Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance. Sarah Mallory

brother was playing cards here. The gentlemen gathered around the table had known her and Randolph since they were children. Sir Geoffrey would not allow the stakes to grow too high and old Mr Appleton would call a halt to the game if her brother’s losses became too great, so it was only Ran’s drinking she needed to keep in check, because that could lead to more dangerous cravings. However, when he called for another bottle she did not embarrass him by publicly remonstrating. The best she could hope for was that he would grow weary of the game and escort her home very soon.

      She remained at his side, obliged to hide her chagrin as the evening progressed. The more Ran drank the wilder his play. As the losses mounted she saw his frown deepening, but she knew better than to protest when he threw down yet another losing hand. Instead she fluttered her fan.

      ‘Heavens, I vow ’tis close in here tonight, anyone would think it was high summer rather than March. Dear Brother, I do not know how you can concentrate, I feel quite faint with the heat.’

      ‘Do you? Go on home then, if you wish. Take the carriage, I will follow later.’

      Forcing a little trill of laughter, Deb leaned closer and touched his arm, saying affectionately, ‘La, I cannot go without you, Ran, you know that. I should not rest until you are home safe.’

      He shrugged her off with a scowling look.

      ‘I have agreed to live in this benighted place,’ he muttered. ‘Is that not enough for you? Must you also dog my every waking minute?’

      ‘Ran, that is not—’

      His chair scraped back.

      ‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen. My sister is fatigued and must go home.’

      Beneath his smiling words Deb knew he was furious, she could see it in the set of his jaw and the white knuckles of the fist tucked against the tails of his coat.

      ‘Of course, my boy, of course.’ Old Mr Appleton waved him away before picking up a fresh pack of cards. ‘Away you go now. You can have your revenge ’pon us next week, eh?’

      ‘That I will, sir. Come along, my dear.’

      Outwardly, Ran was all care and consideration, but when Deb took his outstretched hand there was no gentleness in his grip. No matter. She would bear with his mood, as long as he came home with her. Silently and with her smile fixed in place, she accompanied her brother out of the assembly rooms.

      * * *

      ‘Will your lordship be requiring the carriage?’

      ‘No, Harris, I am going to walk in the town today.’ Gil threw a quick warning glance at his valet. ‘And do try to stop calling me “your lordship”. I am plain Mr Victor while we are in Fallbridge.’

      ‘And if you will forgive me saying so, my—sir,’ Harris corrected himself, ‘we’ve been here a sight too long already.’

      Gil was busy tying his cravat and pretended not to hear. That was the problem with old retainers, one could not reprimand them for stating an opinion. And John Harris was more than a servant, he had been a sergeant in Gil’s regiment. They had faced death together on several occasions, most recently on the bloody battlefield of Waterloo. John would obey any of Gil’s commands without question, but it did not stop him from making it plain when he disapproved of a course of action. And he clearly disapproved of Gil’s latest plan.

      ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Harris asked now. ‘If this Kirkster should get wind of who you are he could be dangerous.’

      ‘My dear John, the fellow doesn’t know me from Adam and will not learn my identity until I am ready.’ He could not resist adding, ‘Unless your gabbing gives our game away.’

      ‘Well I don’t like it and so I tell you. Why you can’t just call the man out and put a bullet through him I don’t know.’

      The neckcloth was tied to Gil’s satisfaction, but he continued to stare into the mirror.

      ‘That would be too easy a death for him. I want him to know what it is to have someone close to you suffering and not be able to help them.’

      ‘Well, it ain’t like you, sir, that’s all I’m saying. You’ve always been one for plain dealing, but this, well, I don’t like it.’ Even without looking around Gil knew Harris was shaking his head as he spoke. ‘Plain simple justice I could understand, but not this havey-cavey business.’

      ‘If you don’t like it, John, then you are free to go back to Gilmorton and wait for me there.’

      ‘And have your mother worrying even more because you was on your own? No, my lord, that I won’t do. I’m your man and I’ll be here to the end. Whatever that may be.’

      His loud sigh and gloomy words banished Gil’s scowl. He turned, grinning, and put a hand on the valet’s shoulder.

      ‘And I am glad to have you with me, John, truly. Now, you stay here and see what gossip you can pick up about Kirkster and his sister in the taproom, while I sally forth to sample the pleasures of Fallbridge on market day!’

      It was a sunny morning and the walk from the inn to the market a short one. Gil had chosen his clothes with care, a plain coat of russet-coloured wool over buckskins and boots, eminently suitable for a country gentleman, although a knowledgeable eye would know at a glance that the coat had been made by one of the finest tailors in London, the glossy top boots purchased from a certain establishment on the corner of Piccadilly and St James’s Street, while his curly brimmed hat, impeccable cream waistcoat and snowy linen were clearly the mark of a fashionable man.

      Gil had been in Fallbridge for two weeks, making himself familiar with the area, but he was in no hurry to approach Lord Kirkster or his sister. He had seen Kirkster a couple of times in local taverns and at last night’s assembly at the Red Lion, but Deborah Meltham was regularly out and about in the town. She appeared to be well respected in Fallbridge and spent most of her time on charitable errands or visiting neighbours. Occasionally he would see her purchasing a few household necessities before walking back to Kirkster House, the substantial family mansion just outside the town on the Ormskirk Road. She rarely visited the milliner or the haberdasher and Gil concluded she had little interest in frivolities such as hats or ribbons.

      She always walked alone, without even a maid, and there was something very contained about her, reserved, as if she had made a conscious decision to keep the world at bay. Gil wondered if she was lonely and was obliged to push aside a stab of sympathy. If that was the case, she would be all the more receptive to his overtures, when he made his move.

      A sudden chill ran through him. He ascribed it to the gusty wind, which made him grab at his tall hat to prevent it flying away. He kept his head down and quickened his pace, heading for the town centre, where the tall buildings would offer some shelter from the wind. As he turned the corner into the high street he almost collided with someone coming the other way. A woman, he realised as he took in the neat little boots and plain skirts made of serviceable dimity. They both stopped, but he heard a soft ‘Oh’ and saw a brown-paper package drop to the floor.

      ‘I beg your pardon.’ Instinctively he bent to pick it up, only raising his eyes as he handed over the parcel, and it was at that moment he found himself looking into the face of Miss Deborah Meltham.

      * * *

      Deb had been lost in her own thoughts, hurrying to return the shawl her kind friend Lady Gomersham had loaned her and get back to Randolph, but the near collision brought her to a sudden halt. She was murmuring her apology even as the gentleman scooped up her parcel. It was then, as he straightened and looked at her, that she recognised him.

      Manners were forgotten. Deborah stared at the man as he handed back her package. He had been a shadowy figure for some weeks, but fate had given her this opportunity to study him and she took it. She observed every detail: the near-black hair, the slate-grey eyes set beneath curving dark brows, the unsmiling mouth and strong cleft chin. The lines of his lean face were too angular to be called handsome, but they were further disfigured by a thin scar