Allowing her gaze to lower to the shredded jacket, Simone noted that most of the blood had already begun to dry. Perhaps the wounds had not been as severe as she had first feared.

In any event, she could always send for a doctor once they reached Mayfair.

“Very well,” she grudgingly conceded. “But if you die on me ...”

“I will not die, that I can promise you,” he retorted in darkly certain tones. “Now, can we please be on our way?”

Needing no further prompting the coachman and groom hurriedly shut the door and scrambled into their positions. With a crack of the whip they were bowling away from the dank streets of St. Giles and threading their way to the more respectable neighborhoods.

Simone grasped the edge of the seat as she continued to kneel over Gideon, barely resisting the urge to trace the battered features of his countenance.

The swelling of his eye appeared to be lessening but she knew that the pain must be near unbearable. No one could endure being stabbed and beaten with such savagery and not be in utter agony, regardless of his annoyingly male determination to be brave.

Unable to do anything for the wounds, she reached out to squeeze his fingers, hoping to at least distract him from his pain.

“How did you find me?” she asked softly.

He grimaced as he turned his head so he could meet her worried gaze.

“I was at your home when the lad came to tell me that you had been taken. He was quick-witted enough to follow the hack so I would know where to search.”

Simone briefly recalled a grimy-faced lad that had been hovering outside the brewery when she had dashed out to find a weapon to use upon those madmen attacking Gideon. At the time she had barely noted him, but now she realized that the pointed face and overlarge ears had seemed vaguely familiar. As if she had seen him in the streets more than once.

She gave a faint shake of her head. “But how did he know who I am or where I live?”

“It seems that all of London knows of the ‘Wicked Temptress,’” he attempted to tease in light tones.

Simone was not so readily convinced that the lad just happened to know who she was, nor that he would risk himself being connected with the villains by going to her house.

Indeed, she was beginning to suspect that the boy was in the employ of Gideon Ravel and was being paid to follow her.

“Mmmm.”

His lips twitched at her knowing glance, but it was swiftly followed by a grimace as the carriage hit a stray stone.

“Are you hurt?”

“A few scratches and bruises, but nothing that will not heal. I was more frightened than anything,” she wryly admitted.

“Not nearly frightened enough, obviously.” The dark gaze suddenly glittered. “When I am recovered we will have a long discussion concerning your foolish behavior. I told you to escape.”

She gave a loud sniff, not about to admit that she would have as soon stabbed herself in the heart as to have left him to the mercy of the scoundrels.

Such a confession would reveal far more than she was ready to admit even to herself.

“You do not give me commands, Mr. Ravel,” she told him pertly.

His fingers abruptly squeezed her own with surprising strength. “I will not allow you to be harmed. No matter what the cost.”

Her heart gave an odd shudder at his fierce words, but she managed to keep herself from behaving like one of those foolish chits that simpered and purred at every man who cast a glance in their direction.

“Who were those men?” she demanded.

“Wretched souls who have fallen into the power of Mr. Soltern.”

“They were ...” She shivered as she recalled the blank, slack-jawed men who had treated her more as a piece of trash they had picked up off the street than a lady. “I do not know. It was almost as if they were ill.”

“Their minds have been destroyed beyond hope.”

“Destroyed?” Her breath caught in her throat. “How?”

There was a moment’s pause before he at last answered, “Fear.”

That was not what he had been about to say, but she was not at all certain that she desired to know the truth.

If Mr. Soltern could do that to men toughened by the harsh streets of London, what could he possibly do to her?

“Why did they not simply take my necklace if that is what they wanted? I could not have halted them.”

“I do not believe it was the necklace they desired.”

“Then, what? Money?”

“Perhaps,” he replied.

It was a perfectly reasonable deduction, but Simone found herself recalling how easily she managed to slip from the ruffians once Gideon had arrived. They had not so much as called out when she had been bundled out of the door.

“No, not money,” she said slowly. “Once you entered the building they made no effort to hold me captive. They were only interested in you.”

“Perhaps because I was the one holding the dagger,” he suggested in dry tones.

“It was more than that, they were seeking to harm you,” she reasoned out loud, her brow furrowed as she recalled the manner the villains had surrounded Gideon. Then suddenly her eyes widened as the truth at last struck her. “That was why I was captured. To lure you to that building. Mr. Soltern wanted you... .”

“There is little use in dwelling upon Mr. Soltern’s motives,” he firmly interrupted. “We are safe.”

Simone shivered as she regarded his poor, battered countenance. He had come so horridly close to death.

“Until he decides to try again.”

“We shall take greater precautions from now on.” The carriage rattled to a halt and he offered her a strained smile. “Ah, I believe we have arrived. My coachman will see you home.”

She offered him a frown of outrage at his presumption. “Do not be daft. I am not leaving you.”

“Simone.” He gave her fingers a warning squeeze. “Wicked temptress or not, you cannot be seen entering a bachelor’s establishment without so much as a maid to give you countenance.”

She gave an impatient click of her tongue. “You are injured.”

“Society will not care.”

“Well, I care,” she announced in stern tones. “Now, hush so the servants can help you inside.”

The dark gaze narrowed at her commanding tone, but at that moment the door was pulled open and Simone hurried out of the carriage so that the servants could help Gideon to the house.

She was not about to leave his side until she was absolutely certain he was properly attended to.

It took surprisingly little effort to negotiate Gideon from the carriage and into the house. In fact, he barely allowed either of the servants to do more than help keep him steady, and Simone gave a disbelieving shake of her head.

She would have sworn he was a breath away from dying when they had been in the brewery. It seemed amazing he was still conscious, let alone walking.

Entering the foyer, Simone halted as the servants continued up the stairs with Gideon. She knew that he would probably balk at having her present when they undressed him and put him to bed, although she would readily have done the task herself if only to assure herself that his wounds were not as grievous as she had feared.

Impatiently pacing the floor, she waited until she had seen the housekeeper hurrying by with hot water and bandages before she slowly made her way upstairs. Once in the upper corridor she patiently secreted herself behind a large urn until the housekeeper once again appeared, leaving the chamber at the end of the hall, followed closely by the coachman and groom.

Although she was shockingly indifferent to her reputation at the moment, she did not want to wrangle with worried servants over whether or not Gideon was fit to receive her. She was all too aware of how a devoted staff could cluck and stew over their employers.

With silent steps she moved down the corridor to push open the door and slip into the large bedchamber.

For a moment she was halted by the magnificent splendor of the room. With a wide Venetian window that overlooked the garden and walls hung with red and gold embossed leather, it seemed to glow like a jewel in the late afternoon sunlight. Across the room was a black marble chimneypiece and in the very center a gilded, four-poster bed with a red and gold canopy stood in barbaric beauty.

It was exotic, passionate and not at all what she had expected from Gideon.

Gideon.

With a shake of her head at her absurd distraction, Simone hurried toward the bed to discover that he was neatly tucked in the center of the mattress with several pillows stacked behind his head.

“How are you?” she demanded, perching as bold as a tart at the edge of the bed. “Has a doctor been sent for?”

His lips curved with a smile at her anxious tone, and, startling her, he reached out to lightly stroke her cheek with his long, pale fingers.

“I assure you that will not be necessary, my dearest. I will soon be completely recovered.”

Her heart warmed at the feel of his tender caress, but she was not about to let arrogant male pride send him to his grave.

“Men,” she muttered in annoyance, reaching up to twitch aside the cover so that she could make her own decision upon whether a doctor was in need. “You realize even the slightest wound can become infected. I will decide ... oh.”