Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance. Sarah Mallory
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