Thrusting aside the strange sense of unease, Simone forced herself to turn and discover the source of that bothersome gaze.

It took a moment to discover the tall gentleman standing alone in a distant corner, but when she at last caught sight of him, her heart stuttered to a sudden halt.

Although he was properly attired in a black coat, pantaloons and a crisply tied cravat, he bore no resemblance to the other gentlemen that lounged about the room.

Well over six feet there was a raw, elegant power in his lean form that Simone could sense even at a distance. It was in the manner he leaned negligently against a marble column and in the arrogant tilt of his head. Her gaze narrowed as she studied the pale, finely chiseled features that were framed by his long, satin hair the shade of polished ebony.

His male beauty was enough to steal her breath.

Against her will she found herself lingering upon the aquiline nose, the high thrust of his cheekbones and sensuous curve of his lips. There was a compelling strength and unrelenting pride etched into those features that sent a rash of warning down her spine.

This was not a gentleman who could be toyed with and kept at a safe distance. He was a conqueror who would stride through the world and take what he desired.

Then, she lifted her head to meet the black, brooding gaze and her knees nearly gave way.

There was a searing heat in those eyes that flared across the room and swept through her body. Simone reeled in startled bewilderment as she was helplessly trapped by that dark regard.

Suddenly she understood precisely how a fly felt when it stumbled into the web of a spider.

“Dear heavens,” she whispered softly.

At last realizing that he had lost her attention, Lord Braceton turned to follow her gaze.

“What?”

“Who is that gentleman?” she demanded as she struggled to regain command of her shattered composure.

The older man heaved a heavy sigh. “Mr. Gideon Ravel. He just arrived in London with his two cousins from the Continent. Seems he’s related to some aristocratic family or other. They made quite a stir when they appeared at the Croswell’s ball last week.”

A shiver raced through her. She could imagine that this man would make a stir wherever he might be. Even now her guests were glancing in the stranger’s direction and whispering in low voices. Mr. Ravel remained splendidly unconcerned at the obvious interest in his arrival as he continued to regard her with that unwavering gaze.

Simone unconsciously squared her shoulders as she realized that she was staring at the man like a half-wit.

This was her home.

And no one entered it without her invitation.

No one.

“How the devil did he manage to get past Bartson?” she gritted in annoyance.

At her side Lord Braceton gave a shrug. “Perhaps he came with one of your other guests.”

“Impossible. Only those with invitations are allowed to enter. Excuse me.”

Without awaiting her companion’s response, Simone swept through the mingling crowd toward the gentleman watching her with that faintly mocking smile. At the same moment an elderly gentleman stepped to join the stranger, attempting to claim his attention, although that black gaze remained firmly trained upon her flushed countenance.

A rather cowardly urge to wait until he was once again alone swept through Simone before she was swiftly thrusting it aside.

What the blazes was wrong with her? She was no longer a cowering maiden who cringed at the mere hint of a threat. After the death of her sister she had refused to be frightened of anyone ever again.

Regardless if that anyone happened to be a towering, black-haired devil with eyes of midnight.

Keeping that thought firmly in the forefront of her mind, Simone swept to a halt directly in front of the intruder, her smile intact as the elderly gentleman next to him turned to regard her with a mild lift of his brows.

“Good evening, Lord Tydale,” she murmured, her gaze never wavering from the midnight eyes.

Simone discovered her throat dangerously dry as she felt the smoldering power of the stranger reach out to wrap about her. Botheration. She had never encountered anyone who unsettled her in such a fashion. The realization only sharpened her temper.

“Ah, our charming hostess.” Tydale performed a respectable bow, politely ignoring the fact that his two companions were far too consumed with one another to bother glancing in his direction. “My dear, you are appearing as devilishly delectable as always. You really must confess the name of your modiste. It is unconscionable that the other ladies in the Ton must always pale in comparison.”

Simone’s smile thinned. No one but her servants knew that she designed and stitched her own gowns. Not only because she truly enjoyed creating the lovely dresses, but because she could not possibly allow a modiste to catch a glimpse of her in a mere shift. Her charade would be over as swiftly as it had begun.

“That is entirely the point of keeping her name secret,” she forced herself to say in light tones.

“So wicked,” the elderly gentleman chided.

“I do not believe I have been introduced to your companion.”

“Actually I am not at all certain I wish to oblige you with an introduction, Simone,” Lord Tydale teased, clearly sensing the silent battle of wills that hung heavy in the air. “After only a week this gentleman has managed to wreak havoc among the fairer sex. I daresay there is not a maiden in London who has not tossed her heart at his feet.”

She slowly arched her brows as she regarded Mr. Ravel. “Since I have never been foolish enough to toss my heart at any gentleman’s feet, I believe you are safe in making the introduction.”

Tydale heaved a resigned sigh. “Oh, very well, but do not say I did not attempt to warn you of his dastardly charm. Lady Gilbert, may I make you known to Mr. Ravel?”

Fiercely aware of that haughty black stare, Simone sank into a shallow curtsy.

“Mr. Ravel.”

His bow was even more brief. “Lady Gilbert.”

Simone gritted her teeth. “Lord Tydale, would you be kind enough to procure me a glass of champagne?”

There was a moment’s pause before the older man gave a reluctant grimace. “But of course. I shall return.”

Lord Tydale grudgingly turned to move away, and Mr. Ravel boldly flicked his gaze over her slender form.

“Do all gentlemen leap to your commands so swiftly, Lady Gilbert?”

Simone was startled by the soft, seductively dark tones. There was a faint trace of an accent but it oddly only made his voice more pleasing.

She gave an unwitting shake of her head, attempting to clear her suddenly thick thoughts.

There was something ... something drawing her into a strange sense of lethargy that made it difficult to think of anything beyond the tempting beauty of his ebony eyes.

She swayed forward, nearly lost in the darkness before she was belatedly grasping her elusive anger and gathering it about her like a tattered shroud. She tilted her chin upward.

“Those who wish to please me,” she said in an admirably steady voice.

Something that might have been surprise rippled over the pale, elegant features before Mr. Ravel allowed his lips to curl upward.

“Ah, a woman who demands obedience,” he mocked. “Tell me, my dear, do you not find admirers with no will of their own rather tedious? There are, after all, faithful hounds if you wish utter submission. A gentleman of genuine strength could provide a great deal more. Anything you could desire.”

Her irritation deepened. How dare he sneak into her home, blatantly stare at her as if she were a common tart and then treat her with such aloof amusement?

“I understand that you are relatively new to London.”

He shrugged. “I arrived last week.”

“From the Continent?”

“Yes.”

She glared into the unearthly magnificence of his countenance. “Alone?”

“No. I have two cousins who traveled with me. They were unfortunately unable to join me this evening.”

Her lips tightened at the implication that his cousins would have been as arrogant as he in thrusting themselves into a gathering where they were not invited.

“Are you visiting family?”

“No, I have a small commission to be discharged and then I shall return to my home.”

“And where precisely is your home?” she persisted, refusing to be daunted by the cool haughtiness etched into his expression.

The pale slender fingers lifted to absently play with a diamond pin in the folds of his cravat. She discovered herself nearly hypnotized by the languid movement. He possessed the hands of an artist, she thought fuzzily. How would it feel to have those fingers stroking her overheated skin ...

Simone shuddered in shock as she hastily thrust the renegade thought away.

“You are very inquisitive,” he drawled in those smoky tones.

“Am I?” She forced herself to meet that disturbing gaze squarely. “Well, perhaps that is because I am unaccustomed to having strangers invade my home. I am very select in who receives an invitation.”

“Ah.” He remained supremely unconcerned at her insult. “A wise precaution, no doubt.”

“I think so. It would not do to have a clever encroacher thrusting their way into society.”