Yet her eyes remained closed, and tremors still racked her body, arousing his conscience-an inner voice he'd thought long dead-which lashed him with recriminations. For not sending her back to the party the second he found her. For that instant of weakness, of giving in to his overwhelming desire to touch her, taste her. For allowing himself to be drawn into an impossible situation.

That kiss, the feel of her softness pressed against him, her sweet scent surrounding him, her delicious taste flooding his senses, had all but brought him to his knees. That kiss had done nothing to appease his hunger for her. No, instead, his previous cravings paled to nothingness compared to the ravenous appetite for her now scraping at him.

What a bloody idiot he was.

Her eyes blinked slowly open, and she gazed at him with a glazed expression. She was still shaking, but at least she hadn't swooned. Yet. She slowly moistened her lips, a leisurely lick that tightened his fingers on her shoulders and swelled him against his breeches-something he wouldn't have thought possible, as he was already harder than a brick.

"Why… why did you…"

Ruthlessly pushing away the desire clawing at him, he braced himself for a barrage of outraged recriminations-which, in spite of his warning to her, he deserved for the way he'd all but mauled her.

"Stop?"

He blinked. "Why did I stop?"

Again she licked her lips-a fascinating gesture he longed to study at length-and gave a limp-necked nod. "Why did you stop?"

"You were shaking. I frightened you."

"I was shaking… but you didn't frighten me."

Realization dawned with another swift stab of lust. She hadn't trembled with fear but with desire. Before he could fully wrap his mind around the idea, she reached out and grabbed his lapels. Yanked hard, but certainly not hard enough to move him had he chosen to remain in place.

But the knife-sharp desire to feel her again cleaved through his common sense, and he stepped forward. His body brushed against hers, and if he'd been capable of levity, he would have laughed at how profoundly that whisper of a touch affected him.

She tilted her head back and looked at him with those beautiful eyes, glowing with what he now recognized as arousal, and whispered, "More." The word was half tremulous request, half impatient demand.

"Given my penchant for summing things up in one word, I must admit that more is an excellent choice."

Indeed, perhaps there was a living, breathing man capable of refusing her, but Gideon sure as hell wasn't that man. And even if desire wasn't compelling him to this madness, his own pride would have done so. He simply had to kiss her again if for no other reason than to redeem himself-to prove to himself that he could do so without losing control. And to teach this temptress a lesson: that dangers lurked in the dark. That in the future she needed to remain within the safe confines of the drawing room.

Pulling her away from the tree, he turned them so that his back rested against the rough trunk. Spreading his legs, he drew her into the V of his thighs, a place where she fit so perfectly and felt so damn good it seemed as if she were molded precisely for him. He ran his hands down her back, pressing her closer, then lowered his head.

He brushed his lips over hers, once, twice, forcing himself to gently explore where last time he'd simply plundered. He circled her full, parted lips, drinking in her breathy sighs. Shoving back the urgency nipping at him, he slowly sank deeper into the kiss, his tongue savoring the sweet taste of her. Her arms slid over his shoulders, and she seemed to simply dissolve into him, wax melting from the inferno burning inside him.

She squirmed, and his erection jerked, effortlessly breaching the control he'd only seconds ago thought fully reinforced. His hips thrust slowly forward, a movement he was helpless to stop-a fact that irritated and alarmed him. Bloody hell, what was happening to him? What was this woman doing to him?

Grasping her shoulders, he set her firmly away from him, then released her as if she'd turned into a pillar fire. Which it seemed she was-and he was kindling.

"Enough," he said in a rough voice he didn't recognize. She swayed a bit on her feet, and he moved several more steps away lest he be tempted to hold her again-like a spider falling into a deadly web. Damn distracting woman. He narrowed his eyes at her. "I don't know what game you're playing, princess, but I assure you it's one you don't want to play with me."

She stared at him for several seconds, and he could see her gathering herself. Wrapping her arms around her midsection, she lifted her chin to a regal angle. If he'd allowed it to, the unmistakable hurt in her eyes might have taken the edge off his annoyance. But it was far wiser for him to concentrate on that annoyance. At her, for coming out here and tempting him with her incomparable beauty and sweet scent and judgment-stealing kisses. And at himself for allowing her to do so.

"I wasn't playing a game," she said quietly, then added in a flat voice, "And I'm not a princess."

Without another word, she turned and walked away. Keeping to the shadows, he silently followed her, his inconvenient conscience insisting he make certain she arrived at the house safely. She walked with short, rapid steps and kept looking around, clearly nervous. He was sorely tempted to make his presence known but forced himself not to. Not while they were still alone in the dark.

When she reached the terrace stairs, he judged it safe for him to speak. "I'll be calling on your father tomorrow to investigate your claims of the ghost," he said softly from the shadows. "I suggest you apprise him of the story you told me before I arrive."

Her back stiffened, and for several seconds she remained still. Then, without a word or a backward glance, she hurried up the flagstone steps and entered the drawing room.

Chapter 5

"'Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive,'" Julianne muttered to herself as she paced in her bedchamber the next morning. Streaks of pale pink filtered through the window, shades of the predawn's dark mauve surrendering to a new day. Yet the hint of illumination did nothing to lighten her troubled mood.

"Clearly Sir Walter Scott was far more astute than I when he penned those wise words."

Indeed. If she'd devoted her time to rereading his Marmion, rather than scandal-laden tomes such as The Ghost of Devonshire Manor, she wouldn't be in such a fix.

Indeed, if she hadn't read The Ghost of Devonshire Manor, her thoughts wouldn't be filled with sensual ghosts who ignited fantasies that drove her from parties into the darkness to seek out a fascinating Bow Street Runner who'd…

Kissed her.

The memory slammed into her, halting her nervous footsteps. Dear God, how he'd kissed her. Kissed her until she'd forgotten the chilled air. The impropriety of her actions. How to tell the truth.

Everything except him.

Even the cold slap of humiliation that followed would never cool the heat of that kiss. Never erase the wondrous discovery of Gideon's taste. His scent and heat surrounding her like a warm, male blanket. The intimate press of his hard body against hers. Indeed, she should be grateful for the humiliation she'd felt afterward, as it was the only thing that kept her from clinging to him like an overzealous vine and begging him to never stop. From imploring him to touch her. Everywhere. From giving in to her own overwhelming desire to touch him. Everywhere.

Although she hadn't embarrassed herself quite that much, she'd still managed to immerse herself in an untenable situation. She'd spent a restless night tossing, turning, pacing, trying to figure out a way to avert the disaster of epic proportions looming on the horizon. But like a spider trapped in a poisonous web of its own making, every idea just tied another knot in her tangle of deception. Every idea save one. The only way to extricate herself was to tell Gideon the truth.

She'd have to intercept him before he spoke to her father and admit she'd lied. For the only other option was to lie to Father, to tell him the story she'd told Gideon. She cringed at the mere thought. She knew her father well, knew precisely what his reaction would be. Without proof, he'd simply coldly dismiss her claims, telling her as he so often did that she was nothing but a silly, ridiculous girl who knew nothing and should concentrate on doing the one thing she was good at: sitting on a settee and looking pretty.

Indeed, if her father spoke to Gideon, he'd make that opinion known. God knows Gideon already held her in little enough esteem. To have her own father confirm her general uselessness to the one man she wished regarded her highly was a humiliation she wasn't certain she could bear.

Of course, the prospect of telling Gideon the truth-that she'd followed him into the garden with the hopes of catching a glimpse of him, of talking to him-about anything-was mortifying enough to cramp her stomach. He'd think her an absolute idiot and would no doubt never wish to speak to her again. And she couldn't blame him. But at least she'd be an honest absolute idiot. And since nothing could ever come of their acquaintance, it was for the best. She'd always have the memory of their unforgettable kiss. The most wondrous adventure she'd ever had.

Her inner voice coughed to life. It was the only adventure you've ever had.

She pursed her lips. Fine. It was her only adventure. But Kadvigh what an adventure it had been. And maybe, perhaps, Gideon wouldn't hate her after she told him the truth. Perhaps he'd be flattered and admire her honesty and they could be-

She cut off the thought with a violent shake of her head. Could be what? Friends? Hardly. Not only would her parents forbid such an association with a man they'd view as nothing more than an ill-bred, common nobody, but why would Gideon want to be friends with a woman he believed to be nothing more than a foolish, spoiled princess?

Nor could they ever be anything else. Certainly not acquaintances who met in dark gardens for stolen kisses. She was fortunate no one had come upon them. Mother had noted her absence from the party and had scolded Julianne, even after she'd offered the excuse that she'd felt unwell and had merely found a quiet alcove to rest for several minutes. No, to find herself alone again with Gideon would prove too much of a temptation. It was one thing to want him in the solitary privacy of her own thoughts, where they were not only friends but lovers. It was quite another to try to control her desires when she was with him. Close enough to touch. Especially now that she knew how he tasted. How he felt. How he kissed.

Drawing a resolute breath, she exited her bedchamber. She'd force down some breakfast then position herself in the morning room window seat where she'd see Gideon arrive at the house. She'd tell him the truth and be done with her deceit. And carry the memory of their heated kiss in her heart.

When Julianne approached the dining room, her steps slowed, and she frowned at the muffled sound of her parents' voices coming from within. Botheration. Mother rarely awoke this early, and Father usually took a tray in his private study on those occasions when Mother did come to breakfast early. It was unusual for them to eat together in the morning-a fact that piqued her curiosity, especially after she heard her father say her name.