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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?’
