And now, Gideon had arrived.

He gave a low growl that sent a mincing dandy tumbling down the stairs in sudden fright.

With a flowing movement he turned to make his way back down the stairs, ignoring the crowd that unthinkingly melted out of his path.

He would not be thwarted. Not by an insignificant mortal or a vampire who had grown weak and content behind the Veil.

It was unthinkable.

And he intended both of them to know just how grave a mistake they had made in crossing his will.

A smile that would have chilled the most hearty of souls touched his thin lips as he left the theater and turned into a nearby alley. Within moments a ragged man shambled forward. Tristan grimaced at the smell of unwashed body and gin. On the next occasion he Inscrolled a slave, he would ensure it was not such a pitiful specimen, he told himself.

“Come,” he ordered as he moved toward the carriage he had left down the street. “Did you follow him?”

Staggering behind, the slave gave a low grunt. “Yes.”

“You remember how to find his lodgings?”

“Yes.” The slave halted as if he would turn and show the way to Gideon’s lodging at that moment.

“Not now, you twit,” Tristan gritted without ever slowing his pace. “It is time for pleasure.”

“Ahhh. Hunting.” The one-time mortal gave an eerie chuckle.

Tristan sucked in a deep breath, coldly controlling the rage that swept through him. Tonight would not be a blind savage feasting that would satisfy his hunger. He had a purpose to his hunt.

Of course, that did not mean he could not enjoy the fruits of his labor.

“Can you smell it?” he murmured as his fangs lengthened in anticipation of the kill.

“Blood.”

“How I have missed that arousing scent. And the power.” He allowed himself to briefly savor the addictive force that churned through his body. “Ah yes, the power that will be all the greater once I have dealt with Lady Gilbert.” A bleak, soulless sneer curved his lips. “A tasty morsel that I shall enjoy to the fullest. But for now ... a harlot to quench my thirst.”

Chapter 3

“They say he is in line for a crown,” Mary Garrett breathed, her avid gaze hungrily regarding the powerful elegance of Mr. Ravel as he twirled a giddy Lady Woodson about the dance floor.

Simone gave a small sniff as she waved her satin fan until her golden curls bounced in the breeze. She had not seen the aggravating gentleman for the past two days, and the realization that she had spent each day in an agony of nervous tension awaiting his arrival, made her long to break something.

His arrogant neck preferably, she pettily acknowledged.

“Every foreign gentleman claims to be in line for a crown,” she retorted, her own gaze fastened onto the male body attired in black as it moved with uncanny grace.

Less than a week ago she thought that she knew all there was to know of men.

They were as a rule easily managed. Allow them to believe that you found them fascinating, charming and desirable and they would readily be clay in her hands. Especially when they had hopes of seducing her.

But Gideon ...

He refused to follow the pattern she had come to expect. He did not treat her as a delicate flower he longed to pluck. Nor did he readily dance to her tune. Instead he had thrust his way into her life, seared her with his touch and then waltzed away as if she were thoroughly irrelevant.

Her teeth suddenly gritted.

No one was allowed to dismiss her with such disregard, she told herself. Not again.

Unaware of her dark thoughts, Mary, a lovely widow with sable hair and curvaceous form, heaved a longing sigh.

“Perhaps, but they do not all possess the means of purchasing a home in Mayfair. And certainly none other is blessed with such indecent beauty. I would give my diamond necklace for an evening in his arms.”

Her teeth gritted even tighter.

The thought of Gideon in the grasp of the insatiable widow was not at all pleasing.

A ridiculous weakness she was not about to reveal.

No one would be allowed to know the manner Mr. Ravel preyed upon her mind.

No one.

“You could always make him the offer,” she said, her fan fluttering until it threatened to fly from her fingers. “I have heard the rumor that he is on the hunt of a fortune.”

“An absurd rumor, unfortunately,” Mary bemoaned. “He has been spreading enough money about town to reassure the most suspicious of matrons that he is deep in the pocket. I assure you if he were in the market I would have already purchased his services.” There was a faint pause as Mary turned to regard her with knowing brown eyes. “If you had not snatched him up first.”

Simone stiffened in shock. “Me?”

Although five years older than Simone, the widow had taken her under her wing when she had first arrived in London. She had not only helped Simone establish her image as the “Wicked Temptress,” but she had helped to choose the select circle of friends that would ensure her success.

She did, however, possess an uncanny habit of speaking her mind with amazing frankness.

“I have seen how your gaze follows him.”

Simone gave a loud sniff. “He is arrogant, opinionated and far too aware of his own charms.”

Mary gave a low laugh as her gaze returned to the ebony-haired gentleman.

“What does that have to do with anything? He is delectable.”

“He is passable, I suppose.”

“You do not fool me. You are no more immune than the rest of us poor females.”

Simone’s eyes darkened. Unlike Mary she did not allow herself to be prey to her desires. She did not tumble into lust with each new gentleman who appeared upon the horizon, nor did she readily entangle herself in sordid affairs.

Not even with a gentleman who made her skin tingle and her heart race.

She remained in complete control of herself at all times.

Complete control.

“I assure you that I am utterly immune,” she retorted in tight tones. “Although ...”

Mary regarded her with a hint of curiosity. “What?”

“I would not deny a desire to challenge that male arrogance. He is far too confident that he is irresistible.”

“Perhaps because he is irresistible,” Mary pointed out.

“Fah.”

The dark eyes sparkled in a taunting manner at Simone’s confident manner. “Pretend to yourself if you wish, Simone, but do not be surprised to discover yourself burned after toying with such dangerous flames.”

For no reason at all Simone felt a swirl of unease rush through her stomach.

She did not wish to be reminded of the danger that shimmered about Mr. Ravel like a cloak of warning. He had offered a challenge that she could not ignore. Not without appearing a coward. Something she could not bear.

“Save your sympathies for Mr. Ravel. He will be in need of them,” she said in tones far more daring than she felt.

Mary laughed in open disbelief. “We shall see.”

“We shall, indeed.” Simone snapped her fan shut as the music came to an end. It was time to teach Mr. Ravel she was not to be so easily discounted, she told herself, even as a tiny voice in the back of her mind warned her she was being a fool. “Excuse me.”

Keeping her gaze covertly trained upon the elegant gentleman, Simone threaded her way through the guests that filled the ballroom. She determinedly ignored those who attempted to attract her attention as she angled toward the dance floor directly in the path of Mr. Ravel. He had managed to avoid her for the past hour. He would not be allowed to escape upon this occasion.

Hoping that no one could note the rapid beat of her heart or the manner her hands clutched the folds of her crimson silk gown she stepped directly in front of him.

With a graceful ease he managed to halt and offer a smooth bow before rising and regarding her with his midnight gaze.

“Ah, Lady Gilbert.”

Simone forgot to breathe.

Lost in the dark beauty of his eyes Simone felt the tangible power of him reach out to wrap about her. It feathered over her skin and tugged at something deep within her. Fierce, shimmering heat flared through her, making her knees weak and her mouth dry.

Botheration.

No man should be able to affect her so deeply.

Not by just being near.

It was indecent.

Desperately attempting to remind herself of the reason she sought him out in the first place, she plastered a stiff smile to her lips.

“Mr. Ravel.”

The sculpted lips curved as he slowly surveyed her slender form, lingering with obvious interest on the low cut of her neckline before returning to her flushed features.

“I trust you are enjoying your evening?”

Forcing her stiff muscles to relax, Simone opened her fan to slowly cool her heated cheeks.

She was the one in command, she reminded herself sternly.

It was time she began commanding.

“’Tis much like any other ball,” she retorted with a bored glance about the glittering room. “The same guests, the same gossip, the same predictable flirtations.”

A raven brow lifted in unspoken mockery. “You are bored?”

“More resigned,” she drawled. “I continue to hope that I might encounter one who is willing to toss aside the conventional expectations. Unfortunately there are so few in society willing to be more than mindless sheep following the flock.”