“In what manner?” she retorted in tones that should have warned the most obtuse she was displeased.
“He rarely speaks the truth and always possesses a hidden motive when offering his friendship. Especially in regards to beautiful and wealthy women.”
“He is a fortune hunter?”
He heaved a sigh that hissed oddly through his teeth. “I am sad to say he is, indeed.”
Simone firmly turned to regard the landing crowded with elegant guests. If Mr. Ravel were a fortune hunter, he would be far from the first to have attempted to lure her.
She had been a target since arriving in London.
“I have no fear of being seduced out of my fortune, Mr. Soltern. I am no innocent chit who futilely clings to the notion of love.”
With her head turned she missed the lethal chill that momentarily tightened the gaunt features.
“Even a woman with remarkable wits can be blinded by her passions. You would do well to avoid the companionship of Mr. Ravel,” he persisted.
Being recalled of the passions that had been stirred to life only that afternoon did nothing to improve Simone’s temper. She did not want to believe she could ever be at the mercy of her desire. Not even for a gentleman who possessed the unearthly beauty of an angel and the seductive charm of a devil.
“It is very kind of you to concern yourself with my welfare, but I prefer to make my own judgments about others,” she said in tones that defied argument.
“But of course,” he agreed in oily tones that held only a hint of disapproval. “I merely sought to warn you of the dangers.”
“That is very kind, but hardly necessary. I am quite capable of caring for myself.” With a surge of relief Simone noted the elderly woman who was waving at her in an imperious manner. “If you will excuse me I must have a word with Lady Stewart.”
“Simone.” He reached out to grasp her arm, his lips thinning as she hastily eluded his touch. “I wish you to know that you can turn to me in time of need. You have only to send for me and I will come.”
She gave a distant nod, wishing only to be free of his disquieting presence.
“I will remember. Excuse me.”
Cold, naked fury raced through Tristan as he watched the chit turn to rush away.
To think he was being denied the glory that was due to him because of this stupid wench was nearly unbearable. She was a mortal. Mere fodder for the greater race of vampires. And yet, because of blasted Nefri he was forced to treat her as if she were more than a source of blood for his feeding. Galling enough in itself, but to also add insult was the knowledge she was no closer to handing over the Medallion than when he had first discovered her a month before.
And now, Gideon had arrived.
He gave a low growl that sent a mincing dandy tumbling down the stairs in sudden fright.
With a flowing movement he turned to make his way back down the stairs, ignoring the crowd that unthinkingly melted out of his path.
He would not be thwarted. Not by an insignificant mortal or a vampire who had grown weak and content behind the Veil.
It was unthinkable.
And he intended both of them to know just how grave a mistake they had made in crossing his will.
A smile that would have chilled the most hearty of souls touched his thin lips as he left the theater and turned into a nearby alley. Within moments a ragged man shambled forward. Tristan grimaced at the smell of unwashed body and gin. On the next occasion he Inscrolled a slave, he would ensure it was not such a pitiful specimen, he told himself.
“Come,” he ordered as he moved toward the carriage he had left down the street. “Did you follow him?”
Staggering behind, the slave gave a low grunt. “Yes.”
“You remember how to find his lodgings?”
“Yes.” The slave halted as if he would turn and show the way to Gideon’s lodging at that moment.
“Not now, you twit,” Tristan gritted without ever slowing his pace. “It is time for pleasure.”
“Ahhh. Hunting.” The one-time mortal gave an eerie chuckle.
Tristan sucked in a deep breath, coldly controlling the rage that swept through him. Tonight would not be a blind savage feasting that would satisfy his hunger. He had a purpose to his hunt.
Of course, that did not mean he could not enjoy the fruits of his labor.
“Can you smell it?” he murmured as his fangs lengthened in anticipation of the kill.
“Blood.”
“How I have missed that arousing scent. And the power.” He allowed himself to briefly savor the addictive force that churned through his body. “Ah yes, the power that will be all the greater once I have dealt with Lady Gilbert.” A bleak, soulless sneer curved his lips. “A tasty morsel that I shall enjoy to the fullest. But for now ... a harlot to quench my thirst.”
Chapter 3
“They say he is in line for a crown,” Mary Garrett breathed, her avid gaze hungrily regarding the powerful elegance of Mr. Ravel as he twirled a giddy Lady Woodson about the dance floor.
