Daisy gave a restless shrug. “A rather queer sort, although he did once save my life.”
The sense of premonition only deepened at the maid’s obvious unease.
“What ... what did he look like?”
“A large man with cold eyes and long silver hair.”
“Mr. Soltern,” Simone whispered in horror.
“He seemed quite anxious that you receive this gift as soon as possible.”
Simone shivered, longing to toss the package through the window. It was, in fact, what she had done with the priceless bracelet that he had given to her.
Common sense, however, held her hand. Gideon had warned that Mr. Soltern would do whatever necessary to get his hands upon her necklace. She had to discover if he was plotting against her.
“That will be all, Daisy.”
The maid dropped a ready curtsy. “Good night, my lady. Just ring if you need me.”
“Yes, yes I will.”
Waiting until the servant had left the room and firmly closed the door behind her, Simone crossed toward the candle she had left burning on the table beside her bed. Then, sinking onto the side of the mattress she forced her stiff fingers to undo the string tied about the package and peeled back the heavy paper.
A note fluttered onto her lap, but Simone paid it no heed as her heart froze at the sight of the miniature painting that had been revealed.
She recognized it immediately, of course.
It was a portrait her sister had commissioned only weeks before Lord Gilbert’s death.
There was no mistaking the glorious golden curls and petulant features, nor the deep rose gown that had possessed golden threads through the bodice.
There was also no mistaking the fact that the portrait had been left in Devonshire since her sister had been quite determined to have a new portrait commissioned with a London artist.
Simone struggled to breathe.
Somehow Mr. Soltern had learned the truth of her past.
A past that was supposed to be buried along with her sister.
Dropping the miniature upon the bed, Simone reached for the note to read the brief message that she was now expecting.
If you do not wish London to know of Sally Jenkins then come to the brewery tonight. Bring the Medallion.
Tristan
Numb with shock, Simone discovered herself rising to her feet and pulling off the robe so that she could don a plain black gown.
What choice did she have, a voice whispered in the back of her mind?
She could not possibly allow him to reveal the truth. Her entire life would be at an end. Dear Lord, she might very well be hauled off to the gallows.
As she dressed, however, her initial flare of horror began to recede and she forced herself to consider what she was about to do.
It was one thing to face a man intent on extortion.
It was quite another to face a desperate vampire who was willing to murder without remorse.
A ball of ice formed in her stomach at the thought of making her way alone to the brewery and facing Mr. Soltern.
She had always considered herself a courageous and even bold woman. Certainly she could be impulsive. But not even her nerve was equal to this task.
So what was she to do?
Allow Mr. Soltern to destroy her life? Flee London and hope to hide herself in a small village where no one would know her?
But surely the vampire would follow her wherever she would go?
Pacing the floor for nearly an hour, Simone at last came to the inevitable conclusion.
She had to go to Gideon.
No matter how often over the past few days she might have told herself that he must either be a monster or a madman, she knew deep within her that he was the only person in the entire world that she truly trusted.
She might not be able to explain why, but with him she felt safe and cared for in a manner she had never experienced before.
Gideon made her believe that she belonged with him, down to her very soul.
Not giving herself time to consider what she was about to do, Simone silently slipped from her room and made her way to the back stairs.
The night was swiftly passing, she realized with a flare of fear, and there was no telling what Mr. Soltern would do if she failed to show at the brewery.
Remaining in the shadows as much as possible she hurried past the rows of elegant town houses, dodging 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.”
She could not prevent her shudder at the memory of those wretched years she had spent at the mercy of Lady Hadwell and Simone. No words could express just how evil and vindictive they had been.
“They hated me,” she at last said with simple honesty. “Lady Hadwell called me a disgraceful slut and Simone did everything possible to make my life a misery. Even the servants thought my presence an embarrassment to the household. Only my father ever showed me a hint of kindness.”
The fingers cupped her cheek. “My poor dear.”
Her eyes darkened as she was forced back to those days she had hoped never to recall.
“It only became worse once my father died. I was commanded to become Simone’s maid.”
His features hardened with anger. “I suppose they hoped to humiliate you.”