"We'd best return to the party…"
The words broke through the fog that had engulfed him. He quickly closed the door, then froze as he heard it click into place. A soft, barely audible sound, but one that seemed to him to reverberate off the walls.
Had the ladies within heard it?
"Did you hear that?" came Lady Julianne's voice.
Damn it all to hell and back again. Cursing his uncharacteristic carelessness, he looked for the nearest escape. With the second door out of the question thanks to the duke and Lady Daltry, and the first too far away, he dashed toward the fourth door and quickly entered. Just as he closed the door behind him-taking extra care not to repeat his error-he heard the third door open.
He swiftly scanned the chamber, relieved to find it empty. Another sitting room of some sort. Bloody hell, how many sitting rooms did these aristocrats require? A body only had but one arse to plop into a chair.
He drew a deep breath and leaned back against the oak panel. A bit too close, that escape.
Of course, given his current mission, he was perfectly within his rights to be wandering the corridors and peeking into rooms. Still, he had no wish to be caught eavesdropping at a door crack by Lady Julianne and her friends. Bloody humiliating, that's what that would have been. An insult to his abilities as a Bow Street Runner to be discovered in such an ignominious fashion. And such detection would make it necessary to converse with Lady Julianne-without time to prepare himself first. Not something he cared to contemplate when the first thing that popped into his mind whenever he thought of her was, I want you.
And bloody hell, it seemed as if he thought about her all the time.
Just then he noted a sound in the corridor. He pressed his ear to the crack in the door and heard the quiet rustle of gowns. Once the sound faded, he peeked into the corridor. Lady Julianne and her cohorts were just turning the corner, clearly on their way back to the party. Good. He'd wondered what she was up to, and now he knew. So now he could focus on what he needed to concentrate on: discovering the identity of the murdering ghost thief. Excellent.
Not wanting to return to the party directly on the heels of Lady Julianne's group and risk any chance of it appearing he'd followed them, he decided to recheck the windows to make certain they remained locked. Experience had taught him one could never be too careful or thorough. Yet even while that task should have fully occupied him, his mind was filled with her. As it had been from the first moment he'd seen her two months ago. A day he'd rue until his last breath.
The damn woman was nothing but pure distraction. By damn, it was all her fault he'd nearly been caught. All her fault he'd felt compelled to follow her. All her fault he'd even known she'd slipped away from the party. While his watchful gaze had carefully scanned the drawing room, looking for any activities that could be deemed in the least suspicious, his eyes had been drawn to her again and again. The only reason he'd known she left the party was because he was so thoroughly, painfully aware of her. A bloody irritating situation he found himself, unfortunately, unable to control.
Bad enough to have a woman on his mind when he needed to focus on work. But to have this particular woman embedded in his thoughts… he shook his head. Bloody hell, it was nothing short of madness, and he was nothing short of a bloody idiot. Might as well be fixated on a damn royal princess. Or on owning a fancy Mayfair town house like the one in which he now stood. Or inheriting a hundred thousand pounds. All things he would never have.
He'd learned long ago not to waste his time and energy chasing after the impossible. Better-and much wiser-to set goals he could actually achieve. A woman like Lady Julianne Bradley was so far beyond his sphere as to be utterly laughable. Indeed, if he were insane enough to admit his ridiculous fascination with her to anyone-something that wouldn't occur without benefit of a severe blow to his head-he'd be laughed out of England.
Yet still she haunted him. Night and day, although the nights were the worst. When he lay alone in his bed, staring at the ceiling, imaging his fingers skimming over her creamy skin. Wreaking havoc with her perfect, blond curls. Memorizing every curve. Her body over him. Under him. His body sliding deep into her silky heat-
He cut off the thought with an exclamation of disgust and moved along to check the final window. Like the others, it remained locked. In an effort to escape his torturous thoughts, he exited the room. His intention to return to the party was waylaid as he approached the third door. The door she'd entered.
Instinct and something else he refused to examine too closely had him slipping into the room. After closing the door behind him he drew a deep breath. And smelled only the scent of beeswax and the leather volumes that lined the walls.
Hoping for a whiff of her, weren't you?his annoyingly honest inner voice asked.
He wearily leaned his head back against the oak panel and dragged his hands down his face. Yes, damn it, that's exactly what he'd hoped-that her scent still lingered. What was wrong with him?
Lady Julianne Bradley is what's wrong with you, you oaf.
God help him, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't deny it. From the moment he'd laid eyes on her, he'd wanted her. With a raw, intense hunger unlike anything he'd ever experienced. A hunger that confounded and confused him.
With an effort he pushed off from the door and headed across the room to recheck the multitude of windows. But the task was too mundane, one that allowed his thoughts to remain fixated on the exact thing he wished to purge from his mind. Julianne.
Part of him wanted to simply stare at her, drink in the almost shocking flawlessness of her beauty. Never had he seen a more exquisite woman. He was accustomed to ugliness, so used to it that beauty never failed to surprise him. But never more so than her beauty. Because it was so utterly, completely pure. Of course he knew enough of her class to know her outward beauty wouldn't extend inward.
Still, outwardly, everything about her was perfect. Her silky golden blond curls. Her smooth, creamy complexion. The perfectly matched dimples that flanked her gorgeous, perfectly shaped mouth. Her fine, delicate cheekbones. The clear sapphire blue of her eyes. He'd taken one look at her and completely forgotten the murder investigation that had brought him to her home.
But then the other, darker half of his fascination for her had kicked in, one that hit him like a blow to the gut. The one that didn't want to simply admire her from afar but desperately longed to yank her against him, wreak havoc with all that golden blond perfection, and put out this damnable fire she'd inexplicably lit in him.
What the bloody hell was it about her that affected him this way? Yes, she was beautiful, but it wasn't as if he'd never seen a gorgeous woman before. He'd even sampled several upper-class ladies and discovered they were not at all to his taste. Nothing but bored aristocrats looking to relieve their ennui by tupping a commoner. A brief nibble of the forbidden lower class, of a man who didn't require padding beneath his clothes to give the illusion of musculature, that titillated for a few moments before they returned to their fancy homes and neglectful husbands. He'd found those women shallow and spoiled and had forgotten them quickly once the physical passion was spent, as he was certain they'd forgotten him.
So why was he so fascinated by Lady Julianne? Ridiculous as it seemed, part of what continually drew his eye was the way she moved: graceful, yet with an underlying energy. So many ladies of her class were so bloody limp and languid they reminded him of soggy bread. It was as if silk resided under their skin rather than bones. But Lady Julianne walked as if she had a purpose for doing so. Punctuated her words with elegant gestures of her slim hands.