Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance. Sarah Mallory

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СКАЧАТЬ the truth. For one wild moment he had a craven impulse to turn his horse and gallop away, but he couldn’t do it. He could not leave Deborah now. He swallowed, clearing his throat of the constriction that threatened to choke him.

      ‘You can tell me, Deborah. If it will help, you can tell me anything you wish.’

      Somehow he managed to meet her eyes, even to smile, although he hated himself for it. But she was shaking her head and dashing away a rogue tear.

      ‘No, no, I must not burden you with such things. And it is not so very bad, after all. We shall come about, I am sure.’

      She turned the conversation and Gil answered mechanically, the conjecture in his brain almost too much to bear. Did she know that her brother was a libertine? Did she condone his behaviour? He did not want to believe it, he thought her too good, too honest for that, but he could not be sure, because she was clearly unhappy about her brother. He would find out, but not now. Not today. Today he had invited Deborah to ride out with him purely for pleasure and he would do his best to make sure she enjoyed it.

      * * *

      Another mile riding cross-country brought them to the sandhills and Deborah led Gil to a narrow track that ascended the embankment. The path wound its way through a thick carpet of star grass, which she told him the locals were obliged to plant, to keep the hills intact and protect the farmland. When she reached the crest of the hill she stopped and he brought his horse up beside her. The embankment dropped away to a sandy shore, and beyond it the rippling waves of the sea.

      ‘The 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 СКАЧАТЬ