Swallowing her disappointment, she turned to make her way back to the house.

Suddenly a muscular arm wrapped around her waist with a viselike grip, jerking her backward, trapping her against a body that felt like a stone wall. Her breath whooshed from her lungs. Before she could pull in enough air to scream, she saw the silver glint of a knife. Then felt the cold press of the blade against her throat.

Chapter 4

"If you scream, it'll be the last sound you ever make."

The harsh warning whispered past Julianne's ear, and for several frantic heartbeats she froze, immobilized by terror, chilled to her core with fright. Then sheer panic set in, along with the desperate instinct to struggle, an urge she fought to suppress lest she end up with a slit throat.

Her assailant dragged her deeper into the shadows, behind one of the soaring elms. With a deft move, he turned her, pinning her between himself and the tree. He then captured both her hands in one of his, trapping her with strong, calloused fingers, and raised her arms above her head. Rough tree bark bit into her wrists and her back through her gown. The cold knife blade pressed against her throat. And the heat of him sea="1„red her from chest to knee.

Held motionless by the weight of his body and the fear pounding through her, she lifted her gaze to her attacker. And stared.

At Gideon Mayne. Whose stark, angular features appeared set in granite. His gaze raked her face, and recognition flashed in his eyes, followed by a flare of fire that stole what little breath fright hadn't robbed her of. Her relief that he'd recognized her was short-lived, however, when, rather than lowering his knife and releasing her, his forbidding countenance grew even more stern. Was it possible he didn't recognize her after all?

Julianne wet her dry lips then stretched her neck in an attempt to relieve the pressure of the knife. "Mr. Mayne… 'tis I… Julianne Bradley."

He remained silent for several seconds, his gaze boring into hers. Finally he spoke, muttering an obscenity that scorched a blush to her cheeks. She felt him turn the knife a bit, hopefully so that the sharp blade didn't gouge her skin, although he didn't lower the weapon. "So I see. What the bloody hell are you doing out here?"

His voice was a rough rasp that sent another tingle skittering down her spine. With a calm she was far from feeling, she managed to reply, "I'd be delighted to tell you as soon as you remove that knife from my throat."

Instead of instantly complying, he narrowed his eyes. "You're lucky I didn't slit your damn throat."

She raised her brows. "So it would seem. But unless you still intend to do so, I must ask you to remove your weapon."

Without taking his gaze from hers, he slowly lowered the knife, and she swallowed. He did not, however, release her hands or step back.

With her initial fright abated, she became acutely aware of him. His hard body resting against hers. The heat emanating from him. His large, calloused hand holding hers over her head. The fire simmering in his gaze. And suddenly she no longer felt in the least bit cold. Indeed, she felt as if she stood in a circle of flame.

She drew in an unsteady breath and caught his subtle scent. It was crisp and pleasing, and somehow… familiar? Unlike the usual gentlemen of her acquaintance, Gideon didn't smell like any fragrance from a bottle. He simply smelled clean, like fresh soap and warm skin, but with an added dash of dark, elusive danger and adventure. The scent intoxicated her, and she found herself pulling in another long, slow breath.

Her common sense coughed to life, demanding that she order him to release her. To step back. But her lips refused to form the words.

"The knife's gone, so now you'll answer my question," he said brusquely. "What are you doing out here?"

"I…" was looking for you. Hoping for a glimpse. Never daring to dream I'd feel you touching me. "… felt the need for some fresh air."

His scowl deepened. "So you ventured outdoors alone?"

His tone clearly indicated how foolish he thought her, and an embarrassed flush sizzled up from her neck. Before she could think of a reply that wouldn't necessitate admitting she knew she wouldn't be alone, knew he was in the garden, he continued, "Where the bloody hell is your chaperone? Don't you know there's been a rash of crimes? That thieves and murderers and all manner of dangers lurk in the darkness? Of all the bloody stupid-"

"I wasn't alone." The truth rushed from her lips before she could stop it.

He went perfectly still, then his expression turned flat. "I see." He gave a quick glance around. "So where is the… gentleman?" He seemed to spit out the last word.

A frisson of anger worked its way through her heated awareness of him and the remnants of her fear and surprise. Clearly he thought her not only stupid but promiscuous as well. She hadn't ventured into the garden without careful consideration. As for being promiscuous, nothing could be farther from the truth-at least in deed. Surely her private thoughts and secret desires didn't count. Why, she'd never even been kissed!

She raised her chin and squarely met his gaze. "He's right in front of me. Although based on the way you grabbed me, nearly slit my throat, and continue to manhandle me, I'm not inclined to describe you as a gentleman at the moment."

His gaze roamed over her with bold thoroughness, lingering for several seconds on the skin above her bodice before rising to meet her eyes. A wave of heat swamped her. Had he detected the frantic beating of her heart-a staccato rhythm that was entirely his fault?

"No one has ever accused me of being a gentleman," he said with the hint of a sneer, making it clear that was quite all right with him.

"Do you normally treat women you meet in gardens in such a barbaric manner?"

"I wasn't aware we'd planned an assignation, Lady Julianne."

"You know as well as I that we hadn't."

"Well, then. As for my 'barbaric manner,' I don't trust anyone who's behind me. Something you'd do well to remember, since it's clearly your habit to skulk about in places you shouldn't be."

Annoyance-at herself for being caught in such a mortifying fashion and at him for catching her-stiffened her spine. "I assure you I wasn't skulking. I saw you leave the drawing room and… I wished to speak to you. I knew you could protect me from any dangers lurking in the dark."

"Indeed?" The single word was spoken in a silky whisper that breathed warm against her cheek. "And just who do you suppose is going to protect you from me?"

His question, the speculative intensity with which he was looking at her, as if assessing from which angle to best pounce upon her, stole her breath. She moistened her dry lips, observing how his sharp eyes noted-and seemed to darken at-the gesture. "Do I need protection from you, Mr. Mayne?"

Silence stretched between them. Did he feel this same taut tension as she? Could he hear her heart pounding? God knows she could. Hear it and feel it. Reverberating in her ears. Pounding at her throat. Pulsing between her thighs.

Finally he said, "Any woman foolish enough to venture outdoors alone, in the dark, requires protection. For your own sake, I hope you won't do so again." He then released her wrists and stepped back several paces.

Julianne instantly missed his heat. The feel of his strong fingers wrapped around her flesh. His large body trapping her against the tree. His subtle scent surrounding her.

Yet even as she missed his nearness, annoyance had her lifting her chin. "I assure you I wasn't being foolish. As I said, I knew you were out here and wished to speak to you."

One ebony brow hiked upward. "You could have spoken to me in the drawing room."

Under her mother's sharp-eyed scrutiny? Hardly. If Mother suspected for even an instant her fascination with Mr. Mayne, she'd see to it that Julianne never laid eyes on him again.

"The drawing room wouldn't do, as what I wish to discuss with you is of a… private nature."

His eyes glittered in the darkness. She could feel him assessing her. Feel his gaze roaming over her like a heated caress. One that obliterated the air's biting chill.

Setting one large hand against the tree trunk next to her head, he leaned forward slightly and said in a low, rough whisper, "Well, then, my lady, speak up. We have all the privacy you could possibly want right here."

Speak? Dear God, she could barely breathe. His proximity, the warmth emanating from him, his intoxicating scent all conspired to overwhelm her. Rob her of her wits. And even if she were capable of it, she didn't want to speak. She wanted to touch. To rest her fingertips against his rugged, clean-shaven jaw. To explore the texture of his skin. Then slip her fingers into his thick hair. To see if it felt as silky as it looked.

Then taste… to brush her lips against his. To discover if that firm, uncompromising mouth could be… compromised. To experience what she knew in her heart would be an incomparable kiss. Because surely a man like Gideon would know how to kiss a woman. And God help her, she so desperately wanted to be kissed. By him. This man who'd launched countless sensual fantasies.

And then she wanted to bury her face against the strong column of his neck and simply breathe him in. Absorb his heat and strength and delicious scent.

"Well, my lady?"

His warm breath touched her cheek, igniting her skin. Answer… she needed to answer him. Before he concluded she was a bird-witted mute. She searched her mind for something to say and grasped at the first thing that entered her brain.

"The ghost." The two words exploded from her mouth like twin pistol shots. "I… I wish to discuss the ghost with you." She barely swallowed the horrified ack that rose in her throat. Dear God, what was she saying?

"What ghost?"

Botheration, now that she'd embarked upon this perfidious path, there was no turning back. "The one I u C. "1emnderstand you're trying to find."

"You mean the murdering thief I will find."

"Er, yes."

"What about him?"

Yes, Julianne, what about him?her inner voice taunted. "Well, I, um… believe he tried to rob my household."

Another horror-stricken ack vibrated in her throat. Good God almighty, her mouth had totally run amok. It was as if she had no control over her own words. Her lips parted, and lies spewed forth like steam from a boiling kettle.

His gaze narrowed. "When?"

I haven't the faintest idea. "Last night."

"What happened?"

I lay alone in my bed. And thought of you. "I…I was awakened by strange groaning sounds."

"Did anyone else in the household hear them?"

"Not that anyone said." That much at least was true.

"Did you report these noises to your father?"

"No." As he seemed more interested than suspicious, she warmed to her fabrication and improvised, "I'd assumed what I heard was the wind and actually didn't think of it again until…" just now. "Until I read the story about Mrs. Greeley this morning in the Times. I checked our valuables and found nothing missing."

He was silent for several seconds, tiny spaces of time during which she wondered if he could smell the stench of her lies rising from her skin like a noxious cloud.