drunken dandies and the occasional servant as she made her way to Gideon’s home. Once there she made her way to the garden and slipped through the narrow door that led to the kitchen.
It was more luck than skill that allowed her to slip silently past the servants who were indulging in a late night dinner and to the back stairs. Thankfully she already knew the way to Gideon’s chambers, and with a hasty prayer that she was not about to make a dreadful mistake she hurried down the corridor and pushed open the door to his chambers.
The room was bathed in shadows, but Simone sensed that Gideon was awaiting her as she cautiously inched her way through the darkness. It was in the thick tension she could feel in the air, and the unmistakable sensation of his dark gaze resting upon her.
She stumbled to an uncertain halt, and at that moment a candle flared to life.
Standing beside the vast bed, Gideon was attired in his brocade robe. With an elegant movement he set the candle on a table and moved to take her chilled hands in his own.
“Simone.”
“Gideon, I ...” She briefly faltered, staring at the starkly handsome features that appeared oddly unfamiliar in the flickering candlelight.
As if sensing her wavering nerve, Gideon gently squeezed her hands, a frown marring his brow as he felt the shudder that raced through her body.
“Simone, what has happened?”
“I received a note from Mr. Soltern,” she admitted bluntly.
He stilled as his dark gaze narrowed. “What did it say?”
“He demanded that I bring my amulet to the brewery.”
“Simone, you cannot allow him to have the Medallion,” he said in commanding tones.
She abruptly pulled her hands free and turned from that unnerving gaze. She could not think clearly when he was so near.
“It is not so simple.”
“What do you mean?” As she remained silent she heard him step forward and felt the warmth of his hands as he gently stroked them over her shoulders. “Simone?”
She closed her eyes, knowing that the moment had arrived when she must confess the truth. That knowledge, unfortunately, did not make the task any more pleasant.
“You have already surmised that I possess secrets,” she said in low tones. “Secrets that I cannot allow others to know.”
“Tristan has discovered those secrets?”
“Yes.” A sob caught in her throat. “I do not know how, but ...”
He gently squeezed her shoulders, his breath touching her cheek as he leaned close to her.
“It cannot be so bad, Simone.”
“Oh yes. It is very, very bad.”
“Tell me, Simone,” he urged softly.
Taking a deep breath, Simone slowly turned. Meeting his steady gaze was perhaps the hardest thing she had ever done. She could not bear to think that the esteem he held her in was about to be destroyed. Perhaps forever.
“I am not Simone.”
Not surprisingly he regarded her with wary puzzlement. “What?”
“I am Sally Jenkins.” The words threatened to stick in her throat and she balled her hands at her sides to keep herself from breaking down completely. “Simone was my half sister, although she would never have acknowledged our connection. I was a bastard, you see.”
Oddly there was none of the shock she had expected to see upon his handsome countenance as he gave a slow nod of his head.
“Your father?”
“Lord Hadwell of Devonshire.”
“And your mother?”
“A mere governess of Simone’s. She died when I was born.”
Without warning his hand reached up to lightly touch her near-white cheek.
“I am sorry.”
His obvious sympathy when she had expected anger and recrimination was nearly her undoing and she was forced to bat back the threatening tears.
“It was not so bad while my father lived. He insisted that I be given a home with him and even a measure of schooling with Simone’s new governess.”
He grimaced as he accurately surmised how her presence in the Hadwell home had been received by Lady Hadwell.
“Which no doubt did nothing to endear you to his wife or daughter.”
