Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance. Sarah Mallory

course not. Although he is—can be—very protective of me.’ They were moving again and she said, ‘Forgive me, I must concentrate on my steps if I am not to stand upon your toes.’

      He said innocently, ‘Is that why you came, then, to practise your dancing?’

      Her lips twitched. ‘Perhaps it was.’

      Or perhaps she came to see me.

      The faint blush on her cheek suggested that might be the case. She was smiling, more relaxed in his company, so he forbore to tease her and they finished the dance so much in harmony that he risked asking her to stand up with him for another.

      ‘Purely for the practice,’ he added solemnly.

      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.