My Lord Vampire

Page 10

  Gideon’s nose twitched as the pervasive smell of raw sewage, rotting fish and sour sweat filled the air. It was the stench of poverty and despair that was in sharp contrast to the luxury they had just left behind.

  It was also the stench of danger, he reminded himself.

  Having given in to his savage desires, Tristan may not be able to walk the streets during the brightness of daylight, but during the night his powers would be formidable. Far too formidable.

  With a covert motion Gideon reached beneath his coat to touch the cold steel of the dagger he had hidden in a secret pocket.

  “That be the street she worked,” the urchin abruptly announced, pointing out the window toward a narrow alley that looked precisely the same as every other dingy and dirty alley in the district.

  Gideon gave a rap on the carriage roof and awaited the coachman to slow to a halt. The door was pulled open by a footman, but on the point of climbing out Gideon paused to give the boy across from him a stern glance.

  “You are to remain here. ”

  “But, sir . . . ”

  “Have no fear, I shall return momentarily,” he retorted in firm tones.

  Confident that he would be obeyed, he slipped out of the carriage and made his way toward the alley. Ignoring the sudden hush that settled through the neighborhood he readily stepped between the overhanging buildings, his form flowing with the skilled grace of a hunter and his vision as sharply clear during the night as during the day. Such eerily fluid movements should have warned all that he was not a foolish dandy out on a lark, but as he had expected he had only to take a few steps before there was a sudden scrap on the cobblestones behind him.

  “Right then, turn about nice and slow,” a harsh voice ordered.

  Gideon readily complied, his narrowed gaze taking in the thin countenance and mismatched clothing. Although a small, wiry man, there was no mistaking the hard edge to his features nor the gleam of a large knife he held in his hand.

  In no mood to tangle with the experienced thief, Gideon softly spoke the words of power that would briefly compel the man to his will.

  “I need information and you will provide it, is that understood?” he demanded in tones too low to carry.

  There was a brief silence as the thief struggled to battle the spell that clouded his mind before he was giving a grudging nod of his head.

  “Yes. ”

  Gideon stepped closer, his senses fully aware to every sound and scent that filled the alley. He would not be caught unaware by Tristan. Nor any of his slaves.

  “There was a prostitute pulled from the river this evening. Did you know her?”

  “Called herself Clorinda, she did, but more than likely it were a name she made up to make herself sound more an actress than a tart. ”

  Gideon waved a dismissive hand. He possessed no interest in the woman’s name, only the reason she had been so flagrantly disposed of.

  “Did you see her leave yesterday evening?”

  There was a reluctant nod. “Yes. ”

  “Did she leave with a gentleman?”

  “She left with any number of gentlemen. ”

  Gideon reined in his impatience. “Tell me of the last gentleman who hired her services. ”

  Even though in Gideon’s power the thief gave a visible shudder. “A fancy bloke with a cape. ”

  “Did he have a carriage?”

  “Yes, black with no crest on it. They took off toward the docks. ”

  It was too much to hope that Tristan would have been foolish enough to leave a clue to his current lair. He would have to know that Gideon would far prefer to face him when his powers were at their weakest.

  “Did you hear him say anything?” he demanded with an edge of annoyance.

  “He told her to take down her hair. ”

  Caught off guard Gideon felt those prickles of warning once again flare through him.

  “Why?”

  “Said he was wanting a woman with long blond hair. Seemed very particular about that. ”

  Gideon clenched his teeth as a wave of fury threatened to destroy his cool logic.

  He suddenly understood the reason for the savage, highly visible attack.

  Tristan was taunting him.

  The renegade desired him to realize that Simone would suffer a similar fate if he failed.

  His hands clenched as the image of her slender body battered and ravaged seared through his mind. Tristan would be merciless given the opportunity to punish the maiden for standing in his way.

  Far more merciless than he had been to the golden-haired harlot.

  For the first time in his eternal existence Gideon experienced a sharp flare of fear.

  Simone screamed as the whip cut into the soft skin of her back. She wanted to be strong. To pretend that she was impervious to the punishment her sister so readily offered. But the leather thong continued to fall, tearing open her tender flesh and sending blood flooding down to the stone floor. She struggled against the ropes that bound her hands, unable to halt herself from pleading for mercy. From behind she heard her sister laughing. . . .

  Without warning Simone discovered she was no longer in the darkened wine cellar but riding in an elegant carriage. She was attired in a dark wool gown that scratched at her skin and effectively disguised her slender curves. They were traveling through the peaceful countryside but Simone felt a tingle of alarm flare through her. She knew that somewhere in the distance was a band of highwaymen that were awaiting their approach. Desperate thugs who would kill without warning. She tried to open her mouth and warn the coachman, but she could not speak. . . .

  Blackness surrounded her. A thick, smothering darkness that stole her breath and made it impossible to move. Suddenly a faint, silvery image of a man could be detected in the distance. He seemed somehow familiar as he lifted a hand to beckon her closer. A cold chill struck her heart at the sight of the stranger, but she could not prevent herself from struggling to move toward him. A seductive voice whispered in her ear, promising delights beyond imagining if she would only surrender to him. If only she would offer the amulet that glowed in the darkness.

  Her hand lifted toward the amulet, clutching the warm gold in tight fingers. But even as she considered lifting the necklace from her neck the image of the old gypsy woman was standing before her, the wrinkled countenance harsh with warning.

  “No, child. You must protect the Medallion,” she said in tones that defied argument. “All depend upon you. You must be strong. Do not be deceived by those who would destroy you. Do not be deceived. . . . ”

  With a cry Simone abruptly sat up in bed, her fingers tender from where the amulet had cut into her skin.

  A dream.

  She shuddered with relief as she sank back upon her pillows.

  It was not the first occasion she had been plagued by nightmares. Heaven above knew that her past was enough to give anyone lurid dreams.

  But never before had she dreamed of the shadowy form that had seemed so real. She could still feel those odd prickles that had raced over her when those seductive words had been whispered in her ear, and the desire to do whatever was commanded of her. If not for the appearance of the old gypsy who knew . . .

  With a shake of her head at her foolishness Simone forced herself from her bed and rang for a bath.

  It had been a dream, nothing more.

  She was not yet so ridiculous that she would be frightened by figments of her imagination. No matter how vivid they had been.

  With that brave thought firmly in mind, Simone prepared for the day, but once she had left her chambers she discovered herself lingering over the smallest tasks. It was not that she had been rattled by those disturbing dreams, she swiftly reassured herself. It was just that she was weary from her restless night and not at all in the mood to gad about town.

  Devoting the day to overseeing a complete cleaning of the house, as well a
s a detailed inventory of the linens and silver, Simone ate her dinner alone and then retired to the large library to enjoy a travel book that she had longed to read since she had discovered it on a high shelf several weeks before. When she had been younger she had fantasized about escaping England and her sister to travel the world. Although she no longer felt the burning need to flee, she had never lost the faint desire to simply pack her bags and discover all the wondrous places that beckoned.

  Night fell as she continued to read of the daring adventures of a young priest traveling through the Americas when she was interrupted by a wide-eyed maid who dipped a hasty curtsy.

  “Pardon me, my lady, but Mr. Soltern has called. ”

  Mr. Soltern?

  Simone surged to her feet, unthinkingly allowing the book to tumble to the rose-patterned carpet. The mere thought of the cold, distasteful gentleman in her home was enough to send a rash of unease over her skin.

  “Please, tell him . . . ”

  “Good evening, Lady Gilbert,” Mr. Soltern drawled as he stepped into the library with an icy smile.

  Simone snapped her lips closed as she encountered the cold, lifeless gaze. She would have her butler’s head upon a platter, she thought as she battled the heavy sense of dread that suddenly filled the room. It was bad enough that Gideon was allowed to walk in whenever he felt the urge. She would not have every buffoon who called himself a gentleman traipsing through her home.

  Especially not a gentleman who made her skin crawl with dislike.