* * *
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?’
‘Mr Victor! Thank you, but I—’
‘If you are going to say you do not dance, then I shall not believe you,’ he said, smiling. ‘I saw you standing up with Lord Kirkster.’ The smile faded. ‘Perhaps my scar offends you.’
‘No, of course not.’ She felt obliged to look into his eyes, to show she was telling the truth. ‘Sir Geoffrey said you were a military man. Is that how you came by it?’
‘Yes. An encounter with a French cavalry sabre at Salamanca. I am grateful it was such a neat cut and not deep enough to do much damage.’
She shuddered. ‘You were very fortunate, I think.’
‘Indeed I was, Miss Meltham. But we are straying from the point. I invited you to dance.’
Deb hesitated, then saw the glint in his grey eyes. Laughter, or a challenge? She could not be sure.
He said softly, ‘Perhaps you are afraid to dance with me.’
It was the truth. The attraction she felt to this man frightened her. She had never felt such a strong affinity before. Not even with the man who had courted her. Who had said he loved her and then proved himself worthless in the most devastating way.
She shook off the memory. Mr Victor was smiling at her, causing her insides to flutter in alarm. However, she was not about to admit it and her chin went up.
‘Afraid? Why should I be afraid, here amongst friends?’
His lips curved upwards into a smile that caused a flutter of excitement deep within her.
‘Quite.’ He held out his hand. ‘Shall we?’
Tentatively she lifted a hand and her fingers were immediately held in a firm grasp. It was surprisingly comforting, as if he had drawn her inside a protective shield. As if she need fear nothing while he was beside her.
One dance, no more.
She was dancing with a stranger. She could not deny the lift of her spirits to be on the dance floor, nor the frisson of excitement to be dancing with someone other than her brother. For years she had denied herself this pleasure, but all the old familiar feelings had returned almost as soon as the music started. T
he intoxication of skipping and twirling around the floor with an admirer, someone whose gaze made her feel as if she was dancing on top of the world.
Deborah tried to rein in her happiness, but it was impossible. No matter, she told herself, giving in to the temptation to smile at her partner as they held hands and moved down the dance. She was older and wiser now. Her head could not be turned in such a short time. But, oh, the way the blood fizzed and sizzled through her veins when he spoke to her!
‘You dance very well, Miss Meltham.’
His voice was deep and warm, wrapping itself around her like velvet.
‘I fear you flatter me, sir. I am out of practice.’
‘Then we should remedy that. Will you not dance a second time with me?’
The music was ending and he was holding on to her hand, smiling down at her. Warning bells clamoured in Deborah’s head. This was too much, too soon. She had seen that look in a man’s eyes before. It meant nothing. No, she thought, worse than nothing. If she allowed herself to believe he was sincere, it meant trouble.
She pulled her hand free.
‘Thank you, but I, I am not inclined to dance again.’
With a formal little smile she backed away before turning and walking off. Her spine tingled, she was sure his eyes were upon her. He had looked surprised, almost shocked, at her words, as if he could not believe she would refuse him. She lifted her head a little higher. No doubt he thought she was desperate for a partner. He did not realise that she dressed in this drab way to avoid such attentions.
Once bitten twice shy, she reminded herself. But that did not stop her surreptitiously watching him from the side of the room. Her eyes followed him as he moved off to join Sir Geoffrey and she watched as their host introduced him to Mr and Mrs Appleton. She was guiltily aware of feeling pleased that he did not ask anyone else to dance.
‘Dear heaven,’ she murmured, ‘what a pathetic creature I am, to be so smitten by a man after one dance.’
Feeling rather lost and even a little sick at this shocking revelation, she made her way to the dining room, where refreshments had been set out. She helped herself to a cup of punch. She did not think she should drink it, but at least it looked as if she was doing something. Lizzie Gomersham came bouncing up and Deb summoned up a smile for her.
‘I saw you dancing with Mr Victor,’ said Lizzie, filling a punch cup and drinking it in almost one gulp. ‘I stood up with him, too, but thankfully I was already promised to another partner after that and could make my escape before he asked me to dance again.’
‘Why should you want to escape?’ Deb asked her, mystified.
Lizzie’s eyes widened. ‘That horrid scar! I vow, Deborah, I could not help but stare at it and I almost missed my steps. Did it not upset you?’
‘I barely noticed it.’
Deborah had been too intent upon his eyes, glittering in the candlelight. And on the glinting smile that seemed to be for her alone. Just thinking about it now sent her stomach swooping. Lizzie continued to chatter.
‘Papa said I must try to ignore it because Mr Victor was a soldier. He told Papa he was wounded while fighting in Spain. Of course, as soon as Mrs Appleton heard that she insisted he come to her charity ball tomorrow night. She said she was sure he would want to support the Military Widows’ Fund and, of course, what could the poor man do but agree?’
‘What indeed?’ murmured Deborah, although in her opinion, the gentleman would do nothing he did not wish to do. There was a steeliness about him, a dangerously ruthless air. It made her shiver just to think of it and she was obliged to give herself a little shake.
‘It is quite wrong to judge a person by appearances,’ she said, as much to herself as to her young friend.
‘Well, to be truthful, I soon grew used to the scar,’ Lizzie confided. ‘In fact, when I look at him now I think it makes him look quite piratical. Like the Corsair, which you must admit is very romantic.’
Deb decided she did not want to think about the man at all, scar or no scar.
* * *
Mr Victor did not approach her again that evening, but Deb was still aware of his presence in the room. She knew a moment’s unease when she saw him talking to her brother, but they did not disappear together into the card room, so whatever the man was about she could acquit him of wanting to fleece her brother of what was left of his fortune.
Perhaps she was indeed being fanciful. Perhaps he had not been watching her those times she had seen him in the market, or at the assembly. Fallbridge was a small town, so it was inevitable that one should see its inhabitants out and about. And yet, she could not quite dispel the feeling that all was not as it seemed with Mr Victor and on the short carriage ride back to Kirkster House she asked her brother what he thought of their new acquaintance.
‘Victor? Why, nothing. He declined to play cards with me this evening, did you know that? Told me he preferred to listen to the music! He seemed a dull dog. Why should I think anything at all of him?’
‘Oh, no reason.’
‘Have you taken a fancy to him, is that it?’ Ran sat forward, as if trying to see her face in the darkness. ‘Shall I make enquiries, find out if he is an eligible parti?’
‘No, no, of course not. Do not be so foolish.’ She forced herself to laugh and speak lightly. ‘It is just so unusual to have visitors in Fallbridge, that is all.’
‘Well I think it would be a very good thing if you were to make a play for him,’ he said, throwing himself back into his corner. ‘It might give you something to think about rather than fussing over me.’
She heard the petulant note in his voice and did not reply. She was familiar with his quick changes of mood and knew a wrong word now would spark an argument. Tonight had been a good evening. Ran had been on his best behaviour, he had not drunk too much, nor gambled too heavily and she allowed herself to hope that he was indeed improving. But when they arrived at the house she was dismayed when he did not follow her up the stairs, but went off to the drawing room, calling to Speke, the butler, to bring him a bottle of wine.
* * *
As charity balls went, this was a small affair. Gil stood at the side of the room, watching the dancing. Appleton had told him that, cleared of furniture, the drawing room could accommodate four-and-twenty couples at any one time. Gil tried to appear impressed, but his overriding feeling was that he had wasted another evening. Last night at Gomersham Lodge had been a disaster. He had rushed his fences and Deborah Meltham had shied off like a frightened colt. He had told himself he would do better this evening, but he had been here for over an hour now and there was no sign of her.
He should leave. He had no wish to stay here, being polite to these good people when his heart was so full of blackness. He pushed through the crowd towards his hostess, ready to make his excuses, but as he drew close a sudden flurry at the door heralded a late arrival. Mrs Appleton turned and Gil was close enough to hear her delighted cry.
‘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.
Winning the Mail-order Bride & Pursued for the Viscount's Vengeance & Redeeming the Rogue Knight (9781488021725) Page 25
