"I was?"
"Beyond magnificent. You were brave and determined, courageous and dogged. If I had to choose one word, it would be fierce."
A bit of color washed into her pale cheeks. She moistened her lips. "I… thank you. I believe that is the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. I knew you would come for me."
Gideon nodded, unable to speak around the sudden lump in his throat. He brushed his lips over her scraped wrists and pulled in a deep breath. And almost smiled. Bloody hell, in spite of all she'd been through, the scent of vanilla still clung to her skin. He looked into her eyes and spoke the simple truth. "I never would have stopped looking for you, Julianne."
Her bottom lip trembled, and tears pooled in her eyes. "I know," she whispered. "Thank you. But about all those nice things you said… most of all, I was just very scared." A tear spilled over to trail down her cheek followed by several more, and a breathy sob escaped her. "I don't feel very fierce or determined now. In fact… oh, dear, I think I'm going to cry."
The tears overflowed in earnest, and with a groan, Gideon shifted to sit next to her. He pulled her into his arms, and she buried her face against his neck. Feeling utterly helpless, he held her close. Brushed his lips over her soft hair. Whispered words he hoped would soothe her. And with every breath, he fell deeper in love with her. His fiercely brave, terrified princess who escaped her ropes, spat out her gag, screamed to warn him, and would have stabbed anyone who'd tried to hurt him. Bloody hell, she wasn't a princess. She was a… gown-clad warrior.
After a few minutes her sobs subsided, and he leaned back to dab at her wet eyes with his handkerchief.
"I've gone through more handkerchiefs with you in the last few days than I normally use in a month," he teased, hoping to coax a smile from her.
She took it from him and gave her nose a mighty blow. "You might want this one washed before I return it."
"Keep it. You might need it again."
"I hope not. I don't want to cry again." Her gaze searched his. "You were marvelously clever. Pretending you had two pistols. And gloriously brave."
"I'm glad you think so, but I think it only fair to tell you that I was also never so frightened in my entire life." He touched his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face. "When I saw those men grab you…" He briefly closed his eyes, and a shudder ran through him. "If anything had happened to you-"
She touched her fingers to his lips. "But it didn't. Because of you."
He shook his head, dislodging her fingers. "If I'd been closer to you, they wouldn't have been able to grab you in the first place. Why were you standing there all alone? Why didn't you walk to the punch bowl with you friends?"
"The duke told me to wait there. He was going to fetch a diamond ring from the ducal collection then come back and announce our engagement. Instead it appeared he discovered he'd been robbed." She offered him a tremulous smile. "And you saved my life."
Damn it, the way she was looking at him, as if he were a hero, half shamed him because he hadn't kept her from being snatched, and half made him feel so bloody good he couldn't speak. His gaze dropped to her lips, and a groan rose in his throat. There were reasons, so many reasons, not to kiss her, but God help him, he couldn't think of even one of them.
He leaned toward her. Her lips parted. And the hack jerked to a halt.
Julianne blinked then looked out the window. "Where are we?"
"Somewhere safe." He alighted then assisted her. After paying the driver, he said, "There's an extra bob in it for you if you'll deliver a message for me. Wait here. I'll be right back."
The driver agreed, and Gideon escorted Julianne up the short walkway. A moment later they entered a small foyer. Julianne's eyes widened. "Is this your home?"
"Yes." He tried his best to sound casual and shove aside the knowledge that it was sorely lacking in comparison to the mansion in which she lived. "It's safe and was closer than Grosvenor Square. Come."
He led her to his study and quickly lit the lamp on his desk. "Please sit down and make yourself comfortable. I need to write a quick note to the magistrate." He completed his task, sealed the note with wax, then wrote the direction on the outside. The entire time he was aware of Julianne looking around the room. When he finished, he excused himself to give the note to the hackney. He then gathered some cloths, bandages, salve, and a bowl of water. Before reentering the study, he paused in the doorway. Julianne stood before the unlit fireplace, lightly trailing her fingers along the mantel.
The sight of her in his home did something to his insides. Filled them with a sensation he'd never experienced before. By virtue of her aristocratic birth she shouldn't look right here, yet somehow, in the soft light of the single lamp he'd lit, she appeared as if she belonged precisely where she was. Standing before his hearth. Touching his mantel clock, whose ticking was the only sound in the room.
She must have sensed his presence, because she turned. Their eyes met, and he felt as if he'd been punched in the heart. How he was going to get her out of here without breaking his vow to himself, he didn't know. He wasn't even sure if he cared anymore.
Pushing off from the doorway, he slowly approached her. "I want to clean and treat your wounds then bandage your wrists."
"All right." She sat on the sofa, and after setting down his supplies, he retrieved the lamp from his desk and settled himself next to her.
"I didn't know you lived in a house," she said as he gently washed her raw skin with a dampened cloth.
When she winced, his jaw clenched with suppressed fury at the bastards who had tied her. "Oh? You thought I lived in a cave?"
She gave a short laugh. "No. I imagined you in bachelor's rooms."
"I bought the house several years ago. We never had one when I was a child, and I wanted somewhere permanent. A place to call home. Somewhere that was… mine." He applied the salve, forcing his gaze to remain on his task, fearing that if he looked into her eyes, he would be lost.
"Those men mentioned a Jack Mayne," she said softly. "They said he was your father. And that he'd helped them. Is your father a… philanthropist?"
A humorless sound escaped Gideon. "Not exactly." Although based on what Will and Perdy had said, there was clearly more to Jack Mayne than Gideon knew.
"Your parents," Julianne said, her voice filled with hesitancy. "Are they anything like mine?"
"An earl and a countess? Hardly."
"No. I meant were they… good to you?"
An image of Jack Mayne materialized in Gideon's mind's eye, kneeling down so he was on eye level with his young son. Just slip yor fingers into the bloke's coat pocket, light and easy, and bring me back wot's in there. Then of his mother, thin, pale, her coughing worsening until every breath became a struggle and rattle in her lungs-
He blinked away the image and shrugged. "I wasn't beaten or abused, if that's what you mean. My mother died when I was fourteen. She'd been sick for a long time."
"You loved her very much."
Her death was an ache that had softened with time but one he knew would never completely fade. "Very much. And like you, I am a great disappointment to my father."
"How could any father be disappointed in such a fine son?"
"How could any father be disappointed in such a fine daughter?"
"Because she wasn't a son. Why was your father disappointed?"
He hesitated then said, "I chose the army and Bow Street rather than follow in his footsteps."
"But surely there is nothing nobler than fighting for your country and upholding the law. What was his trade?"
Gideon debated not telling her then inwardly shrugged. They were Jack's sins, not his. "Pickpocket. Petty thief. He was also very good picking locks."
He felt her start of surprise. "Your father was a… thief?"
"Yes." As far as Gideon knew, Jack still was one. "He's never quite forgiven me for joining what he calls the wrong side of the law, and I've never quite forgiven him for… well, many things." Mostly the p
ain Jack's countless infidelities had caused Gideon's mother.
"Based on what Perdy and Will said about your father, about him helping them and others, perhaps he's changed his ways."
"If he's given anyone anything, I doubt he obtained it through legal means."
"It shows a great strength of character that, given your upbringing, you didn't fall into a life of crime."
There was no missing the admiration in her voice, and he risked looking up from his bandaging task. That same admiration was shining in her eyes, and he quickly looked down again. Because he knew what he said next would erase it. "I did fall into it." The words felt rusty on his tongue, as he'd never admitted them to anyone before. "For a time. When I was too young to make my own decisions."
"But you changed," she whispered.
"Yes. I wanted to become someone who I could look at in the mirror and not cringe."
"And have you become that person?"
He pondered, then said, "I like to think so."
"Would it make any difference if I told you that I think you're wonderful? Extraordinary?"
Bloody hell, it made a huge difference. No matter how much he didn't want it to, it did. "Thank you. But you don't know me very well."
"I disagree."
"Which doesn't surprise me. We're very different and don't agree on very much."
"Again, I must disagree. I think we're actually very much alike. Where it really matters. In our hearts."
He pressed his lips together to keep from replying. To keep from revealing what was in his heart. If she had any idea how badly he wanted to tell the entire world and all its dictates and rules that conspired to keep them apart to go to hell, how much he wanted to selfishly steal her away from her rarified world and make her his, she'd run screaming from the room. As well she should.
Instead he said, "If by saying we're alike you mean that you are extraordinary, then I agree. You are." And he was going to miss her every day of his life once she was gone. He tied off the second bandage and said, "I'm sorry this happened to you."
"I'm not."
His head jerked up at that. And this time he found himself imprisoned by those eyes, unable to look away. "Why do you say that?"
She offered him a small smile. "Because if it hadn't, I never would have seen your home." She rose and held out her hands. "Will you show me the rest of it?"
Gideon hesitated. Not because he was embarrassed of his house. In fact, he'd worked hard to purchase it and was very proud of it. Obviously it didn't compare to what she was accustomed to, but then not much could compare to the Gatesbourne mansion on Grosvenor Square. No, this was a matter of survival. His home was his sanctuary. Already he knew he'd think of her from now on every time he entered his study. Would see her standing before his fireplace. Sitting on his sofa. If he showed her the rest of the house, she'd live in all those rooms as well. Rooms she'd never visit again but where her presence would continue to haunt him long after she left. The best thing to do, the smart thing to do, would be to take her home. Immediately.
Instead he rose. And took her hand. And showed her his house.
"It's delightful," she said, walking around the dining room then the sitting room. "Cozy, warm, and charming."
"I'm not much of a decorator, I'm afraid."
"I think it's better to have only a few very meaningful things than many items that are decorative but hold no sentimental value."
They continued to the small drawing room, the kitchen, and pantry, then through three empty bedchambers. She remained silent, and he wondered what she was thinking. When they came to the last room, he said, "My bedchamber." She entered the room without a word and walked slowly around, trailing her fingers over his dark blue counterpane and cherrywood furniture. He stood just inside the doorway, taking slow, careful breaths while his heart beat hard and fast and his entire body ached with love and desire and so damn much want he thought he would burst. He never should have brought her here. Because now that she was here, he never wanted to let her go.
After she'd walked around the entire room, she came to stand directly in front of him. And looked at him through solemn eyes. "Do you want to know what I think of your home, Gideon?"
"If you care to tell me."
"I think it is the loveliest house I've ever been in. It is cozy and delightful and a real home. It is the perfect reflection of its owner in that it is wonderful. In every way."
Bloody hell. How was he to answer that? He couldn't even find his damn voice.
"Do you know what I want, Gideon?"
No, he didn't. But he damn well knew what he wanted. And he could sum it up in one word: Julianne. In his arms. In his bed. Under him. Over him. Surrounding him. And all the reasons he couldn't have it were fleeing at an alarming rate. Still unable to locate his voice, he shook his head.
"I want to seduce you."
Chapter 22
I want to seduce you. Five little words. That's all it took to melt what was left of Gideon's resistance. He couldn't have her forever. But he could have her for right now. He needed to return her to her family. But not just yet. He tried to live his life with honor, but with this woman he knew, irrevocably, that love was stronger than honor.
He had to swallow twice to find his voice. "I don't think you'll find that a difficult task to accomplish."
"I hope not. Because I'm not quite certain how to go about it." She stepped closer, until only inches separated them. Then she rested her hands against his chest. And with that single touch, all that remained of his good intentions disintegrated to dust.
"Done," he whispered, pulling her into his arms. "I'm seduced."
He covered her mouth with his, and every rational thought fled. Julianne, Julianne… Her name pounded through his head, matching the rhythm of his heart, which surely beat hard enough to bruise his ribs. The delicious taste of her filled his mouth, and he pulled her tighter against him, plunging impatient fingers into her soft hair, wanting to touch, taste, everything at once, ravenous for her. A bit of common sense broke through the haze of need consuming him, warning him to slow down. Reminding him she was a virgin. That he should savor. Seduce. Slowly. But it was damned difficult to do when she was yanking at his shirt and squirming against him.
With a groan he broke off their kiss, then dragged his mouth down the length of her neck. Her head dropped back, and he traced her pulse with his tongue as he slowly eased her gown from her shoulders. Down her arms, then over her hips. It pooled at her feet, leaving her clad only in her chemise and stockings.
"Don't move," he said softly, then walked toward the bed.
"What are you doing?"
For an answer he struck a match and lit the lamp on his bedside table. "Giving us some light." He rejoined her and sifted his fingers through her hair. "I want to see you. All of you."
"And I want to see all of you. Right now."
Gideon smiled. "I like this impatience of yours. It nearly matches mine."
"Humph. You don't seem the least bit impatient."
"Only because I'm trying my damnedest to make this last more than fifteen seconds." His gaze swept over her chemise, and he groaned. The material was so fine he could see her coral nipples. "If it makes you feel any better, the effort is nearly killing me."
He slipped his fingers beneath the straps of the flimsy chemise and slowly slid the material downward, his gaze devouring each bit of creamy skin as it was revealed. When the garment slid off her hips to join her gown, he took her hands and helped her step from the mound of material.
Wearing nothing but her stockings, shoes, and a furious blush, she was… "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he whispered. He reached out and circled her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her tight nipples. "The softest thing I've ever touched." He leaned down and drew one taut nipple deep into his mouth, absorbing her gasp, loving the feel of her hands in his hair, the way she arched her back, offering more of herself.
He kissed his way to her other breast, whispe
ring, "The most delicious thing I've ever tasted." While his lips and tongue and mouth explored her breasts, his hands skimmed the length of her smooth back, the luscious curve of her hips and buttocks.
"Gideon…" She wriggled against him then fisted her hands in his hair. "This is exceedingly unfair."
"What?" he asked, lazily circling her nipple with his tongue.
She yanked on his hair until he raised his head. "I am naked."
He skimmed his hand down her torso and tangled his fingers in the golden curls at the juncture of her thighs. "Not exactly." He crouched down and removed her shoes, then leisurely rolled off each stocking. Then he stood, slowly dragging his hands up her body. "Now you are naked. And there is nothing unfair about it."
"Except the fact that you are fully clothed. A problem I would like solved immediately."
"Has anyone ever told you that you're very demanding?"
"Has anyone ever told you that you're infuriatingly slow?"
"My clothing can be removed in less than thirty seconds," he said, reaching for his waistcoat.
She stayed his hands with her own. "Oh, no. You undressed me. I want to undress you."
"Very well." He spread his arms. "Be my guest."
Satisfaction, mixed with a hint of uncertainty, flared in her eyes, and she set about working on the buttons of his waistcoat. He watched her, her brow furrowed with concentration, and the wave of love that washed through him nearly drowned him. Unable to keep from touching her, he slowly combed his hands through her silky hair.
"You're distracting me," she said, glancing up at him.
"Would you like some help?"
She shook her head. "I want to do it."
"What happened to your impatience?" he teased.
She looked up again, this time her gaze serious. "It's still there. But I want to savor this. Remember every moment. Every touch."
And just like that, she managed to cut him off at the knees. He remained still, in an agony of anticipation as she finally slid his waistcoat off his shoulders. Drew his shirt from his breeches. He helped her pull the shirt over his head, then fought to remain still as she ran her hands over his shoulders, chest, and abdomen. Everywhere she touched felt as if fire burned beneath his skin.
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