There would be dinner on the table tonight.

But what was the cost?

And was she prepared to pay it?

The kitchen was surprisingly clean and filled with the delicious aroma of fresh-baked bread and drying herbs.

Seated at the scrubbed table, Lucien leaned back with a deep sigh.

His surroundings could hardly compare with Gideon's vast town house or even the elegant hotel he had chosen upon his arrival in London. The house might be tidy with sturdy furnishings, but there was no ignoring the neighborhood was a breath from utter decay and that the air was rancid with the stench of rotting trash and sewer.

Still, he was not overly disappointed that his trail had led him to this narrow house in the shabby cul-de-sac. His rooms might be cramped and his delicate senses offended by the derelict surroundings, but it all became meaningless the moment he had stepped into the small study.

Even now he could feel the shock of utter bewitchment when he had beheld Miss Kingly.

She had quite simply stolen his breath.

Her face was a perfect oval with large eyes the impossible blue of tropical waters. Her hair, which had been ruthlessly wrenched into a knot at the base of her neck, possessed the rich luster of sable that contrasted sharply with the flawless cream of her skin. She possessed the timeless beauty of a Madonna, with lush curves that could make a man's thoughts stray in dangerous directions.

As a collector of beautiful objects, he had been stirred by her loveliness.

As a vampire with his passions unleashed for the first time in two centuries, other parts of his anatomy had been stirred.

Just for a moment he had briefly considered how swiftly he could woo her into his bed. How magnificent she would be stretched upon snowy white sheets, her hair a river of ebony, he had thought with a decided yearning. In the candlelight her skin would glow with the pale luster of fine porcelain. Her lush curves would fit his hands to perfection. Ah, to possess such a woman would surely bring untold pleasure.

But even as his blood had tingled with anticipation, he had gazed into those well -guarded eyes and sensed the bleak loneliness deep within.

His calculated passion had died with a regretful sigh.

This woman was not in need of a lover.

She was in need of a savior.

The knowledge had been as unwelcome as the stench of the nearby slaughterhouse, and just as inescapable.

He was here to protect this maiden.

He could only hope his rusty sense of chivalry could be persuaded to overcome the lust that even now swirled through his blood.

Pushing back his plate, he cast a roguish smile toward the undoubted general of the household. The servant was a large woman with iron-gray hair and features cast in granite. He could only hope her heart was not similarly unyielding.

"Exquisite, my dear Meg," he complimented her. "As savory as any I have ever tasted. A true masterpiece."

The charm he had once presumed irresistible appeared woefully ineffective. As woefully ineffective upon the servant as it had been upon her mistress.

"'Tis shepherd's pie, hardly a masterpiece."

"Ah, but in the hands of an artist even shepherd's pie can be a masterpiece. And you are, indeed, an artist."

If anything, the woman regarded him with even sharper suspicion. "Miss Jocelyn warned me you possessed the silver tongue of the devil. I now understand why."

Lucien was not remotely surprised.

He had known from the moment he had entered this house that the young maiden had felt uneasy in his presence.

Unfortunately the Medallion she wore about her neck made any attempt to use a Compulsion spell impossible. The ancient artifact was powerful enough to protect her from even the most devious skills a vampire possessed. He would have to win her trust by more difficult and time-consuming means.

Not one of his more notable talents.

"Did she?" he murmured. "A most intriguing and unique young woman."

"And far too wise for the likes of you," the woman retorted.

"Ah, Meg, you wound me."

"Not yet I haven't, but I certainly will if you take it in mind to toy with Miss Jocelyn."

Lucien gave a startled laugh, discovering he quite enjoyed bantering with this gruff old tartar.

For all her crusty manners, it was evident that she was utterly devoted to Jocelyn.

"I beg your pardon?"

The servant planted her hands upon her ample hips. "Miss Kingly is a fine, decent maiden who has endured far more heartache and disappointment than any lady should. I would willingly thump my frying pan upon the head of anyone foolish enough to bring her pain again."

Lucien was instantly intrigued. Heartache and disappointment?

Knowledge was always power, and he very much desired to know as much of Jocelyn as possible.

"How very distressful. She is far too young to have endured the pains of this world. Tell me, what was the source of this heartache?"

"It is her story to tell if she so chooses. Just remember that I shall be keeping a close eye upon you."

He met the warning gaze squarely. He could, of course, force her to speak of Miss Kingly's past, and anything else he might desire, but he resisted temptation. Other than himself, this woman was the only person in London willing to stake all to protect the vulnerable maiden. He might very well need her with her wits clear.

"I have no intention of harming Miss Kingly," he retorted. "I would never harm any young maiden. But neither will I ignore her. She has an obvious need for my company."

"Need for your company? And what can you mean by that?"

"There is a deep sadness in her eyes."

"Fah. That I already know. As does all of London. As I said, she has endured betrayal in her past."

"And she does not allow the wounds to heal," he said softly, keeping Meg's reluctant gaze trapped with his own. "A fatal mistake. Bitterness is like an infection that will destroy her soul if it is not cleansed."

As obviously aware as Lucien of Jocelyn's brittle wounds, the woman grudgingly lowered her guard.

"Perhaps. How do you propose to cleanse this bitterness?"

"First by revealing that there is still joy to be found in this world."

The pale eyes narrowed. "How much joy?"

His lips twitched at her blunt suspicion that he intended to seduce her young mistress.

A suspicion that was well founded.

"As much as she desires, and no more," he reassured the older woman. "Do you not believe she has earned a share of happiness?"

"Yes. No one is more deserving."

"So if I chose to prod Miss Kingly out of her icy shell of composure, then I need not fear being greeted by a frying pan?"

"That depends," she warned, her gaze straying meaningfully toward the frying pan upon the counter.

"Upon what?"

"On whether this prodding endangers Miss Jocelyn's heart. She is not nearly as invulnerable as she would have others believe. Especially when it comes to a devil with a silver tongue."

It was no doubt a genuine concern, but Lucien swiftly shrugged it aside.

He needed to be close to Jocelyn if he were to protect her.

Any unfortunate complications would have to be dealt with once the traitors were returned to the Veil.

"I wish only to see her laugh," he at last murmured.

Meg heaved a faint sigh. "As do I."

"Then we shall have to work together."

"We shall see." The woman was not about to give any more than absolutely necessary.

"You intend to keep that frying pan quite handy, do you not?"

"Oh, yes."

With a laugh Lucien rose to his feet. "We are going to get along just fine, Meg."

Two

Amadeus stalked the woman with a cool precision.

Remaining in the shadows of the derelict shops and lodging houses, he kept a steady pace as she searched for the prostitute known on the streets as Molly.

A prostitute whom he had murdered less than an hour earlier.

For nearly a fortnight he had studied this woman's every movement.

He knew precisely when she would leave her home each evening. When she would bring food to the various street children. When she would seek out the pathetic whores and urge them to abandon their tortured lives and travel to the small cottage she had purchased outside of town.

He even knew that on this night she would seek out the young, hapless Molly as she did on every Wednesday evening. In vain she would plead with the prostitute to leave the brutal husband who forced her onto the streets to pay for his gin.

Which was precisely why he had disposed of the whore and laid his minions into hiding just around the corner.

Miss Kingly's very predictability would be her undoing.

Giving a sharp whistle, Amadeus watched for the three slovenly servants to stagger around the corner and surround the unaware maiden.

Just as he had commanded, the men quickly grasped Miss Kingly and covered her mouth to prevent her from crying out in alarm. Amadeus waited a moment to ensure that she was properly frightened by the sudden attack before he stepped forward to complete his well-plotted scheme.

Only to halt in surprise.

With a detached appreciation he watched her fierce struggle to free herself from her determined attackers.