Obviously culled by the beautiful Lady Gilbert, the maid gave a reluctant shrug.

“Well, she does insist that no one be allowed to enter the house without her approval. She is quite particular about that.”

“Is that all?” Tristan shot her a cold gaze. He would have the information he desired. “No odd fancies?”

“Odd fancies?”

His desire to do away with the idiotic wench was nearly overwhelming.

“Any secrets that she keeps from society,” he at last bluntly demanded.

“Oh.” She thought for a moment. “None unless you count the fact she makes her own gowns.”

Hardly the shattering secret that Tristan had hoped to discover. He could hardly blackmail the woman just because she happened to make her own gowns.

Still, there was something about the unusual behavior that caught his attention.

“How peculiar. She does not approve of dressmakers?”

The maid ducked her head. “I really couldn’t say, sir.”

Certain that the maid was concealing something, Tristan lightly touched her arm.

“You can confide in me, my dear.”

There was a pause before the maid nervously cleared her throat.

“I ... I think it has something to do with the scars I seen on her back.”

Tristan raised his brows in surprise. “Scars? From a burn?”

“No. It looked more like she had been whipped. Badly whipped. Terrible scars they are.”

A stab of pleasure curled the edges of Tristan’s lips. So, the stubborn woman had been beaten. Not surprising. Her sharp tongue alone should have seen that she was put into her grave long ago.

Still, he knew that such behavior was ridiculously frowned upon by the pathetically weak humans. She obviously would not desire it to be known she had been treated as a common trollop.

“I see. Who do you suppose would have done such a thing to a lady? Her husband?”

The maid nervously twisted her hands together, as if already regretting the fact she had revealed her mistress’s secret.

“I couldn’t say, sir. I fear Lord Gilbert had already cocked up his toes when she came to London.”

He drummed his thin fingers on the cane. “And she never speaks of him?”

“No, sir.”

Tristan narrowed his gaze as he considered the importance of his discovery. Mere scars would not be enough to induce the stubborn wench to hand over the Medallion. But it did reveal there was more to her past than she desired to share with others. Who knew what other secrets she harbored?

Or at least he might discover a relative or friend he could use to force her into giving him what was his by right.

“Where did she live before coming to London?”

“Devonshire. Near the coast, I think.”

“Did she bring any of her old servants with her?”

The maid gave a firm shake of her head. “No, sir. We were all hired in London.”

It was precisely what he suspected, although he was swift to mark the annoyance of having to travel to Devonshire to the list of grievances that he intended to take out of Lady Gilbert’s fine, satin skin.

“Thank you, my dear, you have been quite helpful,” he murmured, coming to a halt several steps away from the large town house. It had come as a nasty surprise to discover that a web had been placed about the property that would swiftly alert Gideon the moment he came close. A reminder that he would have to deal with the interfering vampire sooner rather than later. “I do have one request before I leave you to return home.”

She glanced into his face with wide eyes. “What might that be, sir?”

“I would rather not have anyone realize that I rescued you this evening.”

No doubt presuming that he was about to demand a kiss or even more intimate repayment for his services she heaved a faint sigh.

“If you wish.”

His lips thinned at the mere thought of soiling himself with this pathetic wretch.

“I am certain you understand when I say that a particular gentleman might very well consider it worthy of a duel if he were to discover I were in the neighborhood.”

It took a long moment before she at last gave a sage nod of her head.

“Right. No need to worry. I shan’t say a word.”

Briefly debating whether it would be wiser to trust the girl to keep her word, or risk frightening Lady Gilbert into full flight if she discovered one of her servants murdered, he reluctantly gave a nod of his head.

He might have further need of the maid.

“Good evening, then.”

Turning, he made his way down the street, his thoughts already focused on the swiftest means of making his way to Devonshire.

Soon, he assured his raging bloodlust, he would have Lady Gilbert in his grasp.

And the Medallion would be his.

All his.

Chapter 8

The drive through the park had been intended to clear Simone’s tangled thoughts. After all, there were few things more pleasurable than having a bevy of anxious gentlemen fiercely vying to gain her attention. It certainly was the best means possible of healing any wounded pride she might have felt after having nearly tossed herself at Gideon’s feet only to be rejected.

But while there had been any number of suitors who had anxiously preened and strutted in her path, she had been unable to appreciate their attempts.

What troubled her was not that she had revealed the desire she had been determined to hide at all cost—Gideon was annoyingly aware of her weakness no matter how she might wish to deny the truth—or that he had thankfully brought an end to the kiss before true disaster could occur.

What troubled her was the fact that she was no closer to understanding the gentleman who had managed to bring chaos to her life.

Who was he?

More importantly ... what was he?

Leaving the carriage Simone slowly made her way up the steps to her town house.

She had never been a woman who believed in nonsense such as witches, goblins or ghosts. She did not believe in mystical signs or those who claimed to read the future, or even ill omens.

Life had been too hard to dwell upon superstitions and the fear of vague evil. There were enough troubles without adding mythical dangers.

Now, her shrewd common sense battled to deny the evidence that Gideon was ... was not entirely human.

A shiver raced through her as she allowed the horrible thought to race through her mind.

It was not possible.

It was utterly absurd.

There was no doubt a reasonable explanation to all the seeming mystery if only she could force herself to think coherently, she tried to tell herself over and over.

But she could not manage to rid herself of the awful sense that there was far more to Gideon than just another arrogant man of leisure.

Weary of wondering if she were perhaps on her way to Bedlam, Simone waited for the door to open before she entered the foyer and handed her parasol and gloves to the servant.

If a drive would not ease her troubled thoughts, then perhaps a relaxing afternoon in the privacy of her garden would help.

Stepping toward the mirror to smooth the long curls she had pulled back with a simple ribbon, she had barely managed to raise her hands when Daisy came charging into the foyer with a flushed countenance.

“My lady,” she breathed in obvious excitement.

Startled, and not a little alarmed, Simone turned to regard her servant with a worried gaze.

“Good heavens, Daisy, what is the matter?”

“You must come and see what has arrived,” the girl breathed with an impatient wave of her hand.

Regaining command of her jumping nerves, Simone chided herself for her hasty flare of fear. Botheration. She had been certain that the house had been invaded, or perhaps worse. Now it appeared there was nothing more alarming than the usual gifts that arrived daily from her admirers.

“Yes, yes.” She returned her attention to the mirror. “I will be along in a moment.”

Disappointed, the maid dipped a curtsy. “Very good, my lady.”

Straightening the neckline of her shimmering buttercup gown, Simone at last turned to make her way up the stairs toward the front parlor. It would be there that the housekeeper would have distributed the various flowers and tiny gifts that would have arrived that morning.

She possessed little interest in the offerings, but the servants enjoyed preening over her success. Stepping into the elegant room she swiftly noted Daisy standing beside the settee and the housekeeper standing by the heavy chimneypiece with her hands upon her hips.

“Now, what was it you wished me to see, Daisy?” she demanded before her mouth abruptly dropped open in shock. Piled upon the far sofa and numerous chairs were long lengths of shimmering cloth. Satin, silk, cambric, wool, muslin and velvet glowed in the late afternoon sunlight, along with ribbons and delicate lace in all colors. “Oh.”

Nearly hopping up and down in her excitement Daisy clapped her hands together.

“Mr. Ravel’s footman arrived earlier this morning to deliver these.”

Gideon?

Thoroughly bemused, Simone moved across the room with a shake of her head.

Of course, she should have guessed from the moment she caught sight of the expensive fabric, she acknowledged as she ran her hand over the swathe of satin in a rich ruby color. Who else was aware of her dressmaking skills? Or her love for such lovely material?