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.
Heavy silence descended as Gideon attempted to thrust aside the fear that made his stomach clench into painful knots. He could not afford to have his thoughts clouded by emotions, he reminded himself sternly. If Tristan had ordered his servants to take Simone to his hidden lair, then he would be at his most dangerous. Calm, cold logic would be needed to best him.
Staring out the window, the boy gave a sudden shout. “This be the street, sir.”
Gideon gave a rap on the top of the carriage and without waiting for it to halt he shoved the door open.
“Stay here,” he commanded as the urchin made a move to follow him.
The boy stuck out his lower lip in stubborn defiance. “You can’t be going alone. That gang was a rough lot.”
Knowing that the boy’s pride in his ability to face any danger would never let him accept staying behind, Gideon sent him a steady gaze.
“I need you here,” he commanded in stern tones. “Once Lady Gilbert is free you are to take her away with all speed. Is that understood?”
“I ...” Trapped by the charge laid upon him, the urchin gave a reluctant nod. “Yes, sir.”
Certain he would be obeyed, Gideon moved down the narrow street, ignoring the various harlots and street vendors that called out to him. He waited until he had slipped into a dank, trash littered alley before he slipped his hand beneath his jacket to remove the dagger. Although he continued to hope that Tristan would eventually turn himself over to the Great Council, he knew that at the moment he would kill him without remorse.
And if he had harmed Simone in any way ... well, he offered no bets that the renegade would ever have to worry over the Great Council again.
The fact that he had just chosen the life of a human, whether she held the Medallion or not, over that of a vampire barely made a ripple in his cold fury.
Simone was all that mattered.
