Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance. Sarah Mallory

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СКАЧАТЬ a smooth, deep voice at her shoulder.

      ‘Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Meltham?’

      ‘Mr Victor! Thank you, but I—’

      ‘If you are going to say you do not dance, then I shall not believe you,’ he said, smiling. ‘I saw you standing up with Lord Kirkster.’ The smile faded. ‘Perhaps my scar offends you.’

      ‘No, of course not.’ She felt obliged to look into his eyes, to show she was telling the truth. ‘Sir Geoffrey said you were a military man. Is that how you came by it?’

      ‘Yes. An encounter with a French cavalry sabre at Salamanca. I am grateful it was such a neat cut and not deep enough to do much damage.’

      She shuddered. ‘You were very fortunate, I think.’

      ‘Indeed I was, Miss Meltham. But we are straying from the point. I invited you to dance.’

      Deb hesitated, then saw the glint in his grey eyes. Laughter, or a challenge? She could not be sure.

      He said softly, ‘Perhaps you are afraid to dance with me.’

      It was the truth. The attraction she felt to this man frightened her. She had never felt such a strong affinity before. Not even with the man who had courted her. Who had said he loved her and then proved himself worthless in the most devastating way.

      She shook off the memory. Mr Victor was smiling at her, causing her insides to flutter in alarm. However, she was not about to admit it and her chin went up.

      ‘Afraid? Why should I be afraid, here amongst friends?’

      His lips curved upwards into a smile that caused a flutter of excitement deep within her.

      ‘Quite.’ He held out his hand. ‘Shall we?’

      Tentatively she lifted a hand and her fingers were immediately held in a firm grasp. It was surprisingly comforting, as if he had drawn her inside a protective shield. As if she need fear nothing while he was beside her.

      One dance, no more.

      She was dancing with a stranger. She could not deny the lift of her spirits to be on the dance floor, nor the frisson of excitement to be dancing with someone other than her brother. For years she had denied herself this pleasure, but all the old familiar feelings had returned almost as soon as the music started. The intoxication of skipping and twirling around the floor with an admirer, someone whose gaze made her feel as if she was dancing on top of the world.

      Deborah tried to rein in her happiness, but it was impossible. No matter, she told herself, giving in to the temptation to smile at her partner as they held hands and moved down the dance. She was older and wiser now. Her head could not be turned in such a short time. But, oh, the way the blood fizzed and sizzled through her veins when he spoke to her!

      ‘You dance very well, Miss Meltham.’

      His voice was deep and warm, wrapping itself around her like velvet.

      ‘I fear you flatter me, sir. I am out of practice.’

      ‘Then we should remedy that. Will you not dance a second time with me?’

      The music was ending and he was holding on to her hand, smiling down at her. Warning bells clamoured in Deborah’s head. This was too much, too soon. She had seen that look in a man’s eyes before. It meant nothing. No, she thought, worse than nothing. If she allowed herself to believe he was sincere, it meant trouble.

      She pulled her hand free.

      ‘Thank you, but I, I am not inclined to dance again.’

      With a formal little smile she backed away before turning and walking off. Her spine tingled, she was sure his eyes were upon her. He had looked surprised, almost shocked, at her words, as if he could not believe she would refuse him. She lifted her head a little higher. No doubt he thought she was desperate for a partner. He did not realise that she dressed in this drab way to avoid such attentions.

      Once bitten twice shy, she reminded herself. But that did not stop her surreptitiously watching him from the side of the room. Her eyes followed him as he moved off to join Sir Geoffrey and she watched as their host introduced him to Mr and Mrs Appleton. She was guiltily aware of feeling pleased that he did not ask anyone else to dance.

      ‘Dear heaven,’ she murmured, ‘what a pathetic creature I am, to be so smitten by a man after one dance.’

      Feeling rather lost and even a little sick at this shocking revelation, she made her way to the dining room, where refreshments had been set out. She helped herself to a cup of punch. She did not think she should drink it, but at least it looked as if she was doing something. Lizzie Gomersham came bouncing up and Deb summoned up a smile for her.

      ‘I saw you dancing with Mr Victor,’ said Lizzie, filling a punch cup and drinking it in almost one gulp. ‘I stood up with him, too, but thankfully I was already promised to another partner after that and could make my escape before he asked me to dance again.’

      ‘Why should you want to escape?’ Deb asked her, mystified.

      Lizzie’s eyes widened. ‘That horrid scar! I vow, Deborah, I could not help but stare at it and I almost missed my steps. Did it not upset you?’

      ‘I barely noticed it.’

      Deborah had been too intent upon his eyes, glittering in the candlelight. And on the glinting smile that seemed to be for her alone. Just thinking about it now sent her stomach swooping. Lizzie continued to chatter.

      ‘Papa said I must try to ignore it because Mr Victor was a soldier. He told Papa he was wounded while fighting in Spain. Of course, as soon as Mrs Appleton heard that she insisted he come to her charity ball tomorrow night. She said she was sure he would want to support the Military Widows’ Fund and, of course, what could the poor man do but agree?’

      ‘What indeed?’ murmured Deborah, although in her opinion, the gentleman would do nothing he did not wish to do. There was a steeliness about him, a dangerously ruthless air. It made her shiver just to think of it and she was obliged to give herself a little shake.

      ‘It is quite wrong to judge a person by appearances,’ she said, as much to herself as to her young friend.

      ‘Well, to be truthful, I soon grew used to the scar,’ Lizzie confided. ‘In fact, when I look at him now I think it makes him look quite piratical. Like the Corsair, which you must admit is very romantic.’

      Deb decided she did not want to think about the man at all, scar or no scar.

      * * *

      Mr Victor did not approach her again that evening, but Deb was still aware of his presence in the room. She knew a moment’s unease when she saw him talking to her brother, but they did not disappear together into the card room, so whatever the man was about she could acquit him of wanting to fleece her brother of what was left of his fortune.

      Perhaps she was indeed being fanciful. Perhaps he had not been watching her those times she had seen him in the market, or at the assembly. Fallbridge was a small town, so it was inevitable that one should see its inhabitants out and about. And yet, she could not quite dispel the СКАЧАТЬ