My Lord Vampire (Immortal Rogues #1)

My Lord Vampire (Immortal Rogues #1) Page 22

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.

Chapter 9

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.