Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance

* * *

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.