Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel Read online

  “Have you a name?” he finally asked quietly.

  “Eleanor Watkins,” she said without thinking, and then wondered if she should have provided a false name. She’d given so much thought to her plans, and here they were becoming unraveled.

  “What were you doing wandering the gardens this time of night, Miss Watkins?”

  “I fear I got lost.” She peered up at him, unable to determine if he believed her. “It seems, sir, that I should know the name of the man who rescued me.”

  “James Swindler.”

  On King’s Road they found a hansom waiting by the curb. Leaning over, he opened the door and handed her up. “What instructions shall I give the driver?” he asked.

  Reluctantly, she gave him the address for her lodgings. He called out the information and handed coins up to the driver.

  “Take care in the future, Miss Watkins. London can be a very dangerous place for a woman alone.”

  Before she could reply, the driver set the vehicle into motion. Glancing back, she saw Mr. Swindler still standing in the street. Large and foreboding, becoming lost to the night, much like the man she’d glimpsed following her.

  If he was Rockberry’s man, why had he let her go? And if he wasn’t, why was he following her?

  “Her name is Eleanor Watkins.”

  “Elisabeth’s sister. I should have guessed. There is an uncanny resemblance.”

  James Swindler didn’t turn to acknowledge the quiet muttering from the shadowed corner following his pronouncement of the name of the woman he’d encountered at Cremorne Gardens-after spying on her for two days now.

  Swindler’s superior, Sir David Mitchum, sat behind the desk in front of which Swindler stood. As the flame in the lamp was low, failing to cast enough light to reach the corners, Swindler assumed he was to pretend he wasn’t aware that another person inhabited the room. That the man smelled of sandalwood, rich tobacco, and nervous sweat made it a bit difficult for him to blend in with the surroundings. The fact that he’d spoken-apparently surprised by the information that Swindler had imparted-added to the ludicrousness of trying to pretend that Swindler and Sir David were alone in the room.

  Unlike the man in the corner, Swindler had the uncanny knack of blending in wherever necessary. Still, Swindler gave no indication that he was aware of the other’s presence. He could pretend with the best of them. Although he found it inconceivable that the man would believe his identity was a secret, especially as Swindler’s investigation of the woman had begun at his lordship’s residence. He suspected the Marquess of Rockberry was a conceited buffoon.

  “What more have you managed to learn about the woman?” Sir David asked.

  After sending the woman on her way, Swindler had taken another hansom, following at a discreet distance and ordering the driver to let him out on a street near Miss Watkins’s lodgings. He’d walked briskly the remainder of the way, arriving just as Miss Watkins had entered through the front door. He’d waited until he saw a soft light appear in a corner window-fortunate that her hired room faced the street-to approach. By placing a few coins in the pudgy hand of the landlady who’d opened the door, he’d been able to discern a few more details. “She has a hired room. She has only paid for the month and has been in London for a sennight. She is extremely quiet, never causes a disturbance, does not visit with the other residents, and has no callers. Often takes her meal in her room.”

  Silence stretched between them before Sir David asked, “Anything else?”

  “I fear I have nothing else to add. My instructions were to follow her and not approach her. However, as some young swells were intent upon engaging in a bit of mischief where she was concerned, I thought it prudent to ignore the second part of my orders. They claimed someone informed them that she was ‘available.’ I don’t suppose we have any idea who that someone might have been.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” came from the corner, confirming Swindler’s suspicions that Rockberry himself might have advised the young gents to make short work of her. Apparently patience wasn’t Rockberry’s strong suit.

  “A lady wandering through Cremorne Gardens late at night-alone-is bound to run into trouble,” Sir David said. “She’s fortunate you were watching her. I assume she’s none the wiser regarding your task.” If he harbored Swindler’s suspicions regarding Rockberry, he gave no hint of it.

  “She knows nothing about my true purpose. I have shared with you all that her landlady was able to reveal. Well, except for the fact that Miss Watkins arrived with one trunk and seems to have a preference for pink. If I might be honest here, from my initial observations, I hardly view Miss Watkins as a threat to anyone.”

  “His lordship disagrees.”

  Which was the reason that Swindler had been brought in. To determine what the lady was about. So far she had followed Rockberry through the zoological gardens and Hyde Park. Last night she had followed him to his club-Dodger’s Drawing Room, one of London’s more exclusive venues for gentlemen of leisure to enjoy the vices. Tonight, Cremorne Gardens. If it were a crime to follow someone, Swindler would be rotting in Pentonville Prison by now.

  “With all due respect, sir, I believe I can serve better elsewhere. I heard someone reported a murder in Whitechapel tonight and-”

  “I know you prefer solving crimes after they’ve been committed, Swindler, but our duty first and foremost is to prevent the commission of crimes.”

  It was the policeman’s motto, his creed. Prevention. It was the very reason that so many patrolled the streets. But Swindler believed nothing would prevent someone who was intent on committing transgressions. He was more obsessed with securing justice and ensuring that the correct person paid the price for felonious crimes. He had no desire to deal with a pampered lord who was concerned with a slight of a woman whose head barely reached the center of his chest. God help him, he’d felt like a lumbering giant next to her.

  “It would help, sir,” Swindler said, “to know what crime we expect her to commit.”

  “I believe she intends to kill me,” came from the corner, the voice a low simmer.

  Sir David did little more than arch a dark brow at Swindler, who fought not to let his impatience with this situation show. He was very close to wanting to strangle the lord himself. “Do we know why his lordship believes Miss Watkins would wish him ill?”

  His superior’s gaze darted over to the corner. Swindler heard the impatient sigh before the voice rumbled from it. “Elisabeth Watkins had her coming out last Season. We danced on occasion. Nothing more.”

  There was always more.

  “Am I to assume then that it is Lady Elisabeth and Lady Eleanor?” Swindler asked.

  “No, her father is merely a viscount. ’Tis Miss Eleanor Watkins.”

  Merely? So the man in the corner with his higher rank possessed a superior attitude.

  Weary of this dance, Swindler spun around. He could see one outstretched leg and a well-made boot polished to a shine that barely reached into the light. The remainder of the person was lost in the darkness, but still Swindler knew what the man looked like, as the trail had begun at his lordship’s residence. He was not terribly old. He was, however, terribly handsome, with the perfect alignment of features that caused poets to apply ink to paper and wax poetically about the wonders of love. Swindler was damned tempted to address him by name, but for some unknown reason games were being played, and Sir David was tolerating them-which meant that the man either had friends even more superior than Sir David or he’d witnessed Sir David doing something he shouldn’t. “If it was Elisabeth who caught your fancy last Season, why would Eleanor now wish you harm?”

  Silence greeted his question.

  “Your lordship, I cannot be of much assistance if you are anything less than forthright. I am not one to gossip. You could confess to enjoying the most depraved sexual acts-”

  Even with the distance separating them, Swindler felt a ripple of tension emanating from the corner.

  “-known
to man, and I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

  The silence thickened and lengthened. Was that what this was about, then? Some depravity that now haunted his lordship?

  Rockberry finally cleared his throat. “Miss Elisabeth Watkins met with an untimely end. It’s quite possible her sister holds me responsible, which is ludicrous, as I was nowhere near the silly chit when she encountered her demise. Miss Eleanor Watkins has never confronted me. She doesn’t speak to me. She merely watches. Near a lamppost or from beside a tree in the park. I’ll be taking a stroll and I’ll have a sense of being spied upon. I glance back and there she is, watching…always watching. When I try to approach her to determine her purpose, she walks away, disappears in the crowd, and I’m left to wonder if I truly saw her at all. Because of her uncanny resemblance to Elisabeth, I was beginning to think Elisabeth had returned to haunt me. But as I said, we only danced, so I can determine no reason for this annoying game.”

  With his repeated “we only danced,” Swindler wondered who his lordship was seeking to convince: Swindler or himself.

  “So you’ll continue to follow her, Swindler, see what she’s about,” Sir David said sharply in a tone that meant he’d brook no further arguments on this matter.

  Swindler gave his attention back to his superior. He liked Sir David, admired him, but this matter was beyond the pale. “As I was forced to approach her, I assume you have no objection to my approaching her again.”

  “Handle this matter however you deem best.”

  Swindler heard the frustration and annoyance in Sir David’s voice. Sir David was no happier about this situation than he was. If Swindler had his way, he’d make the matter go away on the morrow.

  Chapter 2

  The following afternoon Swindler discreetly followed Miss Watkins from her lodgings to Hyde Park. Holding a pink parasol over her left shoulder, she wore a dress of pale pink and a bonnet with matching ribbons. Her attire possessed a touch of innocence. He couldn’t fathom that she had it in for Lord Rockberry-regardless of how annoying he found the man. If the young lady was aware of Swindler’s presence, she gave no indication.

  As usual, the park was teeming with ladies and gentlemen parading their wares-their fine clothing, their haughtiness, their steadfast belief that they were better than the common man. Swindler had little tolerance for the upper crust-except when it involved his friends who were moving into the ranks of the nobility with alarming regularity. Several years back they had discovered that from birth Lucian Langdon had been destined to become the Earl of Claybourne. Last year Jack Dodger had taken a widowed duchess as his wife. And Frannie Darling, the only woman Swindler ever truly loved, had recently married the Duke of Greystone. Swindler was sincerely happy for her. He’d always been unselfish in regard to Frannie, but unselfishness came with a steep price. His father had taught him that hard lesson, and Swindler had been paying for it ever since.

  While his friends didn’t lord their stations over him, neither did they move around in the same circles any longer. It was the way of things. He didn’t resent their rise from the gutter, but he also recognized that he would always be known as the son of a thief.

  He’d loved his father as he’d never since loved any other, save Frannie. Yet his father had left him with an incredible burden to bear. When he was a lad, some nights he’d wept beneath the weight of it. During others the fury had ruled him and he’d destroyed whatever came within his path. He’d lost track of the number of times when Frannie tended his hurts, gently wrapping his bleeding knuckles. His hands constantly ached from the abuse he’d delivered to them. His features had weathered the fights as well, leaving faint scars and a less than perfect profile in their wake. He wasn’t what he’d consider handsome, but he hoped there was at least strength in his countenance.

  Not that he ever expected to attract a lady with it. Frannie was the only one he’d ever truly wanted. While she’d recently married, it had been a little over a year since she gave her heart to Greystone. Swindler wasn’t of a mind to seek another lady. He’d given Frannie his heart, and with her, it would remain. All he required now was an occasional woman to satisfy his baser needs. As he was known for giving women his undivided attention and serving up pleasure-even to those who’d never before experienced it-he had no trouble finding women wishing to spend an evening in his company. Even those accustomed to taking coins seldom took one of his.

  Of late, while he satisfied women, none satisfied him, his actions more mechanical, derived from habit. He was always left with an ache in his chest-no doubt the result of his no longer possessing a heart. Although God help him, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a woman to bed.

  Miss Eleanor Watkins saved him from his own deep thoughts, as she went to stand beside a tree that gave her a clear view of Rotten Row, no doubt awaiting the arrival of her quarry on his fine steed. While Swindler was supposed to be focused on the lady, he’d made a few inquiries regarding Rockberry. He now knew as well as she probably did that Lord Rockberry took a jaunt about the park every afternoon at precisely half past five.

  No one seemed to pay any heed to her. The other ladies were occupied seeking to garner the men’s attention, and the men were more interested in the ladies who wanted to be seen, rather than the one who didn’t. It was all part of the ritual of shopping for a spouse. Approaching her might put her reputation at risk, but he was anxious to get on with this job.

  Swindler began to amble toward Miss Watkins. He’d given considerable thought to how he would approach her. He would take on the role of interested gentleman, earn her trust, and then discern the reasons for her fascination with Rockberry-as well as exactly what she intended where the poppycock lord was concerned.

  As he came up behind her, Swindler was hit with the fragrance of roses wafting from her. He didn’t remember the fragrance from last night. Perhaps it was because it was earlier in the day, the rose water only recently applied. It teased his nostrils as the scent of most women didn’t.

  “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.