Sarah Mallory - Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance

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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