“Oh, I think you will discover I am quite, quite different than most gentlemen,” he retorted, assuring himself that he did not feel a pang of remorse that he was using this maiden as everyone else seemingly did. Such weakness belonged to humans, not vampires. “I am sorry if you are disappointed. Perhaps during another time and in another place I might have satisfied your passions.”
She gasped with sudden fury. “I ...”
He moved so swiftly she was unable to react before he had swooped his head downward and gently pressed his lips to her own. Sparks flared as he briefly drank of her soft temptation, the scent of roses and warm blood clouding his mind before he was pulling back.
A shudder raced through him as he battled to regain control of his own fervor.
He had tested his restraint enough for now, he acknowledged with a pang of unease at the realization. It was time to return to his hunt.
“I have important matters that demand my attention,” he informed her with an elegant bow. “Do not concern yourself, however, I shall soon return.”
Pressing a hand to her lips she remained silent as he turned and crossed the room. It was not until he had at last reached the door that she regained command of herself.
“Despicable cad.”
For the first time since arriving in London, Simone considered ignoring the numerous invitations that lay upon her dressing table and remaining quietly at home.
Even after several hours she was still brewing with anger at Mr. Gideon Ravel.
Never, never had she ever encountered such an aggravating man. Not only thrusting his way into her home, despite her long lecture to Bartson, but then giving her some absurd story of needing to protect her. As if she would need the assistance of an arrogant stranger who was clearly mad.
It was all utterly ridiculous.
Almost as ridiculous as the knowledge that his touch had deeply affected her.
Botheration. She had nearly swooned when his fingers had stroked so lightly over her. And then that kiss ...
The heady sensations that had raced through her had stolen every rational thought and made her behave as foolishly as the most thick-skulled twit. Not even his humiliating declaration that he was not about to seduce her had managed to deaden the heated excitement that swirled through her body.
At least he had not seemed intent upon blackmail as she had first feared, she had tried to reassure herself. That thought had kept her awake long into the night. She could never afford to forget that her entire world could be destroyed in a single moment.
Spending the day pacing the floor of her bedchamber, Simone had at last gathered her courage and attired herself in a glittering yellow gown.
She would not cower in her home because of Mr. Gideon Ravel, or any other man, she had told herself sternly. He might have bested her today, but the battle was far from over. She would teach him that she was no woman to trifle with.
Keeping that thought firmly in mind she had called for her carriage and arrived at the theater where she was to join a small, select party. She did not think to meet Mr. Ravel there, but she hoped that he would at least hear she had been in attendance with her usual serene composure.
Her determination briefly faltered as she entered the theater and was swiftly joined by a tall, gaunt-faced gentleman attired in a formal coat and knee breeches. Simone stiffened with displeasure as he glided close beside her, his long silver hair pulled into a queue at his neck.
She had no reasonable excuse for disliking Mr. Soltern. In truth he had been quite charming on the few occasions that their paths had crossed. But while he was always polite there was something about the gray, lifeless eyes that sent a chill over her skin.
Unconsciously she pulled away from his tall frame, her nose twitching at the vague, unpleasant scent of cold steel that seemed to shroud about him.
Perhaps noting her instinctive withdrawal, the gentleman bared his large teeth in what was no doubt intended as a smile.
“Ah, my fair angel. How fortunate I am to have crossed your path.”
“Thank you, Mr. Soltern,” she forced herself to say in pleasant tones.
“Tristan, my dear,” he chided softly, waving the ebony cane that he held in a thin, bony hand. “I presume you have also been summoned to join Lord Stonewall in his box?”
She swallowed the instinctive denial. She could not simply turn and leave the theater just because she discovered this man was to be a part of her party. Such an insult might very well make him an enemy. And she possessed an uncanny sense that he would be a very dangerous foe.
“Yes, a tedious task, I fear. You need not bother to escort me.”
“A task is never tedious in your charming company, Simone,” he said with an unwelcome air of intimacy. “Indeed, I would be content to walk at your side for an eternity.”
Simone shuddered in horror at the mere thought. “Very pretty, sir.”
A silence fell as they climbed the wide stairs, then with a sideways glance Tristan gently cleared his throat.
“I understand that you had a rather unexpected guest at your salon last evening.”
Simone stiffened before she could prevent the betraying motion. Damn the incessant tattlers. She did not like the thought of London gossiping about Mr. Ravel and their obvious confrontation.
“Did I?”
“A Mr. Ravel,” he prompted her.
She kept her expression smoothly unconcerned. She certainly had no intention of adding to any speculation.
“Yes, now that you mention it, he did attend.”
“He is an acquaintance of yours?”
“Of sorts,” she readily lied, reluctantly turning to meet that dead gaze. “Why do you ask?”
He paused before lifting a thin shoulder. “I am merely concerned for your welfare.”
Simone frowned at his words. This was the second occasion she had been warned that she was somehow in danger. A chill trickled down her spine.
“Concerned?”
“I have known Mr. Ravel for countless years and unfortunately I must confess that he is utterly untrustworthy.”
Her expression became cool at the rapier edge in his voice. It was obvious he possessed a deep dislike for Mr. Ravel. And that he hoped to sway her own opinion.
Regardless of the fact she had devoted most of the day to cursing Gideon she was not about to be blindly informed of whom she could or could not trust. Certainly not by a man who made her skin crawl.
“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.”