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

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

  ‘I should go. It must be near midnight.’

  His sigh caressed her cheek.

  ‘I heard the clock strike eleven not long since.’

  ‘And I have just heard it chime the half-hour. It will take me some time to get back.’ She sought out his lips for another of those long, lingering kisses that made her whole body ache for him, but at last she resolutely broke away and slipped out of bed.

  The fire had died to a glow, but a solitary candle still burned and she began to dress. Gil propped himself on one elbow and watched her.

  ‘Would you like me to help you?’

  ‘There is no need. I deliberately chose garments I can manage without assistance.’ She marvelled at her audacity to say such a thing. She was telling him quite clearly that she had intended to let him bed her. But he already knew that, she thought, another smile bubbling up inside her.

  While she finished dressing he shrugged on his banyan and went off to order her carriage, saying when he returned that he would dress and go with her.

  ‘I will ride beside the carriage, as an escort.’

  ‘And how would that look, if anyone saw you? No, I am sure your coachman will look after me.’

  He gave a menacing growl. ‘He will answer to me if he does not.’ He took her hand. ‘Come along then.’

  By the time they reached the hall the carriage was at the door. They stopped in the shadows and Gil caught her in his arms again. She could feel the hard strength of him beneath the silk of his dressing gown and she clung to him, suddenly unwilling to let go of this new-found happiness.

  ‘Will you call upon me tomorrow?’ she asked shyly.

  ‘Of course.’ He gave her a final hug, then picked up her cloak and placed it around her shoulders. ‘Go now, before I give in to temptation and carry you back to bed.’

  Quickly she ran down the steps and into the waiting coach. The steps were put up and they lurched away into the darkness. Deb settled back into the corner, pulling her cloak tightly around her as she tried to examine her feelings. She had given herself to a man. She should be alarmed, afraid, even perhaps ashamed of what she had done, but she felt none of these things. She felt…she felt alive.

  But as the carriage drew nearer to Kirkster House, her thoughts became more sober. The past few hours had been blissful, but she knew that such times could never be more than a brief interlude. Now she must face the reality of the life she had chosen.

  * * *

  Chinks of light showed through the shutters of the drawing room when Deb arrived home, so she did not need Speke to inform her that her brother had not yet gone to bed. She tried not to feel anxious as she hurried across the hall. It was possible that they were engrossed in a game of cards, but as she opened the door her worst fears were realised.

  Sir Sydney was lounging in a chair beside the fire, a glass of brandy between his white hands, but Randolph was sprawled on the sofa, unconscious. With a cry she flew across the room and dropped to her knees beside him. Almost immediately she saw the small bottle that had fallen from his nerveless hands.

  She turned an accusing stare upon Sir Sydney. ‘How did he come by laudanum? I keep none in the house.’

  ‘I could not come to visit my old friend empty-handed.’

  His smile made Deborah long to slap him.

  ‘You are no friend, sir.’

  His smile grew. ‘You would like to turn me from this house, would you not, Miss Meltham? But you will not do it. I am your brother’s guest. I will go when he demands it and not before.’ He finished his brandy and crossed the room to put his glass back on the sideboard before turning to look down at her, his lip curling in a sneer. ‘And he is not going to do that tonight, is he?’

  Deborah remained on her knees beside her brother as Warslow strolled out of the room.

  ‘Oh, Ran,’ she whispered, gently pushing his fair hair away from his brow. ‘You promised you would not do this.’

  A few tears escaped her, but she wiped them away and climbed to her feet. Randolph must be put to bed and she would have to summon Miller, his valet, to help her.

  Suddenly the rapture and joy she had felt earlier in the evening seemed a lifetime away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Once the carriage had pulled away from Sollom Hall Gil returned to his room, where he paced the floor until dawn, cursing himself for not sending her away the moment she arrived. Whatever he did now would hurt her and he was desperate to do as little harm as possible. But how?

  * * *

  He still had no answer to this question when the first grey fingers of dawn crept into the room. He plunged his face into the bowl on the washstand, but even the shock of the cold water brought no relief, just the growing conviction of his own perfidy. He had acted wrongly, he had taken Deb’s virginity, ruined her in the eyes of society and by his own code of honour he should offer to marry her. But that was impossible.

  Her seduction was to have been his revenge for the deaths of his brother and sister. Instead he had taken her to his bed for a complex mixture of reasons, but certainly not vengeance. He had wanted to comfort her, to prove to her that she was a passionate, desirable woman and also to satisfy some deep primal need that they both shared. They only had to be in the same room together to feel the connection. There was an awareness, an almost tangible bond between them, and because of that he could not walk away and leave her without some explanation. The devil of it was he did not know what he could say that would make any sense.

  He could not tell her what her brother had done, he had already decided that for her sake he would forget his planned revenge. Kirkster was ill—Gil had seen enough young men destroy themselves with dissolute living to know the signs. The fellow was unlikely to live much longer, however assiduously his sister cared for him. And then she would have no one. The idea of Deborah being alone and unprotected was unbearable. Somehow, Gil needed to assure her that if she needed him he would be there for her, to help her in any way he could.

  Any way short of marriage.

  * * *

  Deborah had no expectations that Randolph would leave his bed in time for breakfast the following day and, not wishing to sit down alone with Sir Sydney Warslow, she ordered Elsie to bring her breakfast to her room.

  The months of patient persuasion and cajoling to keep Randolph from taking laudanum had been undone in just a few short hours. It did no good to regret that she had gone out last night. A few moments’ rational thought told her that even if she had dined at home, Warslow would no doubt have waited until she left them to their brandy, or had retired to bed before he encouraged Ran in his destructive habit.

  She closed her eyes, remembering the previous evening, the hours she had spent with Gil. There was a great deal of comfort in the memory and it lightened the darkness of her present situation. She had given herself to him, knowing full well what it could mean for her, but she could not regret it, nor did she doubt that he cared for her and she hugged that thought to her. He had warned her at the outset that he could not marry her, but since she had already vowed not to leave Ran she wasted no time wishing for what could not be. If they could share a little time together, she told herself it would be enough.

  It was a lie and she knew it. Deep in her heart Deb was sure that she could never have enough of Gil. He had said he would visit and the thought that he might call early made her hurry through her breakfast and call for Elsie to help her dress.

  * * *

  After changing her mind three times, Deb decided upon the yellow muslin, embroidered at the hem and sleeves with acanthus leaves and tied at the high waist with a green sash. She then surprised her maid by asking her to put up her hair in a matching ribbon and allow it to fall at the back in soft curls.

  ‘Why, miss, ’tis years since I did your hair in anything like that. I’ve been scrap
ing it back into a knot for so long that I may well have forgotten how to do anything so fancy!’

  Deb laughed and, catching sight of her reflection in the glass, she noted the way her eyes sparkled. She looked vivacious, even pretty, and felt a little rush of excitement. How many years was it since she had thought of herself as anything but Ran’s older sister?

  ‘For once I do not wish to look sober and serious, Elsie. I think it is time for a change.’

  The maid gave her a searching look, but said nothing, and Deb wondered if Elsie thought she was trying to attract Sir Sydney Warslow. The thought gave her pause, but the idea of looking her best for Gil was too tempting to resist.

  As soon as she was ready she made her way to Randolph’s room, only to be informed by Miller, his valet, that he was still sleeping. She insisted on looking in on him, relieved that his breathing was even and his pulse more regular than it had been last night.

  ‘He will be in the devil’s own temper when he wakes,’ said Miller, speaking with the frankness of a long-serving retainer. ‘Best leave him to me, miss. By the time I send him downstairs he’ll be as sorry as can be that he has let you down.’ She nodded and as he followed her to the door he asked, in a voice devoid of emotion, ‘Do we know how long Sir Sydney will be remaining with us, Miss Meltham?’

  ‘No, Joseph, we do not.’ She bit her lip and risked exchanging a speaking glance with the valet. ‘A few days, perhaps.’

  ‘Let us hope it is no longer,’ he muttered. ‘For all our sakes.’

  * * *

  Downstairs the house was quiet and Deb was informed that Sir Sydney had ridden out early. She felt her resentment rising. Why should he press the opiate on her brother, when he rarely used it himself? She did not trust him; Randolph’s worst bouts of ill health had always followed Sir Sydney’s visits to Duke Street and she thought now that perhaps the laudanum was a way to bind Randolph to him.

  A grey depression stole over her as she thought of the difficult days ahead. In fact, the only glimmer of sunshine was that Gil had said he would call. She needed to speak to Cook about dinner and ran lightly down the stairs to the kitchen, where she interrupted a lively altercation between Cook and the housekeeper.

  ‘I was just asking Mrs Woodrow to account for her having a bad two-pound note in her strong box, Mistress,’ Cook explained, when Deb asked what was going on.

  ‘And I told her I can’t account for it,’ retorted the housekeeper, her arms crossed over her ample bosom and two spots of angry colour on her cheeks. She turned an indignant gaze upon Deborah. ‘I tell you, Miss Meltham, I knew how it would be once the Bank of England started printing more bank notes. Not as safe as coin, not by a long chalk.’

  Deborah gave her a reassuring smile and turned back to Cook, asking her just what had occurred to bring about this discussion.

  ‘Well,’ said the good woman, slightly mollified, ‘I’d set young Jane to scrubbing the floor this morning, miss, so rather than have her stop what she was doing I decided I’d go myself to the market, to fetch another leg of lamb, seeing as how we has a visitor staying. It was as I was passing the drapers that Mrs Alsop herself comes running out and asks me to step inside for a quiet word. Then she says as how Peter the footman had called there late yesterday to collect the new table linen and he paid for it with a bad two-pound note.

  ‘She said if she hadn’t seen me she’d have come to the house to see you, miss, for she knew neither you nor the master would be passing forged notes. So of course, I paid her again and brought the note back with me, but when I tackled Peter about it he says it was what Mrs Woodrow here gave him from the cash box.’ She shook her head, her round face troubled. ‘I’ve known Mrs Alsop these twenty years past and she wouldn’t diddle us, so if she says it was Peter as gave her that note, then I believe her.’

  The housekeeper harrumphed loudly. ‘And I wouldn’t knowingly give him a forgery, madam, as you know full well.’

  ‘Of course you would not,’ said Deborah soothingly. ‘It has clearly been passed off on us and in all likelihood quite unwittingly.’

  ‘Well, there’s always lots of strangers in Fallbridge on market day and I was out shopping, so ’tis possible I picked it up then,’ admitted the housekeeper. ‘But I swear to you madam, ’tis such a good copy I couldn’t see anything wrong with it at all, when Cook first showed it to me.’

  ‘Aye, it was a very good likeness,’ Cook agreed. ‘Mrs Alsop said she wouldn’t have noticed, only her boy, who’s apprentice to the printer, happened to be in the shop and took a look at it. He said the watermark wasn’t right and nor was it, miss, for Mrs Alsop had a proper note there and we compared the two.’

  ‘And where is the note now?’ asked Deborah.

  ‘I burned it,’ replied the housekeeper. ‘Begging your pardon, madam, but I was sore afraid of what would happen if we was caught with it in the house. I’ve known people be clapped up for less. The penalties are very severe for even handling a forged note.’

  ‘Quite right, too,’ said Cook, nodding. ‘It was good of Mrs Alsop to point it out to us so discreetly. Fair shook me up, it did, to think that such a note should come from here. And I dare say it isn’t what you’re used to either, Mrs Woodrow.’

  ‘No, indeed. I am all of a lather over it, I can tell you,’ agreed the housekeeper.

  She then invited Cook to join her in her parlour and take a dish of tea, at which juncture Deborah knew this token of peace should not be ignored. She generously told Cook she would come down later to discuss the menu for dinner and escaped upstairs. She was free now to await Gil’s visit, but her hopes were dashed when she received word via the butler that Mr Victor’s man had called to say his master had urgent business and would not now be able to call until the morrow.

  Deborah busied herself with her household duties until she learned that her brother was downstairs and she went off to find him. He was in the dining room, partaking of a late breakfast and looking decidedly grey. The look he threw at Deborah was a mixture of shame and defiance, so she forbore to question him on why he should be feeling so unwell. They both knew the reason for it, so she merely sat down at the table and said cheerfully that she would drink a cup of coffee with him.

  She hoped his mood would soften, but a little while later, when she asked him how long Sir Sydney would be staying, Ran snapped back at her.

  ‘For Heaven’s sake, do not be worrying me with that now, Deb. Warslow knows he is welcome to stay here as long as he likes.’

  ‘He is not welcomed by me,’ she retorted and earned a glare in return.

  Deborah sighed.

  ‘Oh, Ran, let us not fight about it,’ she said, reaching out to touch his hand. ‘It is just that your health is never good when Sir Sydney is here.’

  She jumped as his fist banged on the table.

  ‘There is nothing wrong with me that a little more company wouldn’t cure. I wonder that I allowed you to persuade me to come back here. Fallbridge must be the most unexciting place in the kingdom!’

  Deborah knew it would be unwise to push him further so she held her peace and instead regaled him with an account of the altercation that had been going on below stairs.

  ‘So you see, occasionally we do have some excitement here,’ she said, smiling at him. She drained her coffee cup. ‘Now, I had best go and see if Cook is yet ready to discuss dinner. Is there anything you would particularly like, love?’

  Ran’s answer was no more than a bad-tempered growl so she dropped a quick kiss on his cheek and went off, hiding her worries beneath a cheerful countenance.

  * * *

  Deb managed to avoid bumping into Sir Sydney for the rest of the day, and as she approached the drawing room just before the dinner hour the raised voices encouraged her to hope that perhaps Ran had fallen out with his guest. As she paused outside the door she heard her brother
saying angrily, ‘It ain’t to be borne, Warslow. It’s too close to home. I won’t have it, I say.’

  She entered quietly in time to see Sir Sydney raising his shoulders in a careless shrug.

  ‘An oversight, Kirkster. There’s no harm done.’

  ‘No harm? When that damned note clearly came from here? I—’ Ran broke off hurriedly when he saw Deborah in the doorway, but without a word he turned and went to the sideboard, where he began to pour wine into two glasses.

  ‘Ah, Miss Meltham, your brother was just telling me you have been the victim of a fraud.’

  ‘Yes, someone passed off a bad note on our housekeeper,’ she replied, ignoring his outstretched hand.

  She crossed the room and took a chair near the window, busying herself with the arranging of her skirts.

  ‘Woodrow shouldn’t buy off the market traders,’ muttered Ran, handing a brimming glass to his guest.

  ‘My dear brother, Mrs Woodrow has been shopping in the market for ever and is well acquainted with most of the farmers who bring in their produce.’ She added, trying to make light of the incident, ‘It is only a two-pound note, after all, and we shall all be much more careful in future.’

  ‘An admirable point of view, Miss Meltham.’ Sir Sydney smiled at her. ‘I was suggesting as much to your brother when you came in.’

  He deftly changed the subject, moving his attention back to Randolph, and Deborah was grateful that she was no longer required to take part in the conversation. She had kept herself busy all day, but still she had had far too much time to think of what had happened at Sollom Hall last night. Not that she regretted a single minute of it, but Gil’s crying off today was disappointing. She was anxious to see him again, to reassure herself that she was not wrong and that he did truly care for her. For once when dinner was over and Deb retired to her room, the fact that she was leaving her brother alone with his so-called friend was not the foremost worry on her mind.