“Wait.” Simone rose to her feet, but she knew she was too late. The woman moved with far more speed than seemed possible. Far too fast to be caught now. Giving a click of her tongue, Simone glared at the hedge. Just when she thought nothing could be worse than fearing that Gideon was something other than human, and having frightening men like Mr. Soltern stalking her, now strange gypsies began appearing out of thin air.
Believe,
she had said. Believe what? That she was going utterly mad? “Heaven help me.”
“Simone?”
Too late noting the odd prickle of awareness that had been washing over her skin, Simone turned to discover Gideon standing directly behind her, his expression one of stark concern.
“Gideon.” She pressed a hand to her suddenly racing heart. “What is it?”
He glanced carefully around the garden, as if expecting to discover someone lurking about. She wondered if he had overheard any of her conversation with the gypsy.
“Has Mr. Soltern been here?”
She blinked in surprise at his abrupt question. “No, I have not encountered him in several days.”
Gideon did not relax his tense survey, his entire body coiled for attack.
“Are you certain?”
Unnerved at the sense of simmering danger that cloaked about the elegant gentleman, Simone took an instinctive step toward him.
“Gideon, whatever is the matter?”
For a moment he refused to answer, then with an obvious effort he forced himself to ease the tension that was gripping him.
“Nothing,” he murmured, allowing his gaze to at last rest upon her puzzled countenance. “You received my gift?”
Caught off guard by his sudden question, Simone could not prevent the small blush that flooded her cheeks.
“Yes.”
“And it pleases you?”
Her usual sophistication deserted her as she thought of the lovely bolts of material that she could hardly wait to begin transforming into beautiful gowns.
“Very much.”
He smiled gently. “Good.”
“I ... I was just about to have tea. Would you care to join me?” she asked impulsively.
As if sensing she was not nearly as comfortable in his presence as she would have him believe, Gideon regarded her with a searching gaze.
“Am I welcome?”
She grimaced at his blunt words. Common sense might warn her she was treading into dangerous waters, but the desire to be with this gentleman was proving to be far more powerful. Whatever his secrets, she could not shake the sensation that he would never hurt her.
“That is what I am attempting to decide,” she confessed bluntly.
His lips twitched. “Very well.”
Together they turned to head back to the house, Simone walking at his side while she kept a covert watch on the towering form. They had reached the open door when she noticed the undeniable amusement that was etched upon the handsome features.
“What do you find so amusing?” she demanded.
“You keep glancing at me as if you expect me to suddenly sprout horns and a tail.”
Her lips thinned. “Will you?”
He lifted a dark brow. “I possess enough manners to keep them hidden during tea.”
It was an absurd conversation. Still, Simone could not make herself laugh at her foolishness. Not yet.
“It is not pleasant to fear I am losing my wits,” she muttered.
Without warning he reached out to grasp her shoulders and turned her to face his sympathetic smile.
“There is no danger of that, I assure you.”
She grimaced. “I wish I could be certain.”
“Trust me,” he urged softly.
A shower of hot sparks flared through her at the feel of his warm hands upon her bare skin. The knowledge that she so readily responded to his merest touch only deepened the scowl marring her brow.
“Why do people keep saying that?”
Leaving the town house in the traditional manner, Gideon swiftly rounded the high hedge and made his way to the back garden.
Tea had been rather a stiff affair, with Simone clearly uneasy at having him near. More than once he had longed to pull her into his arms and confess all. Anything had to be better than the thick wall of suspicion that suddenly lay between them.
Thankfully, he had retained enough logic to hold the impetuous words.
Not only would the truth expose him long before he was prepared to move upon Tristan, but it might very well frighten her into sudden flight. No mortal would easily accept the presence of a vampire in her midst, not even one who had been sent to protect her. And if she ran, he might not reach her before Tristan managed to capture her.
The thought of the renegade vampire tightened Gideon’s features as he slid through the shadows of the garden. It had been the unmistakable sense of a vampire slipping through the web that surrounded Simone’s home that had brought him hurrying to the town house.
It could not be Tristan, of course.
After giving in to his bloodlust the vampire could no longer bear the light of day. But there had been two other traitors that had escaped with Tristan and while he had yet to catch sight of them, he could not be certain that either of them had not suddenly turned their attention to Simone. If they had not yet given in to the desire for human blood they would be as free as himself to walk the streets during the day.
And whether working for Tristan, or scheming behind his back to gain full control of the Medallion, they would be a danger he could not dismiss.
In a distant corner he came to a halt and waited for the thin lad to wiggle out of the bush and offer him a cheeky smile.
“’Ello, guv.”
“Have you been here all day?” he demanded in abrupt tones.
The urchin who sported ears and a nose far too large for his thin countenance gave a shake of his head.
“No, sir. I followed the lady when she went shopping and then to the lending library.”
“When did she return home?”
“I reakon it be about a couple of hours ago.”
Gideon allowed his gaze to roam over the garden, carefully scrutinizing the few places that could hide a careful stalker.
“What occurred after she returned?”
The lad shrugged. “She came to the garden.”
“Alone?”
“For a time.” The boy lifted a grimy finger to rub the end of his nose. “Then a queer old bird appeared in the garden. Gave me quite a fright, she did. One minute she wasn’t there and the next she was.”
Gideon frowned.
Although vampires could easily shape-shift when filled with the power of bloodlust, they would not be able to leave their lair at this hour.
Not unless it had been ...
His hands clenched at his side as he peered sharply at the lad. “Tell me of this woman.”
The boy gave his nose another rub. “Looked to be a gypsy to me. She had on one of them bright skirts and her hair hanging about her face.”
“A gypsy?” he murmured, recalling Simone’s explanation that she had been given the Medallion by an old gypsy woman.
“Never seen one afore, but that’s what she seemed to be.”
“Nefri,” he breathed.
“Beg pardon, guv?”
Not surprisingly the boy sent him a baffled gaze. No mortal had ever heard the name of the greatest of all vampires. Even among vampires she was more legend than fellow companion. Always a recluse she had been one of the few to maintain the ancient arts when others had fallen into the lure of power that could easily be acquired by human blood. For centuries at a time she would disappear, hidden in secrecy as she studied the old texts and delved into the magic that had been long forgotten.
It was how she had discovered the Medallion and the power to create the Veil.
“I speak to myself,” he said with an impatient wave of his hand. He did not know why Nefri would have sought Simone out, or what she had said, but he at least knew that she would never harm the mortal woman. He only wished that he could have the opportunity to speak with the vampire. Perhaps she could give him some answer as how to ease the wariness that held Simone. “You have seen nothing of the silver-haired gentleman?”
“Well ...”
The boy appeared oddly uncertain and Gideon gave a lift of his brows.
“What is it?”
“Queer thing,” he grudgingly replied. “I was leaving here last evening and I spotted one of the maids down the street speaking with a gent in a cape. Couldn’t see his hair in the dark, but I would swear it was the same bloke. Gave me the shivers just looking at him.”
Gideon was on instant alert. The vampire could easily compel one of the servants to harm Simone if he desired, although it would hardly be his style. Tristan preferred to inflict his own pain.
“Which maid?”
“I think her name be Daisy.”
The memory of a fresh-faced girl who was often at Simone’s side rose to Gideon’s mind. He would make sure he had a word with the maid, just to ascertain she had not been put beneath Tristan’s power.
“Let me know if she meets with this man again.”
The boy offered a mocking salute. “Righto.”
Reaching beneath his jacket, Gideon pulled out a small bag filled with coins.
“Here.” He dropped the money into the boy’s outstretched hand. “Maintain your guard.”
With a grin the boy gave a twist of his hand and the bag disappeared up his sleeve.
“Easiest blunt I ever made. Or stole, for that matter.”
“And if you see the gypsy again send for me immediately.”
Surprisingly the smile faded at his command, as if the boy feared he meant to harm the old woman.
“She seems harmless enough to me.”
Gideon did not even bother attempting to smother his sudden chuckle at the innocent words.
The urchin had no notion he had been in the presence of the oldest, most powerful vampire ever to walk the world.
“Never allow appearances to deceive you,” he warned.
“She’s dangerous?”
“More dangerous than you will ever know.”
With a nod of his head Gideon turned to leave the garden through the mews. There was still the faintest trace of Nefri’s presence, but Gideon did not attempt to follow the trail.
If the vampire wished to speak with him, she would seek his company.
Until then he would have to do the best he could to ensure that disaster did not occur.
A pity he did not feel nearly so confident in his ability as he had before leaving the Veil.
With a last glance toward the town house, Gideon disappeared into the short alley.
Gideon waited two days before he at last sought out Simone.
He hoped that the time apart would give her the opportunity to still her fears and perhaps even come to terms with her suspicion that he was far more than just another London dandy.
Surprisingly he had discovered it more than a little difficult to keep himself from seeking out her companionship.
He found himself brooding upon whether she was taking proper care of herself, if Tristan was even now intending to harm her, and, absurdly, if she was entertaining other gentlemen while he stewed alone in his chambers.
The realization he was behaving more like a foolish human than a sophisticated vampire did not soothe his ruffled emotions.
Was he a victim of his own passions? If so, he had only to step from his home to discover a woman anxious to become his lover. Even without the use of Compulsion. But he did not make the slightest effort to do so.
It was not passions that troubled him, he at last conceded.
But passion for one particular woman. And the oddest desire to have her near where he could be certain she was safe at every moment.
Weakness,
he fiercely chastised himself.
A weakness that he should sear from his soul before it could destroy him.
The proud thought made him smile.
He feared that it was already far too late.
The weakness would not be dismissed no matter how he might try. It had become as much a part of him as his arms or legs.
At last accepting that he could no longer resist the unmistakable tug of Simone, Gideon attired himself in a black coat and breeches and called for his carriage.
He tried to tell himself he was being absurd, but the need to see her was nearly unbearable as he rattled closer and closer to her town house. In truth, a decided chill of unease was settled in the pit of his stomach by the time he had walked up the stairs and was greeted by the butler.
“Good day, Bartson. I am here to see Lady Gilbert,” he said in abrupt tones.
That unease only deepened when the butler gave a regretful shake of his head.
“I fear, sir, that Lady Gilbert is still making her morning visits.”
Gideon glanced toward the clock set upon an ebony-and ivory-inlaid table. “At this hour?”
“I am certain she will not be long. If you will step into the front parlor I will let her know you are waiting the moment she returns.”
Feeling far too restless to meekly await Simone, Gideon nevertheless forced himself to give a nod of his head. What good would it be to dash about London in search of the stubborn woman? She could be anywhere, from Mayfair to Bond Street.
Far better to wait here.
“Very well.”
At his grudging acceptance Bartson led him up the stairs to the front parlor. He entered the large room, but did not even glance toward the numerous chairs and sofas scattered over the carpet.
“Shall I have tea served?” the servant demanded.
“No, I thank you.”
“There is brandy on the side table. Just ring if you need anything.”
“Yes, I will,” Gideon promised, pacing toward the large window that overlooked the street.
Behind him he heard the door being softly closed, and he at last allowed his growing anxiety to mar his countenance. He could not pinpoint the source of his concern, he only knew that he would not be at ease until Simone had entered the town house and he had reassured himself that all was well.
Minutes passed with the tick of the white marble clock that Simone had assured him had been personally designed by Robert Adam. Not that the name meant anything to him, but she seemed to take pride in the possession.
Gideon maintained his vigil by the window, watching countless carriages pass by without slowing. And all the while the sense that Simone was in danger continued to grow.
Where was she?
Why did his awareness of her feel muffled and tight, as if she were being forced farther and farther away?
On razor edge Gideon nearly jumped out of his polished boots when a small rock suddenly struck the window he was staring out of.
“What the devil?” he muttered, his gaze scanning the bushes to discover the filthy urchin huddled in the shadows. With a swift movement he had thrust the window open and leaned out to regard the boy with a narrowed gaze. “What is it?”
“Lady Gilbert, sir,” the youth called back.
Those shivers of unease hardened to cold fear. The urchin would not have returned to the house without Simone unless something had occurred.
“Do not move. I will be down in a moment,” he commanded. Swinging the window shut he turned and hurried from the room. With a fluid speed he was down the stairs and out of the house. The lad joined him at the front gate. “What has happened?” he demanded the moment the boy halted.
The usual hard sophistication the urchin liked to adopt was decidedly absent as he roughly rubbed the end of his nose.
“I was following her ladyship’s carriage just as you commanded, sir.”
“Yes?” Gideon retorted impatiently.
“Well, she was visiting some nob, but when she came out to get into her carriage she was nabbed by some toughs and thrown into a hack.”
“Damn. I will kill him.” Gideon clenched his fists as a fiery fury raced through him, not for a moment believing anyone but Tristan was responsible for Simone’s kidnapping. “Was she harmed?”
“Roughed up a bit.” A rather sickly smile curved the thin lips. “She gave ’em quite a struggle.”
“Yes, I can imagine,” Gideon said in dry tones. Simone would never go quietly. “Do you know where they took her?”
“Yes, sir. I followed the hack.”
Gideon gripped the lad’s shoulder. “Good boy. Show me.” Still keeping ahold of the urchin, Gideon steered him toward his waiting carriage. “What direction?”
“St. Giles.”
“Weldon,” he called to the waiting coachman. “To St. Giles.”
“Yes, sir.”
Waving the groom to remain perched beside the coachman, Gideon opened the coach door and waited for the boy to scramble onto the leather seat. He was quick to join him and, closing the door, they were swiftly on their way.
Heavy silence descended as Gideon attempted to thrust aside the fear that made his stomach clench into painful knots. He could not afford to have his thoughts clouded by emotions, he reminded himself sternly. If Tristan had ordered his servants to take Simone to his hidden lair, then he would be at his most dangerous. Calm, cold logic would be needed to best him.
Staring out the window, the boy gave a sudden shout. “This be the street, sir.”
Gideon gave a rap on the top of the carriage and without waiting for it to halt he shoved the door open.
“Stay here,” he commanded as the urchin made a move to follow him.
The boy stuck out his lower lip in stubborn defiance. “You can’t be going alone. That gang was a rough lot.”
Knowing that the boy’s pride in his ability to face any danger would never let him accept staying behind, Gideon sent him a steady gaze.
“I need you here,” he commanded in stern tones. “Once Lady Gilbert is free you are to take her away with all speed. Is that understood?”
“I ...” Trapped by the charge laid upon him, the urchin gave a reluctant nod. “Yes, sir.”
Certain he would be obeyed, Gideon moved down the narrow street, ignoring the various harlots and street vendors that called out to him. He waited until he had slipped into a dank, trash littered alley before he slipped his hand beneath his jacket to remove the dagger. Although he continued to hope that Tristan would eventually turn himself over to the Great Council, he knew that at the moment he would kill him without remorse.
And if he had harmed Simone in any way ... well, he offered no bets that the renegade would ever have to worry over the Great Council again.
The fact that he had just chosen the life of a human, whether she held the Medallion or not, over that of a vampire barely made a ripple in his cold fury.
Simone was all that mattered.
All that mattered.
Pausing until he could pinpoint her presence within the dark, abandoned brewery at the end of the alley, Gideon slipped forward. Oddly there was no sense of Tristan, but he did not lower his guard. With as much stealth as possible he pushed at the door nearly falling from its hinges.
The interior was dark, with the thick stench of mold and rotting straw. He eased into the shadows, pressing close to the wall as he scanned for danger.
It took only a moment for him to discover Simone tied to a post in a far corner. Her mouth was gagged and her hands wrenched behind her back and fastened with a thick rope. Even from a distance he could feel the terror that rolled from her in fierce waves.
Vowing to ensure that Tristan paid dearly for every bruise and scrape, Gideon moved silently forward.
“Simone,” he whispered in the heavy silence. “Do not fear. I will soon have you free.”
Strangely she gave a violent shake of her head, her terror only deepening.
Gideon grimly moved onward, not allowing himself to hesitate. Bloody hell, she surely could not believe that he was responsible for her kidnapping? Or that he would harm her in any manner?
Her head was still shaking as he circled the post and, using the dagger, began to cut through the ropes that bound her. Once he had her free he gently removed the gag and regarded her with a somber gaze.
“Listen to me carefully,” he said in low tones. “My servants are just down the alley. I want you to run as fast as you are able out the door and to the carriage. Do not look back or hesitate. Now, run.”
He gave her a firm shove, but with the stubborn perversity that was so much a part of her, she dug in her heels and turned to face him with a desperate gaze.
“No. Gideon, there are ...”
“Run,” he growled.
“You must come with me.”
“Damn.” Grabbing her arm he roughly hauled her to the door and shoved her through. Just as swiftly he closed the door in her face. “Now go,” he ordered through the heavy wood.
A shuffling from behind him had Gideon suddenly whirling about to discover four shabbily attired men leaving the shadows and walking toward him. With deliberate movements he shifted away from the door, silently praying that Simone had the sense to flee to the carriage. There were more dangers than Tristan’s henchmen in such a neighborhood.
Holding his dagger before him, Gideon narrowed his gaze. Even in the dim light he could see the blank emptiness in the men’s eyes. The Inscrollment that held them had destroyed their minds, but that only increased their threat. They would perform whatever Tristan had commanded them to do without fear and without halting until they were dead.
“Where is your master?” he demanded as he slowly backed from their steady advance.
“You have come,” one of the servants intoned.
“Halt or I will hurt you,” Gideon warned, fluidly moving so that he could keep his gaze on the four as they spread out as if to surround him.
“You have come,” another moaned.
Gideon was forced to take another step back, cursing the short dagger he held. Although the magic of the blade would kill a vampire, ironically it was no more than just another dagger to a human. He would be far better served with a sword.
If they attacked ...
But oddly they didn’t.
Gideon had taken two more steps backward before that realization struck.
Why were they not striking?
Surely Tristan would have commanded them to attack anyone who attempted to release the woman he had captured? Even if they could not slay a vampire.
Or was his intention something else?
Something more sinister?
Carefully watching the men shuffling toward him, Gideon coldly considered their deliberate movements. There was no rush to harm him, but they did seem to be intentionally herding him toward the back of the brewery. Step by slow step.
Deciding that what was behind him might very well be more dangerous than the scoundrels before him, Gideon gracefully whirled about, his heightened eyesight probing the dark shadows of the corner.
For long, tense moments he could detect nothing more ominous than the scurry of an occasional rat and the bones of some animal long dead. But just as he could feel the ruffians beginning to close in upon him he caught the faintest shimmer of power that had been woven in the shadows.
A mind snare,
he recognized in icy shock.
It was a spell that had been forbidden by the Great Council centuries ago. Hardly surprising. It was a nasty surprise for any vampire who might wander unwittingly into one. Once caught there was no escape from the deadly sleep that would force the poor victim to simply waste away.