"Can't recall I've ever seen ye drink whiskey," Luther said.

"I rarely do," Gideon said. "Probably because it tastes so foul." A shudder ran through him. "Jesus. I think my guts are melting."

Luther gave a bark of laughter. "Probably are. Best whiskey in London right here." Then Luther sobered and rested his massive forearms on the bar and leaned forward. "Ain't right that ye stayed away so long, Gideon. Ain't no way to treat a friend."

Gideon met his gaze and gave a tight nod. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Luther nodded his acceptance then flashed a grin. "Especially a friend who's so much bigger than you."

Gideon allowed himself to grin back. Gideon stood several inches over six feet, but Luther was still a half a head taller and probably a good four stones heavier. "I could squash ye like a spider," Luther said, grinning.

"You'd have to catch me first."

"That'd be a problem," Luther agreed, shooting his left leg a rueful expression. A wound sustained in a knife fight on the docks had ended Luther's seafaring ways. "Speedy bastard, ye are."

"It's what keeps me from getting squashed like a spider."

Luther poured them each another whiskey. After Gideon had taken a swig-a much smaller one than last time, although it most likely didn't matter as his insides had already corroded-Luther said, "Interestin' that ye'd stop in tonight."

"Why's that?"

"Someone were here earlier askin' about ye."

"Oh? Who?"

"Gave the name o' Jack Mayne. Said he were yer father." Gideon's hand froze halfway to his mouth, and his fingers tightened on the glass. An unpleasant cramp seized his insides.

Luther leaned in a bit farther. "Thought I recalled ye once sayin' yer father were dead."

"He is." Gideon slowly lowered his hand but continued to grip the glass. "At least as far as I'm concerned."

Understanding dawned in Luther's dark eyes, and he nodded. "Know a few blokes like that meself."

"What did he look like?" Maybe, just maybe, it hadn't really been Jack Mayne.

Luther considered for several seconds. "Like you around the eyes. Rough. Haggard. Had a jagged lookin' scar here." Luther pointed to his own chin.

Bloody hell. That was Jack Mayne. The fact that he and his light fingers were back in London didn't bode well for the fine citizens who valued their possessions. "What did you tell him?"

"That I hadn't seen ye in weeks and weren't expectin' to."

"He say anything else?"

"Just to let ye know he were lookin' for ye should ye come in."

Gideon nodded slowly and took another sip of whiskey. Jack must be in dire circumstances to seek out his son. Their last parting four years ago hadn't been pleasant. If they were unfortunate enough to run into each other now, Gideon knew it wouldn't be any more pleasant. He didn't want to throw his own father in Newgate, but unless Jack Mayne had turned over a new leaf-which he very much doubted-he suspected it might come to that. And if Gideon himself didn't do it, one of the other Runners would. For as crafty as Jack Mayne was, someday he'd get caught.

Luther moved down the bar to service other customers, and Gideon cradled his drink between his hands and stared into the amber liquid. Memories he'd refused to let surface pushed at him, but he ruthlessly shoved them aside. After years of practice, he was good at suppressing the unpleasant recollections. Besides, there were other things to think about. Like the reason he'd come here tonight.

When Luther returned, Gideon gave the tavern a look-over then asked casually, "Where's Maggie?"

"She ain't workin' tonight. Off to Vauxhall with some bloke she met a few weeks back. Seems a decent sort." Luther picked up another glass to polish. "She the reason ye're here tonight?"

Yes. No. Bloody hell, he didn't know. "I was just wondering where she was."

"And now ye know." Luther shot him a speculative look. "Don't think she'd a-taken' up with this other bloke 'cept she got tired of waitin' for you. I wager she'd come runnin' back if ye so much as crooked yer little finger."

Gideon didn't respond. He knew Luther was correct. Maggie Price had made it clear from the first time she met Gideon six months ago-on her first night working at the tavern-that she'd like to serve him more than drinks. And on several occasions she had-when Gideon's work-consumed, solitary existence had proven too lonely for even him.

He liked that she didn't ask a lot of questions and didn't make any demands on him. She didn't like to talk about her past, which was fine with him, because he didn't like to talk about his. He'd even been tossing around the idea of maybe pursuing something a bit more frequent between them than the occasional roll in the hay.

And then he'd met Julianne. And all thoughts of any woman besides her had fled. His mind knew how bloody ridiculous that was, but try as he might, he couldn't change it. Since he didn't have any logical excuse for not bedding Maggie, he stayed away. He knew she wouldn't have denied him, but she deserved better than to be a stand-in for another woman. She deserved a man who would care for her. For a brief moment he'd thought he might be that man. They got on well together. They pleased each other in bed. He didn't love her, but he liked her. Wasn't that enough?

Given how he'd stayed away and barely thought of her since meeting Julianne, he guessed not.

"Why don'tcha just spit it out?"

Luther's question jerked back Gideon's thoughts. "Spit what out?"

"The reason ye came here tonight. Ye can start with 'er name. And don't say Maggie, 'cause it ain't her who's got ye all tied up in knots."

"What makes you think it's a woman?"

Luther looked toward the ceiling. "Between ownin' this place and havin' been married nigh on twelve years, I know woman trouble when I see it." He nodded toward Gideon's half-finished whiskey. "Must be bad for ye to be swillin' that rotgut."

"You said this was the finest whiskey in London."

"Don't mean it won't rot yer guts. So who is she?"

"Maybe it's Maggie."

Luther shook his bald head. "If it were, ye'd have been out the door on yer way to Vauxhall as soon as I said she were there with another bloke." He stroked his chin and gave Gideon a speculative look. "Is she somebody accused of a crime ye know she didn't commit? Or worse-that she did commit? Well, split me windpipe! Have ye lost yer heart to a murderess?"

Gideon shot him a frown. "She isn't a murderess, and I haven't lost my heart." He dragged his hands down his face. "Just my mind."

Luther nodded sagely. "Drive ye to the brink, a woman will. If I didn't care for my Rose the way I do, I'd've tossed her into the Thames long ago."

Gideon's lips twitched at the mention of Luther's diminutive wife. Rose was small, but she was very handy with a cast-iron skillet. She didn't tolerate any nonsense from the Drunken Porcupine's clientele. Or from her husband.

"Toss her in the Thames?" Gideon scoffed. "I'd like to see you try. She'd flatten you with that skillet of hers before you ever got her hefted over your shoulder."

Luther rubbed the back of his head as if he'd been coshed. "Yer right about that. Course once I hefted her over me shoulder, it wouldn't be to the Thames but to bed I'd be takin' her." He blew out a gusty sigh. "Ah, well, that's wot happens when ye let a woman get under yer skin and fall in love. As yer clearly findin' out."

Gideon went perfectly still. Took a single careful breath. Then said slowly and distinctly, "I haven't fallen in love." Heavily in lust, but certainly not in love. He might be foolish, but he wasn't a complete idiot.

Luther nodded. "Right. Yer just tied up in half hitches and miserable and so randy ye can barely think."

Since that perfectly described what he was feeling, Gideon felt compelled to admit, "Something like that. I suppose."

Luther let out a bark of laughter then clapped Gideon on the shoulder with an enthusiasm that would have sent a lesser man to the floor. "Well, wot do ye think love feels like, ye horse's arse? Best watch yerself, or next thing ye know, she'll be swattin' ye upside yer head with a skillet. And I can tell ye, thathurts like a bugger."

Gideon tried to imagine stunning, aristocratic, ladylike Julianne wielding a skillet and simply couldn't.

Luther planted plate-sized fists on the bar and grinned. "So who's the wench who's finally stolen yer cold heart? Anybody I know?"

Gideon stared into the remnants of his whiskey for several long seconds. Then he lifted his gaze to Luther's. "My heart isn't stolen, but I can't deny I… want her. You don't know her, and I can't have her."

The merriment leaked from Luther's eyes. "Why can't ye have her?" A dumbfounded expression came over Luther's ruddy face. "Don't tell me she's not wantin'you? Can hardly spit but find a woman that isn't givin' ye the eye."

"She's getting married." He tossed back the rest of his whiskey. "In a fortnight. Then moving to Cornwall."

Luther nodded slowly. "That's a pickle, all right. But maybe if she cares for ye, she'll call off the weddin'."

"Wouldn't matter." He debated whether to go on, then figured what the hell. Even though he was still miserable, having someone to confide in made him feel just a bit less awful. "She's an earl's daughter."

Luther's eyes widened, then he gave a low whistle. "Well, that's a right mess ye've got there, my friend."

A bitter sound escaped Gideon. "Yes, it is."

"Wot the hell are ye doin' even lookin' at a bird like that?"

"Damned if I know. She's nothing but a spoiled, pampered princess."

He said the words fiercely, wanting them to be true, but the instant they passed his lips, his insides cringed. Fancy gowns and parties are not important to me. Not nearly as much as other things. Love. Laughter. Companionship. Desire. Romance. Passion. They are what I long for. Yes, she was pampered, as everyone of her class was. But from the first instant he'd seen her, he'd suspected there was more to her. And after tonight he was very much afraid he was right. And he desperately didn't want to be. Didn't want her to be anything more than a spoiled princess.

"Wouldn't expect an earl's daughter to be anythin' else," Luther said. "Must be beautiful to have turned yer head like this."

"Yes." Beautiful and vulnerable and captivating. And completely unavailable. Hoping for some sage, coolheaded advice, something that would slap him out of the lust-induced fog that threatened to choke him, he asked, "What do you do when temptation is about to eat you alive?"

"Temptation? Mostly I try to avoid it." A wide grin split Luther's rough features. "Unless I absolutely can't resist." He grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured another round. "Cheer up, mate. Look on the bright side. Ye've got an entire fortnight to tup her. That'll cure ye of what's ailin' ye. Then the best part is the fancy bird will fly the coop to Cornwall! She'll be out of yer sight and then out of yer mind. Especially after ye find yerself another beautiful bird."

Gideon forced himself to nod, but he knew that even once Julianne was out of sight, it would take a very long time before he got her out of his mind. And he realized what a fool he'd been to think coming here tonight would in any way help him forget her.

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?