Chapter 13

Julianne paced the blue guest room where she'd slept last night-or rather tossed and turned last night-her thoughts a jumbled mixture of vivid recollections of her interlude with Gideon and worries about what had transpired between her father and Gideon after she'd retired. Had her father guessed she and Gideon had shared intimacies? Had he dismissed Gideon-or worse, threatened him? Had he told Gideon about her engagement? Would she ever see Gideon again?

Those plaguing questions had been interspersed with reliving the incredible moments she'd spent in his arms. She'd read of such intimacies in the scandalous selections favored by the Ladies Literary Society, but reading about them and experiencing them were two completely different things. Never had she imagined that she could feel such passion. Incite such passion. Want or need another person so much. Care so profoundly. So that nothing else mattered. But now that she knew, now that she had been offered that intoxicating glimpse, she wanted to see it, feel it, again. She wanted those intimacies, and more.

Therefore it was now time to gather her courage and face her father. And discover if Gideon, the only man she wanted to share those intimacies with, had been banished from her life even before her wedding.

She exited the bedchamber and headed down the corridor but paused before the door to her own bedchamber. After making certain she wasn't observed, she turned the brass knob and slipped inside.

Bright morning sunshine filled the room, spilling over the gold and green carpet and neatly made bed. Her gaze fell on the window leading to her balcony, and a shudder ran through her. After speaking with her father, she'd have her chat with Johnny. But first she needed to take care of one thing.

She crossed to her wardrobe and opened the double doors. Crouching down, she pulled a book-sized wooden box from its hiding place beneath the old pair of ankle boots she wore when picking flowers in the garden. Then she stuck her hand into the left boot and withdrew a small brass key. She unlocked the box, lifted the lid, and gazed upon her trove of treasures. She lovingly added her newest cherished items to the velvet-lined box: her copy of The Ghost of Devonshire Manor. And Gideon's handkerchief.

She'd held the linen square all night against her heart. She raised it now to her lips and breathed deeply. His scent clung to the material, that wondrous smell of starch and adventure and warmth that belonged to him alone. The one that was permanently etched in her memory. Even with her eyes closed, she could have picked him out of a crowd simply by inhaling.

She should return it-after all, he hadn't given it to her to keep. But she simply couldn't part with it. It would serve as a secret reminder in the long, lonely years to come of what, for one magical night, she'd shared with a man who'd captured every aspect of her mind and imagination.

"You are now the most beloved of my treasures," she whispered into the handkerchief. After carefully placing the linen square on top of her other beloved items, she locked the box and replaced it and the key in her wardrobe. As she stood, she caught sight of herself in the full-length cheval glass in the corner. Did she look different? Unable to resist, she crossed to the mirror, watching herself as she moved. Was there a new sway in her step? Surely there must be. She stopped an arm's length in front of her reflection and critically assessed her appearance. Outwardly she appeared the same as always. But inside… inside nothing was the same. And it never would be.

She felt like a new Julianne. One who'd finally experienced something of life. Of adventure. Of passion. One with a secret that lived inside her like a beating heart. Not the sort of secret she could ever share or confide to her friends, but one that burned brightly within her, warming her as if she'd swallowed the sun.

Raising her hands, she brushed her fingertips over her cheeks. Perhaps her skin bore a bit of a glow. She touched her lips that still felt kiss-swollen. Then ran her fingers down her neck, over her collarbone to her chest. Her breasts felt sensitive, and beneath her gown they bore several traces of red where Gideon's stubble had abraded her tender skin. Outward signs, but ones that would remain known only to her.

Still, was there some other outward sign? Something in her demeanor? Something her father might have noticed last night? Her stomach cramped at the thought. She glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel, dismayed to note the time. Father would be at breakfast now, and she knew better than to disturb him before he'd finished his meal and newspaper. Better to speak to Johnny first then seek out Father. In the meanwhile, she could only pray he hadn't guessed that something improper had occurred. And if he had, surely Gideon had denied it. It was nothing, Lady Julianne.

She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Oh, but Gideon was wrong. It had been everything.

Opening her eyes, she studied her dreamy expression in the mirror. Surely she should be appalled at what she'd done, at the shocking liberties she'd allowed him. She should regret her actions.

But she did not. Instead, she prayed she'd have the opportunity to repeat them.

She drew a bracing breath. Now it was time to face Johnny. And then her father.


* * *

"Yor not an easy man to find."

Gideon halted in the act of adding three folded shirts to his portmanteau and forced himself not to whirl around. He was startled, which irritated him. He'd learned his lesson well, and not many men could sneak up on him unawares. But this particular man had always had the uncanny ability to move like a ghost and gain access to places he didn't belong.

The slightly raspy voice hadn't changed in the years since he'd last heard it. Bloody hell, he'd hoped to never hear it again. The eggs and bacon he'd finished eating for breakfast a short time ago suddenly felt like stones in his stomach.

If he hadn't let Caesar outside to explore the patch of grass that constituted their yard, the dog would have warned him. But it was too late now. Gideon released the shirts, pulled in a deep breath, and slowly turned. And looked into dark eyes that exactly matched his own.

The voice hadn't changed, but Jack Mayne had, and Gideon had to force his features not to register any surprise. He was considerably thinner, and his hair, while still thick, had gone completely gray. Deep lines were etched along the sides of his mouth, across his forehead, and around his eyes. The last time Gideon had seen him, he'd been dressed in little better than rags. Now he wore decent boots, fine breeches, a snowy shirt and neatly tied cravat, and a superfine jacket. And a bloody top hat.

With that devilish grin Gideon knew so well, his father doffed his hat and offered a mocking bow. "Aren't ya glad to see yor old man, Gideon?"

There'd been a time, many years ago, when Gideon the small boy had indeed been thrilled to see his father. Those days were long since past.

"Jack," he said, his voice flat. He hadn't called him Father since the day he'd walked out of the hovel where they used to live. On the day there hadn't been any more reason to stay. "What do you want?"

"Why, I want to see my boy! It's been a long time."

Four years, two months, and sixteen days. Not nearly long enough. "You've seen me." Gideon nodded toward the doorway. "Now get out of my house."

"Ah, now don't be like that, Gideon," Jack said. "Nice set of locks you've got on yor doors and windows. Don'tcha wanna know how I got in?"

"No. I just hope you didn't break whichever lock you picked. I'm not in the mood to replace it."

A reproachful look filled Jack's eyes. "You insult me, Son. As if I'd be so careless." He waggled his fingers. "Still the best there is. Of course, it was thoughtful of you to set yor guard dog outside. Wouldn't have cared to have his teeth attached to me arse when I entered the house." He made a sweeping motion, encompassing Gideon's bedchamber, and nodded. "You've come up in the world. Not the fanciest section of London, but far from the worst."

Gideon folded his arms across his chest and stared at the man who he'd had to turn his heart against. While he still had any of it left. "What do you want, Jack?" His gaze raked over his father's clothes. "Is it money? Because if so, you should have worn your rags instead of cleaning yourself up so prettily."