My Lord Vampire (Immortal Rogues #1)(40)

She would not be caught unaware again, she told herself with a shudder at the memory of being roughly captured by the strange villains. Even now her stomach threatened to heave at the feeling of being utterly helpless as she was being tied to the post with no notion of what was to happen to her.

Worse even than those nights her sister would come and drag her from her bed ...

Simone gave a sharp shake of her head as she climbed into the carriage behind Gideon. Now was not the time for such thoughts.

Somehow she had to ensure that Gideon did not die.

Sinking onto the floor of the carriage she regarded the man sprawled upon the carriage seat.

“We must get him to a doctor,” she said to the two servants who both hovered in the doorway with matching frowns of concern.

“No,” Gideon abruptly moaned. “Take me home.”

Simone raised herself to her knees to glare down at him. “Do not be a fool. You are badly injured.”

He reached up to grasp her wrist, the black eyes glittering between his thick lashes.

“Simone, I wish to go home.”

“You need a doctor... .”

“Gads, must you always argue with me?” he demanded with a weak smile.

Allowing her gaze to lower to the shredded jacket, Simone noted that most of the blood had already begun to dry. Perhaps the wounds had not been as severe as she had first feared.

In any event, she could always send for a doctor once they reached Mayfair.

“Very well,” she grudgingly conceded. “But if you die on me ...”

“I will not die, that I can promise you,” he retorted in darkly certain tones. “Now, can we please be on our way?”

Needing no further prompting the coachman and groom hurriedly shut the door and scrambled into their positions. With a crack of the whip they were bowling away from the dank streets of St. Giles and threading their way to the more respectable neighborhoods.

Simone grasped the edge of the seat as she continued to kneel over Gideon, barely resisting the urge to trace the battered features of his countenance.

The swelling of his eye appeared to be lessening but she knew that the pain must be near unbearable. No one could endure being stabbed and beaten with such savagery and not be in utter agony, regardless of his annoyingly male determination to be brave.

Unable to do anything for the wounds, she reached out to squeeze his fingers, hoping to at least distract him from his pain.

“How did you find me?” she asked softly.

He grimaced as he turned his head so he could meet her worried gaze.

“I was at your home when the lad came to tell me that you had been taken. He was quick-witted enough to follow the hack so I would know where to search.”

Simone briefly recalled a grimy-faced lad that had been hovering outside the brewery when she had dashed out to find a weapon to use upon those madmen attacking Gideon. At the time she had barely noted him, but now she realized that the pointed face and overlarge ears had seemed vaguely familiar. As if she had seen him in the streets more than once.

She gave a faint shake of her head. “But how did he know who I am or where I live?”

“It seems that all of London knows of the ‘Wicked Temptress,’” he attempted to tease in light tones.

Simone was not so readily convinced that the lad just happened to know who she was, nor that he would risk himself being connected with the villains by going to her house.

Indeed, she was beginning to suspect that the boy was in the employ of Gideon Ravel and was being paid to follow her.

“Mmmm.”

His lips twitched at her knowing glance, but it was swiftly followed by a grimace as the carriage hit a stray stone.

“Are you hurt?”

“A few scratches and bruises, but nothing that will not heal. I was more frightened than anything,” she wryly admitted.

“Not nearly frightened enough, obviously.” The dark gaze suddenly glittered. “When I am recovered we will have a long discussion concerning your foolish behavior. I told you to escape.”

She gave a loud sniff, not about to admit that she would have as soon stabbed herself in the heart as to have left him to the mercy of the scoundrels.

Such a confession would reveal far more than she was ready to admit even to herself.

“You do not give me commands, Mr. Ravel,” she told him pertly.

His fingers abruptly squeezed her own with surprising strength. “I will not allow you to be harmed. No matter what the cost.”

Her heart gave an odd shudder at his fierce words, but she managed to keep herself from behaving like one of those foolish chits that simpered and purred at every man who cast a glance in their direction.

“Who were those men?” she demanded.

“Wretched souls who have fallen into the power of Mr. Soltern.”

“They were ...” She shivered as she recalled the blank, slack-jawed men who had treated her more as a piece of trash they had picked up off the street than a lady. “I do not know. It was almost as if they were ill.”

“Their minds have been destroyed beyond hope.”

“Destroyed?” Her breath caught in her throat. “How?”

There was a moment’s pause before he at last answered, “Fear.”

That was not what he had been about to say, but she was not at all certain that she desired to know the truth.