and he intended that it should remain so. The only thing he cared for now was family, which was why the news that greeted him upon his return to Gilmorton Hall last summer had been so difficult to accept. Which was why he was going to be revenged.
It was a pity, then, if Deborah Meltham disliked his scarred face, but not an insurmountable problem. Gil fixed a suitable smile in place and listened to his host explaining his presence in Fallbridge.
‘Mr Victor is looking to buy property in the area—’ Sir Geoffrey broke off as the bustle of another arrival caught his attention and with a hasty apology he moved away.
‘You could have Kirkster House, with my blessing,’ said its owner, giving a laugh that held only bitterness.
‘Randolph, hush.’ His sister’s smile was strained. ‘My brother is funning, of course. Fallbridge is a very pleasant place to live, Mr Victor, I assure you.’
‘Do you spend much time here?’ Gil asked politely. ‘Is it your only home?’
‘I have lived here for some time, but my brother joined me only last year.’
‘And already it feels like an eternity.’
‘We spent every summer here as children,’ Miss Meltham hastily broke in to cover Lord Kirkster’s muttered words. ‘The rest of the time was spent at the family home in Liverpool.’
Not by so much as the flicker of an eye did Gil show how much this interested him.
‘And do you still have that house?’
She looked away. ‘Yes, but I do not go there now.’
‘What my sister means is that Duke Street is not grand enough for her any more,’ said Kirkster.
‘And when were you there last, my lord?’ asked Gil, at his most casual.
‘I made Duke Street my home when I left Oxford, until I came here to join Deb. There’s a dashed sight more to do there than here, I can tell you!’
Gil raised his brows, looking politely interested and giving Kirkster time to tell him more, but Miss Meltham forestalled him.
‘If Mr Victor is looking to move to Fallbridge, I am sure he would prefer to hear what the town has to offer.’ There was a slight flush on her cheek, as if she were embarrassed by her brother’s ungracious speech. ‘There are clubs and societies for every taste, sir. If your interest is history the Antiquarians meet regularly and I understand the Debating Society is very lively, not to mention the weekly balls at the Red Lion.’
Her eyes flickered up to his as she mentioned the balls and Gil knew she had seen him there.
‘Ah, yes, I looked in at the assembly rooms the other night,’ he said easily. ‘I played a hand or two in the card room.’
‘Cards!’ Lord Kirkster looked up at that. ‘Are you any good?’
‘I am considered a pretty fair opponent, I believe.’
‘Indeed? Then perhaps we should go now and put that to the test.’
‘My dear brother, you cannot monopolise Sir Geoffrey’s guest in that way. Why, Mr Victor has only this minute walked through the door! Besides, you promised Lizzie Gomersham you would dance with her. If you will excuse us, Mr Victor.’
Gil watched her walk off with her brother, noting the way her silk skirts flowed and swung with every step. Had he imagined it, or had she been unwilling to discuss their house in Duke Street? She had certainly brought the subject back to Fallbridge pretty quickly. Perhaps she knew something of her brother’s life in Liverpool. His lips thinned as anger rose in him. Those activities would certainly not reflect well upon the family name. He noticed Sir Geoffrey bearing down upon him. Time to play the innocent visitor again, so Gil dragged up a smile and turned to meet his host.
* * *
Once Randolph had danced with Lizzie Gomersham, Deb persuaded him to partner her for a Scotch reel and a country dance, but after that he lounged off to play whist at one of the card tables that had been set up in the adjoining room. He would be safe enough, she knew, but it was still difficult to relax when he was out of her sight and her eyes kept straying to the door as she wondered if she should join him.
She jumped at the sound of a smooth, deep voice at her shoulder.
‘Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Meltham?’
‘Mr Victor! Thank you, but I—’
‘If you are going to say you do not dance, then I shall not believe you,’ he said, smiling. ‘I saw you standing up with Lord Kirkster.’ The smile faded. ‘Perhaps my scar offends you.’
‘No, of course not.’ She felt obliged to look into his eyes, to show she was telling the truth. ‘Sir Geoffrey said you were a military man. Is that how you came by it?’
‘Yes. An encounter with a French cavalry sabre at Salamanca. I am grateful it was such a neat cut and not deep enough to do much damage.’
She shuddered. ‘You were very fortunate, I think.’
‘Indeed I was, Miss Meltham. But we are straying from the point. I invited you to dance.’
Deb hesitated, then saw the glint in his grey eyes. Laughter, or a challenge? She could not be sure.
He said softly, ‘Perhaps you are afraid to dance with me.’
It was the truth. The attraction she felt to this man frightened her. She had never felt such a strong affinity before. Not even with the man who had courted her. Who had said he loved her and then proved himself worthless in the most devastating way.
She shook off the memory. Mr Victor was smiling at her, causing her insides to flutter in alarm. However, she was not about to admit it and her chin went up.
‘Afraid? Why should I be afraid, here amongst friends?’
His lips curved upwards into a smile that caused a flutter of excitement deep within her.
‘Quite.’ He held out his hand. ‘Shall we?’
Tentatively she lifted a hand and her fingers were immediately held in a firm grasp. It was surprisingly comforting, as if he had drawn her inside a protective shield. As if she need fear nothing while he was beside her.
One dance, no more.
She was dancing with a stranger. She could not deny the lift of her spirits to be on the dance floor, nor the frisson of excitement to be dancing with someone other than her brother. For years she had denied herself this pleasure, but all the old familiar feelings had returned almost as soon as the music started. The intoxication of skipping and twirling around the floor with an admirer, someone whose gaze made her feel as if she was dancing on top of the world.
Deborah tried to rein in her happiness, but it was impossible. No matter, she told 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