Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance
Sarah Mallory
Beneath that puritanical dress she was quite beautifulViscount Gilmorton had never seduced a woman before but, as the only way to avenge himself on her deceitful brother, he was prepared to disgrace the buttoned-up Deborah Meltham.He was planning nothing more than to shame her, but not beyond repair. Gil would ensure that she came to him willingly, because if Deborah was as lonely as he thought, she should be receptive to him. Only Gil hadn’t counted on his feelings for her changing – nor her reaction when she realised he’d been deceiving her from the start…
Beneath that puritanical dress she was quite beautiful
Viscount Gilmorton had never seduced a woman before but, as the only way to avenge himself on her deceitful brother, he was prepared to disgrace the buttoned-up Deborah Meltham.
He was planning nothing more than to shame her, but not beyond repair. Gil would ensure that she came to him willingly, because if Deborah was as lonely as he thought, she should be receptive to him. Only Gil hadn’t counted on his feelings for her changing—nor her reaction when she realized he’d been deceiving her from the start...
It would be no hardship to court her.
Gil felt a sudden constriction in his chest—a jolt of unwelcome attraction.
Her disgrace, her downfall, would hit her brother hard. From all he had learned, Gil was convinced that the only way to be avenged upon the man was through his sister. The fellow had already gambled away most of his fortune, and seemed to care little for the fact. It was only his sister who was keeping him from bankruptcy and disgrace.
Gil turned away from the dancefloor, trampling his scruples. It had to be this way.
And Deborah Meltham?
Again Gil stifled his conscience. It was only a whisper, easily pushed aside. His years as a soldier had inured him to much greater suffering than anything he was likely to inflict here. After all, it was not as if he planned any real harm to the woman. She would come to him willingly, but her seduction would be his revenge upon her brother. A seduction for a life.
Author Note (#u8fc83a77-ed84-57e7-9ad8-01d9473f2229)
Pursued for the Viscount’s Vengeance required research into some of the Regency’s darker secrets, such as the use of laudanum. Opium mixed with a little alcohol was widely used to provide pain relief in a time when there was nothing else. Laudanum was highly addictive, and among the ‘opium eaters’ of the day were the poet Coleridge and even the reformer William Wilberforce. The extent of the Regency’s opium addiction was exposed in Thomas de Quincy’s Confessions of an English Opium Eater.
There was also a continuous fight by the Bank of England against counterfeit money. The practice of ‘coining’ was well known—coins had their edges clipped off and the clippings were melted down to make new coins. What is less well known is the Regency’s trade in counterfeit notes. This was particularly prevalent during the time when this book is set, because bad harvests and the ongoing war had reduced stocks of gold bullion to low levels. Clever forgeries of banknotes were circulated via the use of ‘utterers’—poor women who would use the notes to buy relatively cheap goods and receive good coin in change.
The main characters in this story are complex and damaged. Deborah Meltham thinks herself too disfigured for any man to want her, and has devoted her life to looking after her beloved but dissolute brother. Gil, Viscount Gilmorton, is grieving for the loss of his loved ones and carrying a heavy burden of guilt because he was not there to protect them. When Gil and Deb’s paths cross there is an instant attraction. Find out how they overcome the obstacles to achieve their happy ending.
Happy reading!
Pursued for the Viscount’s Vengeance
Sarah Mallory
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SARAH MALLORY was born in the West Country and now lives on the beautiful Yorkshire Moors. She has been writing for more than three decades—mainly historical romances set in the Georgian and Regency period. She has won several awards for her writing, including the Romantic Novelists’ Association RoNA Rose Award for The Dangerous Lord Darrington and for Beneath the Major’s Scars.
Books by Sarah Mallory
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
and Mills & Boon Historical Undone! eBook
The Infamous Arrandales
The Chaperon’s Seduction
Temptation of a Governess
Return of the Runaway
The Outcast’s Redemption
Brides of Waterloo
A Lady for Lord Randall
The Notorious Coale Brothers
Beneath the Major’s Scars
Behind the Rake’s Wicked Wager
The Tantalising Miss Coale (Undone!)
Stand-Alone Novels
The Dangerous Lord DarringtonBought for RevengeThe Scarlet GownNever Trust a RebelThe Duke’s Secret HeirPursued for the Viscount’s Vengeance
Visit the Author Profile page
at millsandboon.co.uk (http://millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.
To my fellow Quayistas (you know who you are), for the love, friendship, support and understanding that only other writers can give.
Contents
Cover (#ud90bffc8-594a-5ce3-9119-4d1a3d8ceed6)
Back Cover Text (#ud164384f-29d1-50a1-9a9d-692cf63c12dd)
Introduction (#u3e80078b-37ec-5e9a-95e2-743ab52220e7)
Author Note (#u473b82a1-6932-5ccc-8c9b-4f68bbf0d241)
Title Page (#uf1cf4ad0-e55d-5632-ab0c-e7ba9325ac3b)
About the Author (#u2ac32276-fc33-565d-af08-86e7c2de930f)
Dedication (#ua5eee6b3-710b-5943-bc56-d16155c4630c)
Chapter One (#u25c179d8-40b9-5ea7-91d4-b3e4fc7907a6)
Chapter Two (#u73c4a7ce-58ba-5380-9ed1-2ab5856c1eb4)
Chapter Three (#u7a170c4a-ca6f-5391-b1cb-1b753040eb5f)
Chapter Four (#ub7cd1c62-f24a-5aa4-8f68-e07d0dfffb35)
Chapter Five (#u4dd11ce7-48d1-5c3b-b4fd-d3cfb28b1a4c)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u8fc83a77-ed84-57e7-9ad8-01d9473f2229)
So here was his quarry. Miss Deborah Meltham.
Standing at the side of the assembly room, away from the glitter of the chandeliers, Gil studied the lady as she went down the dance with her brother. There was a decided likeness between the pair although Randolph, Lord Kirkster, was taller and fairer. Gil had to admit he was a handsome young buck, fashionably dressed and with his thick, waving hair brushed back from his pale brow. He was also a graceful dancer, but there was an air of indifference about him, a restlessness to his face, as if he wanted to be elsewhere. The epitome of a Byronic hero, thought Gil, his lip curling, and already as dissolute as the poet himself. He turned his attention to the lady.
Beneath the plain round gown of green muslin her figure looked good, but she was very slim. Petite. Not at all his style. A mirthless laugh shook him at the irrelevance of the popular saying. He had never shown preference for any lady, for he was convinced that soldiers should not marry and he was a soldier. Or he had been. Having sold out, he supposed that at some point he would take a wife, but it would be a marriage of convenience for both parties. There was no need for the heart to be involved. In his experience love meant only loss and unbearable pain.
What he was planning now had nothing to do with marriage or courtship. It was to fulfil an oath he had taken and was the only way to assuage the grief that threatened to devour him. Since leaving the army last summer he had withdrawn from society, a prey to his grief and determined upon revenge. Which was why he was so interested in Deborah Meltham. He turned his attention back to her.
Her features were regular and he supposed she might be quite pretty, if she dressed her hair more becomingly, instead of having it scraped back so severely into a knot. She wore no jewels and her dress was high necked and long-sleeved. A dowd, Gil decided, coldly assessing her. Not at all attractive. But at that moment Lord Kirkster spoke, she looked up and a sudden smile transformed her face. The lively animation in her countenance and the decided twinkle in her green eyes forced him to revise his opinion. Reluctantly he admitted that she was more than pretty.
He felt a sudden contraction in his chest, a jolt of unwelcome attraction. Beneath that puritanical dress and severe hairstyle she was quite beautiful.
‘So it should be no hardship to court her,’ he muttered.
He pushed aside a tremor of distaste. He had never before seduced a woman, although in more than a decade of military service he had seen other men do it, dozens of times. He had no time for such knavery, nor for romance: in his opinion there was no room for such emotion in a soldier’s life. Not that there had been any shortage of women willing to throw themselves at him and he had taken some of them to his bed, but only those who understood the rules, who knew he offered nothing more than dalliance. The liaisons never lasted long and when it ended Gil always provided a generous settlement to soften the blow.
This, however, was different. He would take no pleasure in it, although it must be done. He raised a hand to his cheek, rubbing one finger lightly along the fine, jagged line that ran down to his jaw. The scar might cause some small difficulty, especially since he was using neither his title nor his wealth to entice the lady. Well, time would tell.
The music ended and he watched Miss Meltham leave the floor on her brother’s arm. The looks they exchanged confirmed that they were clearly fond of one another. Her disgrace, her downfall, would hit the young lord hard. From all he had learned Gil was convinced that the only way to be avenged upon the man was through his sister. The fellow had already gambled away most of his fortune and seemed to care little for the fact. It was only his sister who was keeping him from bankruptcy and disgrace. Deborah was the only thing Kirkster now cared about. Gil turned away from the dance floor, trampling his scruples. It had to be this way. Merely forcing a duel upon Kirkster would not be punishment enough. He must be made to suffer as Gil had suffered. Although if the scoundrel should call him out for ruining his sister, then Gil would take pleasure in putting a bullet through him.
And Deborah Meltham?
Again Gil stifled his conscience. It was only a whisper, easily pushed aside. His years as a soldier had inured him to much greater suffering than anything he was likely to inflict here. After all, it was not as if he planned any real harm to the woman, nothing more than a bruised heart and loss of character. And he would not force her. She would come to him willingly, but her seduction would be his revenge upon her brother. An eye for an eye. A seduction for a life. Two lives.
Or three, if you counted the unborn child.
* * *
Deborah’s spine tingled as she went down the dance. He was here again, the stranger in the shadows, watching her. She had never seen him clearly, but she was aware of him, it was as if she could physically feel his presence. As the dance ended and she accompanied her brother from the floor she glanced across the room. Yes, there was the tall figure of the man she had noticed around the town several times in that past few weeks. He kept his distance and was always just turning away whenever she glimpsed him, or disappearing into a doorway. He was plainly dressed, but he carried himself with such assurance that she was sure he must be a man of substance.
Not for the first time she thought of telling Ran, but what could she say, that she had noticed the stranger on several occasions? The man had not accosted her; she had never caught him ogling her. Indeed, he had never been that close to her, but somehow her body knew when he was in her vicinity. She sensed him, like a wild animal sensed danger.
Randolph would only laugh if she told him that. He would dismiss it as female fancy. Perhaps it was. She squeezed his arm.
‘Ran, they are striking up for another country dance. Shall we not return to the floor?’
He shook his head. ‘By no means. I have done my duty and stood up twice with you. Now I mean to go to the card room.’
‘But you are such a good dancer. Would you not like to stay for one more measure?’
He grinned at her. ‘No, dear sister, I would not. I am determined on cards.’
Knowing his good mood could evaporate in a twinkling, she did not argue but said cheerfully, ‘Very well, I will come, too, and watch you. That is, if you do not mind.’
‘Not at all, but it will be dull work. Would you not prefer to dance?’
Deborah had been burying her own preferences for so long that she did not even hesitate.
‘Not without you.’
‘Come along, then, Deb. You shall be my good-luck charm.’
She tucked her hand in his arm, but she knew from the intent look upon his face that he had all but forgotten her existence, even before they entered the card room.
Deb watched the play, discreetly waving away the waiter when he would have refilled Ran’s glass. She knew there was not much to fear when her brother was playing cards here. The gentlemen gathered around the table had known her and Randolph since they were children. Sir Geoffrey would not allow the stakes to grow too high and old Mr Appleton would call a halt to the game if her brother’s losses became too great, so it was only Ran’s drinking she needed to keep in check, because that could lead to more dangerous cravings. However, when he called for another bottle she did not embarrass him by publicly remonstrating. The best she could hope for was that he would grow weary of the game and escort her home very soon.
She remained at his side, obliged to hide her chagrin as the evening progressed. The more Ran drank the wilder his play. As the losses mounted she saw his frown deepening, but she knew better than to protest when he threw down yet another losing hand. Instead she fluttered her fan.
‘Heavens, I vow ’tis close in here tonight, anyone would think it was high summer rather than March. Dear Brother, I do not know how you can concentrate, I feel quite faint with the heat.’
‘Do you? Go on home then, if you wish. Take the carriage, I will follow later.’
Forcing a little trill of laughter, Deb leaned closer and touched his arm, saying affectionately, ‘La, I cannot go without you, Ran, you know that. I should not rest until you are home safe.’
He shrugged her off with a scowling look.
‘I have agreed to live in this benighted place,’ he muttered. ‘Is that not enough for you? Must you also dog my every waking minute?’
‘Ran, that is not—’
His chair scraped back.
‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen. My sister is fatigued and must go home.’
Beneath his smiling words Deb knew he was furious, she could see it in the set of his jaw and the white knuckles of the fist tucked against the tails of his coat.
‘Of course, my boy, of course.’ Old Mr Appleton waved him away before picking up a fresh pack of cards. ‘Away you go now. You can have your revenge ’pon us next week, eh?’
‘That I will, sir. Come along, my dear.’
Outwardly, Ran was all care and consideration, but when Deb took his outstretched hand there was no gentleness in his grip. No matter. She would bear with his mood, as long as he came home with her. Silently and with her smile fixed in place, she accompanied her brother out of the assembly rooms.
* * *
‘Will your lordship be requiring the carriage?’
‘No, Harris, I am going to walk in the town today.’ Gil threw a quick warning glance at his valet. ‘And do try to stop calling me “your lordship”. I am plain Mr Victor while we are in Fallbridge.’
‘And if you will forgive me saying so, my—sir,’ Harris corrected himself, ‘we’ve been here a sight too long already.’
Gil was busy tying his cravat and pretended not to hear. That was the problem with old retainers, one could not reprimand them for stating an opinion. And John Harris was more than a servant, he had been a sergeant in Gil’s regiment. They had faced death together on several occasions, most recently on the bloody battlefield of Waterloo. John would obey any of Gil’s commands without question, but it did not stop him from making it plain when he disapproved of a course of action. And he clearly disapproved of Gil’s latest plan.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Harris asked now. ‘If this Kirkster should get wind of who you are he could be dangerous.’
‘My dear John, the fellow doesn’t know me from Adam and will not learn my identity until I am ready.’ He could not resist adding, ‘Unless your gabbing gives our game away.’
‘Well I don’t like it and so I tell you. Why you can’t just call the man out and put a bullet through him I don’t know.’
The neckcloth was tied to Gil’s satisfaction, but he continued to stare into the mirror.
‘That would be too easy a death for him. I want him to know what it is to have someone close to you suffering and not be able to help them.’
‘Well, it ain’t like you, sir, that’s all I’m saying. You’ve always been one for plain dealing, but this, well, I don’t like it.’ Even without looking around Gil knew Harris was shaking his head as he spoke. ‘Plain simple justice I could understand, but not this havey-cavey business.’
‘If you don’t like it, John, then you are free to go back to Gilmorton and wait for me there.’
‘And have your mother worrying even more because you was on your own? No, my lord, that I won’t do. I’m your man and I’ll be here to the end. Whatever that may be.’
His loud sigh and gloomy words banished Gil’s scowl. He turned, grinning, and put a hand on the valet’s shoulder.
‘And I am glad to have you with me, John, truly. Now, you stay here and see what gossip you can pick up about Kirkster and his sister in the taproom, while I sally forth to sample the pleasures of Fallbridge on market day!’
It was a sunny morning and the walk from the inn to the market a short one. Gil had chosen his clothes with care, a plain coat of russet-coloured wool over buckskins and boots, eminently suitable for a country gentleman, although a knowledgeable eye would know at a glance that the coat had been made by one of the finest tailors in London, the glossy top boots purchased from a certain establishment on the corner of Piccadilly and St James’s Street, while his curly brimmed hat, impeccable cream waistcoat and snowy linen were clearly the mark of a fashionable man.
Gil had been in Fallbridge for two weeks, making himself familiar with the area, but he was in no hurry to approach Lord Kirkster or his sister. He had seen Kirkster a couple of times in local taverns and at last night’s assembly at the Red Lion, but Deborah Meltham was regularly out and about in the town. She appeared to be well respected in Fallbridge and spent most of her time on charitable errands or visiting neighbours. Occasionally he would see her purchasing a few household necessities before walking back to Kirkster House, the substantial family mansion just outside the town on the Ormskirk Road. She rarely visited the milliner or the haberdasher and Gil concluded she had little interest in frivolities such as hats or ribbons.
She always walked alone, without even a maid, and there was something very contained about her, reserved, as if she had made a conscious decision to keep the world at bay. Gil wondered if she was lonely and was obliged to push aside a stab of sympathy. If that was the case, she would be all the more receptive to his overtures, when he made his move.
A sudden chill ran through him. He ascribed it to the gusty wind, which made him grab at his tall hat to prevent it flying away. He kept his head down and quickened his pace, heading for the town centre, where the tall buildings would offer some shelter from the wind. As he turned the corner into the high street he almost collided with someone coming the other way. A woman, he realised as he took in the neat little boots and plain skirts made of serviceable dimity. They both stopped, but he heard a soft ‘Oh’ and saw a brown-paper package drop to the floor.
‘I beg your pardon.’ Instinctively he bent to pick it up, only raising his eyes as he handed over the parcel, and it was at that moment he found himself looking into the face of Miss Deborah Meltham.
* * *
Deb had been lost in her own thoughts, hurrying to return the shawl her kind friend Lady Gomersham had loaned her and get back to Randolph, but the near collision brought her to a sudden halt. She was murmuring her apology even as the gentleman scooped up her parcel. It was then, as he straightened and looked at her, that she recognised him.
Manners were forgotten. Deborah stared at the man as he handed back her package. He had been a shadowy figure for some weeks, but fate had given her this opportunity to study him and she took it. She observed every detail: the near-black hair, the slate-grey eyes set beneath curving dark brows, the unsmiling mouth and strong cleft chin. The lines of his lean face were too angular to be called handsome, but they were further disfigured by a thin scar that ran down the left side, from temple to chin.
All her suspicions were confirmed when he met her eyes. His was not the look of a man who had just bumped into a stranger. The intensity of his gaze made her tremble inside and set her pulse racing, but the next instant he had stepped back and was smiling politely as he tipped his hat to her and strode on. Deb clutched her parcel and remained frozen to the spot, trying to quieten her pounding heart. She must not turn back. She must not stare after him. Summoning all her willpower, she forced herself to walk on around the corner and out of sight, but for the rest of the day she carried his stern, unsmiling image in her head. The Man with the Scar.
* * *
Well, that was unfortunate. Gil walked swiftly away, cursing his bad luck. It had not been his plan to become acquainted with Deborah Meltham until he had learned a little more about her. He needed to be sure of his ground if he was to woo her successfully. He had never set out to do such a thing before and had intended to plan his every move as he would a military operation, to ensure he achieved the required result.
Gil frowned, thinking of her reaction to their unexpected meeting. At first there had been the shock and embarrassment natural to such an encounter, but when she raised her eyes to his face there had been something more. Recognition. Damnation. He had been careful to keep his distance, to remain in the background while he had been observing her, but it was clear that he had not been careful enough. After this chance encounter he could no longer put off his plan, so he had best get on with it. His eyes searched the town square and, spotting his quarry, he moved in.
‘Sir Geoffrey, good day to you.’ Gil touched his hat, smiling pleasantly, and when the man looked blankly at him he added, ‘James Victor. You may recall we met in the card room last night.’
‘Ah, yes, Mr Victor. Good day, sir, good day.’ The older man beamed at him. ‘I remember you now! Here on business, if I recall.’
‘No, no, not business exactly. I am minded to buy a property in the area.’
‘And there’s nowhere better, sir, as I can vouch for!’ Sir Geoffrey turned to accompany him on his way. ‘So, what have you seen so far?’
Gil mentioned a couple of houses, asked a few questions and it was not long before this had the required effect.
‘Well if you are serious, young sir, then perhaps you should meet some more of your prospective neighbours. My wife is holding a little party tomorrow night. Nothing fancy, you understand, just a few card tables, perhaps a little dancing. Gomersham Lodge, at the end of Mill Lane.’
‘I’d be delighted to come, only... Lady Gomersham will not object to a stranger turning up at her drawing room?’
‘Not a bit of it, always pleased to have another gentleman in attendance...’ Sir Geoffrey’s pale eyes twinkled merrily ‘...and if you can be persuaded to stand up for a dance or two she will be even more delighted!’
Gil allowed himself to be persuaded, exchanged a few more words with Sir Geoffrey, then went on his way, well pleased with the morning’s work. He had seen Lady Gomersham’s name scribbled on the package he had picked up for Miss Meltham, so it was more than likely she would be at Gomersham Lodge tomorrow.
* * *
It only occurred to him later, when he was shaving himself and staring into the looking glass, that the one thing he had not seen in Miss Meltham’s clear green eyes was repugnance. She had hardly appeared to notice his scar.
Chapter Two (#u8fc83a77-ed84-57e7-9ad8-01d9473f2229)
Deborah was relieved to find her brother at the breakfast table the following morning and apparently in good spirits. She greeted him with a kiss on his cheek before taking her seat beside him.
‘Lady Gomersham has invited us to the Lodge for supper this evening.’ She kept her voice light, trying not to sound too eager. ‘Shall we go, Ran?’
‘If you wish to do so.’
‘Well, I do,’ she replied. ‘Lizzie has just returned from her trip to London, where she has been staying with her aunt. I saw her yesterday, when I called at the Lodge, and I must say she was looking very smart in her London fashions. I dare say she will put us all in the shade.’ She ended with a little laugh, watching her brother for the slightest flicker of interest. Elizabeth Gomersham was only two years younger than Randolph and at one time they had been good friends, but now he showed no enthusiasm at all at the prospect of seeing her again.
‘These provincial parties are always so dull. Can you not go on your own?’
She framed her answer carefully.
‘I could, of course, but we have known the family for ever and Lady Gomersham is always asking after you. I know she would be delighted if you could attend one of her little gatherings.’
He shrugged carelessly.
‘Oh, very well. As long as the brandy is tolerable I shall not object.’
With that she had to be satisfied. She could only hope that his mercurial mood would not dip too badly during the day, for if it did he was very likely to cry off from the engagement.
* * *
Gomersham Lodge was a neat but substantial property within easy walking distance of the George, where Gil was putting up, but for the sake of appearances he ordered his carriage to take him to the door. While he was changing into the dark coat and knee breeches that were obligatory for formal evening parties, he asked his valet to tell him what he had discovered about the Melthams.
‘It’s just the two of them, my lord, Lord Kirkster and his sister. The family has had a house here for a couple of generations. The locals is mightily close-lipped about ’em, too. Protective, I would say, as these places can be about those they consider their own. The family came originally from Liverpool and made their money in the sugar trade, so I’m told. Their father died four years ago and it appears the new lord doesn’t take his responsibilities quite as seriously. The widowed Lady Kirkster moved here with her daughter, but soon followed her husband to the grave, and Miss Meltham has lived in Fallbridge ever since.’
‘No sign of a suitor for the lady?’
‘None was mentioned. She’s four-and-twenty, my lord, so she’s lost her chance by now.’
‘Not necessarily.’
Gil spoke more sharply than he had intended, irritated that society should consider a young woman to be past her best at such an age. She was a very attractive young woman. Or rather, many men would think so, he corrected himself.
* * *
When Gil arrived at Gomersham Lodge Sir Geoffrey was looking out for him and immediately presented him to Lady Gomersham, a plump, jolly woman who greeted him warmly and bade him go off and enjoy himself. His host seemed intent upon making him known to everyone in the room and, since that was his avowed reason for being there, Gil endured it patiently until at last Sir Geoffrey drew him towards a couple standing in one corner of the room, Miss Deborah Meltham and her brother, Lord Kirkster.
Once the introductions were made Gil referred to his previous encounter with Miss Meltham.
‘So careless of me not to be paying more attention to where I was going,’ he ended, smiling. ‘I trust your package was not damaged when you dropped it?’
‘No, sir, not at all. Pray think no more about it.’
Her hand fluttered and she plucked at the shoulder of her gown, not meeting his eyes. Did the scar on his face repulse her after all? Perhaps she had been too startled yesterday to pay it any heed. He was aware of the differing reactions to his spoiled face whenever he was introduced to someone new. A few were fascinated by it, many affected not to notice, but the way they averted their eyes told its own story. Gil had learned to live with that.
He cared nothing for the opinions of others. He had more than a few physical scars as well as some that no one could see. A decade of military service had pitched him into some of the bloodiest battles of the Peninsular War. It had been a cruel time and any sensitivity had been forced out of him. One had to be tough to survive. The hard shell he had built around himself was intact and he intended that it should remain so. The only thing he cared for now was family, which was why the news that greeted him upon his return to Gilmorton Hall last summer had been so difficult to accept. Which was why he was going to be revenged.
It was a pity, then, if Deborah Meltham disliked his scarred face, but not an insurmountable problem. Gil fixed a suitable smile in place and listened to his host explaining his presence in Fallbridge.
‘Mr Victor is looking to buy property in the area—’ Sir Geoffrey broke off as the bustle of another arrival caught his attention and with a hasty apology he moved away.
‘You could have Kirkster House, with my blessing,’ said its owner, giving a laugh that held only bitterness.
‘Randolph, hush.’ His sister’s smile was strained. ‘My brother is funning, of course. Fallbridge is a very pleasant place to live, Mr Victor, I assure you.’
‘Do you spend much time here?’ Gil asked politely. ‘Is it your only home?’
‘I have lived here for some time, but my brother joined me only last year.’
‘And already it feels like an eternity.’
‘We spent every summer here as children,’ Miss Meltham hastily broke in to cover Lord Kirkster’s muttered words. ‘The rest of the time was spent at the family home in Liverpool.’
Not by so much as the flicker of an eye did Gil show how much this interested him.
‘And do you still have that house?’
She looked away. ‘Yes, but I do not go there now.’
‘What my sister means is that Duke Street is not grand enough for her any more,’ said Kirkster.
‘And when were you there last, my lord?’ asked Gil, at his most casual.
‘I made Duke Street my home when I left Oxford, until I came here to join Deb. There’s a dashed sight more to do there than here, I can tell you!’
Gil raised his brows, looking politely interested and giving Kirkster time to tell him more, but Miss Meltham forestalled him.
‘If Mr Victor is looking to move to Fallbridge, I am sure he would prefer to hear what the town has to offer.’ There was a slight flush on her cheek, as if she were embarrassed by her brother’s ungracious speech. ‘There are clubs and societies for every taste, sir. If your interest is history the Antiquarians meet regularly and I understand the Debating Society is very lively, not to mention the weekly balls at the Red Lion.’
Her eyes flickered up to his as she mentioned the balls and Gil knew she had seen him there.
‘Ah, yes, I looked in at the assembly rooms the other night,’ he said easily. ‘I played a hand or two in the card room.’
‘Cards!’ Lord Kirkster looked up at that. ‘Are you any good?’
‘I am considered a pretty fair opponent, I believe.’
‘Indeed? Then perhaps we should go now and put that to the test.’
‘My dear brother, you cannot monopolise Sir Geoffrey’s guest in that way. Why, Mr Victor has only this minute walked through the door! Besides, you promised Lizzie Gomersham you would dance with her. If you will excuse us, Mr Victor.’
Gil watched her walk off with her brother, noting the way her silk skirts flowed and swung with every step. Had he imagined it, or had she been unwilling to discuss their house in Duke Street? She had certainly brought the subject back to Fallbridge pretty quickly. Perhaps she knew something of her brother’s life in Liverpool. His lips thinned as anger rose in him. Those activities would certainly not reflect well upon the family name. He noticed Sir Geoffrey bearing down upon him. Time to play the innocent visitor again, so Gil dragged up a smile and turned to meet his host.
* * *
Once Randolph had danced with Lizzie Gomersham, Deb persuaded him to partner her for a Scotch reel and a country dance, but after that he lounged off to play whist at one of the card tables that had been set up in the adjoining room. He would be safe enough, she knew, but it was still difficult to relax when he was out of her sight and her eyes kept straying to the door as she wondered if she should join him.
She jumped at the sound of a smooth, deep voice at her shoulder.
‘Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Meltham?’
‘Mr Victor! Thank you, but I—’
‘If you are going to say you do not dance, then I shall not believe you,’ he said, smiling. ‘I saw you standing up with Lord Kirkster.’ The smile faded. ‘Perhaps my scar offends you.’
‘No, of course not.’ She felt obliged to look into his eyes, to show she was telling the truth. ‘Sir Geoffrey said you were a military man. Is that how you came by it?’
‘Yes. An encounter with a French cavalry sabre at Salamanca. I am grateful it was such a neat cut and not deep enough to do much damage.’
She shuddered. ‘You were very fortunate, I think.’
‘Indeed I was, Miss Meltham. But we are straying from the point. I invited you to dance.’
Deb hesitated, then saw the glint in his grey eyes. Laughter, or a challenge? She could not be sure.
He said softly, ‘Perhaps you are afraid to dance with me.’
It was the truth. The attraction she felt to this man frightened her. She had never felt such a strong affinity before. Not even with the man who had courted her. Who had said he loved her and then proved himself worthless in the most devastating way.
She shook off the memory. Mr Victor was smiling at her, causing her insides to flutter in alarm. However, she was not about to admit it and her chin went up.
‘Afraid? Why should I be afraid, here amongst friends?’
His lips curved upwards into a smile that caused a flutter of excitement deep within her.
‘Quite.’ He held out his hand. ‘Shall we?’
Tentatively she lifted a hand and her fingers were immediately held in a firm grasp. It was surprisingly comforting, as if he had drawn her inside a protective shield. As if she need fear nothing while he was beside her.
One dance, no more.
She was dancing with a stranger. She could not deny the lift of her spirits to be on the dance floor, nor the frisson of excitement to be dancing with someone other than her brother. For years she had denied herself this pleasure, but all the old familiar feelings had returned almost as soon as the music started. The intoxication of skipping and twirling around the floor with an admirer, someone whose gaze made her feel as if she was dancing on top of the world.
Deborah tried to rein in her happiness, but it was impossible. No matter, she told herself, giving in to the temptation to smile at her partner as they held hands and moved down the dance. She was older and wiser now. Her head could not be turned in such a short time. But, oh, the way the blood fizzed and sizzled through her veins when he spoke to her!
‘You dance very well, Miss Meltham.’
His voice was deep and warm, wrapping itself around her like velvet.
‘I fear you flatter me, sir. I am out of practice.’
‘Then we should remedy that. Will you not dance a second time with me?’
The music was ending and he was holding on to her hand, smiling down at her. Warning bells clamoured in Deborah’s head. This was too much, too soon. She had seen that look in a man’s eyes before. It meant nothing. No, she thought, worse than nothing. If she allowed herself to believe he was sincere, it meant trouble.
She pulled her hand free.
‘Thank you, but I, I am not inclined to dance again.’
With a formal little smile she backed away before turning and walking off. Her spine tingled, she was sure his eyes were upon her. He had looked surprised, almost shocked, at her words, as if he could not believe she would refuse him. She lifted her head a little higher. No doubt he thought she was desperate for a partner. He did not realise that she dressed in this drab way to avoid such attentions.
Once bitten twice shy, she reminded herself. But that did not stop her surreptitiously watching him from the side of the room. Her eyes followed him as he moved off to join Sir Geoffrey and she watched as their host introduced him to Mr and Mrs Appleton. She was guiltily aware of feeling pleased that he did not ask anyone else to dance.
‘Dear heaven,’ she murmured, ‘what a pathetic creature I am, to be so smitten by a man after one dance.’
Feeling rather lost and even a little sick at this shocking revelation, she made her way to the dining room, where refreshments had been set out. She helped herself to a cup of punch. She did not think she should drink it, but at least it looked as if she was doing something. Lizzie Gomersham came bouncing up and Deb summoned up a smile for her.
‘I saw you dancing with Mr Victor,’ said Lizzie, filling a punch cup and drinking it in almost one gulp. ‘I stood up with him, too, but thankfully I was already promised to another partner after that and could make my escape before he asked me to dance again.’
‘Why should you want to escape?’ Deb asked her, mystified.
Lizzie’s eyes widened. ‘That horrid scar! I vow, Deborah, I could not help but stare at it and I almost missed my steps. Did it not upset you?’
‘I barely noticed it.’
Deborah had been too intent upon his eyes, glittering in the candlelight. And on the glinting smile that seemed to be for her alone. Just thinking about it now sent her stomach swooping. Lizzie continued to chatter.
‘Papa said I must try to ignore it because Mr Victor was a soldier. He told Papa he was wounded while fighting in Spain. Of course, as soon as Mrs Appleton heard that she insisted he come to her charity ball tomorrow night. She said she was sure he would want to support the Military Widows’ Fund and, of course, what could the poor man do but agree?’
‘What indeed?’ murmured Deborah, although in her opinion, the gentleman would do nothing he did not wish to do. There was a steeliness about him, a dangerously ruthless air. It made her shiver just to think of it and she was obliged to give herself a little shake.
‘It is quite wrong to judge a person by appearances,’ she said, as much to herself as to her young friend.
‘Well, to be truthful, I soon grew used to the scar,’ Lizzie confided. ‘In fact, when I look at him now I think it makes him look quite piratical. Like the Corsair, which you must admit is very romantic.’
Deb decided she did not want to think about the man at all, scar or no scar.
* * *
Mr Victor did not approach her again that evening, but Deb was still aware of his presence in the room. She knew a moment’s unease when she saw him talking to her brother, but they did not disappear together into the card room, so whatever the man was about she could acquit him of wanting to fleece her brother of what was left of his fortune.
Perhaps she was indeed being fanciful. Perhaps he had not been watching her those times she had seen him in the market, or at the assembly. Fallbridge was a small town, so it was inevitable that one should see its inhabitants out and about. And yet, she could not quite dispel the feeling that all was not as it seemed with Mr Victor and on the short carriage ride back to Kirkster House she asked her brother what he thought of their new acquaintance.
‘Victor? Why, nothing. He declined to play cards with me this evening, did you know that? Told me he preferred to listen to the music! He seemed a dull dog. Why should I think anything at all of him?’
‘Oh, no reason.’
‘Have you taken a fancy to him, is that it?’ Ran sat forward, as if trying to see her face in the darkness. ‘Shall I make enquiries, find out if he is an eligible parti?’
‘No, no, of course not. Do not be so foolish.’ She forced herself to laugh and speak lightly. ‘It is just so unusual to have visitors in Fallbridge, that is all.’
‘Well I think it would be a very good thing if you were to make a play for him,’ he said, throwing himself back into his corner. ‘It might give you something to think about rather than fussing over me.’
She heard the petulant note in his voice and did not reply. She was familiar with his quick changes of mood and knew a wrong word now would spark an argument. Tonight had been a good evening. Ran had been on his best behaviour, he had not drunk too much, nor gambled too heavily and she allowed herself to hope that he was indeed improving. But when they arrived at the house she was dismayed when he did not follow her up the stairs, but went off to the drawing room, calling to Speke, the butler, to bring him a bottle of wine.
* * *
As charity balls went, this was a small affair. Gil stood at the side of the room, watching the dancing. Appleton had told him that, cleared of furniture, the drawing room could accommodate four-and-twenty couples at any one time. Gil tried to appear impressed, but his overriding feeling was that he had wasted another evening. Last night at Gomersham Lodge had been a disaster. He had rushed his fences and Deborah Meltham had shied off like a frightened colt. He had told himself he would do better this evening, but he had been here for over an hour now and there was no sign of her.
He should leave. He had no wish to stay here, being polite to these good people when his heart was so full of blackness. He pushed through the crowd towards his hostess, ready to make his excuses, but as he drew close a sudden flurry at the door heralded a late arrival. Mrs Appleton turned and Gil was close enough to hear her delighted cry.
‘Deborah, my dear, what a delightful surprise, I had quite given you up!’
And there she was, in the doorway. Her silk gown was very simple, but with its high neck and long sleeves, it gave a slender elegance to her petite figure and the rich plum colour enhanced the creamy tones of her skin and made her green eyes glow with an added vibrancy. Gil’s eyes went swiftly around the room, surprised that the other men present were not staring in admiration at Deborah Meltham. Was he the only one who could see the passionate woman behind that cool, elegant façade?
She was saying something to Mrs Appleton, who dismissed it with the wave of her hand.
‘Pray do not apologise, Deborah. You are here now, that is all that matters. And here is Mr Victor, in need of a partner for the next dance.’
‘I am indeed,’ put in Gil, bowing. ‘If Miss Meltham would do me the honour.’
There was a wary look in her eyes when she lifted them to his face and he was tempted to give her a reassuring smile. Instead he raised his brows and gave her a challenging look. It worked, her chin went up.
‘Miss Meltham always supports our good causes by purchasing a ticket, but she rarely attends.’ Mrs Appleton laughed, unaware of the tension sparking around her. ‘Tonight we are all honoured.’ She stepped aside, putting a hand on Deborah’s back as if to push her forward. ‘Hurry now, my dear, there is another set forming and they have room for you and Mr Victor.’
Still holding those green eyes, Gil put out his hand. Silently she took it and he could not be sure which of them trembled as his fingers closed around hers. The music started and they danced the first few movements in near silence. Deborah replied with no more than a word to Gil’s attempts at conversation. She was unsmiling, guarded, as if she was afraid to enjoy herself. They made their way down the dance and then it was their turn to stand and watch the others.
‘Is it such a penance to stand up with me?’ he asked her, knowing that for the moment they could not be overheard.
Immediately her eyes flew to his, then she looked away again.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said. ‘I told you last night, I am out of practice. Dancing with anyone other than my brother, I mean.’
‘And why is that? Does your brother object to gentlemen paying you attention?’
‘No, of course not. Although he is—can be—very protective of me.’ They were moving again and she said, ‘Forgive me, I must concentrate on my steps if I am not to stand upon your toes.’
He said innocently, ‘Is that why you came, then, to practise your dancing?’
Her lips twitched. ‘Perhaps it was.’
Or perhaps she came to see me.
The faint blush on her cheek suggested that might be the case. She was smiling, more relaxed in his company, so he forbore to tease her and they finished the dance so much in harmony that he risked asking her to stand up with him for another.
‘Purely for the practice,’ he added solemnly.
She chuckled. ‘Are you sure your toes will stand a fresh assault?’
He grinned. ‘Oh, I think so.’
She laughed, blushed, but she remained with him for the next dance and after that she allowed him to take her in to supper.
* * *
It was not until later, when he was back at his rooms at the George, Gil realised that for all the time he had spent with Deborah Meltham at the Appletons’, he had not once thought of revenge. Even when she had told him her brother could be very protective, a point he should have noted, as it played perfectly into his plans. But those plans might well come unstuck if he allowed Deborah Meltham to get under his skin.
He had spent dark, grief-ridden months working out a way to destroy Kirkster, only to discover that the fellow was doing that himself with his drinking and his gambling. Gil was convinced now that the only way for him to inflict pain on Kirkster was by ruining his sister and he would not let anything stand in his way.
* * *
Deborah was in the morning room, writing up her accounts, when Speke came in.
‘There is a gentleman to see you, Miss Meltham. A Mr Victor.’
Deb’s pen spluttered at the butler’s words and she blotted the page, giving herself time to compose herself before she replied. The gentleman was only making a courtesy call after their dancing together last night. Nothing out of the ordinary about that. For a panic-stricken moment, Deb wished she had not given in to the temptation to go to the charity ball. The butler coughed, reminding her that she could not delay much longer.
‘I have shown him into the drawing room, ma’am.’
‘Thank you, Speke. Where is Lord Kirkster?’
‘His lordship has not yet left his room.’
No hope of a chaperon, then. It was nearly noon and this information suggested Ran had drunk himself into a stupor again, which was another reason she should not have gone out. With a sigh she rose and shook out her skirts before going off to meet her visitor.
Speke left the door open once he had shown her into the drawing room. Which was as it should be, Deborah knew, to observe the proprieties, and this sign of the old butler’s regard helped her to greet her visitor calmly.
‘I am sorry my brother is not here to see you, Mr Victor.’
She gave a disarming smile, hoping it would distract him from the faint smell of stale wine that pervaded the room.
‘No doubt he is busy out of doors.’
‘Yes.’
No need to tell him the truth, that in all likelihood her brother was still sleeping off last night’s excesses. In her mind she could see Randolph falling unconscious in his chair and dropping his full wineglass on to the carpet. She had witnessed it herself too many times to doubt that is what had occurred.
‘I am on my way to view a house. Lagallan Manor.’ He waved a hand, as if to apologise for his riding coat. ‘I thought I should stop to pay my respects.’
‘That is very kind. Will you not sit down?’
‘Thank you.’
She took a seat and watched as he carefully placed his hat, gloves and riding crop on the side table before crossing the room and lowering himself into the chair opposite. There was strength and a lithe grace in every movement, she noticed. But then he had been a soldier, he was no idle fop.
‘Forgive me.’ His eyes flickered towards the open door. ‘You have no lady living with you?’
‘I live here alone with my brother, sir.’ One hand fluttered. ‘At four-and-twenty I am beyond the age of requiring a chaperon.’
He inclined his head silently and she was grateful he did not try to flatter her with insincere disclaimers.
‘So, you really are looking for a property, Mr Victor.’
‘Did you not believe me?’
‘Fallbridge is a small market town, the society is not...fashionable.’
‘I am not so hard to please and I found the company last night very enjoyable.’
There was nothing she could do to stop the blush rising and staining her cheeks. She was sure they must be crimson. Heavens, had she forgotten how to accept a compliment? As if to spare her embarrassment he turned to look out of the window.
‘The countryside around here is very fine; I should like to explore more of it. Of course, it always helps if one has someone local as a guide.’
He paused and Deb’s pulse leapt as she recognised that he was waiting for her to offer to accompany him. She might suggest they ride out together, or even to drive. It was such a long time since she had gone on an outing purely for pleasure. There could be no harm in it, as long as they were accompanied by a groom. It was very tempting, but she resolutely kept silent.
He was watching her and she looked away. She thought she heard him give a faint sigh.
‘But I am taking too much of your time, Miss Meltham.’
‘Not at all,’ she said politely, but she rose and walked with him to the door and they stood for a moment, so close she might have reached out and touched him. The alarming thing was that she very much wanted to do just that.
‘I believe there is another ball at the Red Lion next Thursday, Miss Meltham. I thought I might look in. Will you be there?’
Deb hesitated. She had resisted the temptation to go out riding with him, but why should she not enjoy herself, just a little? She smiled.
‘Yes, sir. I will be there.’
Chapter Three (#u8fc83a77-ed84-57e7-9ad8-01d9473f2229)
Gil stood before the looking glass, putting the finishing touches to his neckcloth. It was Thursday and he was going to the assembly at the Red Lion. He was going to see Deborah Meltham. A tingle of pleasurable anticipation rippled through him at the thought and his fingers fumbled the knot. Confound it, this was not intended to be an enjoyable encounter! With a muttered oath, he tore off the crumpled muslin and began again with a fresh cravat.
It is not too late to change your plans.
No. There was no other way. The law could not help him and killing Randolph Meltham would be too easy, the scoundrel must suffer as Gil had suffered. As his mother was still suffering at the loss of two of her children. Gil’s conscience might try to appeal to his finer feelings, but he reminded himself that he had none. Not any more, he thought bitterly. Years of warfare had seen to that. But he had to admit that if there was a way to have his revenge without involving Deborah Meltham, he would choose it.
He tucked away the ends of his cravat and stood back to survey the result. Perfect. As was his plan. He was a soldier and once resolved on a course of action he must stick to it. Whatever the consequences.
* * *
He delayed his arrival at the Red Lion until there was only a trickle of latecomers entering the rooms. He saw Deborah immediately. She was standing on the far side of the room, talking to the Gomershams. He suspected she had been watching for him, for as soon as he walked in she looked up. Even from this distance the pleasure in her face when she saw him was clear.
Like a lamb to the slaughter.
He fought off the thought by reminding himself that it was his sister who was lying in the family tomb. His brother who had been slaughtered trying to defend her honour. He crossed the room, but it took time to reach her—first there were new acquaintances to be acknowledged, greetings to be made. At last he was there, standing so close he could see the pulse beating at her throat and smell the fresh, flowery perfume that she wore. She had not yet looked up at him, but she knew he was there, for there was a faint blush mantling her cheek and one hand had crept up to her shoulder in the same nervous gesture he had noticed on previous meetings.
He said, ‘I came, you see.’
She looked up then and her shy smile hit him like an iron fist in the chest, winding him. He realised with a shock that he would find it only too easy to woo her. Beside them, Sir Geoffrey was chuckling loudly.
‘Well, well, sir, you have not come here to talk with the likes of me tonight. I do not doubt you are here to dance, so off you go now with your pretty partner.’
Deborah was laughing and blushing at the same time and as Gil led her on to the dance floor he thought he had never seen her so animated. Even the gown, covering her from neck to toe, and her neatly coiled hair did not detract from it. It was no hardship to suggest they remain on the floor for a second dance.
When she did not answer, his fingers went instinctively to his cheek. Immediately her face softened and she put up a hand to draw his away.
‘It is not so very bad, you know,’ she said gently. ‘And it is not the reason I hesitated. There has been talk, you see. After we danced together twice at the charity ball.’
‘But it is perfectly acceptable to stand up for two dances, Miss Meltham.’
She glanced down at her hand, still held firmly in his grasp.
‘People here are not accustomed to seeing me dance with anyone save my brother, or our close neighbours.’
‘They should be pleased to see you enjoying yourself.’ His fingers tightened around hers. ‘There is only one question for you to answer, do you want to dance again with me?’
She looked at him, a smile lilting on her full red lips. ‘Yes, sir, I would like to, very much.’
‘You are not merely feeling sorry for me?’
‘Not at all.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Lady Gomersham told me that at the last assembly any number of ladies were asking for an introduction to you.’
His mouth twisted. ‘Some women find scars fascinating.’
‘That is where gentlemen have the advantage,’ she replied as they took their places in the set. He saw her hand briefly touch her shoulder. ‘For them a scar is a badge of honour, to be worn with pride and no one would think ill of them. It is a very different matter for a woman.’
He was surprised at the note of bitterness that had crept into her voice. He wanted to know why, but the music struck up. Deborah was smiling again and the moment for confidences was lost.
* * *
They danced together for their two dances, then Gil stood aside. Unlike the previous assembly, when he had seen her retreat to the benches and refuse to dance with anyone save her brother, this time she accepted another partner with seeming pleasure. Indeed, she was looking so pretty he was not at all surprised that gentlemen were lining up to dance with her and at the break he had to act quickly to ensure he could escort her into supper.
‘Is your brother not here this evening?’ he asked as she tucked her dainty hand into his arm.
‘No.’ A faint shadow crossed her face. ‘He is indisposed this evening. I came here with Sir Geoffrey and his party.’
Contempt stirred. The fellow was probably too drunk to attend. No one was willing to speak out of turn against the young Lord Kirkster, but Harris had gleaned enough from the taproom gossip for Gil to be sure that the man was far too fond of his drink. When he had called at the house Gil had noticed the unmistakable smell of wine in the drawing room, the ring marks of carelessly placed glasses on the sideboard, and Deborah’s demeanour suggested she knew of her brother’s weakness. Did she also know he was a callous seducer?
They had reached the supper room and Gil pushed aside his dark thoughts as he escorted his partner to a small table where they might converse uninterrupted. It was time for him to charm her into submission.
* * *
The Gomershams’ carriage dropped Deborah at her door and once she had ascertained that her brother was not waiting up for her, she almost flew up the stairs to her room. It was as much as she could do not to be impatient with her maid as she helped her to undress, for all Deb wanted to do was to slip between the sheets and blow out her candle. Not to sleep, but to be alone and go over the events of the evening again and again.
She could not recall the last time she had enjoyed herself so much. She had forgotten what it was like to dance with a gentleman, certainly she had never danced with anyone like Mr Victor. He made her feel like a princess. His conversation at supper had been sensible and intelligent. He had made no attempt to flirt with her and she was very thankful for that, because she would have had to check any attempt at intimacy. Instead they had talked of, oh, she had no idea now, but it had ranged from books and art to music and travel.
How the evening had flown. And then he had stood up with her for two more dances. Perhaps she should not have allowed it, perhaps it might cause talk in Fallbridge, but it was worth it. For a few hours she had felt like a normal young woman again. She had forgotten Randolph—she had even forgotten her first love, the man who had blighted her life for ever. Forgotten everything except the joy of being admired by a handsome man.
Deborah turned in the bed and snuggled her cheek against her hand, unable to prevent a smile growing inside her. He was very handsome, despite the scar on his face. When he looked at her it was as if she was the only woman in the room. Restlessly she shifted again until she was lying flat on her back and gazing at the far wall, where the moonlight glinted on the polished brass of the candleholder. Her spirits were still soaring and she wanted to hold on to the feeling, to stay awake all night and go over every look, every word they had exchanged and bury them deep in her memory for ever.
* * *
She could not remember falling asleep, but when she opened her eyes it was morning and the sun was pouring in through the unshuttered window. The feeling of well-being remained. Never had the sun shone so brightly, never had she heard the birds singing to joyously. Smiling, Deborah slipped out of bed and rang for her maid, eager to enjoy every moment of this beautiful day.
Deborah decided to walk to Gomersham Lodge and thank Lady Gomersham for taking her to the assembly. The visit was not strictly necessary, a polite note would have done as well, but Deborah felt too restless to stay at home. Randolph had come downstairs, bleary eyed and complaining of a headache, but it was clear she could do little for him, so she left him to the tender administrations of his butler and sallied forth into the sunshine.
Fallbridge was bustling with life and Deborah greeted her acquaintances with a cheery smile. If she was disappointed that she did not see a certain person in the town she would not admit it, even to herself. Just because one danced a few times with a gentleman and went into supper with him did not mean they were anything more than acquaintances, as she explained when Lady Gomersham quizzed her on her conquest.
‘Mr Victor seems a very pleasant man, Deborah, and if he is keen to settle in Fallbridge, who knows...’
‘My dear ma’am, we know nothing about him,’ Deb protested, laughing.
‘True, but he is staying at the George, which is not cheap, and Sir Geoffrey thinks he is a very good sort of man. I could ask him to make enquiries, if you wish.’
‘No, no, I pray you will not do that,’ said Deb, hastily. ‘I assure you, I have no interest in the gentleman at all.’
If her hostess did not quite believe her, Deb was thankful that she was too polite to say so.
‘Well, I was pleased to see you enjoying yourself last evening, as I am sure all your friends were,’ was all Lady Gomersham said, nodding so that her greying curls danced around the edges of her lace cap. ‘You spend too much time worrying about that brother of yours.’
‘But there is no one else to worry about him,’ Deb argued, a small cloud dimming her sunny spirits when she thought of Randolph.
‘Lord Kirkster is a grown man now, my dear. You should look to your own happiness.’
The look on the older woman’s face said as clearly as words that she thought Deborah should not allow the chance of getting a husband to slip through her grasp. But Deborah would never marry without love and she was determined not to risk her heart again. Once was quite enough. Just the memory of it made it necessary for her to repress a shudder.
‘I am perfectly happy, ma’am, thank you.’
And she was, Deb told herself as she took her leave. She loved her brother deeply, and she had promised Mama she would look after him. There could be no happiness if she did not honour that promise.
She thought again of the assembly, of dancing with the stranger. No, not a stranger, not any more, but she would not allow herself to be carried away by daydreams. The elation she had felt last night was the fleeting sort and she knew better than to make too much of it.
However, when she turned into the High Street and saw Mr Victor striding towards her she could not help a little kick of excitement and a quickening of the pulse. They could not avoid one another, even if they wished to do so. He stopped and tipped his hat.
‘Miss Meltham.’
The warm smile in his eyes sent her heart skittering in her chest and she felt so breathless it was a struggle to greet him.
‘Are you running errands this morning?’ he asked her.
‘I called upon Lady Gomersham and now I am going home.’
‘Then I will escort you, if you will allow me.’
Instinct warned Deborah to make some excuse, but she ignored it. She inclined her head in tacit acquiescence and he turned to walk beside her.
What harm can it do? she reasoned. They were merely walking together; they were not even touching.
But, oh, how she wanted to touch him! How she wanted to rest her hand on his sleeve and feel the strength of his arm, as she had done last night. But the conduct permissible in the ballroom would be frowned upon in the public street, so she had to be content to walk beside him.
The streets were busy and it seemed to Deborah that all her friends and acquaintances were out of doors, smiling and nodding when they saw her. She returned their smiles, knowing that gossip would be rife by the morning.
‘You are very well known in Fallbridge, Miss Meltham.’
‘It is my home, sir.’
‘But you have a house in Liverpool, too, do you not? I should have thought that would have been your preference. After our conversation over supper the other night I know your lively mind enjoys the arts and theatre.’
She did not reply and he asked her what had influenced her to live in this small market town. She considered her words carefully before answering.
‘When Randolph and I were children our time was divided between here and the house in Liverpool. Mama loved Fallbridge, but Papa still had some interest in the shipping company that our grandfather started and was obliged to be in Liverpool for several months of each year. We always went with him. It was very different from Fallbridge and we did not have the freedom of the country, but the house was so large Ran and I could spend hours playing hide and seek, from the attics to the cellars.’ She laughed. ‘I have no doubt the servants thought us a veritable nuisance!’
‘It sounds like a very happy childhood.’
‘It was.’ She stopped, swallowing a sigh as she wished it was possible to return to those carefree days.
‘And now you live alone with your brother?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded.
‘And your mother?’
‘She died just a year after Papa. She had been in poor health for a long time.’
‘I am very sorry. Who—?’
He broke off and she looked up at him, brows raised.
‘Yes? What were you going to ask, sir?’
‘Forgive me if I am impertinent, but did you not need a chaperon, if your mother was so ill?’
‘A widowed aunt had lived with us for years and continued to do so for a while after Mama died. Now, of course, I have Randolph.’
She said no more. He did not need to know Ran had insisted they live alone, that he was too ashamed to have anyone other than Deborah know of his addictions.
Mama had always planned for Deb to make her come-out in London under her aunt’s aegis and they would take Ran with them. But that had been postponed because of Papa’s ill health and when he died Deb had given up her dreams of a glittering presentation. By then Ran was already drinking and gambling to excess and she had been afraid to expose him to the temptations of the capital. She had always hoped that at Oxford he would make new, more sober friends and grow out of his excesses. A vain hope, she realised now.
‘And now you live here most of the year.’
‘Yes.’ Should she say more? ‘You may think it odd that a young man like my brother would choose to live in such a small out-of-the-way place. Randolph suffers from, from ill health. It is better that we live quietly.’
‘I see.’
There was such a wealth of sympathy in the two words that Deb was tempted to tell him everything, to unburden herself of the cares and worries that beset her. But, no. He was little more than a stranger, after all, and Randolph did not like her discussing family matters.
‘Your brother is lucky to have such a devoted sister.’
‘Anyone would do as much.’ She added lightly, ‘And Fallbridge really is a very agreeable town. We have everything we need here for entertainment. The countryside is very fine, there is some hunting to be had in the season. And we are not ten miles from the coast.’
‘Yes, I have noticed you have the benefit of bracing sea air,’ he commented as the wind made a sudden snatch at his hat.
Deb laughed. ‘Very bracing!’
She put a hand up to her face. Several wisps of hair had escaped and were curling about her face. She tried to tuck them back under her bonnet.
‘No, don’t do that.’ Her fingers stilled. He added softly, ‘It suits you.’
Her cheeks flamed and she walked on quickly, unable to think of a suitable reply.
‘Do you know,’ he continued, in a conversational tone, ‘I have made myself familiar with the local rides around here, but I have not yet been to the coast.’ He stopped and turned to face her. ‘Do you ride, Miss Meltham?’
She should walk on, but her feet had stopped, too.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Do you have a groom to accompany you? If so, there could be no impropriety if we were to take a little trip together. Will you not take pity upon a poor stranger and ride out with him?’
Deborah hesitated. They would be gone from breakfast until dinner. It was unthinkable. She determined to say no, but then she looked up to find him smiling down at her and she could not speak at all.
‘Say you will come with me,’ he murmured. ‘I promise I will look after you.’
Physically, perhaps, but that was not what was worrying her. Deb was aware of her growing attachment to Mr Victor. It would be wiser not to see too much of him. And yet...
Ran was engaged to go shooting with Sir Geoffrey and a party of friends at the beginning of the week. They would make an early start and he would dine at Gomersham Lodge, so Deborah would have the day to herself.
‘I might be free on Monday,’ she said slowly.
His smile deepened. ‘Monday it is, then. I shall call for you.’
She shook her head, suddenly panicked. ‘I do not know; it is not certain I shall be able to come.’
‘Then you may send word to me at the George.’ He hesitated. ‘Will you not take my arm for the remainder of the journey? No one would take it amiss, I am sure, for the wind is much stronger now we are clear of the town and I am afraid it might blow you away.’
* * *
What was she doing?
Deborah handed her cloak to Speke, but instead of going upstairs she went into the morning room and ran to the window, just in time to see her escort striding out of the drive. When he was no longer in sight she turned away with a sigh. He was handsome, kind and gentlemanlike.
And dangerous.
She shook her head, as if to clear the doubts. It was not really dangerous, it was only a ride, after all. She would take her groom, who could be relied upon to look after her. She would enjoy a day’s riding in agreeable company. It was nothing more than that.
Having made her decision, Deb went off in search of her brother, but by the time she went to bed she had still not told him of her forthcoming excursion, and as she drifted off to sleep she knew she would not disclose it to him. Not until after the event.
* * *
Monday morning dawned to a heavy mist, but by the time Gil reached Kirkster House it had burned off and the day promised to be fine. As he trotted up the drive he saw Deborah Meltham riding out of the stables on a neat bay mare, a groom following at a respectful distance behind her. She was wearing a dark green riding habit and her hair was firmly clipped back beneath the matching hat, but the severity of her outfit only enhanced her trim figure.
She was looking serious as she came up to him and he said without preamble, ‘Are you having second thoughts, Miss Meltham?’
The way her green eyes flew to his face told him he was right. Part of him hoped she would tell him she had changed her mind, that she would not go with him, but he knew he would be bitterly disappointed if she did that and not just because it would be a setback to his plans.
She leaned forward to pat the bay’s neck. ‘We go out rarely now, so it will be good take Bramble for an airing.’
She had not really answered his question, but he let that go. He turned his horse and came alongside her.
‘Is she fast?’ he asked, nodding at the mare.
‘Fast enough,’ she said and Gil noticed the sober look had been replaced by a definite twinkle. ‘We ride cross country most of the way, so you shall see for yourself.’
They turned west from the gates of the drive and headed away from the town. He was at pains to set her at her ease and within a very short time Deborah was chatting to him as if they had known one another for years.
* * *
It did not take long for him to learn that Deborah was an accomplished horsewoman and when they reached a stretch of open ground it seemed the most natural thing in the world to set the horses racing. The chestnut gelding had the advantage of size and strength over the mare, but for most of the way they were neck and neck, Gil just pulling away for the last few hundred yards. When he reached the hedge that separated them from the lane he drew rein and waited by the gate for Deb to come up to him. When she did, her cheeks were flushed and her smile was as wide as the sky. He could not help grinning back.
‘Did you enjoy that?’
‘Very much.’ She watched him as he manoeuvred his horse around to come alongside her and said, ‘You do not need to do that.’
‘Do what?’
‘I have noticed that you keep to the left of me, so I do not have to look at the scar on your face. I am not offended or repulsed by it, Mr Victor, believe me.’
She was smiling at him, nothing but warmth and kindness in her green eyes, and he felt something stirring inside of him, as if there was a chink in the armour he had built around his heart. She had touched softer feelings that he had kept buried for years.
‘Gil,’ he said suddenly. ‘Call me Gil.’
‘But your name is James.’ Her brows drew together. ‘You are James Victor, are you not?’
He was already cursing himself for inviting her to use that familiar name. He had not intended to allow her such intimacy, but he was not so much in control as he should be in her presence. He would need to be more careful.
‘Gil is what my family and close friends call me,’ he said, recovering quickly. ‘I should be honoured if you would use it, too.’
‘I cannot. It would not be seemly.’
She turned the mare and went ahead of him on to the lane, but he knew it was more than a physical distance. She had withdrawn from him. He brought his horse alongside her and began to talk of mundane matters until their previous rapport was re-established, and after that he was careful to say nothing more that might upset the easy camaraderie.
Gil knew he had been at fault. When they had raced across the turf he had forgotten his ulterior motive in befriending Deb Meltham. He found himself wishing that they could just be friends, that he had not set himself upon this path. But he had chosen his route and he could not change it now. He must approach it like any other military operation. Sometimes one’s duty was unpleasant, yet it must be done. But it was difficult, when she looked at him with those large trusting eyes and all he wanted to do was to protect her. He hardened his heart. She would be hurt, there was no help for it. In any battle there were casualties, it was the nature of war.
Chapter Four (#u8fc83a77-ed84-57e7-9ad8-01d9473f2229)
They rode westwards, the sun climbing higher in a clear blue sky. Deborah stopped on a slight ridge and pointed.
‘Look, there in the distance is the town of Formby, and do you see the sandhills? Beyond them lies the sea.’
There was an excitement in her voice and the lively anticipation in her face amused Gil. Seeing his smile, she laughed.
‘I have not been to the coast for years. When we were children Ran and I used to come here with Papa. The greatest treat was to call upon one of the local families, where we would dine on shrimp before we returned home.’
He waved her on. ‘Lead the way then, Miss Meltham. I am anxious to see it for myself.’
They set off again at a brisk trot, but Deborah’s mood began to dip as she contrasted those happy carefree memories with her brother’s life now. Even to be out enjoying herself today seemed wrong, when Ran was so unhappy. And last night she had come very close to despair.
When Randolph had joined her after dinner he had gone straight to the side table and poured himself a brandy from the decanter.
‘What?’ he demanded, looking up and catching her eye. ‘Why do you look like that?’
‘Have you not drunk enough? Doctor Reedley said—’
‘Damn the doctor and damn you!’ The outburst seemed to sober him. He passed a hand over his eyes and said more quietly, ‘I beg your pardon, Deb, I know you are trying to look after me.’
‘You are all I have left, Ran.’
He frowned at her, then took the brandy in one gulp and refilled his glass. He sat down, cradling the glass between two hands and staring moodily into the amber depths.
‘You should leave me,’ he said abruptly. ‘Go and make a life for yourself somewhere far away.’
She smiled lovingly at him. ‘And just where would I go? What would I live on? An income of fifty pounds a year will scarce support me.’
‘I could make you an allowance.’
Her smile slipped a little, ‘How will you do that, when the estate is already mortgaged to the hilt?’
She pressed her lips together to avoid saying anything more. For all his faults Ran loved her. She knew that. It was the knowledge of her family’s love that had helped her survive those dark days when she had given her heart to a man, only to have it trampled and broken. She had sworn then she would devote her life to her family, but with Mama and Papa both dead, there was only Randolph. He might be weak, and flawed, but he was the only man she was prepared to trust and to love. She crossed the room and dropped to her knees beside him.
‘I promised Mama I would look after you,’ she whispered.
A lock of fair hair had fallen over his brow and she reached up to brush it back. He did not look up.
‘I am beyond redemption, Debs.’
The hopelessness in his tone tore at her heart, but if she showed him sympathy it would only increase his self-pity.
‘No, no,’ she said bracingly. ‘You will come about, in time.’
‘Time!’ He laughed bitterly. ‘And meanwhile I must remain here, mouldering away in this dreary, forsaken little town.’
‘We discussed it with Dr Reedley, do you not remember, Ran? We agreed it would be best for you to live here quietly.’
‘No, you and Reedley agreed it, not I! You want to keep me here, a prisoner. Can we not live in the Liverpool house? At least at Duke Street I was close to all my friends!’
It was those friends who are responsible for your present state!
Deb closed her lips tightly to prevent the words escaping. With an oath Ran pushed himself out of his chair.
‘I am sick of it, do you hear me? Sick of this place, where everyone knows our business, where they all look down their noses at me.’
‘That is not true, Ran.’
‘Oh, isn’t it? Playing cards for penny points, Sir Geoffrey Gomersham wanting to show me the prize bull he has added to his estate—as if I cared about such things!’
‘Well, you should,’ she said sharply, her patience breaking. ‘This estate is your responsibility now and needs you to take an interest.’
‘Hah, what odd notions you have, Sister! Let the farmers take an interest in the land. As long as they pay their rent I do not care what goes on here!’
She had watched him lounge away, staggering a little as he left the room. No, she thought sadly. Ran cared nothing for Kirkster or its people. Their people. He saw it only as a purse to dip into whenever he wanted money. That purse was nearly empty now, but an even greater worry to Deborah was Ran’s health. Doctor Reedley had been blunt.
‘If Lord Kirkster continues with his mode of life he will not live the year out. Keep him here, quiet and sober, and he has a chance.’
But how was she to do that? She could not physically restrain him and sometimes she thought her brother was hell-bent upon self-destruction.
* * *
‘Deborah, what is it, has something upset you?’
Gil’s voice broke into her despondent thoughts and she gave a little start.
‘I was thinking about my brother.’
‘I see.’
She shook her head. ‘No, how could you?’
‘You could tell me.’
She closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted by carrying the burden of it on her own. She wanted to share it, at least a little of it, and Gil’s tone was so calm, so kind, it invited confidences.
She said, ‘Ran was just eighteen when Papa died. He was really too young to take responsibility for his inheritance, but his guardian was a distant uncle, who saw no profit in his putting himself out for his nephew. Wild friends and wilder living soon swallowed up the funds from our modest estate. I did not know how low Randolph had sunk until I visited him unexpectedly in Duke Street and he confessed the whole. That was when I persuaded him to come and live with me at Fallbridge and close up the Liverpool house. It is an attempt to retrench. I know full well that Ran is doing it only for my sake. But that is not the worst of it.’
She saw Gil recoil and raise one hand as if to silence her, but the next moment that hand was reaching across and covering hers in a brief, comforting grip. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said quietly. ‘I did not mean to stop you. Do go on, my dear.’
She shook her head, realising how close she had come to unburdening herself fully, but these were not his problems. And Randolph would not wish her to tell anyone that through his own actions he had destroyed his health so comprehensively.
‘I should not have said so much. It is unforgivable to disclose my family’s problems to you or anyone else.’
Gil’s heart contracted when he heard the distress in her voice. What had she been about to tell him? That Kirkster had seduced an innocent schoolgirl and then killed her brother in a duel? He did not want to hear her say it, even though it was the truth. For one wild moment he had a craven impulse to turn his horse and gallop away, but he couldn’t do it. He could not leave Deborah now. He swallowed, clearing his throat of the constriction that threatened to choke him.
‘You can tell me, Deborah. If it will help, you can tell me anything you wish.’
Somehow he managed to meet her eyes, even to smile, although he hated himself for it. But she was shaking her head and dashing away a rogue tear.
‘No, no, I must not burden you with such things. And it is not so very bad, after all. We shall come about, I am sure.’
She turned the conversation and Gil answered mechanically, the conjecture in his brain almost too much to bear. Did she know that her brother was a libertine? Did she condone his behaviour? He did not want to believe it, he thought her too good, too honest for that, but he could not be sure, because she was clearly unhappy about her brother. He would find out, but not now. Not today. Today he had invited Deborah to ride out with him purely for pleasure and he would do his best to make sure she enjoyed it.
* * *
Another mile riding cross-country brought them to the sandhills and Deborah led Gil to a narrow track that ascended the embankment. The path wound its way through a thick carpet of star grass, which she told him the locals were obliged to plant, to keep the hills intact and protect the farmland. When she reached the crest of the hill she stopped and he brought his horse up beside her. The embankment dropped away to a sandy shore, and beyond it the rippling waves of the sea.
‘The tide is coming in,’ she said, ‘and with it the breeze. Be careful of your hat, sir.’
He grinned at her. ‘You need not worry, it is a snug fit.’
They rode down to the beach, eventually coming to a small cottage nestled into a dip in the sandhills. A few small nets were drying on the outer walls and a thin spiral of smoke was issuing from the chimney. On impulse Gil jumped down and went to the door, returning moments later to suggest Deborah should dismount.
‘The widow who lives there is cooking shrimp and has offered to feed us. Will you join me?’ He added, to persuade her, ‘I shall pay the old dame well for her trouble, certainly more than the shrimp would fetch at market.’
He saw the laughter in Deb’s eyes, but she hesitated and looked back at her groom, who shrugged.
‘I’ll look after the horses, Miss Deborah. Just as long as you don’t go out of sight.’
‘No, of course not. We can sit upon the log that has been washed up yonder.’
Kicking her foot free of the stirrup she hesitated for a heartbeat before she dropped down into Gil’s waiting arms. The faint flush on her cheek told him she was as conscious as he of the risk she was taking. His hands moved to her tiny waist to support her. They almost spanned it and it took all his willpower not to draw her closer and steal a kiss from those full, inviting lips. Instead he stepped to one side and pulled her arm through his.
‘Come along then, ma’am, I shall escort you to our seat.’
They had barely made themselves comfortable when the old woman brought them two small bowls of tiny pink shrimp, still hot from the pan, and slices of rye bread to mop up the juices. They chattered and giggled like schoolchildren as they enjoyed their impromptu meal and Gil wondered if it was sitting in the fresh air that made it taste so good, or the company.
‘Delicious,’ declared Deborah, when they had finished. She handed her bowl to Gil and dabbed at her mouth with the small square of lace that was her handkerchief. ‘I hope you enjoyed it, too.’
‘Very much.’
He bent to put the bowls on the sand, reluctant to take them back to the cottage, for that would mean moving away from Deborah and breaking the magic of the moment. When he sat up again he found she had turned her laughing face towards him, totally at her ease. Some of her hair had escaped from the confines of her bonnet and the wind whipped it across her cheek, the errant strands gleaming the deep golden-brown of liquid honey. How could he ever have thought her drab, he wondered as he reached out to push aside a stray curl.
The jolt through his arm as he touched her skin was like a lightning strike, heating his blood and setting his pulse racing. She was very still, her eyes wide and fixed on his, trusting, inviting. He tucked the curl gently behind her ear, then he cupped her face, drawing her close and planting a gentle kiss upon her mouth. She trembled, but did not pull away. Her lips parted, inviting him to deepen the kiss.
Lord, it would be an easy seduction. A wave of self-loathing washed through him at the thought of his carefully constructed plan for revenge and the chink in his defences widened. After a decade of bloody warfare, he had believed himself capable of anything, but not this. He drew back, hating himself. Her eyelids fluttered and she looked at him, eyes dilated like deep, dark pools where a man could drown himself. His thumb grazed over her cheekbone.
‘I did not intend to do that.’
His voice was not quite steady. He felt the pressure of her cheek against his fingers as she leaned into him, gazing into his face as if seeking the answer to some great problem. Despite his own dark thoughts, whatever she saw there reassured her and he detected the barest quiver of a smile curve her lips.
‘We are fortunate my groom did not see it. He has been with me since I was a child and would have no hesitation in ringing a peal over me.’ Her eyes flickered towards the beach. ‘Thankfully the horses are blocking his view.’
Gil swallowed, his thoughts racing. If the groom had not been so near he could have kissed her again and again and then perhaps led her into the sand dunes and made love to her, with the sound of the sea whispering around them and the gulls wheeling and crying overhead. But it would have been his seduction, his downfall, as well as hers.
He gave himself a mental shake. What was he about, to be prey to such maudlin thoughts? He was growing soft. He must remember the vow he had taken while standing by the tomb, to see the blood of his sister and brother avenged or die in the attempt. He must not allow anything to sway him from his purpose.
He heard her sigh. ‘It is time we were heading back.’
She moved away from him, her hand going to her left shoulder in the nervous little gesture he was beginning to recognise. Gil gathered up the dishes and returned them to the cottage. When he came back to the horses Deborah was already in the saddle. Very wise, he thought grimly, to have the groom throw her up rather than risk his hands upon her again. He scrambled up on to his own horse and accompanied her back over the sandhills.
They rode for several miles in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Gil glanced several times at Deborah. Just once she met his eyes and gave him a faint smile. She appeared to be quite composed and he was at a loss to understand her. Outrage he could have dealt with, or blushing, maidenly distress, but it was as if she had accepted what had occurred. Even welcomed it. He glanced back to check that her groom could not overhear them.
‘Miss Meltham, Deborah.’
She silenced him with the wave of a hand. ‘Please, there is no need to say anything.’
‘I think there is. I should not have presumed—’
She turned her head and fixed her frank green eyes upon him.
‘I am not a child; I could have prevented you.’
‘Are you sure of that?’ Her dark lashes fell, screening her thoughts from him. He said quietly, ‘Will you allow me to see you again?’
Suddenly he found himself praying that she would refuse and send him about his business. She could still save herself, even if he was powerless to do so. It was as if he had taken a step off a cliff and was now hurtling towards destruction.
She did not reply immediately and he was half-hope, half-despair, as to what her answer might be. At last she spoke, choosing her words with care.
‘Forgive me if I am presumptuous, but I must make you aware that I have no thoughts of, of marriage. Not as long as my brother needs me. I would not wish to raise false hopes.’
‘Do you wish to cut the acquaintance?’
‘I would not want you to be hurt, sir.’
Oh, Deborah, if only you knew!
‘I will take that chance.’
Gil schooled his features into a smile while all the time a roaring anguish filled him. It was too late to turn back now. The souls of his sister and brother cried out for revenge and she was to be the weapon.
‘Very well, then, Mr Victor, I would be very pleased to see you again.’
The pleasure and relief in her face sliced into him like a sabre, but somehow he kept his smile in place and managed to converse with tolerable composure as he escorted her back to Kirkster House. They parted at the gates and he watched her ride away along the drive. When she reached the arched entrance to the stables she turned and raised her crop to him in a final salute.
Still smiling, Gil touched his hat, but once he had turned away the smile disappeared and by the time he walked into his rooms at the George his thoughts were so black that he could not even find a civil word for his man.
Harris regarded him with raised brows. ‘The day did not go well, my lord?’
‘Everything went perfectly.’ Gil scowled as he tore off his gloves and threw them down on a chair. ‘The plan is proceeding better than I could have hoped.’ He shrugged himself out of his coat and walked towards the little dining parlour.
‘And shall I send for your dinner, sir?’
‘No. No dinner.’ Gil stopped, his fingers curling around the edge of the door until the knuckles showed white. ‘Fetch me up a couple of bottles of claret. And one of brandy. And then I do not want to be disturbed!’
Chapter Five (#u8fc83a77-ed84-57e7-9ad8-01d9473f2229)
Deborah was pleased to take a solitary dinner that evening; it gave her an opportunity to consider all that had happened during the day. As she pushed her food around her plate she thought how much she had enjoyed herself with Gil. She smiled. She must never call him by that name, of course, but she would think of him as Gil. She had been able to converse quite naturally with him, as if they were lifelong friends instead of new acquaintances. She had even been able to tell him about Ran and he had understood that her brother was a wild young man who was far too fond of his cards and his wine. It was not after all such an unusual story, but he had shown neither disapproval nor sympathy, either of which she would have resented. Instead their discussions had ranged widely and she had found herself in perfect accord with him.
Until he kissed her.
That had changed everything. She could no longer pretend that she thought of him as a mere acquaintance, or even a friend. She wanted him, as a husband. A lover.
Sighing, she put down her fork and pushed her plate away, her appetite quite gone. She was worldly enough to know she would be ruined if she became Gil’s mistress and would he even want her, once he knew how damaged she was? Her hand crept to her shoulder. He might turn away in disgust.
Even more foolish, then, to imagine he might want to marry you, Deborah Meltham.
Foolish indeed, she replied to the voice in her head. And there was no question of marriage. She had already made up her mind that she could not, would not contemplate marriage as long as Ran needed her. She hoped that as her brother matured he would settle down, perhaps even take a wife, a woman who would love him and care for him. Then Deborah would be free to make a life for herself, but there were no signs of that happening in the immediate future. Or ever. She pushed the dismal thought firmly aside. Ran was only two-and-twenty, plenty of time for him to fall in love.
But you are already four-and-twenty. Your chances of finding a husband are diminishing with each year that passes.
‘Then so be it,’ she told that bothersome voice in her head. ‘I shall remain a spinster and I shall not repine for what I have missed. I shall have my honour and my self-respect, despite the temptation.’
Temptation. That idea immediately brought her thoughts back to Gil.
Gil. An unusual epithet. She must ask him how it came about, when they next met. A tiny flicker of hope warmed her. They would meet again and she would enjoy his company, for as long as she could before he moved on, as he was sure to do, since she could offer him nothing more than friendship.
* * *
Over the following weeks, she saw Gil almost every day. If the weather was not good enough for them to ride out together, they met at some party or the assembly rooms. They behaved with the strictest propriety, even in the odd moments when they were alone together. Gil was the perfect gentleman, as if that kiss had never happened, but Deb could not forget it, and neither, if she were truthful, did she regret it.
Her brother was surprisingly cordial towards their new acquaintance, even inviting him to join them for dinner, where Ran proceeded to drink heavily. Deborah’s spirits fell when he ordered Speke to bring another bottle.
‘Not on my account,’ murmured Gil.
He spoke cheerfully, no censure in his tone, for which Deborah was grateful, but her brother merely waved his hand.
‘Well, that is up to you,’ he said dismissively. ‘I want another glass of that claret. M’father filled his cellars with some damn fine wines, but they’re nearly all gone now. I could send to Duke Street, see if there’s some left there.’
‘You forget, Randolph, we brought the remaining bottles to Fallbridge earlier this year,’ Deborah reminded him, blushing faintly for her brother.
‘Now the war is over it should be easier to obtain more French wines,’ observed Gil.
‘Yes, we might take a trip to the Continent ourselves,’ she said. ‘What do you say, Brother, would that not be entertaining?’
But Ran was not listening, he was waving his glass at Speke who had returned with a fresh bottle of claret.
Deborah glanced apologetically at Gil, but he merely smiled.
‘Perhaps I should go—’ he began, but that brought Randolph’s attention back to him immediately.
‘No, no, you can’t leave yet. You must stay and take a glass of brandy with me.’ He flapped one hand. ‘Time for you to withdraw, Deb, leave the men to talk.’
She looked despairingly at Randolph, but Gil had already risen and was standing behind her, ready to hold her chair.
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