Buch lesen: «Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance»

Chapter One

So here was his quarry. Miss Deborah Meltham.

Standing at the side of the assembly room, away from the glitter of the chandeliers, Gil studied the lady as she went down the dance with her brother. There was a decided likeness between the pair although Randolph, Lord Kirkster, was taller and fairer. Gil had to admit he was a handsome young buck, fashionably dressed and with his thick, waving hair brushed back from his pale brow. He was also a graceful dancer, but there was an air of indifference about him, a restlessness to his face, as if he wanted to be elsewhere. The epitome of a Byronic hero, thought Gil, his lip curling, and already as dissolute as the poet himself. He turned his attention to the lady.

Beneath the plain round gown of green muslin her figure looked good, but she was very slim. Petite. Not at all his style. A mirthless laugh shook him at the irrelevance of the popular saying. He had never shown preference for any lady, for he was convinced that soldiers should not marry and he was a soldier. Or he had been. Having sold out, he supposed that at some point he would take a wife, but it would be a marriage of convenience for both parties. There was no need for the heart to be involved. In his experience love meant only loss and unbearable pain.

What he was planning now had nothing to do with marriage or courtship. It was to fulfil an oath he had taken and was the only way to assuage the grief that threatened to devour him. Since leaving the army last summer he had withdrawn from society, a prey to his grief and determined upon revenge. Which was why he was so interested in Deborah Meltham. He turned his attention back to her.

Her features were regular and he supposed she might be quite pretty, if she dressed her hair more becomingly, instead of having it scraped back so severely into a knot. She wore no jewels and her dress was high necked and long-sleeved. A dowd, Gil decided, coldly assessing her. Not at all attractive. But at that moment Lord Kirkster spoke, she looked up and a sudden smile transformed her face. The lively animation in her countenance and the decided twinkle in her green eyes forced him to revise his opinion. Reluctantly he admitted that she was more than pretty.

He felt a sudden contraction in his chest, a jolt of unwelcome attraction. Beneath that puritanical dress and severe hairstyle she was quite beautiful.

‘So it should be no hardship to court her,’ he muttered.

He pushed aside a tremor of distaste. He had never before seduced a woman, although in more than a decade of military service he had seen other men do it, dozens of times. He had no time for such knavery, nor for romance: in his opinion there was no room for such emotion in a soldier’s life. Not that there had been any shortage of women willing to throw themselves at him and he had taken some of them to his bed, but only those who understood the rules, who knew he offered nothing more than dalliance. The liaisons never lasted long and when it ended Gil always provided a generous settlement to soften the blow.

This, however, was different. He would take no pleasure in it, although it must be done. He raised a hand to his cheek, rubbing one finger lightly along the fine, jagged line that ran down to his jaw. The scar might cause some small difficulty, especially since he was using neither his title nor his wealth to entice the lady. Well, time would tell.

The music ended and he watched Miss Meltham leave the floor on her brother’s arm. The looks they exchanged confirmed that they were clearly fond of one another. Her disgrace, her downfall, would hit the young lord hard. From all he had learned Gil was convinced that the only way to be avenged upon the man was through his sister. The fellow had already gambled away most of his fortune and seemed to care little for the fact. It was only his sister who was keeping him from bankruptcy and disgrace. Deborah was the only thing Kirkster now cared about. Gil turned away from the dance floor, trampling his scruples. It had to be this way. Merely forcing a duel upon Kirkster would not be punishment enough. He must be made to suffer as Gil had suffered. Although if the scoundrel should call him out for ruining his sister, then Gil would take pleasure in putting a bullet through him.

And Deborah Meltham?

Again Gil stifled his conscience. It was only a whisper, easily pushed aside. His years as a soldier had inured him to much greater suffering than anything he was likely to inflict here. After all, it was not as if he planned any real harm to the woman, nothing more than a bruised heart and loss of character. And he would not force her. She would come to him willingly, but her seduction would be his revenge upon her brother. An eye for an eye. A seduction for a life. Two lives.

Or three, if you counted the unborn child.

* * *

Deborah’s spine tingled as she went down the dance. He was here again, the stranger in the shadows, watching her. She had never seen him clearly, but she was aware of him, it was as if she could physically feel his presence. As the dance ended and she accompanied her brother from the floor she glanced across the room. Yes, there was the tall figure of the man she had noticed around the town several times in that past few weeks. He kept his distance and was always just turning away whenever she glimpsed him, or disappearing into a doorway. He was plainly dressed, but he carried himself with such assurance that she was sure he must be a man of substance.

Not for the first time she thought of telling Ran, but what could she say, that she had noticed the stranger on several occasions? The man had not accosted her; she had never caught him ogling her. Indeed, he had never been that close to her, but somehow her body knew when he was in her vicinity. She sensed him, like a wild animal sensed danger.

Randolph would only laugh if she told him that. He would dismiss it as female fancy. Perhaps it was. She squeezed his arm.

‘Ran, they are striking up for another country dance. Shall we not return to the floor?’

He shook his head. ‘By no means. I have done my duty and stood up twice with you. Now I mean to go to the card room.’

‘But you are such a good dancer. Would you not like to stay for one more measure?’

He grinned at her. ‘No, dear sister, I would not. I am determined on cards.’

Knowing his good mood could evaporate in a twinkling, she did not argue but said cheerfully, ‘Very well, I will come, too, and watch you. That is, if you do not mind.’

‘Not at all, but it will be dull work. Would you not prefer to dance?’

Deborah had been burying her own preferences for so long that she did not even hesitate.

‘Not without you.’

‘Come along, then, Deb. You shall be my good-luck charm.’

She tucked her hand in his arm, but she knew from the intent look upon his face that he had all but forgotten her existence, even before they entered the card room.

Deb watched the play, discreetly waving away the waiter when he would have refilled Ran’s glass. She knew there was not much to fear when her 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 that ran down the left side, from temple to chin.

All her suspicions were confirmed when he met her eyes. His was not the look of a man who had just bumped into a stranger. The intensity of his gaze made her tremble inside and set her pulse racing, but the next instant he had stepped back and was smiling politely as he tipped his hat to her and strode on. Deb clutched her parcel and remained frozen to the spot, trying to quieten her pounding heart. She must not turn back. She must not stare after him. Summoning all her willpower, she forced herself to walk on around the corner and out of sight, but for the rest of the day she carried his stern, unsmiling image in her head. The Man with the Scar.

* * *

Well, that was unfortunate. Gil walked swiftly away, cursing his bad luck. It had not been his plan to become acquainted with Deborah Meltham until he had learned a little more about her. He needed to be sure of his ground if he was to woo her successfully. He had never set out to do such a thing before and had intended to plan his every move as he would a military operation, to ensure he achieved the required result.

Gil frowned, thinking of her reaction to their unexpected meeting. At first there had been the shock and embarrassment natural to such an encounter, but when she raised her eyes to his face there had been something more. Recognition. Damnation. He had been careful to keep his distance, to remain in the background while he had been observing her, but it was clear that he had not been careful enough. After this chance encounter he could no longer put off his plan, so he had best get on with it. His eyes searched the town square and, spotting his quarry, he moved in.

‘Sir Geoffrey, good day to you.’ Gil touched his hat, smiling pleasantly, and when the man looked blankly at him he added, ‘James Victor. You may recall we met in the card room last night.’

‘Ah, yes, Mr Victor. Good day, sir, good day.’ The older man beamed at him. ‘I remember you now! Here on business, if I recall.’

‘No, no, not business exactly. I am minded to buy a property in the area.’

‘And there’s nowhere better, sir, as I can vouch for!’ Sir Geoffrey turned to accompany him on his way. ‘So, what have you seen so far?’

Gil mentioned a couple of houses, asked a few questions and it was not long before this had the required effect.

‘Well if you are serious, young sir, then perhaps you should meet some more of your prospective neighbours. My wife is holding a little party tomorrow night. Nothing fancy, you understand, just a few card tables, perhaps a little dancing. Gomersham Lodge, at the end of Mill Lane.’

‘I’d be delighted to come, only... Lady Gomersham will not object to a stranger turning up at her drawing room?’

‘Not a bit of it, always pleased to have another gentleman in attendance...’ Sir Geoffrey’s pale eyes twinkled merrily ‘...and if you can be persuaded to stand up for a dance or two she will be even more delighted!’

Gil allowed himself to be persuaded, exchanged a few more words with Sir Geoffrey, then went on his way, well pleased with the morning’s work. He had seen Lady Gomersham’s name scribbled on the package he had picked up for Miss Meltham, so it was more than likely she would be at Gomersham Lodge tomorrow.

* * *

It only occurred to him later, when he was shaving himself and staring into the looking glass, that the one thing he had not seen in Miss Meltham’s clear green eyes was repugnance. She had hardly appeared to notice his scar.