Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance. Sarah Mallory

tide is coming in,’ she said, ‘and with it the breeze. Be careful of your hat, sir.’

      He grinned at her. ‘You need not worry, it is a snug fit.’

      They rode down to the beach, eventually coming to a small cottage nestled into a dip in the sandhills. A few small nets were drying on the outer walls and a thin spiral of smoke was issuing from the chimney. On impulse Gil jumped down and went to the door, returning moments later to suggest Deborah should dismount.

      ‘The widow who lives there is cooking shrimp and has offered to feed us. Will you join me?’ He added, to persuade her, ‘I shall pay the old dame well for her trouble, certainly more than the shrimp would fetch at market.’

      He saw the laughter in Deb’s eyes, but she hesitated and looked back at her groom, who shrugged.

      ‘I’ll look after the horses, Miss Deborah. Just as long as you don’t go out of sight.’

      ‘No, of course not. We can sit upon the log that has been washed up yonder.’

      Kicking her foot free of the stirrup she hesitated for a heartbeat before she dropped down into Gil’s waiting arms. The faint flush on her cheek told him she was as conscious as he of the risk she was taking. His hands moved to her tiny waist to support her. They almost spanned it and it took all his willpower not to draw her closer and steal a kiss from those full, inviting lips. Instead he stepped to one side and pulled her arm through his.

      ‘Come along then, ma’am, I shall escort you to our seat.’

      They had barely made themselves comfortable when the old woman brought them two small bowls of tiny pink shrimp, still hot from the pan, and slices of rye bread to mop up the juices. They chattered and giggled like schoolchildren as they enjoyed their impromptu meal and Gil wondered if it was sitting in the fresh air that made it taste so good, or the company.

      ‘Delicious,’ declared Deborah, when they had finished. She handed her bowl to Gil and dabbed at her mouth with the small square of lace that was her handkerchief. ‘I hope you enjoyed it, too.’

      ‘Very much.’

      He bent to put the bowls on the sand, reluctant to take them back to the cottage, for that would mean moving away from Deborah and breaking the magic of the moment. When he sat up again he found she had turned her laughing face towards him, totally at her ease. Some of her hair had escaped from the confines of her bonnet and the wind whipped it across her cheek, the errant strands gleaming the deep golden-brown of liquid honey. How could he ever have thought her drab, he wondered as he reached out to push aside a stray curl.

      The jolt through his arm as he touched her skin was like a lightning strike, heating his blood and setting his pulse racing. She was very still, her eyes wide and fixed on his, trusting, inviting. He tucked the curl gently behind her ear, then he cupped her face, drawing her close and planting a gentle kiss upon her mouth. She trembled, but did not pull away. Her lips parted, inviting him to deepen the kiss.

      Lord, it would be an easy seduction. A wave of self-loathing washed through him at the thought of his carefully constructed plan for revenge and the chink in his defences widened. After a decade of bloody warfare, he had believed himself capable of anything, but not this. He drew back, hating himself. Her eyelids fluttered and she looked at him, eyes dilated like deep, dark pools where a man could drown himself. His thumb grazed over her cheekbone.

      ‘I did not intend to do that.’

      His voice was not quite steady. He felt the pressure of her cheek against his fingers as she leaned into him, gazing into his face as if seeking the answer to some great problem. Despite his own dark thoughts, whatever she saw there reassured her and he detected the barest quiver of a smile curve her lips.

      ‘We are fortunate my groom did not see it. He has been with me since I was a child and would have no hesitation in ringing a peal over me.’ Her eyes flickered towards the beach. ‘Thankfully the horses are blocking his view.’

      Gil swallowed, his thoughts racing. If the groom had not been so near he could have kissed her again and again and then perhaps led her into the sand dunes and made love to her, with the sound of the sea whispering around them and the gulls wheeling and crying overhead. But it would have been his seduction, his downfall, as well as hers.

      He gave himself a mental shake. What was he about, to be prey to such maudlin thoughts? He was growing soft. He must remember the vow he had taken while standing by the tomb, to see the blood of his sister and brother avenged or die in the attempt. He must not allow anything to sway him from his purpose.

      He heard her sigh. ‘It is time we were heading back.’

      She moved away from him, her hand going to her left shoulder in the nervous little gesture he was beginning to recognise. Gil gathered up the dishes and returned them to the cottage. When he came back to the horses Deborah was already in the saddle. Very wise, he thought grimly, to have the groom throw her up rather than risk his hands upon her again. He scrambled up on to his own horse and accompanied her back over the sandhills.

      They rode for several miles in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Gil glanced several times at Deborah. Just once she met his eyes and gave him a faint smile. She appeared to be quite composed and he was at a loss to understand her. Outrage he could have dealt with, or blushing, maidenly distress, but it was as if she had accepted what had occurred. Even welcomed it. He glanced back to check that her groom could not overhear them.

      ‘Miss Meltham, Deborah.’

      She silenced him with the wave of a hand. ‘Please, there is no need to say anything.’

      ‘I think there is. I should not have presumed—’

      She turned her head and fixed her frank green eyes upon him.

      ‘I am not a child; I could have prevented you.’

      ‘Are you sure of that?’ Her dark lashes fell, screening her thoughts from him. He said quietly, ‘Will you allow me to see you again?’

      Suddenly he found himself praying that she would refuse and send him about his business. She could still save herself, even if he was powerless to do so. It was as if he had taken a step off a cliff and was now hurtling towards destruction.

      She did not reply immediately and he was half-hope, half-despair, as to what her answer might be. At last she spoke, choosing her words with care.

      ‘Forgive me if I am presumptuous, but I must make you aware that I have no thoughts of, of marriage. Not as long as my brother needs me. I would not wish to raise false hopes.’

      ‘Do you wish to cut the acquaintance?’

      ‘I would not want you to be hurt, sir.’

      Oh, Deborah, if only you knew!

      ‘I will take that chance.’

      Gil schooled his features into a smile while all the time a roaring anguish filled him. It was too late to turn back now. The souls of his sister and brother cried out for revenge and she was to be the weapon.

      ‘Very well, then, Mr Victor, I would be very pleased to see you again.’

      The pleasure and relief in her face sliced into him like a sabre, but somehow he kept his smile in place and managed to converse with tolerable composure as he escorted her back to Kirkster House. They parted at the gates and he watched her ride away along the drive. When she reached the arched entrance to the stables she turned and raised her crop to him in a final salute.

      Still smiling, Gil touched his hat, but once he had turned away the smile disappeared and by the time he walked into his rooms at the George his thoughts were so black that he could not even find a civil word for his man.

      Harris regarded him with raised brows. ‘The day did not go well, my lord?’

      ‘Everything went perfectly.’ Gil scowled as he tore off his gloves and threw them down on a chair. ‘The plan is proceeding better than I could have hoped.’ He shrugged himself out of his coat and