Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance. Sarah Mallory

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      ‘Victor? Why, nothing. He declined to play cards with me this evening, did you know that? Told me he preferred to listen to the music! He seemed a dull dog. Why should I think anything at all of him?’

      ‘Oh, no reason.’

      ‘Have you taken a fancy to him, is that it?’ Ran sat forward, as if trying to see her face in the darkness. ‘Shall I make enquiries, find out if he is an eligible parti?’

      ‘No, no, of course not. Do not be so foolish.’ She forced herself to laugh and speak lightly. ‘It is just so unusual to have visitors in Fallbridge, that is all.’

      ‘Well I think it would be a very good thing if you were to make a play for him,’ he said, throwing himself back into his corner. ‘It might give you something to think about rather than fussing over me.’

      She heard the petulant note in his voice and did not reply. She was familiar with his quick changes of mood and knew a wrong word now would spark an argument. Tonight had been a good evening. Ran had been on his best behaviour, he had not drunk too much, nor gambled too heavily and she allowed herself to hope that he was indeed improving. But when they arrived at the house she was dismayed when he did not follow her up the stairs, but went off to the drawing room, calling to Speke, the butler, to bring him a bottle of wine.

      * * *

      As charity balls went, this was a small affair. Gil stood at the side of the room, watching the dancing. Appleton had told him that, cleared of furniture, the drawing room could accommodate four-and-twenty couples at any one time. Gil tried to appear impressed, but his overriding feeling was that he had wasted another evening. Last night at Gomersham Lodge had been a disaster. He had rushed his fences and Deborah Meltham had shied off like a frightened colt. He had told himself he would do better this evening, but he had been here for over an hour now and there was no sign of her.

      He should leave. He had no wish to stay here, being polite to these good people when his heart was so full of blackness. He pushed through the crowd towards his hostess, ready to make his excuses, but as he drew close a sudden flurry at the door heralded a late arrival. Mrs Appleton turned and Gil was close enough to hear her delighted cry.

      ‘Deborah, my dear, what a delightful surprise, I had quite given you up!’

      And there she was, in the doorway. Her silk gown was very simple, but with its high neck and long sleeves, it gave a slender elegance to her petite figure and the rich plum colour enhanced the creamy tones of her skin and made her green eyes glow with an added vibrancy. Gil’s eyes went swiftly around the room, surprised that the other men present were not staring in admiration at Deborah Meltham. Was he the only one who could see the passionate woman behind that cool, elegant façade?

      She was saying something to Mrs Appleton, who dismissed it with the wave of her hand.

      ‘Pray do not apologise, Deborah. You are here now, that is all that matters. And here is Mr Victor, in need of a partner for the next dance.’

      ‘I am indeed,’ put in Gil, bowing. ‘If Miss Meltham would do me the honour.’

      There was a wary look in her eyes when she lifted them to his face and he was tempted to give her a reassuring smile. Instead he raised his brows and gave her a challenging look. It worked, her chin went up.

      ‘Miss Meltham always supports our good causes by purchasing a ticket, but she rarely attends.’ Mrs Appleton laughed, unaware of the tension sparking around her. ‘Tonight we are all honoured.’ She stepped aside, putting a hand on Deborah’s back as if to push her forward. ‘Hurry now, my dear, there is another set forming and they have room for you and Mr Victor.’

      Still holding those green eyes, Gil put out his hand. Silently she took it and he could not be sure which of them trembled as his fingers closed around hers. The music started and they danced the first few movements in near silence. Deborah replied with no more than a word to Gil’s attempts at conversation. She was unsmiling, guarded, as if she was afraid to enjoy herself. They made their way down the dance and then it was their turn to stand and watch the others.

      ‘Is it such a penance to stand up with me?’ he asked her, knowing that for the moment they could not be overheard.

      Immediately her eyes flew to his, then she looked away again.

      ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said. ‘I told you last night, I am out of practice. Dancing with anyone other than my brother, I mean.’

      ‘And why is that? Does your brother object to gentlemen paying you attention?’

      ‘No, of 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.’

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