Seduced at Midnight

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  He approached her slowly, his gaze steady on hers, trapping her as surely as his arms had that afternoon. He looked large and dark and masculine, yet guilt pricked her at his wet, disheveled appearance-which shouldn't have been attractive, yet was. Wildly so. While she'd remained in the dry warmth, he'd gone back into the rain to search for the intruder, during which time her fright had abated enough for her to realize with no small amount of chagrin that tonight's culprit had of course been Johnny.

  She'd speak to the young man first thing in the morning-very firmly. Tell him that he mustn't do anything like that again. Good heavens, he'd nearly scared her to death. She'd merely expected him to make some ghostly moans and groans, not frighten her so badly that she temporarily forgot her plan.

  Gideon stopped a mere two feet from her. He may have required the fire's heat, but she did not. Indeed, she felt uncomfortably warm. And as if her skin had somehow shrunken several sizes.

  He reached for the towel. His fingers grazed hers, and she pulled in a quick breath. She expected him to simply take the towel and withdraw his hand. Instead, when his fingers touched hers, he went perfectly still. His skin was rough and still bore a trace of chill, and another wave of guilt washed over her at the discomfort he'd suffered-but it was nearly drowned out by the heat that suffused her at his touch. Propriety demanded she step back. Move her hand away from his. Yet she remained rooted in place, greedily drinking him in as if she were parched. Propriety had no place in her plans for this evening.

  She moistened her lips, noting his gaze flick to her mouth again and the flames that kindled in his dark eyes. "Like Mrs. Linquist, I'm very glad you're here. I'd never been so frightened in my entire life."

  For several heartbeats he said nothing, just studied her with those dark, unreadable eyes. "I won't allow anyone to hurt you," he said quietly, his expression and voice utterly serious.

  Her imagination instantly took flight, picturing him dueling ghosts, tossing hooded knife wielders into the Thames, then sweeping her up into his strong arms and carrying her off to his kingdom where they would-

  He took the towel from her and stepped back.

  Julianne's fanciful thoughts disintegrated, and she blinked, pulling herself back into the present. She picked up another towel from the stack and approached him.

  "Let me help." She reached up and pressed the towel against his cheek. And felt his entire body tense.

  A muscle in his jaw ticked beneath the towel. Her gaze dropped, and she noted the white-knuckled grip with which he strangled the towel he held.

  A thrill of feminine satisfaction raced through her. Clearly he was tempted. And fighting that temptation.

  She could feel the tension emanating from him. Sensed him combating what he clearly wanted-or at least what she desperately hoped he wanted: to finish what they'd started in the music room. To touch her. Kiss her.

  Determined to see him fail in his struggle, she leaned toward him. He inhaled sharply, and his full, firm lips parted. Just when she thought he was about to capitulate, he practically snatched the towel from her hand then backed up a step. "I can do it," he said, his voice sounding as if he'd swallowed gravel. "Why don't you see to the tea?"

  Good heavens, the man actually looked… nervous? Certainly she'd unsettled him. Surely the notion that he was shouldn't delight her so, but it did nonetheless. Why, he looked as if he wanted to bolt from the room.

  Her delight instantly wilted. She didn't want him to bolt from the room. Best she not unsettle him too much. Therefore, even though she wanted nothing more than to help him dry off, she forced her feet to cross the Turkish rug. "I'll see to the tea."

  After settling herself on the settee, she reached for the teapot, wrapping her fingers around the curved silver handle. Unfortunately, she then made the tactical error of glancing toward Gideon. And completely forgot about tea. Forgot about everything save him.

  He stood with his back to her, bathed in the golden glow of the fire, his jacket half-on, half-off. She watched in stupefied fascination as he shrugged the garment the rest of the way off his broad shoulders. His cravat and red waistcoat followed, leaving him clad in his white shirt, which adhered to his body as if painted on. Julianne's avid gaze took in the breadth of his shoulders. The play of his muscles as he rubbed the towel over his chest and back, then down his arms, blotting the wetness away.

  When he crouched down to spread the clothing he'd removed on the hearth to dry, his damp breeches clung to his backside in a manner that made her mouth go dry. Before she could recover, he stood and turned.

  Their gazes collided, and she felt the impact of his intense regard down to her toes. He no longer looked nervous. In fact, he appeared so in command of himself, she wondered if she'd misinterpreted his reaction earlier. If she'd been capable of speech, she would have told him he looked delicious, er, drier, but sadly, anything as complicated as stringing two words together was currently beyond her.

  Her knees seemed to have turned to liquid, and she sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she was already seated. How was it possible that he could reduce her to such a boneless state with a mere look? Surely the fact that he could should have frightened her. Appalled her. Something other than breathlessly exciting her.

  He approached her slowly, the towel dangling from his long fingers. He looked big and dark, deliciously damp and dangerous, and she couldn't have torn her fervent gaze from him if her very life had depended upon it. He stopped an arm's length away from her, and her gaze focused on the fascinating front of his snug breeches with the zeal a starving dog would bestow on a mutton chop. Oh, my. Those breeches left no doubt that Gideon was very perfectly and very generously made.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  Her gaze snapped up to find him watching her with an inscrutable expression. Heat flooded her cheeks. No. I am not all right. You're throwing all my fine plans into utter disarray. How could she possibly entice him to kiss her when it apparently required all her wits to remember to breathe? "I'm fine."

  He studied her for several more seconds, then nodded slowly. "Yes, I can see that you are. Indeed, you appear well recovered from your fright. Remarkably so."

  Was that a twinge of suspicion in his voice? Before she could decide, he continued softly, "There's something you're not telling me."

  Clearly that was suspicion in his voice. She had no doubt that given enough time he would unearth the truth-and be very angry with her when he did. Rightfully so. He'd no doubt never forgive her. Rightfully so. No doubt never want to speak to her again, let alone kiss her. Which meant she needed to do everything she could to insure that time didn't come too swiftly.

  Lifting her chin, she said, "Contrary to what you obviously believe, I am not prone to the vapors or artfully arranging myself on fainting couches. I am made of sterner stuff and don't require days to recover from unsettling experiences." She offered him a small smile. "Besides, I feel very safe with you here."

  He didn't comment, merely set aside the towel then sat on the opposite end of the settee. She glanced down and noticed that mere inches separated his knee and her yellow muslin gown. Far too little distance to be proper. Far too much distance for her liking.

  She cast about in her blank mind for something to say. Something to divert his attention from her remarkable recovery. Something witty and interesting that would engage him. Perhaps draw a smile from those lovely, firm lips-before he laid them upon hers. But his nearness once again rendered her mute with longing and wants so overwhelmingly strong she feared when she did finally speak they would simply just pour out of her like a dam burst free. Touch me. Kiss me. Put out this raging fire you've started in me…

  He leaned toward her, and what little breath she had remaining expelled from her lungs. She felt herself leaning toward him, as if blown by a strong wind, and her lips parted in expectation.

  "It would be much easier if it were in the cup," he said softly.

  She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

&nbs
p; He nodded toward the table. "The tea. It would be considerably easier to drink if it were actually poured into the cups."

  Julianne jerked her head around and stared at her hand, which still gripped the teapot's handle-the teapot that remained resting on its silver tray. A hot flush of embarrassment and self-directed annoyance rushed into her face, and she quickly lifted the pot. It was one thing for the man's presence to make her forget what she was about; it was quite another to allow his profound effect on her to be so patently obvious.

  "Of course," she murmured, filling both cups then passing him one, managing only thanks to years of experience not to slosh the hot liquid over the cup's edge.

  She took extra care in selecting a trio of biscuits for his plate, using the time to compose herself. She'd longed for and had gone to great lengths for an opportunity such as this: time alone with him. She had no intention of wasting this chance to get to know him better. Both Gideon the man and Gideon the extraordinarily excellent kisser.

  She passed him the plate of biscuits. "Are you feeling warmer? Do you need more towels?"

  "I'm fine, thank you."

  Yes, he certainly was. Much more than fine, actually. Supremely, extraordinarily fine. Good heavens, he was beautiful even when he chewed a biscuit. Although she couldn't deny he also appeared… displeased? Her heart sank at the thought. Certainly he didn't appear particularly happy about sitting here, sipping tea with her. A depressing state of affairs, as she was nearly giddy with excitement.

  A dozen questions sprang to her lips, things she wanted to know about him. Actually, she wanted to know everything about him. Where he lived. Where he'd grown up. His family. His likes and dislikes. His favorite color. If he enjoyed reading. The details of his dangerous and adventurous work. If he thought of her even a fraction of the number of times she thought of him.

  How it was possible that such a devastatingly attractive man wasn't married or spoken for.

  Or was he?

  The thought struck her like a cold slap, and before she could stop herself, she asked in a rush, "Are you married?"

  He looked at her over the rim of his steaming cup. His eyes narrowed slightly, then he slowly lowered his tea. "No."

  A ridiculous wave of relief surged through her-ridiculous because, what did it matter? Whether he belonged to someone else or not was irrelevant. He could never belong to her. Still, in her heart she'd known he wasn't married. Had known he wouldn't have kissed her if a wife waited for him.

  "Betrothed?" she asked.

  "No. Why do you ask?" His gaze hardened. "Do you think I would have kissed you if I had a wife or fiancée waiting at home for me?"

  His words so closely mirrored her thoughts that she wondered for an insane instant if through his intense regard he could actually read her mind.

  Don't lose your nerve now, her inner voice whispered. Carpe diem.

  Yes. If she didn't seize the day, here and now, she might never get another chance. Before she found herself married to a man she didn't love. A man who would plunk her down in Cornwall and likely leave her there to rot. After demanding his husbandly rights. A shudder of revulsion ran through her. Dear God, the thought of the duke's hands on her made her flesh crawl. And spurred her to action.

  Drawing all her courage, she answered, "No-I believe you too honorable to kiss me if you were married. Yet, surely dozens of women are madly in love with you."

  His gaze seemed to pierce hers. "The way dozens of men are madly in love with you?"

  Julianne shook her head. "There is no one in love with me."

  "Says a woman whose suitors litter the path leading to her door."

  "They wish to marry me. For money. They care nothing about me."

  "They seem quite besotted to me."

  "They are. With my very generous dowry."

  Something that looked like annoyance flashed in his dark eyes. "You make it sound as if that is all a man would admire about you. Which sounds like false modesty. And a fishing expedition for compliments."

  There was no missing the rebuke in his words-one that stung. "I'm not seeking compliments, especially from a man who clearly has a disinclination of bestowing them. Nor do I possess false modesty. I know I am admired for my looks. I simply take little pleasure from that fact."

  "Really? Why is that?"

  There was no missing his skepticism, and she debated how honest to be with him. She'd planned to use this time to find out more about him, yet he'd somehow turned the tables on her. Still, if she told him something of herself, perhaps he would be more inclined to reciprocate. "Do you truly wish to know?"

  "Indeed. I cannot wait to hear why a princess such as yourself doesn't wallow in her looks." He leaned back and raised his brows, looking like a man expecting to be entertained by a troupe of jesters.

  Vexing man. How did he manage to make her desire him yet wish to shake him at the same time? Annoyance rippled through her, nudging aside her shyness. "Wallow? Has anyone ever told you you're condescending?"

  "Condescending?" he repeated in an incredulous tone. "A commoner like me? Never. Has anyone ever told you you've no idea what you're talking about?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes. Almost daily. Neither of my parents credit me with the least bit of intelligence. They think the only thing I'm capable of is being decorative-and they demand that I be so. You cannot begin to understand how much I loathe being nothing more than an ornament. As if I have no thoughts or feelings. No ambitions." She moved her leg so that her knee touched his. "Or desires."

  His teacup froze halfway to his lips. His hot gaze bored into hers for several seconds, then he slowly set aside his cup and rose. He backed several steps away from the settee until he stood before the hearth. Julianne might have been thoroughly discouraged were it not for how his damp pants clung to the irrefutable evidence of his desire for her.

  "What are you doing?" he demanded.

  She huffed out an impatient breath. Clearly any form of subtlety was lost on this man. "I'm trying to get you to show me what you referred to this afternoon-just before we were interrupted-as your best. If you'll recall, you were about to kiss me."

  "That… shouldn't have happened."

  Her heart sank. "And last night?"

  "You know the answer to that as well as I do."

  She rose and joined him near the fire, stopping when a mere arm's length separated them. Longing raced through her, and the sense of urgency, of time running out, of her parents soon returning suddenly overwhelmed her. Capturing his hand between both of hers, she gripped his fingers tightly.

  "I know what answer I'm expected to give, but it isn't what's in my heart. I… I have this recurring dream… a nightmare, actually. I'm in the middle of a crowd, trapped inside a glass coffin. I scream and cry and pound on the glass, but no one pays the slightest attention. They all just go about their business as if I'm not there. I'm trying to tell people that I'm alive. Tell them what I want, my hopes and dreams, but no one listens. No one cares."

  He frowned. "That's just a dream-"

  "No. It's my life. And I'm tired, so tired of imagining, of dreaming. Of wanting but never having."

  An incredulous sound passed his lips. "What are you talking about? You have more than anyone I've ever known."

  She felt him tugging his hand from hers, felt her chance slipping away. She tightened her grip, then pressed their joined hands to the center of her chest. "Yes, if you count gowns or jewels or invitations to parties."

  "And you don't?"

  "As anyone would, I enjoy the creature comforts provided by my position. I've no desire to be cold or hungry. But once those necessities are seen to… fancy gowns and parties are not important to me. Not nearly as much as other things."

  "Such as?"

  "Love. Laughter. Companionship. Desire. Romance. Passion. They are what I long for." She lifted one hand and skimmed her fingers over his brow. Down his cheek, to his firm jaw, his faint stubble rasping against her skin. For several seconds he remain
ed immobile under her touch. Then he jerked away as if she'd burned him.

  "Stop that," he said, his voice resembling a low growl.

  He was breathing hard, and his eyes glowed like ebony coals. Unable to stop herself, she stepped forward and erased the distance he'd just put between them. She placed her hands on his chest, her palms absorbing the rapid beat of his heart. Looking into his eyes, she whispered, "I can't." Her fingers splayed over the hard muscles of his chest.

  He gripped her wrists, halting her explorations. "You're playing with fire."

  "Am I? It doesn't seem so."

  "One of us has to show some restraint."

  "Really? Well, in that case, I congratulate you, as you've shown a frustrating amount thus far." She took another step forward. Mere inches now separated them. His scent wrapped around her: rain mixed with a hint of damp linen and something else she couldn't define except to know it belonged to him alone. She could feel the heat emanating from his body. "This afternoon you were about to kiss me when we were interrupted."

  "That was a mistake."

  "The interruption? Yes, I agree. One I'd like very much to remedy. Right now."

  His fingers tightened on her wrists. "Kissing you was a mistake, Lady Julianne. One I don't want to repeat."

  "You didn't mind calling me Julianne earlier… Gideon. And as for you not wanting to repeat our kiss…" She yanked her hand from his grasp and ran it swiftly downward, intending to point to the evidence of his desire. But he moved, setting her slightly off balance, and the back of her hand brushed the hard bulge in his breeches.

  "Bloody hell." The obscenity was a low-pitched hiss on his quick intake of breath.