"Good. One more thing…" He withdrew the snuffbox from his pocket and held it up so both Winslow and Julianne could see it. "I found this last night. Do either of you recognize it?"

He handed the piece to Winslow, who held it up to the candlelight. He frowned, hesitated, then shook his head before passing it to Julianne. "I've never seen it before."

Julianne studied the ornate box for several seconds, then handed it back. "It's not familiar."

Gideon tucked the box back into his waistcoat pocket and turned to Winslow. "If you'll stay with Lady Julianne, I'll return to my rounds."

Before the butler could answer, Julianne said, "You'll do nothing of the kind. You're soaked to the skin and must be half-frozen." Turning to Winslow, she said, "Please light the fire in the drawing room and instruct Mrs. Linquist to bring the tea there. Mr. Mayne will require towels and-" she turned toward Gideon, and her gaze skipped down his wet length. "Do you have a change of clothes?"

"No. And there's no point, as it's still raining."

"As you've already ascertained that the intruder is no longer about, I see no reason for you to return outside, at least until my parents return home. Besides, since it appears I'm the intruder's target, I'd feel much safer if you remained with me."

Damn it, she had a point. He should remain with her. Needed to remain with her and not let her out of his sight for a minute. The thought of what might have happened to her if that knife-wielding bastard had gained entrance to her bedchamber-

He cut off the thought, forcing it from his mind. She was unharmed. But to insure she remained that way, he needed to stay with her until her parents returned home. He had to keep her safe.

Yet one look at her, so beautiful, those huge eyes staring up at him, filled with trust and unmistakable admiration, as if he were some sort of hero, and he knew he was in deep, deep trouble. The need to touch her, taste her, breathe her in, clawed at him with razor-sharp talons. Just who the bloody hell was going to keep her safe from him?

Chapter 10

"Thank you, Mrs. Linquist," Julianne said after the cook set down the silver tray bearing the tea service, followed by Winslow, who carried an armful of fluffy Turkish towels.

"Please go back to bed," Julianne said to the kindly woman. "Mr. Mayne will remain in the house, and Winslow will man the door until Mother and Father return."

"Yes, Lady Julianne." Mrs. Linquist turned toward Gideon. "Don't know what we'd have done if ye weren't here, sir. Never have we had such a fright. Very glad ye were about."

"I'm glad as well," Gideon said.

The two servants headed toward the door, followed by Caesar, who planted himself at the threshold.

For several interminable seconds Julianne could think of nothing to say… could do nothing save stare at Gideon. Gideon, whose wet hair glistened in the firelight's golden glow. Whose wet clothes clung to him like a second skin. Who she wanted to touch so much she could barely stand still.

Desperate for something to say other than I want to touch you so much I can barely stand still, she nodded toward Caesar. "It appears he's guarding the entryway."

Gideon nodded. "That's precisely what he's doing. If anyone approaches, we'll know."

Which, Julianne realized, meant that in spite of the door being open, they were ensconced in privacy. Exactly where she needed them to be to continue this afternoon's doggie-interrupted interlude.

No sooner had the thought entered her mind than a low growl sounded from the doorway. Caesar jumped to his feet, his gaze fixed on a point in the corridor. With lightning speed, Gideon slipped his knife from his boot then moved to stand directly in front of her.

"Someone's coming," he whispered. "Stay behind me."

"Surely it's just Winslow," she whispered back. She prayed her parents hadn't yet returned.

"Most likely. But I'm not taking any chances."

Another growl sounded from Caesar. Julianne peeked around Gideon's shoulder. A tiny ball of fluff appeared in the doorway. Caesar barked. Once. A low, deep woof. And Julianne could only stare as Princess Buttercup, her little black nose quivering, sidled up to Caesar. Caesar, who could swallow Julianne's diminutive dog in a single gulp.

Alarmed, Julianne started to move around Gideon, but he put out a restraining arm. "Wait," he said softly.

"For what? For your dog to make an hors d'oeuvre out of mine? I think not."

"He wouldn't do harm unless he sensed a threat. A teacup-sized fluff ball dressed in tulle is hardly a threat. He'll no doubt just nudge her out of his way."

"One Caesar-sized nudge could knock her over." Julianne elbowed her way by him, but he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. She halted, rendered motionless by his touch.

"Just because he's large doesn't mean he can't be gentle," he whispered close to her ear.

A heated shiver raced down her spine. She turned her head, and for several seconds their gazes locked. Then his flicked down to her mouth. Her breath caught. Was he going to kiss her? Please…

To her disappointment he instead released her, although her skin continued to tingle. Somewhat relieved by his words, Julianne watched as the two dogs sniffed each other, her worry dissipating when she noted the pair of vigorously wagging tails. Princess Buttercup nudged Caesar's front leg with her nose then gave the spot a quick pass with her pink tongue. Caesar responded by licking his chops then nudging her rump with his snout. Princess Buttercup then hoisted herself up on her haunches and waved her dainty front paws at Caesar. His answer was a lick to her ear. As if that settled everything, Caesar then planted himself back at his post in the doorway. The Maltese snuggled up against his side, yawned once, then closed her eyes.

Julianne's brows arched upward. "Nudge her out of his way, will he?" She had to press her lips together to contain her mirth at Gideon's nonplussed expression. "Obviously you underestimated Princess Buttercup's charms."

"Obviously." They both watched as Caesar bestowed a gentle lick to Princess Buttercup's head then cast his gaze once more toward the corridor. "Good God, I think he's… infatuated."

She smothered a giggle at his shocked tone. "It appears the feeling's mutual."

"But they're so… so…"

"Different?" she supplied helpfully when he appeared at a loss.

"Incompatible."

She shrugged. "Whatever their differences, 'tis clear they worked through them." She shot him a sidelong glance, drew a deep breath, and summoned her courage. "Amazing what a few swipes of the tongue can accomplish."

He turned toward her so quickly she swore she heard his neck snap. His gaze latched onto hers, and the fire that flared in his eyes nearly scorched her where she stood. "Yes, amazing," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her mouth.

Her entire body tensed in anticipation, but instead of pulling her into his arms as she'd hoped, he nodded toward the towels resting on the settee next to the fireplace in which flames snapped. "May I?"

With her tongue-her sadly unswiped tongue-tied in knots, it took her a full ten seconds to find her voice. Dear God, he must think her a nincompoop. A mute nincompoop. She cleared her throat and managed, "Of course."

She crossed to the settee and lifted one of the soft white towels embroidered with the Gatesbourne crest. Botheration, since he hadn't picked up the gauntlet she'd tossed, clearly more drastic measures were called for. She was beginning to understand the frustration Maxwell had suffered with the reluctant Lady Elaine. Thanks to her Literary Society readings, Julianne wasn't ignorant regarding ways to get a man to kiss her. At least in theory. Obviously, in practice was something else altogether.

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.