My Lord Vampire (Immortal Rogues #1)(34)
Author: Alexandra Ivy

Entering the foyer, Simone halted as the servants continued up the stairs with Gideon. She knew that he would probably balk at having her present when they undressed him and put him to bed, although she would readily have done the task herself if only to assure herself that his wounds were not as grievous as she had feared.

Impatiently pacing the floor, she waited until she had seen the housekeeper hurrying by with hot water and bandages before she slowly made her way upstairs. Once in the upper corridor she patiently secreted herself behind a large urn until the housekeeper once again appeared, leaving the chamber at the end of the hall, followed closely by the coachman and groom.

Although she was shockingly indifferent to her reputation at the moment, she did not want to wrangle with worried servants over whether or not Gideon was fit to receive her. She was all too aware of how a devoted staff could cluck and stew over their employers.

With silent steps she moved down the corridor to push open the door and slip into the large bedchamber.

For a moment she was halted by the magnificent splendor of the room. With a wide Venetian window that overlooked the garden and walls hung with red and gold embossed leather, it seemed to glow like a jewel in the late afternoon sunlight. Across the room was a black marble chimneypiece and in the very center a gilded, four-poster bed with a red and gold canopy stood in barbaric beauty.

It was exotic, passionate and not at all what she had expected from Gideon.

Gideon.

With a shake of her head at her absurd distraction, Simone hurried toward the bed to discover that he was neatly tucked in the center of the mattress with several pillows stacked behind his head.

“How are you?” she demanded, perching as bold as a tart at the edge of the bed. “Has a doctor been sent for?”

His lips curved with a smile at her anxious tone, and, startling her, he reached out to lightly stroke her cheek with his long, pale fingers.

“I assure you that will not be necessary, my dearest. I will soon be completely recovered.”

Her heart warmed at the feel of his tender caress, but she was not about to let arrogant male pride send him to his grave.

“Men,” she muttered in annoyance, reaching up to twitch aside the cover so that she could make her own decision upon whether a doctor was in need. “You realize even the slightest wound can become infected. I will decide … oh.”

Her words stuttered to an abrupt halt as her gaze moved over the smooth, firmly muscled chest that bore no more than angry red welts where he had been stabbed. In shock she lifted her head to study the cut upon his temple more closely, realizing that it too had faded to a thin scar, while the swelling was nearly gone. He might have been attacked weeks, perhaps months ago.

“I did warn you,” he at last broke the stunned silence.

“But … this is impossible.”

His fingers moved to trace her unsteady lips. “You should really stop using that word, Simone. There are very few things that are impossible.”

“Someday you are going to tell me the truth,” she whispered in broken tones.

“Someday.” The dark eyes probed deep into her own, glittering with an emotion that threatened to steal her very soul. “For now, I need to hold you in my arms and know you are safe.”

Simone trembled. To be held in his arms. It was what she wanted more than anything in the world. No, not just wanted. What she desperately needed deep within her.

Somehow, without her even being aware of what was occurring, he had managed to become a necessary part of her world. Every day seemed dull until he appeared. Every night was filled with dreams of being close to him. And despite all the fears and shadows that surrounded him she could not bear the thought that he might someday walk away from her.

But while she might have been foolish enough to allow him into her heart, she still possessed enough common sense to realize that giving in to the passions he had stirred was beyond self-indulgent.

She was supposed to be an experienced widow well versed in the arts of love.

It would take only moments to discover she was a fraud.

Ignoring the regret that viciously stabbed through her, Simone gave a slow shake of her head.

“Gideon, I …”

His fingers pressed to her lips as he sensed her reluctant refusal.

“I just wish to hold you, Simone,” he said softly. “I need to feel you close.”

She hesitated, well aware it was a bad notion in more than one way, but in the end she could as soon have halted the sun from rising as to deny his urgent plea.

“Yes,” she whispered, readily settling upon the cover.

With a low groan he reached out to wrap his arms about her and tugged her close. Simone gloried in the feel of his long, hard body as it pressed against her own. Even with the cover between them she could feel the comforting heat reach out to surround her. She breathed deeply of the faint scent of spice that clung to his skin.

All the horror and wretched sense of helplessness slowly faded away as she laid her head upon his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart.

“Ah, my Simone, this is where you belong,” he said in satisfied tones.

Simone closed her eyes as she battled sudden tears.

She had never truly belonged anywhere.

Not with her father, nor her sister and certainly not in that extravagant London town house.

But for the moment she did feel as if she belonged in Gideon’s arms.

“Yes.”

Chapter 10

Death arrived in Devonshire without warning.

In the sleepy village near the coast the neighbors abruptly began locking their doors at night and eying one another with suspicion. Those forced to leave their homes at night began carrying their firearms and closely watching the shadows for sign of the killer.

There was no explanation for the young women who were being found in their beds with their blood drained from their bodies. Not unless one was willing to believe the unbelievable.

It was all enough to make the most daring of souls begin to peer over their shoulders.

In the small inn next to the town green the local blacksmith and ferryman huddled in a far corner as they enjoyed a pint of ale. There was no one else in the public room excepting the inn keep who morosely watched the empty door. No one wished to leave their homes without dire necessity.

“I be telling you it’s the work of a vampire,” the ferryman announced in knowing tones as he took a deep sip of the dark ale.

“Get on with you. Are you daft?” the blacksmith growled, his wide, well worn features tight with worry. “T’ain’t no such thing as vampires.”