Anger choked her again. Anger with Gil for what he had done and with herself for being so eager to fall into his arms. And yet…she could never forgive him, but she could understand something of his reasoning. His sister had been tricked into an elopement, just as Deb had been, but Kitty had suffered far worse than a scalded shoulder. Not only that, her younger brother had died trying to protect her. Gil believed Randolph was responsible and the death of two beloved siblings was enough to drive even the best of men to seek revenge.
* * *
When Deb reached Kirkster House her emotions were still in turmoil. She did not doubt Gil had done his best to discover the truth before he embarked upon his vengeance, but she could not believe what he had told her. Randolph was wild, yes, and under the influence of drink or laudanum he might act rashly, but he was not a cruel man and she was sure he would not deliberately set out to trap an innocent young girl. No more would he leave her to her fate. Something was wrong, if only she could work it out. Deborah slipped quickly into the house and up the stairs to the seclusion of her room, where she hoped a period of quiet reflection would help to settle the confusion in her mind.
Yet as she closed and locked her bedroom door she knew that there was no confusion about one point at least. Any connection between herself and the man she now knew to be Lord Gilmorton was at an end.
* * *
By the time Gil reached his family home his horse was in a lather, but even riding at breakneck speed, he could not outrun the demons at his heels. He left his exhausted horse at the stables and went into the house. He was thankful to learn that the Viscountess was in her room, for he could not face her questions tonight and besides, there was a letter he must write, immediately. It was one thing to say he would leave Deborah to her fate, but Gil hated to think of her alone and defenceless, with Warslow circling around like a vulture, waiting to strike.
The letter was soon penned, a civil note on the fine paper that bore his family crest, assuring Miss Meltham that if ever she thought herself in danger, if ever she stood in need of his help or assistance, he would do his utmost to serve her. The letter was addressed and sent off in haste.
* * *
The reply came express two days later, but when he broke the seal and unfolded the paper, his own missive tumbled out, torn into tiny fragments.
* * *
Deborah gazed out through the rain-streaked windows of the drawing room. Since her last interview with the Viscount all signs of approaching summer had disappeared, replaced by rain and blustery winds. It was as if the weather was reflecting her low spirits. Her only relief during the past seven days had been in tearing up Gil’s letter and returning it to him. She had contemplated penning an angry response, but in the end she had decided a dignified silence would serve her better, although it did nothing to assuage the unremitting gloom that had settled around her like a damp cloak.
It did not help that life at Kirkster House was becoming increasingly bleak. All the improvement in Randolph’s health and mood that she had seen over the past few months had been undone by the constant companionship of Sir Sydney Warslow. Deborah knew that her influence with her brother had waned to dangerously low levels, a fact that had been brought home to her earlier that day, when Ran had come down to breakfast and announced that they were removing to London.
‘London!’ She had almost dropped her coffee cup. ‘But what is there for us in town?’
‘Amusement,’ he retorted, handing his ale glass to Speke to refill it. ‘Excitement, Deborah, entertainment. I am bored to death in Fallbridge.’
They were alone in the breakfast room, Sir Sydney not yet having made an appearance, so she felt at liberty to speak freely.
‘But, Ran, you know your health will not stand such a journey. Besides, you gave me your word—’
He waved aside her protests. ‘I am stronger than you think, Deb. Warslow has agreed to accompany us and he will make all the arrangements, so you need not trouble yourself over anything.’
If anything was needed to put Deb against the scheme it was that. She pleaded with her brother, but he was deaf to it all.
‘There is no point in arguing, I am decided. I have contacted the land agent to tell him this house is to be let and Warslow knows of a snug little property in town that we may rent and be very comfortable there.’
He accepted his refreshed glass from the butler and eyed her over the top of it.
‘No! Ran, you cannot do this!’
‘I have done it,’ he replied sulkily. ‘We leave in a sennight, as soon as the papers are signed.’
‘This is Sir Sydney’s doing,’ she said. ‘Randolph, listen to me. This is not wise—’
‘Wise be damned!’ His fist came down on the table, making the cups rattle in their saucers. ‘I am master in this house, Deb, and it is about time you realised it.’ He flushed when he saw the horrified look on her face and as he got up to leave the room he dropped a hand on her shoulder. ‘I can afford a small allowance for you, Deb. If you want to hire lodgings in Fallbridge and remain here, then you are free to do so. In fact, it would be safer for you to do so.’
‘Safer?’ She looked up at him. ‘What do you mean by that?’
He shook his head. ‘I cannot say more, Deb, I am in too deep, but you—you should save yourself, while you can.’
He left her then, but her fears for the future grew ten-fold.
* * *
Deb had spent the day thinking about it but now, as the rain pattered against the glass and the familiar landscape faded in the dusk, she knew that she could not leave Randolph, not while there was the slightest chance of saving him from near certain destruction.
She heard the door open and turned quickly, thinking it would be the footman come to light the candles, but it was Sir Sydney Warslow.
‘Ah, Miss Meltham. Do we dine alone tonight, perhaps?’
The hopeful note in his voice was not lost on Deb and it was all she could do not to shudder.
‘Not at all. My brother will be here at any moment.’ She spoke calmly, knowing that Speke and Joseph Miller would make sure Ran would join them very soon. The staff had been with the family since her father’s time and she knew there was some tacit understanding amongst them that she should not be left alone with Sir Sydney for any length of time.
It would be different in London. Ran had informed her that all the staff at Kirkster House, except Miller and her personal maid, would remain to serve the new tenants, so the servants in London would be strangers, but she would face that hurdle when she came to it. Perhaps she would begin secreting one or two hatpins in her hair, in case Sir Sydney’s attentions should become too persistent. He was watching her now, his smile almost predatory, and she coldly turned her shoulder to him.
‘I trust you are not uncomfortable in my company, Miss Meltham.’
She was obliged to face him, but she said coolly, ‘No, of course not.’
He came closer. ‘I had hoped that by now we might be…friends.’
Deb stood her ground, although it was not easy. She would not give way to this man or show him how much she disliked him.
‘I have no idea what you mean,’ she said now. ‘You are my brother’s guest and will be treated as such.’
‘Always so cold. Or perhaps you are merely shy. Because of your…’
Her brows went up. ‘Because of what?’
‘Your previous experience of, ah, gentlemen.’ He moved a step closer, saying softly, ‘Your brother has told me of your little accident. I assure you it makes no difference to me. In fact, I am quite eager to see it.’ Before she knew what he was about, his fingers slipped beneath the muslin at her neck.
With a cry of outrage, she slapped his hand away and stepped back. ‘If you touch me again, I shall have Randolph throw you out of the house!’
He laughed at that. ‘That drunken sot!’
She stared at him. ‘You dare to speak of him like that? He is your host.’
‘Yes, I dare.’ As the door opened he leaned closer to hiss at her, ‘How long do you think it will be, madam, before your influence with him is nought?’
Randolph came in, followed by the footman who proceeded to light the candles around the room. Deborah watched in silent indignation as Sir Sydney stepped away and greeted her brother cordially, as if he had said nothing amiss.
Deb made up her mind to tell Randolph, but by the time the servant had withdrawn she had had an opportunity to gauge her brother’s mood. His eyes were over-bright and his cheeks flushed. With a sinking heart she realised that if she forced a confrontation at this moment, she could not be sure that he would support her.
And if the situation was bleak here, in her family home, how much worse would it be in London? She needed help, but who could she turn to? Her friends in Fallbridge were good, honest people. If she told them her fears, they would urge her to inform the authorities, but Ran’s words that he was in too deep convinced her that any recourse to law would end with his arrest. She needed someone who was prepared to work outside the law. Someone powerful and ruthless enough to stand up to Sir Sydney and remove him as a threat. By the time dinner was ended Deborah had come to a decision.
CHAPTER TEN
‘Gilmorton!’
Gil started. ‘I beg your pardon, Mama. Did you say something?’
The Viscountess looked at him with exasperated affection. ‘My love, I have been addressing you for the past ten minutes. I might as well have asked these citrus trees to move themselves.’
Gil begged pardon again and gave her a rueful smile. ‘I came into the orangery to help you arrange the pots and I have done nothing. Forgive me, my thoughts have been otherwhere. What is it you said to me?’
She shook her head at him. ‘Your thoughts have been otherwhere since you came home a week ago.’ She looked suddenly serious. ‘You have said nothing about where you have been, save that you did not achieve your purpose of punishing Lord Kirkster.’
‘Mama—’
‘No, Gil, let me finish. I wanted to tell you that I am…’ she paused, choosing her words carefully ‘… I am relieved your plan did not succeed. Robin and Kitty are gone and nothing can change that. The grief of it will be with us for ever. I have accepted that and I would like to think that you have, too, and that you can now get on with your life. I am very glad to think you are no longer seeking vengeance. It will do you no good, my love, and there has been too much damage done already.’
‘Even more than you know,’ he muttered, so quietly that his words were lost as a sudden gust of wind rattled the door of the orangery.
The Viscountess was looking at him with a mixture of love and concern. She said softly, ‘You were a soldier for so long, my son, that I am sure violence is not unknown to you, but you are a good man and I would not have you do anything dishonourable, even in the name of justice.’
Too late for that.
He looked away. She would be distressed beyond measure if she knew just how dishonourably he had acted. But that was his burden and he must bear it alone. He had at last faced up to the fact that his thirst for vengeance had been born out of grief and guilt that he had not been able to protect his family. And now the thought of how he had wronged Deborah Meltham was a constant pain, like a knife in his heart.
He heard his mother sigh and when he looked back she was tending one of the small potted citrus trees. She was still in full mourning, with a white linen apron tied over the gown to protect the black crepe while she was in the garden. The black-lace cap she wore accentuated the increasing amount of grey in her dark hair, but there was a serenity about her, a tranquillity that Gil envied. He sat down on a stone bench and watched her moving between the plants, nipping off an errant shoot or a dead leaf and tidying the soil in each pot.
‘How do you cope, Mama?’ The question burst from him. ‘How can you be so calm with all you have had to bear?’
She straightened and looked at him for a moment, then she put down her trowel and came to sit beside him.
‘You mean how do I manage to live without Kitty and Robin?’
‘Yes. I cannot believe you do not still feel their loss.’
‘Of course. I feel it terribly.’
‘I beg your pardon. I did not mean to imply otherwise, it is just—’ He raked one hand through his hair, sighing. ‘When I came home and learned of what had happened in my absence I was consumed by grief. And rage, not least with myself, that I had not been here to protect them. I thought I had failed them in life, so I must try to make amends. I could think of nothing else and was desperate for action.’
‘For revenge, you mean.’
A sigh escaped him.
‘Yes,’ he admitted, ‘I wanted to exact retribution. I thought it would ease the pain.’
‘My grief was assuaged, a little, with tears, Gil, and believe me I cried enough of them. But I could not let the loss of Kitty and Robin defeat me, that would only have added to the tragedy. Gilmorton needed me. The estate, the people, I could not leave everything to Saunders, even though he is a very good steward and knows our business as well as anyone. I have a duty to the family and in performing that duty I find some small consolation.’ She squeezed his fingers. ‘And it should be your duty too, Gil. This is your inheritance.’
‘You never agreed with my plan for revenge, did you, Mama?’
‘No, my son, you will recall I begged you not to go. I was afraid for your safety, but even more than that, I was afraid it would diminish you.’ Her fingers clung to his. ‘Promise me, Gil,’ she said urgently. ‘Give me your word you have relinquished this thirst for vengeance. It will not bring Kitty or Robin back, you know.’
She stopped there, but Gil saw the concern in her eyes, the worry that she might lose him, too. Well, he could make her that promise. Kirkster was so far abandoned to his addictions he was unlikely to live much longer and, in any event, having met the man, Gil doubted he was capable of anything like penitence now. Certainly nothing like the remorse Gil was feeling for his treatment of Deborah.
‘You have my word, Mama. The past cannot be changed.’ He drew in a breath, aware of a new resolution within him. ‘I should look to the future. There is more than enough work here to occupy me.’
She raised her hand and cupped his cheek, giving him a misty smile. ‘Gilmorton needs its master and I need my son.’
Catching her hand, he pulled it to his mouth and pressed a kiss on to the palm.
‘Then you shall have him. There will be no more talk of revenge, Mama, I promise you. Now, where did you want me to put this lemon tree?’
* * *
Gil returned to the house an hour later, once the orangery was organised to his mother’s satisfaction. He entered by the garden hall and was already on the stairs when the butler came hurrying towards him.
‘I beg your pardon, my lord, but there’s a lady to see you.’
Gil halted, hope surging through him. ‘A lady?’
‘Yes, my lord. Veiled, my lord, and she wouldn’t give her name, but she arrived in her own carriage.’
Gil could see the speculation rife in the older man’s eyes, but not by the flicker of an eyelid did he show his own emotion.
‘Thank you, Culver. Show her into the morning room, if you please, and tell her I will be down directly.’
He took the stairs two at a time and almost ran to his room, where he did nothing more than wash the earth from his hands and check in the mirror that his clothes were not dusty before hurrying back to the morning room.
Deborah was waiting for him. He had thought never to see her again; he had tried to tell himself he must forget all about her, but he could not ignore the p
owerful kick of attraction he felt at the sight of her. A thick travelling cloak hung around her shoulders, but beneath it she was dressed soberly in a plain cambric gown with a russet-coloured spencer and matching bonnet and half-boots. She had put back her veil and when she turned he could see the dark smudges beneath her troubled eyes. The blade in his heart twisted still further to think that any part of her current anxiety could be laid at his door.
She said without preamble, ‘You said, if I needed help, I might come to you.’
His heart lifted to think that she had read his note before she tore it up. But she looked as if she might bolt at any moment, so he must tread carefully. She allowed him to take her cloak and she untied the ribbons of her bonnet with fingers that were not quite steady. When he had laid her bonnet and cloak aside, he invited her to sit down. Her hair, he noticed, was once more dressed close around her head, but all he could think of was the way he had seen it fall in luxurious waves over her naked shoulders, the silky feel of it between his fingers. Driving those thoughts away, he cleared his throat.
‘Would you like a little refreshment?’
‘No, nothing, thank you.’ She sank down on to the sofa, sitting on the edge of it, very stiff and upright. ‘I had coffee at the Gilmorton Arms before coming here. I stopped there to bespeak a room. I must not be long; my maid is waiting for me in the chaise.’
Silently Gil lowered himself into a chair. The message was very clear: she wanted his help but she was not about to throw herself on his mercy.
Or into his arms.
Part of him wished she would do just that. He longed to hold her again, to kiss her and keep her with him, but he knew that would be disastrous. He dared not lower his guard where Deborah Meltham was concerned. Despite his resolve to give up any thoughts of revenge she was still Kirkster’s sister. To let her get too close would make him vulnerable. Not only that, but a scandal would ruin her and he knew now her welfare was paramount with him. He must appear composed, indifferent.
‘So how may I help you?’
Gil winced at the cold politeness of his words. Deb shifted a little.
Winning the Mail-order Bride & Pursued for the Viscount's Vengeance & Redeeming the Rogue Knight (9781488021725) Page 35
