If you need me, I will come for you.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Remembering Gil’s suggestion, Deborah incorporated a morning walk into her daily routine, no one in the household thinking anything amiss in an energetic young lady wishing to take the air. Neither her brother nor Sir Sydney—when he was staying overnight—ever quit their rooms much before noon and she was left very much to herself to enjoy her exercise with only her maid for company. But almost a week passed without seeing Gil in the park and she was beginning to lose hope when her thoughts were given an unexpected turn.
Elsie came in one morning to help her dress and was clearly big with news. The maid checked there was no one listening outside the door before she began, coming close to speak to her mistress in low, conspiratorial tones.
‘Miller bumped into Lord Gilmorton’s man yesterday,’ she said, her eyes shining with excitement. ‘He says you are to expect an invitation today from—now what were his words? Miller said ’twas important I tell you true—from a toadying mushroom with whom you are acquainted. His lordship says ’tis important you accept.’
Deb’s heart began to race. ‘But who? Where? Oh, why does the man have to be so obscure?’
The maid’s eyes twinkled and her round face creased into a beatific smile. ‘I think ’tis very romantic.’
Deb felt herself blushing and said crossly, ‘It is nothing of the sort. I need the Viscount’s help, not puzzles that set my head in a spin!’
But the day did seem a little brighter, for all that.
* * *
Deborah was in the morning room a few hours later when she was informed she had a visitor.
‘Mrs Wortleby.’
Gil’s message immediately jumped to her mind as she invited her guest to sit down.
‘Thank you, my lady, I don’t mind if I do, even though I can only stay a minute, for I have an appointment with my dressmaker soon and I daren’t be late, she is in such demand with all the most fashionable ladies that I was lucky that she could find time for me! La, ma’am, what a lovely room this is! You have made it quite your own.’
Deborah curbed her impatience while Mrs Wortleby continued in a similar vein and after several minutes her visitor broke off, saying with a laugh, ‘But I am sure you must be curious to know why I should call upon you unannounced.’
‘As a matter of fact, ma’am, I am. Very curious.’
Mrs Wortleby beamed at her.
‘Well, ma’am, I have come with an invitation! I have two tickets for a concert given by Signora Maranella tomorrow evening. I obtained them quite by chance, for they were all sold out weeks ago and I had not even thought of going! Dear Wortleby cannot come, so I thought, why not ask Miss Meltham if she would like to join me? It is for a good cause, too, the Foundling Hospital. Everyone will be there, lords, ladies, possibly even a duke or two!’
Deborah felt a little kick of excitement. This must be Gil’s invitation from a toadying mushroom, but even if she had not received his message she thought she could not have turned down the opportunity to listen to the celebrated opera singer.
Her acceptance was received with obsequious rapture, but almost immediately Mrs Wortleby rose to take her leave.
‘I shall call for you tomorrow, Miss Meltham. Now, I beg your pardon for flying away so quickly but I must keep my appointment with Madame Sophie. Such a tyrant, she is, but I must have my new gown for the concert, whatever the cost. Until tomorrow, my lady!’
* * *
Randolph said nothing when Deb told him of her forthcoming treat, and if Sir Sydney was surprised by her sudden change of heart about keeping company with the Wortlebys he said nothing, merely nodded approvingly when he heard of it.
* * *
She felt her excitement growing as the concert drew near. Gil had not said he would be there, but she hoped he would be. She thought it would not arouse suspicion if she shed her usual plain style for the concert. She decided to wear a new frock of white Persian gauze trimmed with silver filigree and persuaded Elsie to dress her hair à la grecque. Gloves of French kid and a white-crepe fan completed the ensemble, and as Deborah arranged the blush pink shawl of Norwich silk around her shoulders her maid gave a gusty sigh of appreciation.
‘Ooh, mistress, I don’t think you have ever looked finer.’
Deborah studied herself critically in the looking glass, then she laughed.
‘I have no doubt I shall be quite cast into the shade by Mrs Wortleby!’
But as she went downstairs to await the carriage she hoped that Gil would be there tonight, to appreciate her efforts.
* * *
The concert was being held in the drawing room of a rich society hostess and even Mrs Wortleby was awed into silence by the opulence of her surroundings and the company. She recognised at least two dukes, but when she applied to her companion to identify more of the august society, Deborah could not help her.
‘I regret my acquaintance in town is very limited,’ Deb told her, apologetically.
‘Ah well, it doesn’t matter,’ remarked Mrs Wortleby, sighing. ‘I had hoped…but never mind, we shall enjoy the concert. And what a tale I shall have to tell dear Wortleby in the morning!’
The seats were filling up fast and they slipped into an empty row, where Mrs Wortleby was soon in conversation with the bejewelled matron beside her. Deborah was still arranging her skirts when the next seat was taken and she jumped when she heard a deep, familiar voice bidding her good evening.
‘No, no, do not look at me,’ Gil murmured, his eyes fixed upon his programme. ‘Your companion has no idea who I am and it is better if she remains in ignorance.’
Deb’s nerves were fluttering, but, following his lead, she opened her programme and pretended to study it.
‘How did you arrange this?’ she hissed at him.
Risking a glance from the corner of her eye, she saw him smile.
‘By the simple expedient of making a large donation to the Foundling Hospital,’ he murmured. ‘I guessed your mushroom would not be able to resist the lure of such an event. I had only to arrange for tickets to come in her way and my contact planted the seed that Miss Meltham was the very best person to accompany her.’
‘You would have looked nohow if her husband had decided to come with her.’
‘There was no possibility of that. I had arranged other equally tempting entertainments for him.’
She choked back a gurgle of laughter. ‘You are quite reckless.’
‘Sometimes that is best,’ he murmured. ‘Hush now, Signora Maranella has arrived.’
The soprano was warmly applauded as she took her place before them and the musicians struck up for the first melody. Deborah was sufficiently familiar with Italian to understand most of the words and normally she would have been entranced, oblivious of everything except the music, but tonight that was impossible. She could not quite relax, could not forget who was sitting beside her. She realised how much she had longed to see him tonight. As she had gone about her daily business she had imagined meeting him, talking to him, even—oh, heavens!—the touch of his lips as he kissed her hand in greeting. She had spent the day with an almost unbearable lightness within her, an aching void that she longed for him to fill.
And all day she had told herself it was foolish to think about him in that way. He could never be anything to her. He was not even a friend.
She kept her hands clasped tightly about her fan, lest she should impulsively reach out for Gil as the music swooped and soared at its most moving. He was resting one hand lightly on his knee and she noticed that it twitched occasionally, as if he was fighting a similar temptation. Quite a ridiculous idea, she was well aware of that, but still the feeling persisted and it warmed her, like a secret candle flame burning deep inside.
The tingle of awareness
did not diminish as the concert continued. Deb could feel the heat of his leg, so close to her own, his arm against her sleeve. The curl of desire became a physical ache between her thighs and she was so on edge she thought a mere touch would ignite her.
Deborah kept very still, enjoying every delicious moment of the music, the words and the guilty pleasure of sitting beside Gil. She wanted it to go on for ever, but a glance at the programme indicated that they had reached the final song of the first half of the concert. She heard the Viscount addressing her as the room erupted into enthusiastic applause.
‘There is a corridor, behind the staircase. Come to me there.’
Deb’s heart kicked against her ribs. Come to him? Surely it was too dangerous to meet. How could she leave her companion? How could she escape notice? But before she could protest Gil had disappeared into the press of people slowly making their way out of the room.
Dazed, she turned towards Mrs Wortleby, only to find her preparing to accompany her neighbour to the dining room for refreshments. Deb followed them out to the anteroom, but then she hung back. The double doors leading to the landing were thrown wide, but everyone was heading in the opposite direction. Fanning herself, Deborah moved slowly out to the landing, as if in need of a little air. There was only one corridor, a shadowed opening beneath the rise of the stairs and framed by velvet drapes drawn back on either side.
Cautiously Deb approached, glancing around to make sure she was not observed before entering the passageway. Almost immediately a hand shot out around her waist and pulled her into the shadows. She lost balance and cannoned into the hard wall of a man’s chest.
‘Steady.’
Deb knew she should be reassured by Gil’s voice, but he had his arms about her and her heart was beating so fast and hard she feared it might burst. She was angry with herself for her lack of control and even more angry with Gil for making her feel this way. She pushed herself away from him.
‘I am perfectly able to stand,’ she told him crossly. ‘Now why was it necessary that I should be here tonight? What news have you?’
‘None, I am afraid.’
His tone was regretful, but she had the distinct feeling he did not mean it. She peered up, trying to read his face in the gloom. It was impossible, but just standing so close, within touching distance, was making it difficult to breathe. She tried to step away, but immediately he caught her and swung her around.
‘That white gown of yours will stand out in the gloom so we must keep you out of sight.’
Now he was between her and the light. Her back was to the wall and he was towering over her, as black and menacing as a predator. And far too close. He filled her senses and she was now almost trembling with need. Deb swallowed and tried to concentrate.
‘You asked me to come here for no reason at all?’
She wanted to sound indignant, but feared her voice was shaking too much.
‘I thought you might enjoy the concert. You told me you like fine music.’
‘I do, but think of the risk we are taking.’
That was better. She was the one in control and talking sensibly.
‘I also wanted to make sure you knew how to contact me.’
‘Yes, yes, the Running Man, and Green Park, where I have walked every morning, I might add!’ she said, with a fair assumption of irritation.
‘And you are looking much better for the daily exercise. Quite radiant, in fact.’
She felt herself blushing, anger, laughter and desire warring inside her. What was left of her defences was crumbling and she said hastily, ‘We agreed it all. I should get back.’
‘And…’ his hands shot out, landing on the wall on either side of her ‘…I wanted to see you.’
She did not doubt his sincerity now, but she could not allow it to make any difference. They could not even be friends, their previous encounters marred by too much mistrust and betrayal. Her head knew it, but her body had developed a will of its own and heaven help her if Gil felt the same strong tug of attraction!
There was barely any space between them and her breasts tingled, pushing up against her gown as if trying to reach him. The memory of how it felt to have him make love to her was like a physical force, pushing her towards him. She closed her eyes, but it did not help at all. She could feel his presence. Smell him.
Since she could not back away, she put her hands against his chest to hold him off. One hand landed on his waistcoat, smooth and cool against her palm. The other rested against one side of his fine wool evening coat and she found herself hooking her finger through a buttonhole.
‘This is madness.’ Her words were little more than a sigh.
‘I know.’
His breath was warm on her cheek, as if he had lowered his head. She could not help it, she turned her face up, lips parted, inviting his kiss. It did not come. Her nerves were taut as bowstrings and when she opened her eyes and saw how close he was, the finger hooked into his coat curled tighter, closing the gap between them and at the same time she eased herself on to her toes and feathered her lips against his.
He took her face in his hands, cupped it with infinite tenderness and for a heartbeat—or a lifetime—neither of them moved. Then his lips captured hers, demanding, insistent, and she responded eagerly, hungry for his kiss. As if they were lovers reunited after a long absence.
The thought made her whimper, but still she clung on, unable to break away. He slipped one arm around her back, pulling her closer while his mouth plundered hers, drawing out her very soul. Desire burned inside Deb. She was aware of it smouldering somewhere deep and low in her body, but when Gil’s hand moved to her breast it burst into life; she was consumed by heat and sensations she could not control. She broke off the kiss because she could no longer breathe. She dragged in great, shuddering gasps of air, her body trembling like a frightened animal. She clung to him, her fingers gripping his coat as if her life depended upon hanging on to him. His mouth was on her ear, her cheek, her jawline. She tilted her head back and he trailed kisses down her throat to the very edge of her gown and all the time his hand was caressing her breast, drawing up the desire from somewhere very deep inside her.
She could feel the heat of his skin through the gauze of her bodice. It aroused such a need in her that she pushed against it, giving a little animal cry as his finger and thumb found the nipple and massaged it slowly through the gossamer-thin material. She reached for him, drawing his head towards her again that she might kiss his mouth, explore it, plunder it. He matched her kiss for kiss, their tongues twisting and dancing. Her senses took flight, carrying her higher and higher until she thought she would die of pleasure. Gil was still in possession of her mouth so her cry was muted, but her body convulsed like a wild thing. Gil gathered her into his arms and held her tightly as wave after wave rose up inside and battered her until she was too exhausted to do more than lean against him.
She felt dazed, bruised by the experience. It had lasted only a few minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. He had carried her to new heights with only a kiss and a touch. Dear heaven, but he was dangerous.
* * *
Gil held her in his arms, cradling her while her ecstatic shudders diminished to nothing. Still she clung to him. He rested his cheek on her hair, breathing in the fondly remembered essence of her. He smiled ruefully to himself. It had been madness to arrange this meeting. If they were seen together, if Warslow realised he was in town, then all might be lost, but he could not help himself. Seeing her again at Vauxhall had stirred up the longing he had tried so hard to suppress. Snatching meetings in Green Park, where they would barely be able to acknowledge one another and certainly not be able to touch, would be torture. He wanted to see her, to kiss her. But even now he had done so he knew it was not enough. He turned his head a little to kiss the top of her head.
‘Hell and damnation,’ he murm
ured into her hair, ‘you will be the ruin of me.’
He was aware of her steady intake of breath, the straightening of her shoulders as she pushed herself out of his arms.
‘This was foolish beyond words, my lord, and it is quite unforgivable to take such advantage of me.’
‘Can you tell me truthfully you did not want it to happen?’ he asked her.
‘What I want and what must be are irreconcilable,’ she told him. ‘I cannot deny the attraction, but that does not mean it is right.’ She stopped, lifting her head as a sudden swell of sound came from the anteroom. ‘The interval is ended. I must return to my seat.’ She threw him a hard, angry look. ‘I pray you will not indulge in any further nonsense such as this, Lord Gilmorton. It does neither of us any good.’
There was a note in her voice that told him tears were very close.
‘I had not intended—’ he began. ‘I wanted only to see you, to hear your voice. The nonsense, as you call it, was a mistake, I admit that, but the temptation to have you to myself, if only for a few moments, was irresistible. You said yourself there is a special bond between us.’
‘I was mistaken,’ she said coldly. ‘It is not so much a bond as a burden that will drag us to disaster if we do not fight it. We can be nothing to one another. All that can happen at such encounters as this is that I realise just what a fool I have been! Is that what you want, to prolong and increase my misery?’ She pushed him away and began to straighten her gown, shaking out her skirts with sharp, angry movements. ‘I am ashamed of my weakness, but I am not afraid to admit to it. I pray you will not contact me again, sir, unless you know something that might help my brother.’
‘As you wish, madam.’
‘And all future meetings must be in public, with my maid in attendance.’
With that she turned and swept away from him across the landing and out of sight amongst the crowd milling in the anteroom. Gil fell back against the wall, exhaling as he turned his head to stare at the shadowed ceiling. She thought of him as her weakness, her shame, and he could not blame her.
Winning the Mail-order Bride & Pursued for the Viscount's Vengeance & Redeeming the Rogue Knight (9781488021725) Page 39
