Lady Beneath the Veil (12 page)

As Gideon bowed she made her curtsy to the earl.

‘Good evening, Albury. Cousin.’ He held on to her fingers after kissing them. ‘I understand I am to congratulate you.’

‘Thank you, Max.’ She withdrew her hand as she gave him a glittering smile. He responded with one equally false.

‘It explains why you can do no wrong in your husband’s eyes at present.’

Gideon gave a soft laugh.

‘You are thinking of our embrace in St James’s Street.’ He pulled her hand on to his arm again and patted it. ‘An outrageous display of affection in public, of course, but I could not help myself.’

‘Could you not?’ Max’s lip curled. ‘I thought it might be for my benefit.’

‘Good Gad, no,’ exclaimed Gideon, recoiling artistically. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ returned Max, considering. ‘I think it was something Lamotte said to me.’

Dominique froze. A furious retort rose to her lips, but Gideon’s hand was still covering hers and he gave it the slightest squeeze. She remained silent.

‘Ah, yes, Monsieur Lamotte.’ Gideon’s voice was quiet, silky, but no less menacing. ‘Odd that you should deny him one day and the next he is a friend.’

‘I should say he is more of an acquaintance.’

‘A charming young man,’ said Gideon lightly. ‘But French, you know. He is unfamiliar with the way we do things here, especially when it comes to husbands. They can be the most unaccountable creatures, you see.’

‘Can they?’

Max sounded wary and, casting a quick glance at Gideon, Dominique thought that despite his pleasant tone his eyes had never been so menacing.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said softly. ‘I did not realise it until I became one myself, but it seems now that if anyone should try to harm my wife, or even to upset her, then I should be obliged to wreak the most terrible vengeance. I just couldn’t help myself.’

Despite the noise and chatter of the room, a dangerous silence hung around the two men. Dominique could feel the tension and remained still, not daring to do anything that might precipitate violence. At last Max gave her a tight smile.

‘You are to be congratulated, Cousin, you have found yourself an admirable protector. I wish you joy of your bulldog.’

With a curt nod he stalked past them.

‘Do you think he understood you?’ she asked as they continued back to the music room.

‘Oh, yes,’ murmured Gideon. ‘I think he understood me all too well. He will not bother us again.’

Recalling the fury in Max’s eyes, Dominique could not be easy.

‘Gideon—’

‘Hush.’ He held up his hand. ‘We have given your cousin quite enough time this evening. Let us instead listen to the music. This next soprano, I have been told, is quite matchless.’

* * *

Their last weeks in town were very busy. Dominique felt quite low when Gwen departed for Brighton, but she left Dominique a long list of things she considered necessary for a protracted stay in Buckinghamshire.

‘Buy your loose gowns before you go, for there is but one dressmaker in the village, and although you will want to put some work her way you will need more gowns than she can provide. And make sure you buy some warm petticoats. Flannel ones, my love, because the corridors at Rotham can be icy in winter! Then you will need books,’ Gwen continued, counting off the items on her fingers. ‘I left one or two novels at Rotham, but I doubt my father will have anything new, and it is
such
a fuss to send to London every time one wants a diversion. If you wish to paint, then you should find everything you need in the old nursery.’ She pulled a face. ‘Poor Papa, he insisted we have the very best—tutors, materials, paints, charcoal and sketchpads—but I was a sad disappointment and not at all proficient at drawing or painting. Oh, and buy at least two pairs of stout boots, the lanes become prodigiously muddy...’

She went on for some time and when she had finished Dominique gave an uncertain laugh.

‘You make Rotham sound like something from a Gothic novel, all gloomy shadows and empty, echoing halls.’

‘Well, it is,’ replied Gwen with alarming candour. ‘Since Gideon escaped, Papa has rattled around in that great house all alone, with only an elderly neighbour to visit him.’ Gwen noticed her sister-in-law’s dismay and quickly assured her that Rotham was in no way as bleak as it sounded. ‘The local families will be glad to welcome you, I am sure, and Ribblestone and I will be returning to Fairlawns in December, so we shall only be a few miles away.’

To Dominique, December sounded a very long time ahead, but she put aside her worries and threw herself into preparing to travel to her husband’s family home.

* * *

Travelling in easy stages, they took two full days to reach Rotham. A baggage coach was hired to follow them, the roof piled high with trunks and Dominique’s precious harp packed inside. Dominique rode in the elegant chaise sent up from Rotham for her comfort. Her only disappointment was that Gideon preferred to ride, but since this meant that Kitty could join her in the carriage she was not lonely on the journey, and when they stopped overnight at a prosperous coaching inn there was no lack of conversation with Gideon.

They dined in a private parlour served by the well-trained staff of the inn, who were efficient and unobtrusive. Even so, Dominique kept the conversation to innocuous subjects until at last the covers were removed and they were alone.

‘Tell me about your father,’ she said, putting her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her hands. Gideon looked nonplussed and she added with a smile, ‘Are you very like him?’

‘In looks, perhaps, but in temperament—my father is very reserved.’

She thought of the long silences she had endured with Gideon, but did not comment upon it and said instead, ‘Is his health poor? Is that why he lives so quietly? Gwen told me,’ she explained, when he raised his brows at her. ‘She warned me that Lord Rotham rarely entertains.’

Gideon gave a crack of laughter.

‘Rarely? He
never
entertains. However, that must change if you are living there. You must invite whom you please.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘You must not be frightened of my father, Nicky. He might appear cold, but his heart is very generous.’

‘It will need to be,’ she murmured. ‘I bring no dowry.’

‘You must not let that worry you.’

‘But it does, Gideon.’

‘I think Father will be too relieved to know I have settled down to worry about your lack of dowry. You see, he was sorely disappointed when I went off to make my own life in London.’ He was silent while he poured himself another glass of wine. ‘I did not behave well, I admit it. And once in town I fell in with your cousin and his friends. I am not proud of that time.’

After the suffocating discipline of Rotham, Max’s mischievous merrymaking had seemed very attractive. Gideon had willingly participated in the pranks and jokes they played on each other and even on total strangers—boxing the Watch, stealing an old gentleman’s wig, holding mock duels, bribing the coachman to let them take the reins of the stage and race it against one of their own carriages... It had all seemed like harmless fun at the time, but looking back he saw how childish it had been. When he stole that little lightskirt from under Max’s nose it was inevitable that the earl would retaliate, but bullying his innocent little cousin into marriage—!

Glancing up, Gideon saw Nicky’s anxious face and he added quickly, ‘That is no reflection upon you, Nicky. I could not want for a better wife.’

‘But perhaps you could want a more beloved one.’

Gideon frowned.

‘We will not discuss that, if you please. The actress Max employed to impersonate you would not have been acceptable to my family.’

Dominique met his eyes across the table, the wine making her brave.

‘And am I any more acceptable?’

To her surprise the coldness in his gaze was replaced by something warmer, including a hint of laughter.

‘With your grace and dignity and your indomitable spirit—yes, you are, my dear.’

She was inordinately pleased with his answer even though it made her blush rosily. At the same time she felt that strong tug of attraction to the man sitting opposite. His look seemed to burn right through her decorous gown and she could feel her body responding, the breasts tightening, pushing against the restricting material as she imagined his hands caressing her body. It had been weeks since he had touched her like that and she was filled with an indescribable ache to feel his arms around her. She longed to say so, but the words would not come. The silence stretched between them, becoming ever more uncomfortable.

‘It—it has been a beautiful day,’ she said at last, glancing out of the window. ‘It seems a shame that we spent it travelling.’

‘I at least had the benefit of riding. You were shut up in the chaise all day. Perhaps you would like to take a little stroll with me now and catch the last of the sun?’

‘I would like that very much,’ she said, reaching for her shawl.

* * *

The inn was situated on a busy street, but Gideon had noticed a lane to one side and once they had walked a few yards the noise and bustle were left behind. They strolled side by side in companionable silence. The lane was bounded on each side by large fields of ripening corn, gleaming and golden in the setting sun.

‘How long will you stay at Rotham?’ she asked him.

‘Until you are established. I shall drive down to Brighton to see Gwen, then I shall go to Chalcots and see what is needed to make it habitable. I have been thinking we might set up home there.’

‘That is your godmama’s house, near Hampstead? I should so much like to see it.’

‘And so you shall, once your confinement is over. Too much travelling will fatigue you and I would not risk your health.’ His voice was kind, but Dominique’s spirits sank. He did not want her with him.

‘I shall write to you,’ he continued. ‘You shall have your say about the furnishings and the decoration.’

But from a distance.

‘Thank you.’ She could not keep the note of disappointment from her voice and Gideon’s next words told her he had noticed.

‘Believe me, it is best that you remain at Rotham, where Dr Bolton will be on hand if you need him.’

‘But your father will not want me.’

‘You are the mother of his grandchild, of course he will want you at Rotham.’

She nodded. Her first consideration now must be for her unborn child. She shivered.

‘The sun has gone down. Shall we return to the inn?’

Her shawl had slipped to her elbows and as they turned to make their way back to the inn she struggled to rearrange it.

‘Here, let me.’

He pulled up the shawl and her spine tingled with the familiar touch as his hands rested on her shoulders.

Hold me
, she begged him silently.
Kiss me.

* * *

Gideon’s hands stilled. He could feel the delicate bones of her shoulders through the thin folds of the shawl and the summer gown beneath. Her hair was caught up in a knot, but a few wisps curled darkly against the creamy skin at the back of her neck. He knew an impulse to place his lips there and taste her sweetness, but he feared that would lead him on to a more passionate exchange, so he quelled the desire rising in him and instead lifted the shawl a little higher.

‘There, is that warmer?’

‘Yes, thank you, Gideon.’ She put her hand up over his, where it rested at the side of her neck, and turned to smile up at him.

It was as if someone had knocked the breath out of his body. When had she become such a beauty? Those green eyes with their lush fringing of dark lashes, the straight little nose and soft, full mouth—desire leaped inside him and the blood pounded through his veins. It was all he could do not to drag her roughly against him and ravish her here and now, in this secluded lane.

No! He reeled back. What was he thinking of? This was summer madness, the proximity of a pretty girl combined with the effects of the wine, a good dinner and the balmy summer evening. She had been trapped into marriage with him through very little fault of her own and she deserved more respect than that. In an effort to quell his desire he reminded himself that she was not the woman he had set his heart on, although it was strange that now, when he thought of the bewitching actress called Agnes Bennet, he could hardly recall her face.

Dominique saw Gideon’s eyes darken, felt the jolt of mutual attraction, as if some invisible wire hooked them both, but the hot desire in his glance was quickly replaced by shock and he recoiled from her. She did her best to ignore the chill that filled her soul. She might be his wife, but she was not his love.

Hiding her own disappointment, she suggested they should go back to the inn and immediately turned her steps that way, head held high. This was her life now and she must be content.

Chapter Eleven

D
ominique’s image of Rotham as a sinister Gothic pile faded with her first view of the house. It was bathed in the golden glow of a summer’s evening, a many-gabled Jacobean mansion built of red-brick and creamy stone and the windows of the three-storeyed house flashed a fiery welcome, reflecting the glorious sunset.

‘Why, it is quite enchanting!’ she exclaimed involuntarily.

‘Is it?’ Gideon leaned forwards to gaze at his old home. ‘Yes, I suppose you might think so.’

As the coach pulled up at the front steps he leaped down, ready to hand out his bride. An elderly butler came out to meet them, bowing slightly as he announced that Lord Rotham awaited them in the drawing room.

‘Thank you, Colne. I shall take Mrs Albury to him.’

Silently Dominique accompanied Gideon through the small stone porch into an ancient-screens passage. After the sunlight, the passage with its unpolished wooden panelling was very dark and she stopped to let her eyes grow accustomed to the gloom before stepping into the hall. The wainscoting here was equally dull, but the sun streamed in through the windows, the bars of sunlight full of golden dust motes. Swords, shields and antlers adorned the walls. The whole room had the feel of another era, but it looked sadly neglected.

‘Is this room never used?’ she asked.

‘Rarely. When we had house parties everyone would gather here before going out for a day’s hunting or riding and we used to hold a harvest supper here for the tenants and their families, but that stopped when my mother died.’

‘And where is the drawing room?’ she asked as they followed the butler out of the great hall and into another, inner hall.

‘Upstairs,’ he told her. ‘All the principal rooms are on the upper floor.’

‘Including the dining room?’

‘Of course.’

‘And the kitchens?’

‘In the basement.’

‘A twenty-minute walk, no doubt,’ she murmured.

Gideon laughed.

‘Exactly!’

They ascended the grand staircase to a wide landing. The house was built around a central courtyard and a series of windows allowed plenty of light into the upper rooms, which led one from the other. The drawing room was the first of these chambers to be entered.

Even to one used to the grandeur of Martlesham Abbey, the drawing room was impressive. Ornately carved panelling covered every wall and the patterns were repeated in the plaster moulding on the ceiling. An elaborate stone chimneypiece dominated the room, the Albury coat of arms emblazoned at the centre of the overmantel. Dominique took in the faded grandeur of the room and the heavy, old-fashioned furniture as Gideon led her forwards to meet her host.

Viscount Rotham had risen from a wooden armchair set on one side of the fireplace and now stood waiting to greet her. She dropped into a deep curtsy, but as she rose she looked up to study her father-in-law. The likeness between the viscount and his son was marked. Both were tall and lean, with the same finely sculpted lips and high cheekbones. Each had hazel eyes set beneath dark brows, but where Gideon wore his auburn hair unpowdered and just touching his collar, the viscount preferred the old style of a curled and powdered wig. He was dressed all in black, save for the narrow ruffles at his wrists and the linen at his neck.

‘Welcome, madam,’ he said politely. ‘Pray sit down. I trust the journey was not too onerous for you?’

‘Not at all, my lord. We made one stop overnight.’

‘Just one?’ Those dark brows rose and he bent his gaze upon Gideon. ‘Was that wise, my son? Another night would have given your wife more respite from the rigours of the road—’

‘But it was not at all necessary.’ She knew an urge to turn and run as two pairs of hazel eyes turned towards her in surprise, but she held her ground. ‘Your carriage is so well sprung, my lord, that the miles flew by. I am not at all fatigued, I assure you.’

She was rewarded by a smile from Gideon as he guided her to a sofa, the only padded seat in the room.

‘Indeed, Father, we saw Dr Harris before we left town. He assured me that there was no danger in the journey.’

‘Nevertheless, I have ordered dinner to be put back, to give you both time to rest...’

The exchanges continued, polite enough, a little stilted, but not unfriendly. Dominique mentioned this to Gideon when he escorted her to their apartments on the top floor and he concurred.

‘I am glad you were not intimidated,’ he continued. ‘Father’s style is a little formal, but he is perfectly kind, I assure you.’

* * *

She had to remind herself of this fact when they went down to dinner. It was served in the dining room, another grandiose chamber beyond the drawing room. The long table in the centre was set with all the pomp and formality one could desire. Only Dominique did not desire it.

Conversation was almost non-existent, the food cold, and by the time Dominique returned to the empty drawing room while the gentlemen enjoyed their brandy she was beginning to long for the cosy comfort of Brook Street. Not one to repine, she spent the time alone tuning her harp, which had been set up in one corner of the room, where the big windows overlooked the gardens. She had completed her task and was gently strumming the strings when Gideon came in with his father.

‘Since there is no pianoforte here we brought Nicky’s harp with us.’ Gideon explained in response to his father’s look of surprise.

‘Indeed?’ The viscount’s response was cool.

‘I hope you do not object, my lord?’ asked Dominique quickly.

‘On the contrary. Gideon’s mother was musical, but when Gwendoline married I had the pianoforte sent to Fairlawns. However, it will be pleasant to have music at Rotham once more.’ He gave her a little bow. ‘This house has been too long without a mistress, madam. I should be honoured if you would take on that role.’

‘Th-thank you, my lord.’

Gideon touched her arm. ‘Perhaps you will play for us now, Nicky.’

She complied, happy to avoid the long, awkward silences that had accompanied their dinner. No tea tray had been ordered. When the clock struck eleven she excused herself and retired. She and Gideon had been allocated adjoining rooms, with a connecting door, and she was not displeased when Gideon knocked and entered a short time later.

Dominique was sitting at her dressing table while Kitty unpinned her hair, but she dismissed her maid immediately. She was wearing only her nightgown and suddenly felt a little shy to be alone with her husband. To hide her embarrassment she kept her eyes on the mirror as she removed the last of the pins.

‘I think that went off very well,’ remarked Gideon, coming closer. ‘Father was very complimentary about you.’

She was pleased, but could not resist asking him if all meals were taken in the dining room.

‘When Father is alone he dines in his room and his man, Warner, takes him his breakfast, too. It is the custom here for all guests to break their fast in their room. Kitty will bring yours to you in the morning.’

The idea of sitting in bed with Gideon while he fed her tiny morsels of toast was very appealing—in fact, it sent a little shiver of excitement rippling through her—but that was something lovers might do and she and Gideon were not lovers. Instead, she knew she would be breaking her fast in a lonely state.

Dominique dragged the brush through her hair, sitting tense and upright. Gideon walked up behind her and held out his hand.

‘May I?’ Silently she handed him the hairbrush. He said quietly, ‘I know everything is very new to you here, Nicky, but please be patient.’ He began to brush her hair, one lock at a time, but she had the impression that his thoughts were elsewhere. He said at last, ‘I have not been to Rotham since my quarrel with Father last December. For me to turn up now and with a wife whom I married without his knowledge or his blessing—’

Her tension melted as the rhythmic brushing had its effect.

‘It is very hard for you both, I am sure.’ She glanced up at his image in the mirror, but his eyes were fixed upon her hair. ‘Does he know the truth about us?’

‘Yes. I told him the whole at the outset—not that any blame attaches to
you
,’ he said as she put her hands up to her burning cheeks. ‘I explained to him that I was in a raging fury because Martlesham and that little actress tricked me into marriage. It was all the fault of my wretched temper, which he understands only too well.’ He gave a small, twisted smile. ‘He is more likely to pity you than blame you.’

‘Which is as bad,’ she exclaimed. ‘I would not for the world have him feel sorry for me.’

Gideon looked at the reflection in the mirror, observing the anguish in those enormous eyes, the flushed cheeks. His skin still tingled from the feel of her lustrous dark hair between his fingers. Putting down the brush, he placed his hands on her shoulders.

‘Was I wrong to marry you?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Was I wrong not to have the marriage annulled?’

Her chin went up.

‘Yes. If you will not put the past behind you.’

With a jolt he realised he had not been thinking of the past, merely of the mischief he had done to Nicky by holding her to the marriage. She put one hand on her stomach as she continued.

‘It is a little late to discuss this now.’ Her tone was prosaic. ‘You must do as I do and look forward.’

She gave a little toss of her head, sending her silky hair flowing over his hands. A few dark tresses rippled down over her breasts, outlined beneath the thin linen of her nightgown. Desire stirred again. Whether by design or accident she was leaning back towards him and he turned away before she noticed his arousal—more importantly before his need of her became too great to be denied and he carried her over to the bed and made love to her. He had to get away from her disturbing presence before he took advantage of her innocence. Before he put her at even more risk.

He crossed to the adjoining door and with a curt goodnight he left her.

* * *

For a long time Dominique did not move. She had seen that now-familiar look in his eyes, reflected in the glass. At times she could almost think he desired her.

Almost.

When she had sent her hair tumbling down her back it had not been by accident, she had hoped it might evoke a response. His hands had tightened on her shoulders even as the desire leaped in his eyes. He was standing so close behind her that she only had to lean back a little to press herself against him and she had begun to do just that, only to have him rapidly move away. She smiled a little sadly. There was surely an attraction between them. It was not love, but it was a start.

Stifling a sigh, she climbed into her lonely bed and pulled the covers over her. She would be a good wife and mother, she would make him proud of her and then, perhaps he might love her, just a little bit. Snuggling her cheek in her hand, she began to make her plans.

* * *

The first weeks at Rotham passed quickly enough. The viscount spent the greater part of each day locked in his study, reading or playing chess with Sir Edward Moorhouse, an elderly widower who lived nearby and called in occasionally. Gideon took his new wife to visit all the local families and the ladies in turn paid their visits to Rotham. When Dominique was not driving out or entertaining her visitors, she observed how the house was run and asked questions of Mrs Ellis, the housekeeper. At the end of the second week she made her first suggestion.

They were sitting in the drawing room after dinner, Dominique at her harp while Gideon and his father played backgammon. When it was time to retire she rose and walked to the door, but before she opened it she turned towards them.

‘I have asked Colne to set up breakfast in the oak parlour tomorrow morning.’ Gideon’s brows rose, but she addressed the viscount, saying with a smile, ‘My lord, on my first night here you told me I might act as mistress at Rotham, so I hope you do not object?’

‘No, if you and Gideon wish to breakfast downstairs you are free to do so.’

Dominique knew Gideon would declare that he was quite happy taking breakfast in his room. Quelling her nerves, she met his frowning gaze with a smile.

‘Thank you, my lord, that room is east-facing, ideal for the purpose, and so much easier for the staff than carrying trays up to the bedchambers. I hope you can be persuaded to join us there one morning.’

She whisked herself away and prepared slowly for bed, half expecting Gideon to storm in and demand just what she was thinking of, changing arrangements that had stood at Rotham since time immemorial. However, she heard his step passing her door, and the sounds of him moving about in his own bedchamber, so she went to bed. She would discover in the morning if she was breakfasting alone.

* * *

‘I decided I would not trouble Runcorn to bring breakfast up to me when everything is set out down here.’

Colne had just brought the coffee pot into the oak parlour when Gideon appeared in the doorway. Dominique’s welcoming smile was tinged with relief.

‘Good morning, sir. There is everything you like— cold meat, boiled eggs, hot rolls in the chafing dish and even ale, should you want it.’ She added, as Gideon sat down at the table beside her and took a generous helping of ham, ‘I shall continue to invite your father to come downstairs to break his fast, too.’

‘You will be disappointed,’ he said, splitting a hot roll and filling it with butter. ‘My father is too set in his ways. He dislikes company in the mornings.’

Dominique merely smiled, content to bide her time.

* * *

Soon her efforts were rewarded. She came downstairs one morning to find her father-in-law already at the table. They greeted each other politely, and even when Gideon joined them no reference was made to this change in the viscount’s habits.

* * *

Gideon was pleased to see his wife and his father getting on so well. His conscience pricked him a little at the thought that he would soon be leaving Nicky alone at Rotham and he was relieved that she was settling in. He told her so as they strolled in the gardens a little later that day.

‘You have made a great difference here,’ he said. ‘My father mentioned it to me last night. The whole place is brighter, somehow.’