape Mother," Julianne said. As she did at every soiree, the Countess of Gatesbourne took her duty of advantageously placing her only daughter in the path of every eligible titled gentleman in attendance very seriously. Such contrivances only served to render Julianne more shy than usual, a fact that greatly displeased her mother, who was not shy about voicing her displeasure.

  Julianne's three friends exchanged a glance then gave an understanding nod. They well knew the countess's overbearing nature.

  "Well, we're just glad you're here," said Carolyn Sutton, Countess Surbrooke, with a smile. "For a moment I thought perhaps a ghost absconded with you."

  Julianne glanced at the beautiful newlywed who'd returned to London two days ago after a fortnight-long wedding trip to the Continent with her new husband. Carolyn was practically glowing with obvious happiness. Julianne's admiration for her friend's calm efficiency and serene composure knew no bounds.

  "Botheration, Carolyn, not you, too," said Sarah Devenport, Marchioness Langston, in her usual no-nonsense manner-another trait Julianne wished she herself possessed. Sarah shoved her spectacles higher on her nose and frowned at her sister. "You're nearly as bad as the Times, not to mention many guests at this party. You can't possibly believe that a ghost is responsible for the recent rash of robberies."

  Emily's mouth curved upward in the mischievous grin that so often touched her lips. "Unless he's like the ghost in our latest book selection. Of course, in The Ghost of Devonshire Manor the only thing stolen was a lady's innocence. The story was so deliciously real-"

  "Which is why I called for this meeting of the Ladies Literary Society now," interrupted Julianne. "The timing of a ghost robber is perfect. I think we should hold a séance, similar to the one in the book, to discover who this thief is."

  "I think that's a marvelous idea," said Emily.

  "I think perhaps the Devonshire Manor ghost has addled your wits," said Sarah.

  "Perhaps," Julianne conceded. "I must admit I haven't been quite the same since I read it." Indeed, the book had ignited a restlessness within her she'd been unable to squelch. "The story affected me strongly. It was haunting-"

  "As a ghost story should be," Emily interrupted with a grin.

  "Yes, but more than anything, you can't deny it was extremely"-Julianne cleared her throat then lowered her voice-"sensual as well."

  "It was indeed," agreed Sarah. "A more apt title might have been The Haunting of Lady Elaine."

  "By the Very Delicious Maxwell," added Emily, fanning her hand in front of her face.

  "Yes," said Carolyn. "Maxwell was… oh, my…"

  Her words trailed off into a vaporous sigh, and Julianne, Emily, and Sarah
all nodded and murmured in agreement. Based on the fact that the Ladies Literary Society's reading selections were far more scandalous than their group's name would suggest-which was no accident-Julianne had known their ghost story would be more than a simple tale of spirits flitting about in graveyards. Yet she hadn't anticipated its deeply sensual protagonist Maxwell, who was a ghost-a fact that didn't stop him from seducing the lovely Lady Elaine. Over and over again. In some very inventive ways.

  "If only such a man existed in real life," Emily said. "So strong and brave. Masculine and romantic and-"

  "Passionate." The word slipped from Julianne's lips before she could stop it.

  "He does exist," Carolyn and Sarah said in unison. "I married him." The sisters looked at each other and shared a smile.

  Julianne's gaze dropped to Sarah's midsection, which was just starting to show signs of swelling with the baby she carried. Her happiness for her friends, both of whom had fallen in love and married in the last several months, mingled with undeniable envy. She'd never have the love, joy, and passion that Sarah and Carolyn shared with their husbands.

  No, there would be no love match for her. She'd long ago accepted the inevitable-that her father would arrange her marriage, his choice based solely on the advantageous considerations of property, titles, and money. As she'd been reminded practically from the cradle, she had no say in the matter, and complying without complaint to her father's wishes was the least she could do, since she'd had neither the decency nor the sense to be born a boy. After overhearing her parents' conversation earlier today, Julianne feared her arranged marriage was closer than ever.

  Still, her heart dreamed of falling in love. Of passion. Of a man who would want her in those same ways and not merely as the product of a business arrangement. A man who would have fire in his eyes when he looked at her…

  Even as Julianne tried to erase his image from her memory, a mental picture rose in her mind. Of a tall man with stark features, ebony hair, and dark eyes filled with secrets and mystery. A man surrounded by a veil of tempting, seductive, enticing danger. A man forbidden to her.

  Gideon Mayne…

  His name whispered through her mind, a silent sigh of longing.

  He had fire in his eyes when he looked at her-a look that made her burn to know more, to know everything about him.

  "Yes, you both married fabulous, dashing men," Emily said, pulling Julianne from her wayward thoughts, "and very selfishly, I might add, leaving nothing but nincompoops for Julianne and me. No other such magnificent men exist, and alas, Maxwell is but a figment of fiction."

  He existed, Julianne knew.

  But he could never be hers.

  Lady Elaine had suffered the same dilemma regarding her ghostly lover Maxwell in The Ghost of Devonshire Manor, and Julianne vividly understood the hopelessness of the other woman's impossible feelings.

  "The things that Maxwell did to Lady Elaine…" Sarah gushed out a sigh. "Good heavens, no wonder she never wanted to leave her home."

  Julianne bit back a groan as a flash of heat tingled through her body. The story's scandalous nature had conjured all manner of fantasies featuring Gideon Mayne, images she couldn't dispel from her mind.

  "My favorite parts of the book were when Maxwell scared off Lady Elaine's various suitors," Carolyn said. "He was quite devilish. And ingenious."

  "Very," agreed Sarah. "I especially laughed when he made the vicar's duck entrée dance and quack on his plate."

  "Maxwell did those things because he didn't want another man to have the woman he loved and desired so deeply," Julianne said softly. "His pain was so palpable, I could feel it, and my heart broke for him. They both knew that in spite of their feelings, their circumstances rendered them unable to truly be together."

  Yes, circumstances no less impossible and unsolvable than those between her and the man she could not stop thinking about.

  In an effort to banish thoughts of that which she could not have, Julianne sought to change the subject back to her séance idea of catching the robber. "Certainly if one is going to be haunted by a ghost, Maxwell is the sort to have-"

  "Oh, I agree," interjected Emily. "Much preferable to the ghost that haunts my aunt Agatha's Surrey estate. His name is Gregory. According to Aunt Agatha, he's old, paunchy, suffers from the gout, and is wholly unpleasant."

  "What makes your aunt believe she has a ghost?" Sarah asked in a dubious tone, pushing her spectacles higher on her nose.

  "She's seen him," Emily responded. "And heard him. He groans a great deal. She calls him Gregory the Groaner."

  "But how could she hear him?" Julianne asked. "Your aunt Agatha, although a dear lady, is deaf as a tree stump."

  "Apparently Gregory flits about in the corridors, complaining of his aches and pains loudly enough for even Aunt Agatha to hear."

  "Have you seen Gregory?" asked Carolyn.

  Emily shook her head. "No, but I did hear some odd groaning sounds the last time I visited."

  "Hearing groaning sounds, seeing ghosts, that's one of the things I wanted to discuss," Julianne said. "Based on our book selection, I think we should conduct a séance, similar to the one Lady Elaine held. Only instead of trying to conjure a lover, we'll attempt to summon this Mayfair ghost."

  Emily's eyes sparkled with interest. "Ah, yes, you mentioned that earlier, then we went off on a tangent. An excellent suggestion. Of course we won't be successful, but it should prove an interesting diversion. When and where do you suggest?"

  "I host it tomorrow evening," Julianne said. "Could you all come?"

  "I wouldn't miss it," Emily said without hesitation. "Who knows what sort of ghost might be summoned or secrets revealed in the dark?"

  "I wouldn't miss it either," said Sarah. "Of course, convincing Matthew to allow me out of his sight for an entire evening will present a challenge. He thinks that because I'm expecting I've turned into delicate spun glass-although I can't deny that his constant attention is flattering and quite, um, titillating." She turned to Carolyn. "I imagine your bridegroom won't be anxious to spend an evening without you."

  "Hopefully not." An impish grin touched the corners of Carolyn's mouth. "But I'm certain Daniel and Matthew won't object to spending a few hours together at their club. It will be good for them to miss us."

  A wave of pent-up emotions washed over Julianne, and she looked down. The gloomy shadows swallowing her feet in the dimly lit room seemed the personification of the future looming before her.

  "You're both so fortunate to have husbands who love you so much," she whispered, unable to keep the hitch of wistfulness from her voice.

  "Are you all right, Julianne?"

  Carolyn's question, along with her gentle touch on Julianne's sleeve, pulled her gaze upward. "I'm fine," she said, offering what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

  Emily frowned. "I don't believe you. You seem out of sorts. And preoccupied."

  I am. By the same thing that has haunted me for weeks… thoughts of something, someone, I can never have.

  Yet she couldn't admit the truth, not even to her closest friends. They'd be shocked and warn her to turn her romantic inclinations toward someone suitable. Advice anyone would give an earl's daughter harboring an impossible fascination for a man whose circumstances were so far removed from her own.

  "Has your mother said something to upset you?" asked Sarah.

  Julianne grasped onto the excuse and shot her conscience an inward frown. After all, when didn't her formidable mother say something upsetting? Indeed, she'd done so only a few hours ago, and on a topic she could discuss with her friends. And one that brought reality back with a thump.

  "Actually, yes," Julianne admitted. "I overheard her and Father talking earlier this evening about their plans for my future. Apparently the Duke of Eastling expressed interest in me."

  "The Duke of Eastling?" repeated Emily, her expression reflecting the same wide-eyed dismay Julianne felt at the name. "But he's… so… so… not young."

&
nbsp; "He's only just turned forty," Carolyn said.

  "Which is only several years younger than my father," Emily retorted. "Besides, His Grace has already been married. And what did he do? Dragged his wife off to Cornwall, that's what. Which is no doubt where he'd want to drag Julianne as well." She turned distressed eyes toward Julianne. "Heavens, you cannot live in Cornwall. We'd never see you!"

  "His wife died," Julianne said, "a year and a half ago. He's ready to remarry."

  "I thought something like this might be in the wind when I saw your mother speaking to him just before he asked you to waltz," Sarah said.

  "As did I," Carolyn agreed. "He's very eligible. And rich. And handsome."

  "Yes," Julianne agreed. Indeed, most women found the duke, with his blond hair and light blue eyes, very attractive. But to Julianne, his good looks didn't matter. Not when he exuded the same icy, remote, uncompromising demeanor she'd been subjected to her entire life from her father. A shudder ran through her at the thought, and her father's stern voice seemed to echo in her ears, the mantra she'd heard countless times: The only thing a worthless daughter can do is marry to the advantage of her family. She longed for warmth and passion. Not chilly politeness and indifference.

  "You are one of the loveliest, most sought-after young women in the ton," Carolyn said in a soothing tone, giving her hand a squeeze. "Your father will be entertaining many offers for you. I noted you shared a dance with Lord Haverly. He's a decent gentleman."

  "And as exciting as beige spots on a beige wall," Julianne said with a sigh. "He bears the same expression whether he's ecstatic or livid. Indeed, the only way to tell which one he might be is if he's forthcoming enough to say, 'I'm ecstatic' or 'I'm livid.' He spoke of nothing but the new cutaway jacket he just purchased. He waxed poetic about every stitch. I thought I would doze off during our waltz. Besides which, he's bald."