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‘Did you enjoy that?’
‘Very much.’ She watched him as he manoeuvred his horse around to come alongside her and said, ‘You do not need to do that.’
‘Do what?’
‘I have noticed that you keep to the left of me, so I do not have to look at the scar on your face. I am not offended or repulsed by it, Mr Victor, believe me.’
She was smiling at him, nothing but warmth and kindness in her green eyes, and he felt something stirring inside of him, as if there was a chink in the armour he had built around his heart. She had touched softer feelings that he had kept buried for years.
‘Gil,’ he said suddenly. ‘Call me Gil.’
‘But your name is James.’ Her brows drew together. ‘You are James Victor, are you not?’
He was already cursing himself for inviting her to use that familiar name. He had not intended to allow her such intimacy, but he was not so much in control as he should be in her presence. He would need to be more careful.
‘Gil is what my family and close friends call me,’ he said, recovering quickly. ‘I should be honoured if you would use it, too.’
‘I cannot. It would not be seemly.’
She turned the mare and went ahead of him on to the lane, but he knew it was more than a physical distance. She had withdrawn from him. He brought his horse alongside her and began to talk of mundane matters until their previous rapport was re-established, and after that he was careful to say nothing more that might upset the easy camaraderie.
Gil knew he had been at fault. When they had raced across the turf he had forgotten his ulterior motive in befriending Deb Meltham. He found himself wishing that they could just be friends, that he had not set himself upon this path. But he had chosen his route and he could not change it now. He must approach it like any other military operation. Sometimes one’s duty was unpleasant, yet it must be done. But it was difficult, when she looked at him with those large trusting eyes and all he wanted to do was to protect her. He hardened his heart. She would be hurt, there was no help for it. In any battle there were casualties, it was the nature of war.
Chapter Four
They rode westwards, the sun climbing higher in a clear blue sky. Deborah stopped on a slight ridge and pointed.
‘Look, there in the distance is the town of Formby, and do you see the sandhills? Beyond them lies the sea.’
There was an excitement in her voice and the lively anticipation in her face amused Gil. Seeing his smile, she laughed.
‘I have not been to the coast for years. When we were children Ran and I used to come here with Papa. The greatest treat was to call upon one of the local families, where we would dine on shrimp before we returned home.’
He waved her on. ‘Lead the way then, Miss Meltham. I am anxious to see it for myself.’
They set off again at a brisk trot, but Deborah’s mood began to dip as she contrasted those happy carefree memories with her brother’s life now. Even to be out enjoying herself today seemed wrong, when Ran was so unhappy. And last night she had come very close to despair.
When Randolph had joined her after dinner he had gone straight to the side table and poured himself a brandy from the decanter.
‘What?’ he demanded, looking up and catching her eye. ‘Why do you look like that?’
‘Have you not drunk enough? Doctor Reedley said—’
‘Damn the doctor and damn you!’ The outburst seemed to sober him. He passed a hand over his eyes and said more quietly, ‘I beg your pardon, Deb, I know you are trying to look after me.’
‘You are all I have left, Ran.’
He frowned at her, then took the brandy in one gulp and refilled his glass. He sat down, cradling the glass between two hands and staring moodily into the amber depths.
‘You should leave me,’ he said abruptly. ‘Go and make a life for yourself somewhere far away.’
She smiled lovingly at him. ‘And just where would I go? What would I live on? An income of fifty pounds a year will scarce support me.’
‘I could make you an allowance.’
Her smile slipped a little, ‘How will you do that, when the estate is already mortgaged to the hilt?’
She pressed her lips together to avoid saying anything more. For all his faults Ran loved her. She knew that. It was the knowledge of her family’s love that had helped her survive those dark days when she had given her heart to a man, only to have it trampled and broken. She had sworn then she would devote her life to her family, but with Mama and Papa both dead, there was only Randolph. He might be weak, and flawed, but he was the only man she was prepared to trust and to love. She crossed the room and dropped to her knees beside him.
‘I promised Mama I would look after you,’ she whispered.
A lock of fair hair had fallen over his brow and she reached up to brush it back. He did not look up.
‘I am beyond redemption, Debs.’
The hopelessness in his tone tore at her heart, but if she showed him sympathy it would only increase his self-pity.
‘No, no,’ she said bracingly. ‘You will come about, in time.’
‘Time!’ He laughed bitterly. ‘And meanwhile I must remain here, mouldering away in this dreary, forsaken little town.’
‘We discussed it with Dr Reedley, do you not remember, Ran? We agreed it would be best for you to live here quietly.’
‘No, you and Reedley agreed it, not I! You want to keep me here, a prisoner. Can we not live in the Liverpool house? At least at Duke Street I was close to all my friends!’
It was those friends who are responsible for your present state!
Deb closed her lips tightly to prevent the words escaping. With an oath Ran pushed himself out of his chair.
‘I am sick of it, do you hear me? Sick of this place, where everyone knows our business, where they all look down their noses at me.’
‘That is not true, Ran.’
‘Oh, isn’t it? Playing cards for penny points, Sir Geoffrey Gomersham wanting to show me the prize bull he has added to his estate—as if I cared about such things!’
‘Well, you should,’ she said sharply, her patience breaking. ‘This estate is your responsibility now and needs you to take an interest.’
‘Hah, what odd notions you have, Sister! Let the farmers take an interest in the land. As long as they pay their rent I do not care what goes on here!’
She had watched him lounge away, staggering a little as he left the room. No, she thought sadly. Ran cared nothing for Kirkster or its people. Their people. He saw it only as a purse to dip into whenever he wanted money. That purse was nearly empty now, but an even greater worry to Deborah was Ran’s health. Doctor Reedley had been blunt.
‘If Lord Kirkster continues with his mode of life he will not live the year out. Keep him here, quiet and sober, and he has a chance.’
But how was she to do that? She could not physically restrain him and sometimes she thought her brother was hell-bent upon self-destruction.
* * *
‘Deborah, what is it, has something upset you?’
Gil’s voice broke into her despondent thoughts and she gave a little start.
‘I was thinking about my brother.’
‘I see.’
She shook her head. ‘No, how could you?’
‘You could tell me.’
She closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted by carrying the burden of it on her own. She wanted to share it, at least a little of it, and Gil’s tone was so calm, so kind, it invited confidences.
She said, ‘Ran was just eighteen when Papa died. He was really too young to take responsibility for his inheritance, but his guardian was a distant uncle, who saw no profit in his putting himself out for his nephew. Wild friends and wilder living soon swallowed up the funds from our modest estate. I did not know how low Randolph had sunk until I visited him unexpectedly in Duke Street and he confessed the whole. That was when I persuaded him to come and live with me at Fallbridge and close up the Liverpool house. It is an attempt to retrench. I know full well that Ran is doing it only for my sake. But that is not the worst of it.’
She saw Gil recoil and raise one hand as if to silence her, but the next moment that hand was reaching across and covering hers in a brief, comforting grip. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said quietly. ‘I did not mean to stop you. Do go on, my dear.’
She shook her head, realising how close she had come to unburdening herself fully, but these were not his problems. And Randolph would not wish her to tell anyone that through his own actions he had destroyed his health so comprehensively.
‘I should not have said so much. It is unforgivable to disclose my family’s problems to you or anyone else.’
Gil’s heart contracted when he heard the distress in her voice. What had she been about to tell him? That Kirkster had seduced an innocent schoolgirl and then killed her brother in a duel? He did not want to hear her say it, even though it was 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 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 walked towards the little dining parlour.
‘And shall I send for your dinner, sir?’
‘No. No dinner.’ Gil stopped, his fingers curling around the edge of the door until the knuckles showed white. ‘Fetch me up a couple of bottles of claret. And one of brandy. And then I do not want to be disturbed!’
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