My Lord Vampire (Immortal Rogues #1)(37)

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.