‘Of course, it is your house.’ Deb struggled to speak politely.
‘And a man must be master in his own house, ain’t that so, Randolph?’
Warslow made the comment laughingly, but Deb knew he was angry at the way she had persuaded Ran to remove from Duke Street, away from the influence of his so-called friends.
She put a hand to her shoulder to adjust the fichu at her neck.
‘My friends are sending a carriage for me, but perhaps I should not go, after all.’
‘Pray do not alter your plans on my account, Miss Meltham,’ said Warslow easily. ‘After all, I shall be here for a few days yet, plenty of time for us to become reacquainted.’
She suppressed a shudder.
‘Aye, go and enjoy yourself,’ said Ran. He handed a glass to Sir Sydney, then crossed the room to stand before her. ‘You have been in alt about this visit all day and you deserve a treat. You need not fear for me,’ he said, smiling. ‘I am well now, I promise you.’
She gazed at her brother. He had looked and sounded so much better the past few days, surely she could trust him? And it was only for a few hours after all.
‘Don’t be anxious for me, Deb,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘A good dinner and a few games of cards is the intention for this evening.’ He looked towards the window. ‘There is a chaise pulling up on the drive now. Off you go and enjoy yourself, my dear. You spend too much time worrying about me.’
* * *
She was late. The heavy cloud made the day seem more advanced than it really was, but when Gil looked at the clock he saw that it was nearly six. He found himself hoping, nay, praying that she would not come. He wanted her, there was no denying it, but not like this, not as a weapon of revenge against her brother. He strode restlessly up and down the room, raking his fingers through his hair. Randolph Meltham had the blood of Gil’s sister and brother on his hands and he must pay for it. Gil had come to Fallbridge seeking vengeance and, in the white heat of an anger and grief that had sustained him through the past several months, seducing Deb Meltham had seemed an ideal solution. A neat sort of justice.
He stopped before the fireplace and reached out to grip the mantelshelf while he stared into the mirror. What sort of ogre had he become that he could even contemplate such a thing? He fixed his eyes on the jagged scar; it was but a minor consequence of his years as a soldier. A decade of fighting had shown him the very worst side of mankind, but he had not realised until now just how much it had dulled his sensibilities and made him indifferent to the suffering of others. Perhaps it had been a necessary defence, to get him through the horrors of war, but he was no longer a soldier. He could no longer use that excuse.
Deb Meltham had made him understand all this, had given him back some semblance of humanity. And he planned to repay her with seduction! It eased his conscience not one jot to remind himself that he had told her to think carefully, that he had left the decision to her. A constriction, like a band of iron, gripped his chest. If she came here tonight he knew he would take her to his bed. He would not be able to help himself.
From the moment they had met Gil had known it would happen even though he had tried to ignore it. The attraction between them was too strong to be resisted. She might give herself willingly, but he could offer her nothing. The honourable course of action would be to marry her, but how could he do that, knowing his family’s blood was on her brother’s hands? Yet how could he live with himself, knowing he had ruined her? No, if she came here tonight he knew they would destroy one another.
He was just uttering up a prayer of thanks that she had stayed away when he heard voices in the hall. Swallowing, he turned, praying it was not too late to avoid disaster.
Deborah stood before him now, clasping her hands tightly together as the footman withdrew, closing the door behind him. She was wearing a red gown, the silk so dark it looked almost black in the fading light. As always, the sleeves came to the wrist, but unlike her other gowns this one had a low neckline, with a cream-muslin fichu covering her neck and shoulders. He thought with painful irony that she was a picture of maidenly modesty.
He said, ‘I had almost given you up.’
‘I beg your pardon; I was delayed by the arrival of a guest.’ When he looked concerned she shook her head. ‘He is a…an acquaintance of my brother’s so it makes no odds that I had arranged to go out.’ Her mouth twisted into an expression of distaste. ‘In fact, I was relieved to be able to do so.’
‘You do not like the man?’
‘I do not like the majority of my brother’s friends,’ she said frankly. ‘But this one…’ She shook her head, as if to clear some nagging worry. ‘Randolph has promised me they intend only to have a good dinner and enjoy a hand or two of cards. There can be no harm in that.’
‘None at all.’ Gil had been going to suggest she should leave immediately, but she was clearly relieved to be away from her brother and his friend and he could not bring himself to send her back just yet. He said, ‘What did you tell your brother?’
‘That I am dining with an old friend.’
‘Ah.’
Her shy smile ensnared him. Gil decided he would give her dinner and then send her home. It would be an effort, when the blood was already thundering around his body and she was looking so nervous that he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away her distress, but he still had some control. He must prove to himself that he could behave with perfect propriety.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was quite different, Deb realised, dining alone with a man other than her brother. Out of doors in the sunshine, enjoying a bowl of shrimp with Gil was one thing. Then they had been quite comfortable together, but sitting either end of the table in this small dining parlour with the candles burning and the curtains drawn against the darkening sky was very different. Deborah’s appetite had quite gone. She pushed her food around her plate and tried to respond to Gil’s attempts at conversation. He was trying to put her at her ease, she knew it, but all she could think of was what was to follow.
Occasionally she would look up and find him watching her. She recognised the desire in his eyes, contrasting starkly with his polite conversation, and it sent a tremor of anticipation through her. She was aware of an unfamiliar sensation deep inside. A fluttering lightness that made the breath hitch in her throat. He wanted her, she knew it. Just as she wanted him. The attraction was so palpable it crackled in the air between them even now. And when the meal was over he would make love to her. Nothing had been said, but she knew it had been implicit in his invitation and she was willing to risk everything to lie with the man who had filled her dreams for the past weeks. Her insides swooped. This overwhelming desire she felt for Gil shocked her.
She appreciated his honesty; he had offered her nothing, promised her nothing. In fact, at one point he had seemed to be warning her off, but it was not necessary. She wanted this as much as he. But first she must be equally honest. There was something she must tell him and, if he no longer wanted her, she would have lost nothing but her pride.
And perhaps her heart.
* * *
At last the meal was over; the covers had been removed and they were alone. Gil noted that they had eaten very little and neither of them had taken much wine. For his part, it had been deliberate—he needed all his willpower if he was to send Deborah away with her honour intact. Why she had abstained he did not know, but he suspected she was nervous.
He glanced at her now, the length of the table separating them. She was looking down, lost in thought. The candlelight glinted on her hair and there was a rosy glow to her cheek, but her mouth was turned down and she looked unnaturally solemn. The iron band around his heart tightened painfully. Now he felt sympathy and desire. Not a good combination.
It was time to end this. To send her home. He rose and moved away from the table.
&n
bsp; ‘It is usual to invite one’s guest to the drawing room after a meal, but in the circumstances—’
‘Please, before you say anything else, let me speak,’ she interrupted him. ‘There is something I must tell you.’
She got up and came towards him, one hand touching her shoulder. After one fleeting glance at his face she looked away.
‘I wanted you to know, before we go any further, that I am not, not quite as I seem.’ She spoke haltingly, the blush on her cheeks deepening.
Now, what was this? Gil frowned. Could it be she was not a maid? He could hardly object, he had had lovers himself, but the thought that her heart might still be engaged was like a sabre thrust, followed by the realisation, bitter as gall, that he had no right to care. He raised his hand to silence her.
‘Deborah, there is no need to tell me anything.’
‘Yes, there is.’ The words were little more than a whisper. Her fingers shook as they clutched at the creamy fichu. ‘There is something you must see.’
As the muslin came away Deborah turned so that the candlelight fell on the left side of her neck and illuminated the skin, which was pitted and puckered with scars.
‘The marks go down the arm to the elbow,’ she told him, easing her gown off the shoulder to expose the tracery of fine lines that covered the skin, dying away at the swell of her breast.
Gil put out his hand as if to touch the scars, then pulled back.
‘How did it happen?’
‘It was a parting gift from the first—the only—man who professed to love me. I thought he wanted to marry me, but I was wrong. I was young and headstrong and I thought myself very much in love. He was a man of the world and I suppose I thought him handsome, at the time. He persuaded me to run away from Duke Street, to elope, but when we stopped at an inn that first night it was clear marriage had never been his intention. When, when I refused his advances he threw the contents of a boiling kettle over me. He was trying to ruin my face, but fortunately for me he was in his cups and he missed, so that it is easy for me to conceal my…disfigurement.’
Gil’s throat clogged with a scorching mix of outrage and sympathy.
‘Papa was very good,’ she went on. ‘He never reproached me, said I had been punished enough. It was all hushed up and he tried to find a suitor for me. He was willing to make a very generous settlement to anyone who would marry me. One or two came forward and pretended my scars did not matter, but I could see that they did. It was horrible to think they were prepared to marry me for the money, but even worse was the pity.’ She shuddered at the memory, then gave herself a little shake. ‘Our friends and acquaintances in Fallbridge knew nothing of the, the incident, so when I moved there with Mama, the staff who came with us were sworn to secrecy and it has never been mentioned. But perhaps you see now why I have avoided any man’s attentions. Until now.’ Her eyes fluttered to his for the briefest moment. ‘I wanted you to know,’ she said again. ‘I needed to show you before…before we go any further. I did not want you to discover it later and, and recoil in horror at my ugliness. This way, I can leave now and we can, perhaps, part as friends.’
Gil could not move, could not speak, but his mind was racing. Her scars did not repulse him—after all, he had plenty of his own—but he was aghast at the situation he was in. If he sent her away now, as he had planned, she would not believe he was acting out of conscience. She would think he was rejecting her. But if he did what he most wanted to do, if he took her to his bed, she would be ruined.
Either way she would be hurt, but reason told him rejection was better than ruin.
‘I should go.’
She replaced her gown and as she turned from him the candlelight glinted on a teardrop suspended on her lashes. Instinct triumphed over reason and he reached out for her.
‘No.’
She stopped, her back to him. He had his hands on her shoulders and slowly he pushed the silk from her left arm and kissed the damaged skin. She trembled.
‘This is part of what you are,’ he murmured, trailing a line of kisses over the scarring. ‘To me it makes you even more beautiful.’
He turned her around to face him and saw that she was crying. He cupped her face, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears that coursed down her cheeks, then he lowered his head and kissed her. Her lips were salty and she resisted him for a moment, then a little shudder ran through her and she slipped her arms around his neck, kissing him back with a fervour that sent arrows of desire shooting through his blood. With a growl that was part-triumph, part-need, he lifted her into his arms and strode out of the room.
The hall was empty and the only sound was the whisper of Deb’s silk skirts against his legs as he carried her up the stairs to his bedroom. She clung to him, her face buried in his shoulder, but he had no fear that they would meet anyone. There was only Harris in the house and he could be trusted to keep out of the way until he was needed.
Gil had ordered a fire to be kindled in his room against the damp chill of the late spring evening. That and the few candles burning around the room was all the light he needed to undress her. He went slowly, kissing each newly exposed area of skin. As he eased the gown from her left arm he took extra time to explore, to show her that he was not in any way deterred by the scars that covered her shoulder and arm in a delicate filigree.
She responded shyly, but without fear, helping him to remove his clothes and dropping them on to the floor where they mingled with hers in a colourful heap. Her touch inflamed his already aroused body. When they were both naked she reached for him, her eyes dark and luminous in the candlelight, her lips parted in an invitation he could not resist.
As their mouths came together Gil’s heart kicked against his ribs. She leaned into him, breasts and hips pressing against his skin and he gave up all thoughts of making love to her slowly. He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. She dragged him down with her and his mouth sought hers again, this time in a crushing kiss to which she responded with a hunger as fierce as his own. He swept his hands over her body and felt it arching up to meet him. His caresses moved lower, he slipped one hand between her thighs and they parted instinctively. She was hot, pushing against his fingers, and when he would have withdrawn she clamped her hand over his.
‘Oh, pray do not stop now,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, Gil, I never thought, never knew…’
The way she breathed his name, the wonder in her voice, sent his spirits soaring to new heights, but that and the feel of her fingers trailing over his burning skin snapped the final shreds of his control.
* * *
Deborah gasped as he thrust into her, but it was more in joy than pain. She pushed back, following his rhythm as he went harder, deeper and ripples of excitement began to build within her. Then she was out of control, flying, falling, and clutching at the bedcovers. She cried out as her body shuddered in wave after wave of pure ecstasy that left her faint and breathless, and it was some moments before she became aware that Gil had pulled away and was finishing his own pleasure outside her body.
When he collapsed against her she lifted a hand and touched him.
‘What is it?’ she whispered. ‘Was that, was I not good for you?’
‘You?’ He kissed her. ‘You were wonderful, but I would not risk getting you with child. Rest now.’
He pulled her close and she snuggled against him, but she did not sleep, too filled with wonder at what had occurred, at the new and powerful sensations he had roused in her. It had been everything she had dreamed of and more. The only problem was, she wanted to experience it all over again. She stirred and his breath sighed against her neck.
‘You are awake.’
He pushed himself up on one elbow to look at her. Suddenly aware of her nakedness, Deb went to pull the sheet over her shoulder, but he stopped her.
‘I want to see you. All of you.
’
She smiled. ‘You make me feel beautiful.’
‘You are beautiful.’ He sat up. ‘And when it comes to scars, you cannot compete with me. I have several on my back, too, but let’s start with these.’
He took her hand and guided it over his chest, running her fingers over the bullet hole in his shoulder, made by a sharpshooter at Badajoz, the line across his chest where he had narrowly survived a cavalry charge at Busaco, and the jagged scar on his side incurred at Vitoria.
‘And there’s this one,’ he said, taking her hand down to his inner thigh. ‘That was caused by a piece of shrapnel at Vimeiro.’ He grinned. ‘Another inch or two higher and it might have been much worse.’
He eased her hand upwards and she gasped, her eyes widening.
‘I am no expert,’ she said, struggling to speak in more than a croak, ‘but it appears to me that you are quite…intact.’
His eyes glinted wickedly.
‘Oh, yes.’ He rolled her on to her back and covered her in one smooth movement. ‘I am quite intact, as you so elegantly phrase it. And I am quite willing to prove it to you.’
* * *
Deborah stirred and immediately Gil’s arms tightened around her and he pulled her against him, kissing her neck.
She felt the smile growing inside her. He had said she was beautiful. He had made her feel beautiful and in return she had given herself to him. She was no longer a maid, but that was unimportant, compared to the new-found happiness he had given her. Deborah had spent so long nursing her mother and looking after Randolph that she had forgotten what it was like to think only of herself and her own pleasure.
She kept very still, trying to memorise everything she was feeling; the blissful security of lying here, in Gil’s arms, the warmth of his body wrapped around her, the whisper of his breath against her cheek. She carefully stored away each and every new, wonderful sensation and hugged them to her while the distant chime of a clock reminded her of her duty. She sighed.
Winning the Mail-order Bride & Pursued for the Viscount's Vengeance & Redeeming the Rogue Knight (9781488021725) Page 31