Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance

‘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.