My Lord Vampire (Immortal Rogues #1)(31)

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.