Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance

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‘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.