Pursued For The Viscount's Vengeance. Sarah MalloryЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 feeling that all was not as it seemed with Mr Victor and on the short carriage ride back to Kirkster House she asked her brother what he thought of their new acquaintance.
‘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.