Lorraine Heath: Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

“Miss Watkins?”

She spun around. Her eyes-the shade of a cloudless sky-widened and her plump, rosy lips parted slightly. She quickly regained control. “Why, Mr. Swindler, isn’t it? What a surprise. I’d not expected to see you again.”

Whatever words he’d planned to deliver to disarm her jumbled in his mind like rattled dice within a cup. By the light of day she was an entirely different creature. So much had been hidden from him in the shadows of the night. Her skin was remarkably flawless, creamy alabaster with a hint of blush curving over her high cheekbones. Her eyes held innocence, softness he’d not noticed before. Her hair peeking out from beneath her bonnet was a pale moonlight, almost white. He was staring at the same woman he’d confronted last night, yet she was more lovely than he recalled. Something about her in the daylight managed to give him a sharp blow to the chest, making it difficult to draw in a breath-which he desperately wanted to do if for no other reason than to enjoy her scent once more.

She bestowed upon him a whimsical smile. “You’re not following me about, are you?”

He gave a brisk shake of his head and cleared his throat, giving himself time to regain his wits. Women didn’t have this power over him. Ever. Even the most skilled seductress might turn his body to mush, but never his mind.

“No,” he finally responded, hoping to charm her with one of his warmest smiles. As a child he’d collected a host of expressions that could be brought forth to help him acquire whatever he needed. Sad eyes when he was hungry and hoping for a scrap of food from a grocer or a cook at the back door of a residence, tears when he needed to draw a lady nearer in order to pilfer her hidden pockets. Cockiness when it was warranted. Humility when it would best serve to garner the prize. There were times when he’d decided he was a vast wasteland absent of emotions, except for those in his arsenal that he could conjure upon command. “Well, yes, I suppose I am in a way. I found something that I thought you might like to have. I was in the process of taking it to your lodgings when I spotted you walking up the street. I decided to present it personally rather than leave it with your landlady.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removed a folded map of London and held it out to her. “So you might never again become lost.”

Her face lit with surprise and she laughed, a light airy sound that competed with the birds singing in the trees. As she took the map, her gloved fingers grazed his, and his gut tightened with the thought of her grazing something else entirely. He swallowed hard, striving to regain his bearings. She was only a woman, after all. A mark. And his facade had been carefully built just for her-it didn’t reflect his true self. That, he showed to only a select few.

“How very thoughtful.” Her expression was open when she lifted her gaze to his. How in God’s name did anyone think she’d inflict harm on a fly, much less a man? “You must have gone to a great deal of bother to find it.”

He’d gone to none at all. He’d bought it last year, when mapmakers had flooded the city with maps in anticipation of the many visitors who would come to London in order to view the Great Exhibition. He gave her a daring combination of humility and confidence. “Going to the bother was part of the gift.”

He hated the false words he uttered. It had never bothered him before to fool someone into revealing what he needed revealed. But then he feared he wanted more from her than was practical. He wanted her on his arm. He wanted her rising up on her toes as he lowered his head to meet her lips in a passionate kiss. He wanted her sharing his bed, whispering wicked words in his ear-even as he doubted her vocabulary included the vulgar words about which he was thinking. But he could teach her. He suspected she was a quick study.

But more, he yearned to have her sitting beside him before a fire, listening as he recounted his day, offering words of solace when he bore witness to the brutality and inhumanity of man. It was the last of these that made his desire for her impractical, because the horrors he encountered had no place in her safe world or her innocent mind.

He gave himself a hard mental shake. Whatever was wrong with him to have such fanciful thoughts? It was unlike him to think in such poetic terms. He was a realist. Practical.

“I truly have no idea how I shall ever repay your kindness,” she said.

“Perhaps you’d be so kind as to take a turn about the park with me.”

She glanced quickly around, and he wondered if she was searching for Rockberry or striving to ensure that no one she knew would see her with Swindler. “I don’t suppose it’ll do my reputation any harm. After all, you can’t take advantage here.”

She was innocent. Why ever did she think women required chaperones? A man would always take advantage if the opportunity to do so presented itself. Especially when the lady was as enticing as she was.

He gallantly offered his arm. When her small gloved hand lighted upon it, he felt the touch clear to the souls of his feet. As part of his attempt to gain her trust, he’d dressed the part of a gentleman: gloves, hat, a fine jacket, waistcoat, and cravat. He preferred clothes a bit more plain, but he always dressed better when his mark was a woman. Women seemed to appreciate a man who was well turned out. And he needed every advantage he could muster. Next to her, he felt like a clumsy clod, rather than Scotland Yard’s most brilliant and accomplished detective.

“You seem to have recovered very well from the ordeal you faced last night,” Swindler said, striving to keep his mind on the task at hand rather than his fanciful musings.

“Yes, quite. Thanks entirely to your efforts.”

“No lingering ill effects?”

“No, not even a bruise. It was frightfully silly of me to go out so late. I’m not quite sure what I was thinking. I shall certainly take more care in the future.”

“I’m relieved to hear that. Have you been in London long?” Swindler asked.

“What gives you the impression I didn’t grow up within the city?”

Tilting his head, he gave her a wry smile. “You became lost.”

She blushed, her cheeks turning the most becoming shade of rose. “Oh, yes. Quite. I’ve been in town for only a week.”

“Was there something in particular that brought you to London?”

She shook her head. “I wanted to see it.” She looked up at the sky as though searching for answers. “My sister visited last year. She was quite enamored with the sights. So I thought I’d come this summer.”

“A shame she didn’t come with you. Perhaps you’d have not gotten lost.”

She brought her gaze back around to him. “She passed recently.”

Setting his face to give no clue that the information was not new to him, he placed his hand over hers where it rested on his arm. When he squeezed her hand, he meant to impart comfort, possibly the first honest gesture toward her. “My condolences on your loss.”

He noted her hesitation before she revealed, “Our home is near the sea. She wandered…wandered too near the cliffs and fell to her death.”

An untimely end, indeed. Recalling Rockberry’s words, he wondered what role the man had played in the girl’s demise. He was tempted to confess everything to Miss Watkins and simply ask her what her true business was, and why she was following Rockberry. Instead, he continued on with the ruse, concerned that she might shy away from him if she suspected he was here because of duty. “Again, my condolences on your loss.”

She lifted a delicate shoulder. “My father took ill shortly afterward and passed as well. It’s been a very trying few months.”