My Lord Vampire (Immortal Rogues #1)(21)

Gideon took a step forward before he could halt the revealing movement. It was all too easy to imagine the slender woman broken and bloodied by the vengeful renegade. Without the Medallion she would be helpless against a vampire.

“You will die,” he growled in rough tones.

A taunting laugh came from the swirl of mist. “How very delicious. The aloof, oh so superior Gideon, lusting after a disgusting human. It really is priceless.”

“I lust to bring an end to the traitors who have turned their backs on their own people,” he rasped, his fury nearly overwhelming him.

“I would suggest that you take your pleasure with Lady Gilbert swiftly. When I have finished with her I fear that she will not be nearly so lovely.”

Clenching the dagger Gideon stepped forward, his features taut with simmering danger.

“Face me, Tristan,” he growled.

Just down the alley a piercing scream split the night air, making Gideon stiffen with warning. Surprisingly he heard a low chuckle come from the mist before it was drifting toward the street.

“Enjoy my present, Gideon.”

For a moment Gideon hesitated, seething with the need to follow the traitor and finish their business one way or another. Only the knowledge that Tristan might very well be leading him into yet another ambush made him check in his impatience.

He had recklessly allowed himself to be lured once this evening. He would not be goaded again. On the next occasion their confrontation would be a time and place of his choosing.

Replacing the dagger Gideon moved down the alley toward the screams that still echoed through the air. He already suspected what he would find. Tristan had deliberately led him here for a purpose other than taunting him.

The elder woman stood in a pool of light that came from the open door to the lodging house.

“What is the matter?” he demanded as he stepped beside her.

“Molly. She’s ...”

“Where?” he impatiently cut into her shuddering words.

She pointed toward the open door. “There.”

With a thick reluctance Gideon stepped forward, his gaze discovering the crumpled form of a young woman. It took only a moment to realize that she had been savagely attacked. He could still smell the death and terror that lingered in the air.

His lips tightened as his gaze traveled over the long golden hair that shimmered in the flickering candlelight.

Tristan.

Abruptly he turned toward the woman silently weeping for the dead maiden.

“Find the Watch.”

Cutting the last thread upon the hem, Simone held up the shimmering lilac gown that she had just completed.

“Oh, ’tis beautiful, my lady.” The maid sighed as she ran her hands over the smooth satin skirt.

Simone could not deny a measure of pride.

The floating concoction of satin and lace was indeed beautiful and highly unusual with its clever flounced hem that revealed the ivory underskirt and the bodice of spidery lace. As with all of her gowns, however, it possessed a high back that cupped the back of her neck. She could not afford to allow a sudden shift in the shimmering material to reveal the scars that she hid.

“Yes, I am quite pleased with the material,” she murmured in satisfaction. “No doubt it has been smuggled into London, but it is far too lovely to go to waste.”

“Will you trim it with the satin roses you purchased last week?” the maid demanded.

Simone briefly considered the delicate gown, then gave a firm shake of her head.

“No, they are too heavy for such a gown. I believe the seed pearls will be the best.”

“A wise choice, my dear,” a darkly familiar voice complimented from the open French doors.

Spinning about, Simone confronted the intruder with an exasperated frown. Attired yet again in black with a smoke-gray waistcoat and snowy white cravat and with his ebony hair tied at the nape of his neck he appeared annoyingly refreshed—while she knew that she was pale and her eyes shadowed from a sleepless night.

The disturbance of having Mr. Soltern in her home, combined with Gideon’s abrupt departure had been unnerving enough without risking a return of the nightmares that had begun to plague her. She had spent most of the long night pacing the floor of her chamber, or peering out of her window with a disturbing sense that she was being watched by unseen eyes.

She had hoped that a morning spent finishing the lovely ball gown would ease the tension that gripped her. There was something very relaxing in simply working with her hands. Now, she felt that foreboding returning.

Gideon was trouble walking.

Whenever he appeared her nerves were certain to be shredded and left raw. Not to mention the vague sense of danger he carried with him.

And yet ...

Yet, she could not deny a swirl of sheer excitement that raced through her as she met that midnight gaze. She suddenly felt more alive, more vibrantly aware of being a woman in his presence.

He might be trouble, but she could not deny a burning desire to brand him as her own. She wanted to ensnare him to her will, and ensure he was incapable of walking away.

It was all vastly confusing.

“Gideon,” she forced herself to greet him as he calmly stepped into the room and regarded the piles of discarded material and scraps of lace. “It is customary to arrive at the front door and await to have yourself announced. Do you possess no sense of gentlemanly behavior at all?”