“I am sorry,” he said with quiet sincerity. “It is no wonder you seem so lonely.”
She gave a shrug, as if discomforted at discussing her loss. “I miss my mother and father, but the others were not worth mourning. And I am hardly alone.”
“It is quite possible to be alone even when surrounded by others. You are very effective in keeping people at a firm distance.”
He felt her stiffen at his perceptive accusation. “That is absurd.”
“I do not think so, my dear. You harbor too many secrets to allow anyone close, so you play the perfect hostess while keeping anyone from thrusting their way into your life.”
That stubborn expression he was beginning to recognize all too well settled on her countenance.
“Except for you.”
“Because I refuse to be pushed away.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So I had noticed.”
With a smile he raised his hand to lightly tap the end of her nose. “And perhaps someday if you are very fortunate I will even allow you to seduce me.”
Her eyes blazed, but thankfully she merely clenched her hands in her lap. Gideon’s smile widened, inwardly quite thankful that she hadn’t actually toppled him from the carriage.
It was only with a great deal of reluctance that Simone forced herself to enter the grand, but older town house located close to St. James.
It was a beautiful home that had been refurbished by Robert Adam in a Palladian style, but while Simone fully appreciated the split marble staircase with its intricate wrought-iron banister and even the paneled ceiling that graced the upper gallery, she was not at all enamored of the shrill aria that was piercing the air with painful determination.
As a rule she avoided such musicale evenings like the plague. Why would anyone with a particle of sense desire to put themself through such torture?
But the note she had received from Mary had been quite urgent, and putting aside her dislike for mangled arias and disapproving dragons she had attired herself in a rather modest gown in dark emerald and made her way to the house of Lady Falstone.
“At last.” Hurrying from a shadowed corner Mary attached herself to Simone before she could reach the open doors to the salon. “I thought you would never arrive.”
Simone grimaced as another shriek echoed through the corridor.
“I very nearly did not. There are few things I detest more than listening to the screeching of endless debutantes without a hairsbreath of talent between the lot of them.”
Mary waved a dismissive hand toward the salon. “I did not request you meet me here for the dubious entertainments. I have something I wish you to see.”
Simone blinked in surprise. “Here?”
“Well, not precisely here. It is upstairs.”
“Mary, you are making no sense.”
The widow tugged her away from the guests still entering the salon. “Lady Falstone was a distant relative of my dearly departed husband and once a month I am duty bound to attend her for tea. Yesterday I arrived and she insisted that I join her in her bedchamber since she was suffering from her gout.”
Simone frowned. “You wish me to see her bedchamber?”
“Actually I wish you to see a private gallery that is at the back of the house.” The dark eyes twinkled with a mischievous light. “I slipped into it on my way to Lady Falstone’s rooms to take a glance at the Van Dyck that has been promised to me.”
Simone was not at all shocked by Mary’s behavior. She made no pretense of her love for the finer things in life.
“Ah, keeping an eye on your inheritance.”
Mary glanced toward the salon with a grimace. “I have never been allowed to so much as peek at the portrait, and to be honest I wished to assure myself that the hours I spend pandering to the nasty old bird is worth the sacrifice.”
“Quite understandable,” Simone murmured, in no position to judge the woman. “Did you find it?”
“Yes, and something else I think you will find interesting. Come along.”
With a frown Simone followed the eager woman down the corridor and up another flight of stairs. She could not image anything of interest that Lady Falstone might possess, but the quicker she allowed herself to view the mysterious object the sooner she could return to her home.
She did not allow herself to consider her desire to hurry back to the empty town house. Certainly it could have nothing to do with the notion that Gideon might make one of his surprise visits.
Nothing at all,
she told herself sternly.
Only a woman who had become utterly noddy would desire to spend more time with a gentleman who tied her into such knots she could no longer think straight. Or to wish for the kisses he stole without warning.
Intent on her ridiculous thoughts, she nearly ran into Mary as she came to a halt in a small alcove.
“Wait,” she whispered, glancing up and down the hall. “I believe it is clear, but we must hurry.”
Darting across the hall Mary motioned Simone to join her. Feeling more than a little absurd, Simone crossed at a more dignified pace, her expression wry.
“I feel like a thief. Why are we sneaking about?”
“If Lady Falstone realized I was in her private gallery she would have my head upon a platter.” Mary wrinkled her nose in displeasure. “The paintings were given to her by her fiancé, who disappeared only days before they were to wed. She kept the collection as some rather pathetic shrine to his memory and not even Lord Falstone ever entered without her approval.”
Simone found it impossible to believe the surly old woman had ever cared enough for anyone to create a shrine to his memory. Especially a gentleman who had jilted her at the altar. It would be far more in character to have burned them in the nearest fire. Still, it appeared that she had once upon a time possessed a heart.
“Will the door not be locked?”
Mary gave a short laugh. “Lady Falstone is too filled with her own self-worth to presume anyone would possess the audacity to defy her orders. Would you grab a candle?”
Simone dutifully collected the candelabra on a nearby table and followed her friend into the room. She was startled to discover that it was far larger than she had expected. Nearly a hundred feet long with a modillion cornice in a coved ceiling, the walls were covered by pictures, some enormous and hung in heavy gold frames, while others were small and grouped together. There were no furnishings beyond an ornate chimneypiece and a lone chair set next to a window.
She could have spent hours admiring the masterpieces that had been hidden away, but Mary was already headed toward the far end of the room. She swiftly caught up just as Mary halted next to a small portrait that had been hung by itself in a corner.
“There.”
Simone raised her brows in bewilderment. “It is a portrait.”
“Look closer,” Mary commanded.
Biting back an impatient sigh, Simone lifted the candelabra and studied the dark picture. It took only a moment as the soft light revealed the finely hued countenance of the gentleman for her heart to skid to a halt.
“Good heavens,” she whispered. “It is Mr. Ravel.”
“That is what I thought, until I noted the small plaque,” Mary retorted.
Lowering her gaze Simone read the words engraved into the plaque. “Lord Ravel. Penwhick Castle. 1520
A.D.
“I assure you that it gave me quite a start when I first noticed it.”
Simone’s disbelieving gaze returned to the portrait, noting the heavy velvet and lace that the gentleman wore. Certainly there was no gentleman today who would choose such garments.
“It is impossible.”
“It does look remarkably like him, even that gold ring he wears.”
Simone gave a shake of her head, her breath oddly elusive as she searched for some hint that this was not Gideon.
“It looks precisely like him,” she muttered.
“I suppose it must be a relative of Mr. Ravel’s,” Mary continued to chatter, unaware of the tension gripping Simone.
“Yes,” she agreed, although deep within her she could not make herself accept that it was mere coincidence. She had always looked much like her sister, both of them with the same golden hair and slender frames. They both even had a similar birthmark upon their hip. But this ... this was not mere resemblance. Every feature, from the glossy dark hair to the arrogant tilt of his chin was precisely the same.
“He looks quite dashing with that ruff and lace. Do you suppose he was as sinfully charming as the current Mr. Ravel?”
Simone shivered. “No doubt.”
“Penwhick Castle. I have never heard of such an estate, have you?”
“No.”
“Well, perhaps it has changed titles.”
Simone was incapable of coherent thought. She had to be alone, to consider this in a rational manner. It could not be true. This could not be Gideon. At least not him in 1520.
And yet, she could not shake the disturbing tremors that raced through her body.
“I must go.”
Mary turned to glance at her in surprise at her sharp tones. “You are pale. Do you not feel well?”
“I am a trifle dizzy,” she replied in all honesty.
“Shall I call for a servant?”
“No.” She pressed her hands to her tightly clenched stomach. “I will return home. Thank you for revealing the portrait. It is quite ... astonishing.”
Mary frowned with concern. “When you get home have a nice, large shot of brandy. It will soon have you set to right.”
Simone smiled but she feared that it would take several bottles of brandy to set her to right. She was uncertain that all of France possessed enough brandy for such a feat.
“Yes, a most tempting notion,” she murmured, turning on her heel to hurry from the room.
She had to ...
What?
Try to pretend that she had not seen the portrait? It was certainly a tempting thought.
She had more than enough to worry about lately.
But she knew that would be impossible. She had seen that portrait and nothing could alter that fact.
For her own peace of mind she had to discover the truth.
Whatever that truth might be.
From the shadows of the upper gallery Gideon watched as the slender golden-haired woman slipped through the dark foyer and paused to listen for sound that her entrance had been noticed.
He had felt her presence, of course, long before she had even reached the steps of his house. With each passing day he realized that he was more and more aware of the bonds that were being woven between the two of them. Even when she was not near he could sense her in a distant corner of his mind. Almost as if she had been branded upon his soul.
His slender fingers absently toyed with the folds of his cravat.
What had brought her to his home at such a late hour?
Certainly not merely to seek his company, he wryly conceded as she hesitantly edged toward the fine mahogany staircase. She appeared far more like a thief intent on filching his silver than a woman bent upon seduction.
A pity,
he acknowledged as his heightened senses caught a whiff of her sweet perfume. His passions ran hotter in the velvet darkness. They swirled through him, searing away the cool logic and leaving him raw with need.
She was here in his grasp. He had only to sweep her in his arms to have her in his chamber. Once there he did not doubt he could soon have her lingering distrust forgotten.
Then he would sate himself in her soft temptation. She would open to him with eager pleasure. And they would join in passions as ancient as time.
Shockingly Gideon realized that his fangs had lengthened even as his body stirred. He wished to believe it was nothing more than the potent bloodlust that lay within every vampire, but he could not make the explanation ring true. He did not desire to feast upon Simone’s blood and watch her die in his arms. The mere thought was abhorrent to him. But if he were to merely taste of her blood and to blend it with his own, they would be eternally linked together. Two souls intertwined ...
He gave a sharp shake of his head.
It was not entirely unheard of for a vampire to link with a human. It was rare, however. Not only because a human’s life span passed within the blink of an eye, but the sheer intimacy of the links had the possibility of overwhelming a mere mortal.
Possible or not, he had no intention of sharing the Immortal Kiss with Simone.
His heart and his soul were his own.
He intended to keep it that way.
Deliberately battling the need that threatened to rage out of control, Gideon forced himself to consider the intruder with cool reason.
Something must have prompted this midnight visit. Something more than mere curiosity. She was far too aware of the heavy price she would pay if it were known she were visiting a gentleman’s house at this hour to take such a risk without a pressing reason.
In patient silence he waited in the shadows as she slowly climbed the stairs. A faint frown marred her brow, as if she could sense him, but common sense was assuring her that she must be mistaken. He smiled wryly as he realized that she must find the tugs of awareness even more disturbing than he. He suspected that the Medallion had heightened her senses on more than one level.
He waited until she was fully upon the landing before he slid from the shadows as silent as a ghost.
Not surprisingly she nearly tumbled back down the staircase before she caught the railing and glared at him with open indignation.
“Gideon, you nearly frightened me to death,” she accused in sharp tones.
His lips twitched with amusement at her blustering. Even in the darkness he could detect the warm color that stained her cheeks.
“Forgive me, my dear.”
She nervously adjusted the folds of her black gown. “Really, it is too bad of you to sneak up on people in such a fashion.”
He arched his brows at her audacity. “I hardly believe you are in the position at the moment to give me lessons in manners, do you, Simone?”
“Well.” She licked her lips, obviously searching her mind for some means of explaining her bold behavior. “There is no need to skulk about in the shadows.”
“I thought my home was being invaded by a thief. Would you have me offer myself to a desperate thug?”
Again she twitched her skirts, covertly glancing toward the stairs before reluctantly accepting that she could not possibly flee before she would be caught.
With a smothered sigh she turned to meet his glittering gaze.
“I thought that you were attending the Claredon ball.”
He shrugged, shifting so that he was towering over her slender form. “Without you in attendance it was swiftly too tedious to endure. I considered calling upon you, but I decided it was far too advanced in the evening.”
She rubbed her hands over her arms, as if able to sense the prickles of tension that filled the air.
“You are correct, it is very late. I should be returning home.”
“Oh no, my love.” Moving far too swiftly to allow her to evade him, Gideon grasped her shoulders in a firm grip. “You are going nowhere until I discover why you are sneaking through my home like a thief.”
There was a brief, futile struggle until she stilled and regarded him with narrowed eyes.
“I do not have to explain anything to you.”
He heaved a sigh. He did not recall mortal women being so contrary. Or perhaps it was simply this particular one.
“Simone, I am quite as stubborn as you. We can remain here all evening for all I care, although I do not believe you will wish to be seen by the servants. Think of the gossip.”
Her brows furrowed in frustration at his calm refusal to obey her commands.
“Release me.”
“No.”
She sucked in a breath between her clenched teeth. “You are the most aggravating of men.”
“And you are wasting time. Tell me why you are here.”
“I ...” Whatever lie she was about to utter died as she encountered the dangerous glitter in his dark eyes. He did not bother to hide the fact he was in no humor for her elusive games. “I wanted to discover more of you.”
“Why?”
“Because you refused to tell me of yourself.” Her hands tightened on her skirt. “And I hoped I might learn why both you and Mr. Soltern have taken such an interest in my amulet.”
He ignored the feel of satin skin beneath his hands. This was no time to be distracted by the womanly heat and scent that filled the air.
“I do not believe you,” he retorted in stern tones.
She blinked with an attempt at innocence. “What?”
“You have been curious about me for weeks. It would take something a great deal more pressing to prompt you into taking such a risk.”
“I ...”
“The truth, Simone.”
There was a silent struggle before she allowed the wariness she had been attempting to hide to surface. Gideon stiffened as he realized that there was genuine fear shimmering deep in her eyes.
“Tonight at Lady Falstone’s I discovered a portrait of you.”
“A portrait?” Gideon gave a shake of his head. “Impossible. I have hardly been in London long enough to inspire the artists and I certainly have not commissioned a painting.”
“It was painted in 1520 at Penwhick Castle.”
Penwhick Castle.
Gideon carefully kept his expression bland. It had been nearly three hundred years since he had last viewed the estate he had owned in Scotland. Although remote, drafty and decidedly uncomfortable during the long winter, it had suited him when he wished his privacy. Few vampires, and even fewer mortals wished to endure the stark simplicity of his home.
One guest, however, had prolonged his visit for several weeks to complete a portrait that Gideon had been unaware of until the painter had left the castle. He had, of course, considered following the man and retrieving the picture. But, at the time he had been occupied with dabbling in royal politics and had not desired to draw unwanted attention to himself.
Now he cursed himself for his lack of foresight.
It was always the smallest details that managed to create the most trouble.
“A relative, no doubt,” he murmured in silky tones.
“That is what Mary assumed, but I do not accept the explanation.”
She wouldn’t, of course, he acknowledged wryly.
“No?”
She gave a slow shake of her head. “The man in the portrait is not similar to you, he is precisely like you. The same features, the same hair, even the same smile.”
“I must see this picture,” he retorted with a nonchalant shrug.
“It is you.”
“Absurd,” he scoffed. “I may be several years older than you, my sweet, but do I appear that old?”
Her lips thinned at his refusal to take her accusation seriously. Clearly she was not about to be easily convinced that she had been mistaken.
“Then tell me where you were born. Who are your parents?”
“Simone.” He deliberately gentled his tone, his expression one of concern. “I believe you should lie down and rest. Clearly you are not thinking straight.”
Far from being reassured her eyes shimmered with a dangerous light as she abruptly wrenched herself from his grasp. In the dim shadows the golden Medallion glowed with a fire that seemed to reflect her rising anger.
“You will not tell me, will you?” she accused in shrill tones.
Gideon heaved a sigh. The Great Council had taken care to warn him of the dangers he would face beyond the Veil. Not only from the renegade vampires, but from the dark passions that would once again flow through his blood. Unfortunately they had not bothered to warn him that the woman he was to guard was a prickly, stubborn, impossibly enticing wench.
His cool logic had never been so difficult to maintain.
“And what help would it be if I did?” he demanded in faintly weary tones. “You would only claim that I am lying.”
His direct words momentarily caught her off guard before she was regarding him with open suspicion.
“Who are you?”
“I am here to protect you,” he said with simple honesty. “I will never harm you.”
She shivered, her troubled expression striking Gideon with the force of a blow.
“How can I trust you?”
He gently smiled as he stepped close enough to hear the sound of her thundering pulse.
“You do trust me,” he said as he reached out to lightly touch the racing beat of her heart. “Here.”
Her eyes darkened with sudden longing as she swayed forward.
“Gideon.”
“Ah, my sweet Simone.” Unable to resist the temptation that swirled through him, Gideon leaned forward to gently kiss her. He felt her lips tremble at his light caress, opening in a silent invitation that was nearly his undoing. Of their own will his arms wrapped about her slender frame, bringing her against the taut lines of his own body. He yearned to taste deeply of her, to allow the desires of the night and silver moon to sweep them into oblivion. But even as she arched toward his harshly aroused body, Gideon forced himself to set her away. The dangers of losing himself within her were too great. He wanted her too much, his passions were too overwhelming. Tristan was out walking the night. He could not be distracted. “You should not be here,” he managed to say in rasping tones. “I will take you home.”
For a moment she regarded him with bewildered eyes, as if still lost in the magical pleasure, then a rush of embarrassed heat stained her cheeks.
Once again she began twitching the skirts of her gown. “I am perfectly capable of returning home on my own.”
His expression hardened to unrelenting granite. He intended to take her sternly to task for roaming the dark streets of London on her own at a more appropriate time. Not only were Tristan and his fellow vampires lose upon the streets, but there were any number of mortal ruffians that would readily harm a young woman on her own. For now, however, it was more important that he return her safely home.
“It is too dangerous for you to be alone in the night. I presume you did not bring a servant with you?”
Her chin tilted. “No.”
He gave an exasperated sigh as he firmly led her down the sweeping staircase.
“Foolishness. I should lock you in the nearest dungeon for your own good.”
She offered him a chilly glare. “That is not amusing.”
“It was not meant to be,” he assured her darkly, leading her across the foyer and out the door.
He paused just a moment to ensure that the urchins he had hired were indeed hidden in the nearby bushes before he was escorting her down the street toward her own home.
She maintained her proud silence, but Gideon made no effort to soften her temper. He had managed to battle back his demons of need for the moment; however, he was not at all willing to test his control on a second occasion this evening.