My Lord Vampire (10 page)

Authors: Alexandra Ivy

BOOK: My Lord Vampire

9.85Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Not easy for an arrogant vampire to admit, even to himself.

Avoiding the various drunken bucks that stumbled down the walk toward their houses, he at last managed to bundle her to the back of her home so that she could slip through the servants’ entrance.

She paused just a moment, as if about to speak, but noting the unrelenting lines of his countenance, she contented herself to a loud sniff before entering the house and closing the door with a deliberate bang.

Gideon could not help but smile wryly at her display of temper. She would not be satisfied for long at his refusal to reveal the truth of himself, but for now he could do nothing but hope that she did not allow her curiosity to lead her into more trouble. He preferred her anger to fear. That he could not bear.

With a shake of his head at his ridiculous behavior, Gideon turned and headed down the street. He still had the stews to scour before morning arrived. The sooner he could trace Tristan and be done with this mess, the sooner he could ...

He clamped down on the alarming thoughts that raced through his mind. Thoughts of him and Simone entwined in bliss.

There were more than one means of trapping an unwary vampire.

Stroking the smooth ivory of his cane, Tristan watched in pleasure as his minions stalked the unwary maid. It was a pity that he had been forced to command them only to frighten the girl and not kill her. He enjoyed watching others drain the life of filthy humans nearly as much as he enjoyed the task himself.

Tonight, however, was not for pleasure.

After days of futilely attempting to discover some means of wrenching the Medallion from Lady Gilbert he had at last forced himself to acknowledge that it would take stealth rather than brute force to achieve his goal.

His near white fingers tightened on the cane in disgust.

Nefri would pay for his aggravation, he swore. To even think he must play these foolish games with beings that were as insignificant as roaches made his teeth clench.

He should already be ruling this world. Not sneaking about like a coward in the dark.

Watching the maid pass the high hedge Tristan gave a nod of his head. In a blinding flurry three roughly attired men bounded from the bushes and grasped ahold of the startled maid. There was a shrill scream that was abruptly cut off as one of the men placed a hand over her mouth.

Tristan waited until he was certain the woman was properly terrified before casually strolling forward and waving his cane in a threatening manner. As arranged, the servants released their hold upon the maid and promptly vanished into the shadows.

On her knees, the maid was shivering with fear. Ignoring his distaste, Tristan forced himself to reach down and pull her to her feet.

“Here, my dear, allow me to help you,” he murmured in soothing tones.

“Oh, thank you, sir,” she babbled, tears running down her round face.

“Are you harmed?”

“I don’t think so.” She gave a scared glance over her shoulder. “They gave me a good fright, though.”

“Shameless louts. Shall I follow them and have them handed to the Watch?”

“Oh no.” She reached out to grasp his arm in a tight grip. “Please, do not leave me alone.”

Shuddering in horror at the filthy hands that threatened to wrinkle the fine fabric of his coat, Tristan firmly pried her fingers from him.

“If you wish.”

She pressed a hand to her throat, so rattled she did not seem to find it odd that an obvious gentleman would bother to help a mere servant.

“Do you ... do you think it was the St. Giles Butcher?”

Tristan hid a smile at the garish title that had been given to him by the newspapers. He enjoyed the knowledge that he had managed to send terror through the city. A terror that was only a taste of what was to come.

“I fear it might very well have been.”

“Oh ... oh ...” the maid blubbered.

Tristan gave an impatient click of his tongue. He could not use her if she continued to moan in such a foolish manner.

“Calm down.”

“But I might have had my throat ripped out.”

Ignoring the powerful urge to do just that, Tristan managed to offer a cold smile. He wished to ensnare her with Inscrollment and be done, but he had never managed to learn the more subtle means of manipulating the human mind without destroying it completely. He did not wish anyone to know he had spoken with the maid. Not while she might be of use.

“You are quite safe now. Shall I escort you home?”

“Oh, would you?” she breathed in relief.

“It would be my pleasure.”

“You are so kind.”

Tristan shrugged. “Think nothing of it. Which way?”

Pointing down the street, the maid offered him a shy glance. “To Lady Gilbert’s.”

“You are employed by Lady Gilbert?” he demanded in mock innocence as they moved together down the darkened street.

“Yes, sir. A fine lady.”

Tristan’s lips twisted. Lady Gilbert would some day pay for the troubles she had given him. Pay in blood.

“A fine lady, indeed,” he smoothly retorted. “I suppose, however, that like most beautiful women she is temperamental and difficult to please?”

“No, sir.” The maid loyally defended her mistress. “She is always kind to the staff.”

He gripped his cane with impatience. “Highly commendable. But no one is a paragon. Surely she has some faults? A few hidden sins?”

Obviously culled by the beautiful Lady Gilbert, the maid gave a reluctant shrug.

“Well, she does insist that no one be allowed to enter the house without her approval. She is quite particular about that.”

“Is that all?” Tristan shot her a cold gaze. He would have the information he desired. “No odd fancies?”

“Odd fancies?”

His desire to do away with the idiotic wench was nearly overwhelming.

“Any secrets that she keeps from society,” he at last bluntly demanded.

“Oh.” She thought for a moment. “None unless you count the fact she makes her own gowns.”

Hardly the shattering secret that Tristan had hoped to discover. He could hardly blackmail the woman just because she happened to make her own gowns.

Still, there was something about the unusual behavior that caught his attention.

“How peculiar. She does not approve of dressmakers?”

The maid ducked her head. “I really couldn’t say, sir.”

Certain that the maid was concealing something, Tristan lightly touched her arm.

“You can confide in me, my dear.”

There was a pause before the maid nervously cleared her throat.

“I ... I think it has something to do with the scars I seen on her back.”

Tristan raised his brows in surprise. “Scars? From a burn?”

“No. It looked more like she had been whipped. Badly whipped. Terrible scars they are.”

A stab of pleasure curled the edges of Tristan’s lips. So, the stubborn woman had been beaten. Not surprising. Her sharp tongue alone should have seen that she was put into her grave long ago.

Still, he knew that such behavior was ridiculously frowned upon by the pathetically weak humans. She obviously would not desire it to be known she had been treated as a common trollop.

“I see. Who do you suppose would have done such a thing to a lady? Her husband?”

The maid nervously twisted her hands together, as if already regretting the fact she had revealed her mistress’s secret.

“I couldn’t say, sir. I fear Lord Gilbert had already cocked up his toes when she came to London.”

He drummed his thin fingers on the cane. “And she never speaks of him?”

“No, sir.”

Tristan narrowed his gaze as he considered the importance of his discovery. Mere scars would not be enough to induce the stubborn wench to hand over the Medallion. But it did reveal there was more to her past than she desired to share with others. Who knew what other secrets she harbored?

Or at least he might discover a relative or friend he could use to force her into giving him what was his by right.

“Where did she live before coming to London?”

“Devonshire. Near the coast, I think.”

“Did she bring any of her old servants with her?”

The maid gave a firm shake of her head. “No, sir. We were all hired in London.”

It was precisely what he suspected, although he was swift to mark the annoyance of having to travel to Devonshire to the list of grievances that he intended to take out of Lady Gilbert’s fine, satin skin.

“Thank you, my dear, you have been quite helpful,” he murmured, coming to a halt several steps away from the large town house. It had come as a nasty surprise to discover that a web had been placed about the property that would swiftly alert Gideon the moment he came close. A reminder that he would have to deal with the interfering vampire sooner rather than later. “I do have one request before I leave you to return home.”

She glanced into his face with wide eyes. “What might that be, sir?”

“I would rather not have anyone realize that I rescued you this evening.”

No doubt presuming that he was about to demand a kiss or even more intimate repayment for his services she heaved a faint sigh.

“If you wish.”

His lips thinned at the mere thought of soiling himself with this pathetic wretch.

“I am certain you understand when I say that a particular gentleman might very well consider it worthy of a duel if he were to discover I were in the neighborhood.”

It took a long moment before she at last gave a sage nod of her head.

“Right. No need to worry. I shan’t say a word.”

Briefly debating whether it would be wiser to trust the girl to keep her word, or risk frightening Lady Gilbert into full flight if she discovered one of her servants murdered, he reluctantly gave a nod of his head.

He might have further need of the maid.

“Good evening, then.”

Turning, he made his way down the street, his thoughts already focused on the swiftest means of making his way to Devonshire.

Soon, he assured his raging bloodlust, he would have Lady Gilbert in his grasp.

And the Medallion would be his.

All his.

Chapter 8

The drive through the park had been intended to clear Simone’s tangled thoughts. After all, there were few things more pleasurable than having a bevy of anxious gentlemen fiercely vying to gain her attention. It certainly was the best means possible of healing any wounded pride she might have felt after having nearly tossed herself at Gideon’s feet only to be rejected.

But while there had been any number of suitors who had anxiously preened and strutted in her path, she had been unable to appreciate their attempts.

What troubled her was not that she had revealed the desire she had been determined to hide at all cost—Gideon was annoyingly aware of her weakness no matter how she might wish to deny the truth—or that he had thankfully brought an end to the kiss before true disaster could occur.

What troubled her was the fact that she was no closer to understanding the gentleman who had managed to bring chaos to her life.

Who was he?

More importantly ... what was he?

Leaving the carriage Simone slowly made her way up the steps to her town house.

She had never been a woman who believed in nonsense such as witches, goblins or ghosts. She did not believe in mystical signs or those who claimed to read the future, or even ill omens.

Life had been too hard to dwell upon superstitions and the fear of vague evil. There were enough troubles without adding mythical dangers.

Now, her shrewd common sense battled to deny the evidence that Gideon was ... was not entirely human.

A shiver raced through her as she allowed the horrible thought to race through her mind.

It was not possible.

It was utterly absurd.

There was no doubt a reasonable explanation to all the seeming mystery if only she could force herself to think coherently, she tried to tell herself over and over.

But she could not manage to rid herself of the awful sense that there was far more to Gideon than just another arrogant man of leisure.

Weary of wondering if she were perhaps on her way to Bedlam, Simone waited for the door to open before she entered the foyer and handed her parasol and gloves to the servant.

If a drive would not ease her troubled thoughts, then perhaps a relaxing afternoon in the privacy of her garden would help.

Stepping toward the mirror to smooth the long curls she had pulled back with a simple ribbon, she had barely managed to raise her hands when Daisy came charging into the foyer with a flushed countenance.

“My lady,” she breathed in obvious excitement.

Startled, and not a little alarmed, Simone turned to regard her servant with a worried gaze.

“Good heavens, Daisy, what is the matter?”

“You must come and see what has arrived,” the girl breathed with an impatient wave of her hand.

Regaining command of her jumping nerves, Simone chided herself for her hasty flare of fear.
Botheration.
She had been certain that the house had been invaded, or perhaps worse. Now it appeared there was nothing more alarming than the usual gifts that arrived daily from her admirers.

“Yes, yes.” She returned her attention to the mirror. “I will be along in a moment.”

Disappointed, the maid dipped a curtsy. “Very good, my lady.”

Straightening the neckline of her shimmering buttercup gown, Simone at last turned to make her way up the stairs toward the front parlor. It would be there that the housekeeper would have distributed the various flowers and tiny gifts that would have arrived that morning.

She possessed little interest in the offerings, but the servants enjoyed preening over her success. Stepping into the elegant room she swiftly noted Daisy standing beside the settee and the housekeeper standing by the heavy chimneypiece with her hands upon her hips.

“Now, what was it you wished me to see, Daisy?” she demanded before her mouth abruptly dropped open in shock. Piled upon the far sofa and numerous chairs were long lengths of shimmering cloth. Satin, silk, cambric, wool, muslin and velvet glowed in the late afternoon sunlight, along with ribbons and delicate lace in all colors. “Oh.”

Nearly hopping up and down in her excitement Daisy clapped her hands together.

“Mr. Ravel’s footman arrived earlier this morning to deliver these.”

Gideon?

Thoroughly bemused, Simone moved across the room with a shake of her head.

Of course, she should have guessed from the moment she caught sight of the expensive fabric, she acknowledged as she ran her hand over the swathe of satin in a rich ruby color. Who else was aware of her dressmaking skills? Or her love for such lovely material?

But why would he go to such a bother?

To attempt to distract her from the suspicions that simmered relentlessly within her?

To bribe her goodwill?

Or simply to please her?

Her fingers lightly stroked the black velvet. “They are beautiful,” she murmured. “Was there a note?”

“Yes, my lady.” The housekeeper moved forward to offer her the heavy vellum that had been folded in half.

Opening the note, Simone swiftly read the boldly scrawled words.

Trust me.

There was nothing else, not even a signature, but Simone smiled wryly.

Whatever the reason for Gideon’s gift, there was no denying that he had pleased her. For the first time in her entire life she had received a gift that was chosen not to impress her with its expense or as merely an offering that was expected by society. Instead, Gideon had taken the time to think of what she truly would desire. The realization made the most ridiculous warmth flood through her heart.

“Daisy, will you have everything taken to the workroom ?” she requested in husky tones.

“Yes, my lady.”

Swiftly the maid set about scooping up the fabric and lace while the housekeeper stepped forward.

“Shall I serve tea?”

Simone gave a shake of her head. Her stomach had been twisted in knots since she had seen that picture last evening. The mere thought of food made her grimace.

“Perhaps later, thank you. I believe I shall read in the garden for an hour or so.”

Predictably the housekeeper frowned. She held the firm notion that civilized people remained indoors whenever possible. Only savages preferred to be in the fresh air and surrounded by nature.

“Mind you stay out of the sun. It is uncommonly warm out today.”

“Yes, I will,” Simone promised as she left the room and made her way to the back stairs that would lead to the garden.

It was warm, as the housekeeper had warned, and Simone chose a marble bench set beneath a large chestnut tree. Arranging her skirts she drew in a deep breath and attempted to relax her coiled nerves.

How long had it been since she had a decent night’s sleep?

Or had not devoted hours to dwelling upon Gideon and his secrets?

Or not felt as if she were being peered at from behind every bush or hedge?

Too long,
she decided wryly.

She had thought to put such constant concerns behind her after reaching London. Oh, to be certain, there was always the vague dread that her past might come back to haunt her. Or that she would stumble and reveal the truth of her background. But such worries had always been simple to thrust from her thoughts while she was surrounded by the grandeur of her home, and the endless stream of nobles who desired to count themselves as her acquaintance.

Others could be easily deceived with enough money and sheer boldness, she had discovered.

Now, however, she could not so easily dismiss her concerns.

Perhaps she should leave London, she reluctantly told herself. To put Gideon and Mr. Soltern and whatever danger she might be in behind her. It would not be easy. She had built a new life here. But ...

“How could a lady be so troubled on such a lovely day?”

The lilting, heavily accented voice came without warning, and abruptly turning her head Simone watched in utter shock as an old, shabbily dressed gypsy woman moved through the roses and promptly settled herself on the bench. She knew the seemingly ancient woman. It was the same gypsy who had appeared in Devonshire and offered her the amulet. There was no mistaking the deeply wrinkled parchment of her countenance, the long gray hair that hung in tangles about her shoulders or the bright rags that had been sewn together to make her skirt. Certainly there was no mistaking the deep black eyes that seemed to see to her very soul.

“I ...” Simone gave a blank, disbelieving shake of her head. “Where did you come from?”

The old woman gave a lift of her hands. “From here and there.”

“I cannot believe this.” Too startled to be frightened by the strange appearance, Simone did not even think of calling out for help. “Did you follow me here?”

The woman shook her head as she reached out a gnarled hand to lightly touch the charm about Simone’s neck.

“I was called.”

“Called?”

“You are troubled.” The gypsy shrugged as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be summoned by a bit of gold. “I am here to ease your fears.”

Much to her surprise Simone felt a delicate warmth flow through her at the soft voice, easing the knots and soothing the frayed nerves. She even found the burning questions of how this woman had managed to arrive in her garden being dulled to mere curiosity.

“Very well,” she found herself agreeing. “What is this amulet?”

The older woman took a moment to consider her words. “It is an ancient symbol of power.”

“Ancient?” Simone recalled Mr. Soltern’s implication that the necklace was of historical value. “You mean it is Roman?”

There was a crackle of laughter. “Rather older than that.”

Older than Roman?

Simone realized that she was not certain she wished to discover just how much older it might be. Instead she turned her thoughts to her more pressing troubles.

“Why do others want it?”

“The power,” she said simply, her heavy ivory bracelets rattling as she settled her hands into her lap. “You have felt it. It is changing you. Making you ... more.”

“More what?”

“Of who you are.”

Simone frowned. More riddles were not what she desired.

“You are as impossible as Mr. Ravel,” she muttered.

Unexpectedly the narrow features were abruptly wreathed in a fond smile.

“Dear Gideon. You are leading him a sad chase, although I must say that I am rather enjoying his frustration. He can be insufferably arrogant when he is not being challenged.”

Simone regarded the woman in confusion. “You know Gideon?”

“But of course. He is here to protect you.”

Simone briefly closed her eyes, wondering if she had fallen asleep and was caught in some bizarre dream. When she opened her eyes, however, the disturbing gypsy remained, regarding her with those dark eyes.

“To protect me?” she at last muttered. “From Mr. Soltern?”

“Among others.” The old woman suddenly frowned. “Some that I know of and others who remain in the shadows.”

Simone shivered, her fingers gripping the folds of her skirt. It was bad enough to realize Mr. Soltern wished to harm her; she did not want to think of shadowy forms who might also pose a danger.

“Please, just tell me what is going on.”

“In good time.” The woman reached out to gently pat her clenched hand. “You will have your answers, I promise. But in the meantime, you must protect the Medallion. Do not remove it for any reason.”

Simone heaved an impatient sigh. “I thought you came to ease my troubles?”

“I came with the assurance that your danger will pass if you remain strong. And that great happiness will be yours if you find the courage to face the pain that haunts you.”

The words were far too vague to hold any true reassurances and Simone gave a shake of her head.

“There are a lot of ‘ifs’ in your words.”

The gypsy merely laughed at her sour tone. “The future is always difficult to read. This I can tell you, Gideon must earn your trust or you will fail.”

Gideon.

It all seemed to come back to the disturbing, tantalizing, mysterious man.

A man who harbored dark secrets.

“I do not know if that is possible,” she murmured.

“All things are possible, my dear,” the gypsy assured her as she rose to her feet and lightly stroked her hair. “Believe.”

With a last smile the woman turned and moved swiftly back through the roses until she abruptly vanished behind the high hedge.