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Authors: Alexandra Ivy
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escaping England and her sister to travel the world. Although she no longer felt the burning need to flee, she had never lost the faint desire to simply pack her bags and discover all the wondrous places that beckoned.
Night fell as she continued to read of the daring adventures of a young priest traveling through the Americas when she was interrupted by a wide-eyed maid who dipped a hasty curtsy.
“Pardon me, my lady, but Mr. Soltern has called.”
Mr. Soltern?
Simone surged to her feet, unthinkingly allowing the book to tumble to the rose-patterned carpet. The mere thought of the cold, distasteful gentleman in her home was enough to send a rash of unease over her skin.
“Please, tell him ...”
“Good evening, Lady Gilbert,” Mr. Soltern drawled as he stepped into the library with an icy smile.
Simone snapped her lips closed as she encountered the cold, lifeless gaze. She would have her butler’s head upon a platter, she thought as she battled the heavy sense of dread that suddenly filled the room. It was bad enough that Gideon was allowed to walk in whenever he felt the urge. She would not have every buffoon who called himself a gentleman traipsing through her home.
Especially not a gentleman who made her skin crawl with dislike.
“Mr. Soltern. I did not expect you this evening,” she said stiffly.
He glanced toward the silent maid who abruptly turned and hurried from the room, leaving the two of them alone. Only then did he return that flat gaze to regard her in a measuring fashion.
“Forgive me for intruding, but I did wish to see you as soon as possible.”
Simone swallowed heavily, battling the urge to flee behind the frightened maid. She would not be intimidated in her own home, she sternly chided herself. Not even by this man.
“Is there a problem?”
“Not at all.” Without warning he glided forward and placed a small velvet box in her unwilling hands. “I have procured a small gift I hoped would please you.”
Instinctively she took a step back from the frigid air that seemed to shroud about him, regarding the box with suspicion.
“That is very kind, but not at all necessary.”
“I fear it is necessary, my dear,” he retorted with that smile that could have sliced through a diamond. “For some reason you have taken me in dislike and I should very much wish to alter your harsh opinion.”
All too aware of how alone she was with this man, Simone forced herself to give a shake of her head.
“That is absurd.”
“Then I have mistaken your cold disregard?” he demanded.
“We are barely acquainted.”
“An oversight I intend to correct,” he threatened. “Will you not at least open my gift?”
“Very well,” she grudgingly conceded, her fingers fumbling to pull the lid off the box. Her eyes widened in shock at the ornate gold bracelet that lay upon a pillow of satin. “Oh.”
“It is a bracelet that was owned by Anne Boleyn.”
She lifted her gaze in disbelief. “I cannot accept this. It must be priceless.”
He waved his hand in a dismissive motion, carefully studying her startled expression.
“I wish you to have it. Collecting unusual jewelry is rather a hobby of mine.”
“Is it?” she retorted, setting the bracelet aside with a sense of repugnance. Priceless or not, it carried with it a feeling of ill luck. A woman beguiled by wealth and power that led to her death.
A shiver raced down her spine.
She had not been beguiled by wealth or power.
Merely freedom.
“Yes,” Mr. Soltern replied, his gaze shifting to the amulet that suddenly felt heavy about her neck. “And I must admit that I have been quite taken with that amulet you wear. Did you purchase it in London?”
A frown tugged at her brows. What was it about her amulet that created such interest? First Gideon, then the strange figure in her dream, and now this man.
“No, it was given to me,” she said warily.
“Ah, may I inquire by whom?”
The amulet grew warm against her skin, almost as if
Night fell as she continued to read of the daring adventures of a young priest traveling through the Americas when she was interrupted by a wide-eyed maid who dipped a hasty curtsy.
“Pardon me, my lady, but Mr. Soltern has called.”
Mr. Soltern?
Simone surged to her feet, unthinkingly allowing the book to tumble to the rose-patterned carpet. The mere thought of the cold, distasteful gentleman in her home was enough to send a rash of unease over her skin.
“Please, tell him ...”
“Good evening, Lady Gilbert,” Mr. Soltern drawled as he stepped into the library with an icy smile.
Simone snapped her lips closed as she encountered the cold, lifeless gaze. She would have her butler’s head upon a platter, she thought as she battled the heavy sense of dread that suddenly filled the room. It was bad enough that Gideon was allowed to walk in whenever he felt the urge. She would not have every buffoon who called himself a gentleman traipsing through her home.
Especially not a gentleman who made her skin crawl with dislike.
“Mr. Soltern. I did not expect you this evening,” she said stiffly.
He glanced toward the silent maid who abruptly turned and hurried from the room, leaving the two of them alone. Only then did he return that flat gaze to regard her in a measuring fashion.
“Forgive me for intruding, but I did wish to see you as soon as possible.”
Simone swallowed heavily, battling the urge to flee behind the frightened maid. She would not be intimidated in her own home, she sternly chided herself. Not even by this man.
“Is there a problem?”
“Not at all.” Without warning he glided forward and placed a small velvet box in her unwilling hands. “I have procured a small gift I hoped would please you.”
Instinctively she took a step back from the frigid air that seemed to shroud about him, regarding the box with suspicion.
“That is very kind, but not at all necessary.”
“I fear it is necessary, my dear,” he retorted with that smile that could have sliced through a diamond. “For some reason you have taken me in dislike and I should very much wish to alter your harsh opinion.”
All too aware of how alone she was with this man, Simone forced herself to give a shake of her head.
“That is absurd.”
“Then I have mistaken your cold disregard?” he demanded.
“We are barely acquainted.”
“An oversight I intend to correct,” he threatened. “Will you not at least open my gift?”
“Very well,” she grudgingly conceded, her fingers fumbling to pull the lid off the box. Her eyes widened in shock at the ornate gold bracelet that lay upon a pillow of satin. “Oh.”
“It is a bracelet that was owned by Anne Boleyn.”
She lifted her gaze in disbelief. “I cannot accept this. It must be priceless.”
He waved his hand in a dismissive motion, carefully studying her startled expression.
“I wish you to have it. Collecting unusual jewelry is rather a hobby of mine.”
“Is it?” she retorted, setting the bracelet aside with a sense of repugnance. Priceless or not, it carried with it a feeling of ill luck. A woman beguiled by wealth and power that led to her death.
A shiver raced down her spine.
She had not been beguiled by wealth or power.
Merely freedom.
“Yes,” Mr. Soltern replied, his gaze shifting to the amulet that suddenly felt heavy about her neck. “And I must admit that I have been quite taken with that amulet you wear. Did you purchase it in London?”
A frown tugged at her brows. What was it about her amulet that created such interest? First Gideon, then the strange figure in her dream, and now this man.
“No, it was given to me,” she said warily.
“Ah, may I inquire by whom?”
The amulet grew warm against her skin, almost as if
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