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  Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

  Lorraine Heath

  She Sought Revenge But Discovered Desire.

  On a quest to avenge her sister's death, Eleanor Watkins never expected to fall for the man following her through pleasure gardens and into ballrooms. But soon nothing can keep her from the arms of the sinfully attractive scoundrel, not even the dangerous secrets she keeps. Strong, compassionate, and utterly irresistible, James is all she desires. But can she trust him enough to let herself succumb to all the pleasures that midnight allows?

  James Swindler has worked hard to atone for his unsavory past. He is now as at home in London's glittering salons as he is in the roughest streets. But when the inspector is tasked with keeping watch on a mysterious lady suspected of nefarious deeds, he is determined to use his skills at seduction to lure Eleanor into revealing her plans. Instead, he is the one seduced, turning away from everything he holds dear in order to protect her – no matter the cost to his heart.

  Lorraine Heath

  Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

  The fourth book in the Scoundrels of St. James series, 2009

  For the Foxes

  Alice, Franny, Jane, Jo, Julie,

  Kay, Sandy, Suzanne, Tracy

  Life is much more fun with you ladies

  pouring the wine.

  Prologue

  From the Journal of James Swindler

  A darkness hovers inside me. It was born the day I watched my father hanged. A public hanging, with a festive air in the streets, as though I alone understood the loss, as though the object stolen was worth destroying both his life and mine.

  I had been born a mere eight years earlier, and with my arrival had come my mother’s parting from this world. So it was that with my father’s death, I became an orphan with nowhere to go and no one to take me in.

  Within the jubilant crowd of curious onlookers were two lads who recognized my plight-the tears streaming down my dirty face while others jeered and laughed, no doubt telling my story. My father had told me to be strong. He’d even winked at me before they placed the black hood over his head. As though his standing on the gallows were a prank, a bit of good fun, something we would laugh about later.

  But it wasn’t a prank, and if my father is laughing now, it is only the devil who hears.

  I was not strong that day. But I have shown strength ever since.

  The lads comforted me as boys are wont to do: with a slug on the arm and “stiff upper lip, mate.” They invited me to tag along with them. Jack was the older, his swagger one of confidence. Luke was wide-eyed, and I suspected it was the first hanging he’d ever witnessed. As we made our way through the teeming throng, their nimble fingers pilfered many a coin purse and handkerchief.

  When darkness descended, they led me through the warren of the rookeries to the door of a kidsman who went by the name of Feagan. He had little use for the likes of me until he’d gathered the precious booty from his workers. Children all. Only one girl among them. A girl with vibrant red hair and gentle green eyes. Her name was Frannie. Once I realized that Jack and Luke had brought me to a den of thievery, I lost all enthusiasm to stay. I had no desire to belong to a place that was certain to lead me straight to the gallows. But I had a stronger desire not to lose sight of the young girl. So I remained.

  I became very skilled at ferreting out information, helping to set up swindles. I wasn’t as talented when it came to thievery. I was caught on more than one occasion and took my punishment as my father had taught me-with stoicism and a wink.

  As a result, I became far too familiar with the fact that the legal system was not fair, and often innocence was the cost. I began to pay close attention when justice was meted out. Why was one boy given ten lashes for snitching a silk handkerchief while another was transported to a prison colony in New Zealand? How was evidence obtained? How did one determine guilt? More importantly, how did one prove innocence?

  In time I began to work secretly for the Metropolitan Police. I did not fear the shadows or the darker side of London. Even when I worked openly for Scotland Yard, I traveled where others had no desire to tread.

  I drew comfort in knowing I never arrested an innocent. Depending on the severity of the crime, I often sent the culprit on his way with a mere slap on the wrist and a warning that I was watching, always watching. Of what importance is a stolen bit of silk frippery when a man might have lost his life in the street? I was far more concerned with-and fascinated by-the grisly crimes.

  They appealed to the darkness hovering inside me, and so it was that they garnered my ardent attention…

  And eventually led me to her.

  Chapter 1

  London

  1852

  Revenge was not for the faint of heart. It might have bothered Eleanor Watkins that she was fairly consumed with the need to achieve it if she took a moment to give it any further consideration. But ever since she’d discovered and read through her sister’s journal, learned what horrors had truly befallen her sister when she’d traveled to London last Season, she had little time for anything other than plotting how best to avenge Elisabeth. Eleanor was determined that the man who had escorted her sister from sweet innocence into brutal carnality would pay as dearly for his sins as her sister had for her naivety.

  Her quest for vengeance controlled her every action, her every thought, from the moment she awoke to the song of the lark until she laid her head on the pillow to endure another night of fretful sleep and horrendous nightmares fueled by each stroke of her sister’s pen as she’d described the shame she’d endured at the hands of the Marquess of Rockberry.

  Eleanor’s obsessive need for retribution was the reason that she now strolled through Cremorne Gardens long past the hour when any respectable woman would be about. Even decent men had retired for the evening, but then the man she followed could hardly be declared reputable, although he gave a rather good imitation. She’d heard that the fireworks that burst into the air each evening at the gardens were spectacular. But of course, he’d not arrived in time to enjoy so simple a pleasure as watching brilliant flashes of light paint the sky. No, his pleasures leaned toward a darker, more foreboding nature.

  And so Lord Rockberry had waited until the good folk had removed themselves from the gardens and the depraved had arrived with mischief on their minds before making his unheralded appearance. His sinister laughter echoed through the pleasure gardens as he periodically stopped to speak with one rogue or another. Tall and slender, he strolled quickly through the throng, his cape billowing out behind him, adding to the sense that among the wicked he considered himself king. But even with his height and top hat, she had to dart around people to keep him within her sights-and she was determined to do it in such a way that he took no notice of her. She’d not fall victim to his persuasive charms as her sister had. If either of them fell, she was determined it would be him.

  She had visualized that tonight the dagger would slide into his heart, so all the world would see exactly how putrid and black it was, but she knew the time wasn’t right, nor was the place. She had to take care, execute the plan as it had been laid out-lest she find herself hanging from the gallows. As much as she loved her sister, she wasn’t quite ready to join her-although if her life was the cost of revenge, she would pay it. From the moment she set foot on this path, she’d been aware that it might eventually lead her to Newgate. She’d not regret it as long as it also led Rockberry into hell.

  “Would you care for some company?”

  The fair young man who stepped in front of her gave her a charming smile. His clothes were well-tailored and she suspected that if she had someone to properly introd
uce her into Society, she might dance with him at a ball on another night. “No, thank you. I’m meeting someone.”

  “Fortunate fellow. If he doesn’t show-”

  “He will,” she lied, cutting him off and skirting around him, hurrying past the splashing fountain, wishing she had a moment to enjoy the beauty of the gardens.

  Blast it! Now where had Rockberry gone? She quickened her pace and breathed a sigh of relief when she spied him talking with a buxom woman whose gown was indecently low, giving all in attendance a glimpse of what she had to offer. Apparently she wasn’t what Rockberry sought, because he continued on without looking back. No, he preferred ladies of a more innocent bent. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why he’d come here, where naughty behavior was tolerated, expected even. Rockberry had a penchant for the intolerable, forcing her sister to endure depraved acts of sin and debauchery.

  For six days now she’d been cataloging his habits and rituals, striving to map out the pattern of his life, working to determine how best to bring that life to an end without sacrificing her own.

  Unfortunately, her life in a small village near the sea had hardly provided her with the education or experience to play cat and mouse, and more often than not she feared she was the prey and not the predator in this deadly game. Especially as she had the increasing sense that while she followed Lord Rockberry, someone followed her.

  As the lavender bowers scented the air around her, Eleanor fought not to glance back, not to give any indication that she was aware of her pursuer. She’d first become cognizant of a large man trailing in her wake two nights ago, after Rockberry had paid a visit to Scotland Yard. She should have been more discreet in her plans for Rockberry. She might have spooked him with her boldness, making him aware of her presence, hoping he’d begin to question his own sanity. If he went mad and took his own life, so much the better. It would save her from having to take it for him. Instead, it was possible he’d reported her to the police.

  She’d yet to catch sight of her pursuer tonight, but she was certain he was there because the hairs on the nape of her neck prickled, sending icy tingles coursing through her.

  It didn’t help, so near the Thames, that the thick fog was silently rolling in, washing out the color of all that surrounded her. The gaslights became muted hazes, eerily striving to illuminate what many preferred to hide. Behind the elms and poplars, in shadowy recesses, came the murmurs of gentlemen and the seductive laughter of women.

  She was no longer certain what she hoped to accomplish by following Rockberry to such a questionable place, but she needed to know what he did, who he met, so she could determine the best moment to strike. Caution over expediency.

  He prowled the night as though he were some ravenous beast, but she knew it wasn’t food he sought, but rather decadent pleasures-her sister’s journal had revealed in intimate and heartrending detail how he had seduced her, not only for his gratification but for the amusement of others. As though her wants had no merit, her dreams were meant to be shattered. Rockberry had destroyed Elisabeth long before she’d flung herself over the cliff into the turbulent sea below.

  Fighting back her tears-now was not the time to succumb to her sorrow-she strengthened her resolve to see that Rockberry paid handsomely for his part in her sister’s death at the mere age of nineteen.

  The loathsome man disappeared around a curve. Drat it! He was too self-absorbed to realize he was being followed, so he must have some rendezvous in mind. She wondered if he’d already singled out his next victim. If that was the case, then she might very well end the game tonight, because she couldn’t stand by and let another woman suffer as Elisabeth had.

  She swept around the trees and came to a staggering stop, her path blocked by three gentlemen with lascivious grins.

  “Hello, sweeting,” the one in the middle said, giving her the impression that he was the one in charge.

  The lights in this area were exceedingly dim, and the gray mist didn’t help the situation. She could tell little about him save that he was fair, and if not for his wretched smile, she might have even considered him handsome. His friends were dark, one distinguishable by his rather unattractive bulbous nose, and the other by his unfortunate lack of a chin, as though it had somehow fallen into his neck. The way their gazes roamed over her made her skin crawl, and it was all she could do not to shrink before them. They wore the finest of clothes, along with expectations for a grand time, intent upon enjoying their youth while it still belonged to them.

  As for herself, with Elisabeth’s death, she’d aged well beyond her twenty years.

  “Please, excuse me.” She made a motion to go around them, but they moved as one to bar her path. Her heart sped up, imitating the rhythm of the train that had brought her to London, clacking and rattling and threatening to jump the tracks at any moment. She took a step back, and No Chin sidestepped over to hinder her escape. Suddenly, she found herself surrounded. It would take very little for the men to drag her into the darkest shadows of the garden where no hope existed for retaining her dignity.

  She tried to open her reticule, to find the dagger she kept there as her only source of protection, but No Chin tore it free of her hold, nearly wrenching her arm off in the process. “No!” she cried out.

  “Come on, be a good girl,” the fair-haired man said as he snaked an arm around her, lifting her to the tips of her toes.

  Terror gripped her as she released an ear-splitting scream. But all she heard was laughter as they began carting her toward the dark abyss. She wouldn’t succumb easily to what they planned. She would fight, scratch, claw-

  “Hold up, gents! The lady is with me.”

  Apparently, the men forcing her off the main pathway were as surprised by the deep confident voice obviously directed at them as she was. They parted slightly, allowing her to view through a narrow gap the shadowy silhouette of a large man with broad shoulders, taller than any man she’d ever seen.

  Abruptly, he shouldered his way in, wound his arm around her waist and untangled her from her captor, using his free arm to shove one of the other men aside.

  “I mean you no harm,” he murmured quickly in a low, reassuring voice. “If you wish to survive this night with your virtue intact, I suggest you come along with me.”

  Everything about him was lost to the murky shadows that accompanied the encroaching fog. His hair was dark, but she couldn’t tell its exact shade. She could feel the power in his hold, strength as well as confidence. Instinctively, she knew he was not a man who forced women. He had no need. Something about him radiated a protective air, and she realized in all likelihood he was the man who’d been following her, the man from Scotland Yard. She didn’t think he was one to fear the devil, and she had an insane thought that perhaps he could help her deal with Rockberry. But even as she thought it, she realized she could no more confide in a stranger than she could a friend. Not about this matter, not when so much-when everything-was at risk.

  His gaze shifted away from her, and only then did she remember they had an audience. The three young men were glaring at them.

  “Look here, old chap,” the leader said. “We claimed her first.”

  “As I’ve already stated, she’s with me.”

  “We were told she was available.”

  “You were told incorrectly.” With his arm firmly around her, he began to stride away. She had to move her feet quickly to stay in step. But before they’d neared the main path, the three men moved to thwart their leaving. She heard his weary sigh.

  “Do you gents really want to fight tonight, knowing you can’t possibly win?”

  “There are three of us and only one of you. I like our odds.”

  “My odds are better. I grew up on the streets, fighting far worse than you.”

  “You sound like a gent.”

  “But I fight like the very devil.” The underlying threat of his words reverberated through his voice.

  It seemed the men who had accosted her wer
e not only mean-spirited, but stupid. Bulbous swung-

  She found herself quickly thrust behind her protector-it was how she was quickly beginning to think of him-as he warded off the blow and sent Bulbous to the ground. The other two attacked him. While he used his shoulder to cause No Chin to stagger back, her rescuer plowed his fist into the fair man’s stomach. With a gasp, Fair doubled over and dropped to his knees. Then her protector rounded on Bulbous as he regained his footing and stood. The thud of flesh hitting flesh as her protector’s knuckles caught the man beneath the chin echoed around them. Bulbous staggered back, arms windmilling. He fell in a graceless sprawl over the ground, unmoving. As his companions tried to get to their feet, her protector made short work of landing two quick punches that returned both to the ground.

  “Stay put until we leave,” her protector ordered, before holding out his hand to her. “Let’s go, shall we?”

  If he meant her harm, she thought, he had no reason to take her out of here. While the excuse was flimsy, she found herself nodding. She’d had quite enough of this place, and knew that finding Rockberry now was beyond the scope of her meager skills of detection. She took a step toward her rescuer, then remembered-

  “My reticule. One of them took it.”

  With his foot, he rolled Bulbous over, retrieved her reticule, and halted to stare at the handle of the dagger poking out.

  “For protection,” she muttered, taking her reticule and closing it over the dagger.

  “Little good it did you. Come along. Stay close. I’ll hire a hansom, see you safely home.”

  She had no choice except to let him draw her in and hold her upright, because she realized that she was trembling from the ordeal now that it was over. How could she have been so foolish as to believe she could protect herself in this place by simply not accepting what anyone might offer?