Winning the Mail-order Bride & Pursued for the Viscount's Vengeance & Redeeming the Rogue Knight (9781488021725)

by Robinson, Lauri; Mallory, Sarah; Hobbes, Elisabeth

  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.

  ‘The countryside around here is very fine; I should like to explore more of it. Of course, it always helps if one has someone local as a guide.’

  He paused and Deb’s pulse leapt as she recognised that he was waiting for her to offer to accompany him. She might suggest they ride out together, or even to drive. It was such a long time since she had gone on an outing purely for pleasure. There could be no harm in it, as long as they were accompanied by a groom. It was very tempting, but she resolutely kept silent.

  He was watching her and she looked away. She thought she heard him give a faint sigh.

  ‘But I am taking too much of your time, Miss Meltham.’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said politely, but she rose and walked with him to the door and they stood for a moment, so close she might have reached out and touched him. The alarming thing was that she very much wanted to do just that.

  ‘I believe there is another ball at the Red Lion next Thursday, Miss Meltham. I thought I might look in. Will you be there?’

  Deb hesitated. She had resisted the temptation to go out riding with him, but why should she not enjoy herself, just a little? She smiled.

  ‘Yes, sir. I will be there.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Gil stood before the looking glass, putting the finishing touches to his neckcloth. It was Thursday and he was going to the assembly at the Red Lion. He was going to see Deborah Meltham. A tingle of pleasurable anticipation rippled through him at the thought and his fingers fumbled the knot. Confound it, this was not intended to be an enjoyable encounter! With a muttered oath, he tore off the crumpled muslin and began again with a fresh cravat.

  It is not too late to change your plans.

  No. There was no other way. The law could not help him and killing Randolph Meltham would be too easy, the scoundrel must suffer as Gil had suffered. As his mother was still suffering at the loss of two of her children. Gil’s conscience might try to appeal to his finer feelings, but he reminded himself that he had none. Not any more, he thought bitterly. Years of warfare had seen to that. But he had to admit that if there was a way to have his revenge without involving Deborah Meltham, he would choose it.

  He tucked away the ends of his cravat and stood back to survey the result. Perfect. As was his plan. He was a soldier and once resolved on a course of action he must stick to it. Whatever the consequences.

  * * *

  He delayed his arrival at the Red Lion until there was only a trickle of latecomers entering the rooms. He saw Deborah immediately. She was standing on the far side of the room, talking to the Gomershams. He suspected she had been watching for him, for as soon as he walked in she looked up. Even from this distance the pleasure in her face when she saw him was clear.

  Like a lamb to the slaughter.

  He fought off the thought by reminding himself that it was his sister who was lying in the family tomb. His brother who had been slaughtered trying to defend her honour. He crossed the room, but it took time to reach her—first there were new acquaintances to be acknowledged, greetings to be made. At last he was there, standing so close he could see the pulse beating at her throat and smell the fresh, flowery perfume that she wore. She had not yet looked up at him, but she knew he was there, for there was a faint blush mantling her cheek and one hand had crept up to her shoulder in the same nervous gesture he had noticed on previous meetings.

  He said, ‘I came, you see.’

  She looked up then and her shy smile hit him like an iron fist in the chest, winding him. He realised with a shock that he would find it only too easy to woo her. Beside them, Sir Geoffrey was chuckling loudly.
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br />   ‘Well, well, sir, you have not come here to talk with the likes of me tonight. I do not doubt you are here to dance, so off you go now with your pretty partner.’

  Deborah was laughing and blushing at the same time and as Gil led her on to the dance floor he thought he had never seen her so animated. Even the gown, covering her from neck to toe, and her neatly coiled hair did not detract from it. It was no hardship to suggest they remain on the floor for a second dance.

  When she did not answer, his fingers went instinctively to his cheek. Immediately her face softened and she put up a hand to draw his away.

  ‘It is not so very bad, you know,’ she said gently. ‘And it is not the reason I hesitated. There has been talk, you see. After we danced together twice at the charity ball.’

  ‘But it is perfectly acceptable to stand up for two dances, Miss Meltham.’

  She glanced down at her hand, still held firmly in his grasp.

  ‘People here are not accustomed to seeing me dance with anyone save my brother, or our close neighbours.’

  ‘They should be pleased to see you enjoying yourself.’ His fingers tightened around hers. ‘There is only one question for you to answer, do you want to dance again with me?’

  She looked at him, a smile lilting on her full red lips. ‘Yes, sir, I would like to, very much.’

  ‘You are not merely feeling sorry for me?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Lady Gomersham told me that at the last assembly any number of ladies were asking for an introduction to you.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Some women find scars fascinating.’

  ‘That is where gentlemen have the advantage,’ she replied as they took their places in the set. He saw her hand briefly touch her shoulder. ‘For them a scar is a badge of honour, to be worn with pride and no one would think ill of them. It is a very different matter for a woman.’

  He was surprised at the note of bitterness that had crept into her voice. He wanted to know why, but the music struck up. Deborah was smiling again and the moment for confidences was lost.

  * * *

  They danced together for their two dances, then Gil stood aside. Unlike the previous assembly, when he had seen her retreat to the benches and refuse to dance with anyone save her brother, this time she accepted another partner with seeming pleasure. Indeed, she was looking so pretty he was not at all surprised that gentlemen were lining up to dance with her and at the break he had to act quickly to ensure he could escort her into supper.

  ‘Is your brother not here this evening?’ he asked as she tucked her dainty hand into his arm.

  ‘No.’ A faint shadow crossed her face. ‘He is indisposed this evening. I came here with Sir Geoffrey and his party.’

  Contempt stirred. The fellow was probably too drunk to attend. No one was willing to speak out of turn against the young Lord Kirkster, but Harris had gleaned enough from the taproom gossip for Gil to be sure that the man was far too fond of his drink. When he had called at the house Gil had noticed the unmistakable smell of wine in the drawing room, the ring marks of carelessly placed glasses on the sideboard, and Deborah’s demeanour suggested she knew of her brother’s weakness. Did she also know he was a callous seducer?

  They had reached the supper room and Gil pushed aside his dark thoughts as he escorted his partner to a small table where they might converse uninterrupted. It was time for him to charm her into submission.

  * * *

  The Gomershams’ carriage dropped Deborah at her door and once she had ascertained that her brother was not waiting up for her, she almost flew up the stairs to her room. It was as much as she could do not to be impatient with her maid as she helped her to undress, for all Deb wanted to do was to slip between the sheets and blow out her candle. Not to sleep, but to be alone and go over the events of the evening again and again.

  She could not recall the last time she had enjoyed herself so much. She had forgotten what it was like to dance with a gentleman, certainly she had never danced with anyone like Mr Victor. He made her feel like a princess. His conversation at supper had been sensible and intelligent. He had made no attempt to flirt with her and she was very thankful for that, because she would have had to check any attempt at intimacy. Instead they had talked of, oh, she had no idea now, but it had ranged from books and art to music and travel.

  How the evening had flown. And then he had stood up with her for two more dances. Perhaps she should not have allowed it, perhaps it might cause talk in Fallbridge, but it was worth it. For a few hours she had felt like a normal young woman again. She had forgotten Randolph—she had even forgotten her first love, the man who had blighted her life for ever. Forgotten everything except the joy of being admired by a handsome man.

  Deborah turned in the bed and snuggled her cheek against her hand, unable to prevent a smile growing inside her. He was very handsome, despite the scar on his face. When he looked at her it was as if she was the only woman in the room. Restlessly she shifted again until she was lying flat on her back and gazing at the far wall, where the moonlight glinted on the polished brass of the candleholder. Her spirits were still soaring and she wanted to hold on to the feeling, to stay awake all night and go over every look, every word they had exchanged and bury them deep in her memory for ever.

  * * *

  She could not remember falling asleep, but when she opened her eyes it was morning and the sun was pouring in through the unshuttered window. The feeling of well-being remained. Never had the sun shone so brightly, never had she heard the birds singing to joyously. Smiling, Deborah slipped out of bed and rang for her maid, eager to enjoy every moment of this beautiful day.

  Deborah decided to walk to Gomersham Lodge and thank Lady Gomersham for taking her to the assembly. The visit was not strictly necessary, a polite note would have done as well, but Deborah felt too restless to stay at home. Randolph had come downstairs, bleary eyed and complaining of a headache, but it was clear she could do little for him, so she left him to the tender administrations of his butler and sallied forth into the sunshine.

  Fallbridge was bustling with life and Deborah greeted her acquaintances with a cheery smile. If she was disappointed that she did not see a certain person in the town she would not admit it, even to herself. Just because one danced a few times with a gentleman and went into supper with him did not mean they were anything more than acquaintances, as she explained when Lady Gomersham quizzed her on her conquest.

  ‘Mr Victor seems a very pleasant man, Deborah, and if he is keen to settle in Fallbridge, who knows…’

  ‘My dear ma’am, we know nothing about him,’ Deb protested, laughing.

  ‘True, but he is staying at the George, which is not cheap, and Sir Geoffrey thinks he is a very good sort of man. I could ask him to make enquiries, if you wish.’

  ‘No, no, I pray you will not do that,’ said Deb, hastily. ‘I assure you, I have no interest in the gentleman at all.’

  If her hostess did not quite believe her, Deb was thankful that she was too polite to say so.

  ‘Well, I was pleased to see you enjoying yourself last evening, as I am sure all your friends were,’ was all Lady Gomersham said, nodding so that her greying curls danced around the edges of her lace cap. ‘You spend too much time worrying about that brother of yours.’

  ‘But there is no one else to worry about him,’ Deb argued, a small cloud dimming her sunny spirits when she thought of Randolph.

  ‘Lord Kirkster is a grown man now, my dear. You should look to your own happiness.’

  The look on the older woman’s face said as clearly as words that she thought Deborah should not allow the chance of getting a husband to slip through her grasp. But Deborah would never marry without love and she was determined not to risk her heart again. Once was quite enough. Just the memory of it made it necessary for her to repress a sh
udder.

  ‘I am perfectly happy, ma’am, thank you.’

  And she was, Deb told herself as she took her leave. She loved her brother deeply, and she had promised Mama she would look after him. There could be no happiness if she did not honour that promise.

  She thought again of the assembly, of dancing with the stranger. No, not a stranger, not any more, but she would not allow herself to be carried away by daydreams. The elation she had felt last night was the fleeting sort and she knew better than to make too much of it.

  However, when she turned into the High Street and saw Mr Victor striding towards her she could not help a little kick of excitement and a quickening of the pulse. They could not avoid one another, even if they wished to do so. He stopped and tipped his hat.

  ‘Miss Meltham.’

  The warm smile in his eyes sent her heart skittering in her chest and she felt so breathless it was a struggle to greet him.

  ‘Are you running errands this morning?’ he asked her.

  ‘I called upon Lady Gomersham and now I am going home.’

  ‘Then I will escort you, if you will allow me.’

  Instinct warned Deborah to make some excuse, but she ignored it. She inclined her head in tacit acquiescence and he turned to walk beside her.

  What harm can it do? she reasoned. They were merely walking together; they were not even touching.

  But, oh, how she wanted to touch him! How she wanted to rest her hand on his sleeve and feel the strength of his arm, as she had done last night. But the conduct permissible in the ballroom would be frowned upon in the public street, so she had to be content to walk beside him.

  The streets were busy and it seemed to Deborah that all her friends and acquaintances were out of doors, smiling and nodding when they saw her. She returned their smiles, knowing that gossip would be rife by the morning.

  ‘You are very well known in Fallbridge, Miss Meltham.’

  ‘It is my home, sir.’

  ‘But you have a house in Liverpool, too, do you not? I should have thought that would have been your preference. After our conversation over supper the other night I know your lively mind enjoys the arts and theatre.’