She turned back to her friends. "Clearly I'm imagining things."
"Or perhaps my aunt's ghost is flitting about," Emily said with a grin. "Regardless, it's time we returned to the party."
Julianne again peeked into the corridor, and upon finding it empty, she silently motioned for her friends to follow her. They made their way back to the party, the sounds of merriment increasing as they approached, and Julianne prayed no one had noted their departure.
Chapter 2
Gideon watched Lady Julianne leave the crowded drawing room. She'd timed her exit well; no one else appeared to notice her slip away from the party. Except him. But then, he'd noticed everything she had done since the moment she'd arrived at Lord and Lady Daltry's soiree.
Keeping close to the wall, he unobtrusively made his way to the curved archway through which she'd escaped. A few of the guests looked his way, but with that inborn, innate ability the aristocracy possessed, they clearly recognized that he wasn't one of them, and their gazes didn't linger. No doubt they thought he was one of the hired help. Which he was. Hired to catch a murdering thief.
Could Lady Julianne somehow be connected to the criminal?
His instincts, which had served him well through the years, told him no, yet based on her furtive departure, she was clearly up to something. And he was determined to find out what that something was. For investigative purposes only. Because his training and commitment to his task demanded he leave no avenue unexplored. Certainly not because he was compelled by an irritating curiosity and need to know what she was up to.
He entered the corridor and found it empty. His gaze swept the area, detecting no changes from his earlier scouting. After turning the corner, he noted the four doors. In his mind's eye he pictured the layout of the house he'd committed to memory during his inspection before the party began, when he ascertained all the windows were securely locked.
Slowing his pace, he strained his ears for any sound but heard nothing save the muted hum of conversation from the party.
He silently opened the first door. A swift perusal of Lady Daltry's femininely appointed sitting room proved it empty. He continued on to the second door, behind which was Lord Daltry's private study, and silently entered the room. And instantly knew he wasn't alone. With his back pressed against the paneling, his gaze swept the deeply shadowed chamber. The oversized desk. Hunting trophies mounted on the walls. Tall bookcases flanking the windows.
A low, guttural groan came from the corner. Gideon's gaze shifted. Narrowed. And then he saw them. A woman, whose white blond hair rendered her instantly recognizable as Lady Daltry. She was bent over the arm of a leather settee, her fine gown gathered up about her waist, her bare arse hoisted in the air. And a man. Standing behind her, with his breeches open.
"Spread your legs wider."
The man's impatient demand was met by a rustle of material and a querulous female whisper. "Don't you dare leave me hanging as you did last time, Eastling."
Eastling? Gideon grimaced at the name and focused his attention on the man. Though he could only see his profile, Gideon indeed recognized the duke. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in a grimace of pleasure. Gideon couldn't tell if Lady Daltry was receiving any pleasure, but based on her words, His Grace had fallen short in providing it during their last tryst. As best Gideon could tell, the duke was currently more interested in his own pleasure than that of his partner. Not surprising, based on what he knew of the man. He briefly wondered if Lord Daltry knew or cared about this tryst. Apparently marriage vows meant little to the peerage. But he'd already known that.
Neither the duke nor his partner noticed him, and he quickly exited the room. Bloody hell, now that unappetizing image of the duke's fingers pressing into Lady Daltry's buttocks was burned into his brain. A shudder rolled over him as he approached the third door, which led to the library. With his hand curved around the brass knob, he paused to listen and heard the unmistakable murmur of muted whispers. He opened the door a crack.
"It was extremely sensual as well…" The words trailed off into a sigh, and Gideon froze. He'd recognize Lady Julianne's voice anywhere. But sensual certainly wasn't a word he'd have expected to pass her lips.
"Nothing stopped Maxwell's seduction."
Seduction? Maxwell? A sensation that felt precisely like jealousy but couldn't possibly have been seared Gideon. Who the bloody hell was Maxwell? And who the bloody hell had he seduced? Surely not Lady Julianne-
"Lady Elaine. Over and over again. In some very inventive ways."
Gideon frowned, annoyed at his immense relief that Maxwell, whoever the hell he was, had apparently seduced Lady Elaine, whoever the hell she was.
"Passionate." Lady Julianne uttered that single word, and an image rose unbidden in his mind. Of him. And her. Locked in a passionate embrace. Her hands on him. His hands on her. His mouth on her. Everywhere.
He briefly squeezed his eyes shut to banish the vivid mental picture. Damn it, she wasn't supposed to be talking about such things. She should be discussing the weather. Fashion. The latest gossip.
He continued to listen, trying to decipher what they were talking about. The word ghost caught his attention. It seemed Lady Julianne and her friends thought they knew a ghost named Gregory? He situated his ear closer to the crack. And barely refrained from looking toward the ceiling. Good God, 'twas clear one of their friends, this Lady Elaine, had performed some sort of séance and conjured herself a ghostly lover and now Lady Julianne and her friends were taken with the idea. Only instead, they wished to summon the ghost criminal and solve the crimes everyone was talking about. Bloody ridiculous. He was half tempted to appear at their séance and-
"Are you all right, Julianne?"
Gideon recognized Lady Surbrooke's voice, and he strained to hear the reply. When he did, his entire body tensed. Eastling? Lady Julianne's father would entertain an offer from that bastard? An image flashed through Gideon's mind… of the duke bending Lady Julianne over a leather settee as he had Lady Daltry. His fingers gripping Julianne's bare flesh. Thrusting between her legs.
A red haze seemed to dull his vision. The thought of that reprobate touching her… He clenched his jaw and tried to banish the image. And succeeded-only to have it replaced with one of himself. Bending Lady Julianne over a settee. Thrusting into her.
Bloody hell.
He continued to listen, his tension mounting as her friends named a veritable stable of purebred lords who would make an acceptable match for Lady Julianne. Haverly? Good God, the man was nothing but a bald bore. As for Penniwick, Gideon considered it a testament to his self-control that he hadn't poked out the viscount's eyeballs after the way he'd ogled Lady Julianne's breasts while they'd danced. Beechmore wasn't shy; he was a cold, aloof bastard with a nasty temper.
As for Jennsen, Gideon suspected there was much more to the man than he presented to the world. And he found himself greatly relieved when Julianne said her father wouldn't consider a commoner. Somehow the thought of Julianne with Jennsen-a powerful man who women obviously found attractive-suffused him an uncomfortable sensation that felt like a cramp. As for Walston-his lips twitched when he heard Julianne's "dry" assessment.
"Your interest lies in a different man. One we haven't mentioned… who is it?"
Gideon strained to hear Lady Julianne's reply. She denied there was another man, but he suspected from her hesitation and her voice that she wasn't being truthful.
So there was someone she desired. Obviously one of those fancy-pants titled bastards. An odd sensation invaded his chest. One that felt like a toxic mixture of envy and yearning and jealousy.