Lady Beneath the Veil

by Sarah Mallory

  Gideon misliked the smile that spread over the earl’s face and his hand tightened on his cane. Did Max know something? How he would like to choke the truth out of him! Gideon left them to their play and went back out into the sunshine. He glanced at his watch. It was past six o’clock. Perhaps Nicky was home now and waiting for him.

  And perhaps not.

  He glanced up and down St James’s Street, doubt and indecision crowding his mind. Now she was with child his wife might consider it safe to take a lover. His hand tightened on the head of his cane. By God, if that was the case she would soon learn her mistake! Eyes narrowed, his jaw tight with anger, Gideon strode off.

  * * *

  Dominique had never spent such a long afternoon. When she had left her sister-in-law there were still two hours until she was due at Cleveland Row. She wished she had asked Kitty to wait for her, but Monsieur Lamotte had told her to come alone and she was afraid that Kitty might not understand the need for total secrecy. She whiled away her time wandering in and out of the various shops in Bond Street. She was ill at ease on her own and found herself purchasing various items—gloves, ribbons and parasols, as well as a quite hideous bonnet in puce satin—all of which she ordered to be sent to Brook Street. At last she judged it time to make her way to Cleveland Row for her rendezvous.

  She was admitted by a respectable-looking servant, who then directed her to Monsieur Lamotte’s rooms on the first floor. Dominique knocked on the door and was a little relieved when the gentleman answered in person. She drew a folded paper from her reticule.

  ‘This is all the information I have on my father.’

  He held the door wide.

  ‘Please, come in, madame.’ Observing her hesitation, he said gently, ‘I will need to read this through and we can hardly discuss the contents here on the landing.’

  ‘No, of course.’

  She stepped across the threshold into the small, sparsely furnished room. An old-fashioned armchair and a sofa crowded the empty fireplace, a sideboard stood against one wall and a small table was placed beneath the window. A haphazard pile of newspapers and gentleman’s magazines on one of the dining chairs suggested that the table had been hastily cleared.

  Raymond closed the door.

  ‘Pray, madame, let me take your coat. Eh bien, sit down, if you please, and be comfortable.’

  Swallowing, she allowed him to remove her pelisse and guide her to the sofa, where she perched on the edge, her hands clasped nervously in her lap. Raymond dropped the paper on to the table and went to the sideboard, where he proceeded to pour wine into two glasses.

  ‘No—not for me,’ she said hastily. ‘I cannot stay.’

  ‘Just a glass, madame, that we may raise a toast to France.’

  She took the glass from him and solemnly repeated the toast, but she was relieved that her companion then sat down at the table to read her document. She waited impatiently as he scrutinised every line, asking the occasional question, and making notes on the edge of the paper with a pencil. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly six. She must get back soon. A soft knock upon the door made her jump. Raymond answered it and after a muted conversation he stood back and a number of waiters came in, bearing trays.

  ‘My dinner,’ explained Raymond, smiling. ‘I ordered it earlier. I hope you do not mind if they set it up now, while I finish reading this?’

  He threw himself into the armchair and continued to read. Dominique clasped her wine glass before her, wishing she had thought to wear a veil. She felt very out of place sitting there, while the servants marched in and out.

  As soon as they were alone again she put down her glass and rose.

  ‘Monsieur Lamotte, you have read every word now. I must go—’

  ‘No, no, madame, not quite yet, if you please.’ He was on his feet and standing between her and the door. ‘I was hoping that you would do me the honour of dining with me.’

  He reached out for her hand, but she snatched it away.

  ‘Out of the question,’ she declared. ‘It would be most improper to dine alone with you.’

  ‘But you are already here and alone,’ he pointed out, coming closer.

  ‘That is very different.’

  ‘Is it?’ He gave her his charming smile, but she was more alarmed than attracted.

  Dominique retreated a few steps. She had placed herself in a most precarious situation. To visit a gentleman’s lodgings, without even her maid in attendance, was the height of impropriety. Gideon would never forgive her, if he found out. She took a breath.

  ‘Monsieur Lamotte, I think you misunderstand. You promised you could help me with news of my father.’

  ‘And so I can, Madame Albury, but I would like you to show a little gratitude. Would dinner be such a trial?’

  ‘Sir, it is impossible. Please stand aside and let me leave.’

  His smile became predatory.

  ‘Well, if you cannot dine with me, perhaps a little kiss—’

  He lunged at her. Dominique whisked herself away, but not before his fingers caught the muslin fichu tucked decorously into the neck of her summer gown. It slipped from her shoulders as she retreated behind the sofa, anger blazing through her.

  ‘How dare you?’ She glared at him. ‘I came here in good faith, monsieur. I thought as a fellow countryman I could trust you!’

  ‘And so you can, madame.’ He held out his arms. ‘All I ask is a little kiss from you and I shall let you go.’

  ‘Do you think I am a fool?’ She snatched up the poker from the hearth. ‘Stand away from the door, monsieur.’

  He looked a little startled, but made no attempt to move out of her way. Dominique was enraged, but she was well aware that the Frenchman had the advantage of strength and size. She was debating what to do next when swift footsteps were heard on the stairs and a familiar voice sounded from the landing.

  ‘No need to come with me, my man. I know the way.’

  The door opened and with a smothered exclamation Raymond jumped aside, his eyes narrowing as Gideon appeared, his frame almost filling the doorway.

  Dominique stared. To her amazement her husband merely smiled at her.

  ‘My apologies, my dear, have I kept you waiting? I was delayed, don’t you know, in Piccadilly.’

  Chapter Ten

  Gideon uttered the words cheerfully as he came in and closed the door behind him. He had entered the room with every nerve-end tingling, prepared for a brawl, but when he had opened the door to see his wife brandishing a poker to keep her would-be seducer at bay his worst fears were alleviated. In fact, he had a strong inclination to laugh.

  ‘I think, my dear, you can dispense with the weapon now.’

  She lowered the poker.

  ‘How did you know where to find me?’

  ‘A simple deduction.’ He glanced at Lamotte, who was silently watching him, a guilty scowl darkening his countenance. ‘What inducement did you use to entice my wife here?’

  Nicky said quickly, ‘He told me he could help me find my father.’

  Gideon raised a brow. ‘And can you, monsieur? I thought not,’ he added drily as Lamotte shrugged. He picked up the fichu from the floor and handed it to Dominique. ‘Here, madam. Put this on and your coat, too. I shall escort you home.’

  She took the muslin scarf from him, but made no move to put it on. Instead she stood twisting it between her hands, her dark anxious gaze fixed on his face.

  ‘B-but I have been seen here. The landlord and the waiters who brought in the dinner—’

  ‘The landlord now believes you came here looking for me and as for the waiters, I think our friend here will be able to silence them.’ He turned to Lamotte, placing the tip of his cane against the Frenchman’s silk waistcoat. ‘Let me make myself very clear,’ h
e said icily. ‘If the slightest hint of scandal attaches to my wife’s being here, monsieur, then I shall take great pleasure in calling you out and despatching you. Do you understand me?’

  Lamotte shook his head.

  ‘Believe me, I never meant any harm to madame.’

  ‘No.’ Gideon’s eyes narrowed. ‘You were put up to this by another, were you not?’ The flash of fear that crossed the Frenchman’s face gave Gideon his answer. His lip curling, he gave the cane a little push, sending Lamotte staggering back.

  Dominique had put on her pelisse and was now watching them. Gideon opened the door, saying loudly,

  ‘I am very grateful to you, monsieur, for looking after my wife until I could join you. But we will not keep you any longer from your dinner. Adieu, sir!’

  He flourished a bow and held out his hand to Dominique. She picked up a sheet of paper from one of the armchairs and stuffed it into her reticule before crossing the room to join him.

  ‘It is the information about my father,’ she said in response to his enquiring gaze. ‘It will not be needed now.’

  She bent a look of burning reproach upon Lamotte, who had the grace to hang his head.

  ‘I beg your pardon, madame.’

  Gideon took her arm.

  ‘Come, my dear.’

  He escorted her down the stairs and out into the street. As they walked away from the lodging house Dominique gave a little sob.

  ‘I am so very sorry, Gideon. It was foolish of me to go there alone. I should have told you...’

  ‘And why did you not?’

  ‘B-because he said that success in finding out about Papa depended upon the utmost secrecy.’

  Gideon looked down at her bowed head.

  ‘But that is not all, is it? You thought I should refuse to sanction this line of enquiry.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her reply was so quiet he almost missed it. He sighed.

  ‘Am I such an ogre, Nicky?’

  ‘Oh, no, no!’ She stopped and turned towards him. ‘You are not an ogre at all, but your abhorrence of all things French—’ She bit her lip. ‘But in this case you were right to be suspicious of Monsieur Lamotte and—and I beg your pardon.’

  He squeezed her hand.

  ‘It was not totally your fault, Nicky.’

  She was silent for a while, but as they walked out into St James’s Street, she said slowly, ‘You said someone else was behind this. Do you think it was my cousin?’

  ‘I not only think it, my dear, I am sure of it.’

  She gave an angry little growl.

  ‘Ooh, of all the odious—’ She stopped. ‘There he is now, across the street with his cronies! And he has seen us. Let us confront him. I would like to scratch his eyes out!’

  ‘I have a much better idea,’ he said, catching her chin between his thumb and finger. ‘We will show him that his plan to cause trouble between us has not worked at all.’

  He lowered his head and kissed her.

  * * *

  Dominique’s heart stopped and she forgot all about being angry with Max. She forgot about everything, save the soaring pleasure that filled her whole being. Gideon was still holding her chin so she could not pull away, even if she had wanted to do so, which she did not. His lips were gentle, it was the lightest of kisses and she found herself standing on tiptoe to prolong the moment. When at last he raised his head he was smiling down at her, such a glint in his eyes that she wanted to reach up and pull him down so she could kiss him again.

  ‘Is he still watching us?’ he murmured.

  ‘Who?’ She ran her tongue round her lips, trying to drag her mind away from the distracting cleft in his chin and the seductive curve of his lips.

  He laughed, settled her arm firmly in his and began to walk on.

  ‘Your cousin is standing on the far pavement and staring at us as if he cannot believe his eyes. Look across, my dear, and smile while I tip my hat to him—like so. There, is that not more satisfying than, er, scratching his eyes out?’

  Dominique chuckled even as she smiled and nodded at Max, who was glowering across the road at them.

  ‘It is amusing to see him so dumbfounded,’ she agreed, ‘but I am so angry with him! He will be fortunate when we meet again if I do not box his ears!’

  ‘What a violent creature you are,’ marvelled Gideon, a laugh in his voice. ‘I find you brandishing a poker at Lamotte and now you want to assault your cousin.’

  ‘When I am in a passion I hardly know what I am about,’ she confessed ruefully.

  ‘No, you don’t, do you?’

  She looked up at that, a laughing question in her eyes, and found him watching her with such an arrested expression that her laughter died. Had she angered him, perhaps?

  ‘Can you really forgive me for my foolishness today?’ she asked him anxiously. ‘I promise you I shall not keep anything from you again.’

  The serious look disappeared and he smiled, flicking her cheek with one careless finger.

  ‘Of course I forgive you,’ he said lightly. ‘Now let us hurry back to Brook Street. All this excitement has given me an appetite!’

  * * *

  It was almost an hour later when Gideon sat down to dinner with his wife, but despite his earlier protestations he only picked at the array of sumptuous dishes spread before him. His thoughts went back constantly to the events earlier that evening. Max’s attempts to discredit his wife had angered him, but that was not the only reason for his distraction. He was shocked by the jealousy that had consumed him when he had suspected Nicky had taken a lover.

  That had been superseded by fear for her safety when he realised Max’s involvement, but more than anything he was confused by the overwhelming desire that had come over him when he had kissed her. It had been every bit as strong as on their wedding night. Then he had put it down to an excess of wine. Kissing his wife in broad daylight and in such a public place as St James’s Street should not have had anything like the same effect, but the touch of her lips had shaken him to the very core. He had covered it well, of course, but then, when they were walking home and she had mentioned her passionate nature, the memory of her response to his lovemaking on that first, momentous night had hit him so forcibly that for a few moments he had not been able to speak and had only been aware of a strong desire to rush home and repeat the performance.

  Since their night together at Elmwood he had tried to treat her as a wife should be treated. He visited her bed for the sole purpose of producing an heir, keeping all other feelings well under control and it shocked him, as they entered the shadowy portals of his Brook Street house to find that he wanted to pick her up and carry her to his room, to rip off her clothes and make love to her as violently, as passionately as on that first, tempestuous occasion.

  It could not be, of course. Now she was carrying his child he had no excuse to make love to her. His father had told him to take a mistress, but Gideon knew now that he did not want a mistress, he wanted his wife.

  He struggled through dinner, trying to converse, attempting to entertain Nicky with amusing anecdotes while all he could think of was the softness of her skin, the warmth of her limbs when they were wrapped around him. When she went off to the drawing room he lingered over his port, wondering if the excitement of the day would make her too tired to wait up for him, but as he reached the drawing-room door he heard the soft lilting strains of the harp.

  He watched her from the doorway, marvelling at the concentration on her face, and when his eyes moved to her hands caressing the strings he found himself remembering how gently those same fingers touched his body. Gideon shifted uncomfortably. It would not do. She was with child and as such would not welcome his advances. Indeed, he knew that such behaviour was downright dangerous. Father had made that quite clear. Looking across at the delicate little
figure before him, Gideon knew he would not risk such a thing happening to Nicky.

  Yet it took all his resolution to part from her that night and not to make his way through the dressing room to her bedchamber.

  * * *

  ‘I think we should go to Rotham,’ Gideon announced at breakfast the next morning. ‘It is time you met my father.’

  Dominique continued pouring her coffee. It was not unexpected, but his next words caused her to heart to sink.

  ‘You will remain there until the baby is born.’

  ‘And will you stay, too?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

  ‘For a couple of weeks.’

  So it had come. He had had enough of her—and how could she blame him, after her foolishness yesterday? There could be no arguing. Of course he would want the child to be born at Rotham, especially if it was a boy.

  ‘When do we go?’

  ‘In three weeks.’

  ‘Gwen has invited us to join her in Brighton.’

  ‘Impossible,’ he said shortly.

  She accepted this, but he must have observed her disappointment for he added in a kinder tone, ‘Perhaps next year. Dr Harris is very good, but I should like you to have the services of my father’s medical man, a very experienced doctor. He delivered both of my sister’s children. Ribblestone’s country seat, Fairlawns, is but five miles from Rotham and Gwen will vouch for him, I am sure. That is, have you told her that you are increasing?’

  ‘Yes, but I swore her to secrecy.’

  He gave a wry smile. ‘Then I doubt it will remain a secret much longer.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘If you are in agreement, then I shall write to my father today and tell him we shall be at Rotham by the middle of July.’

  What could she say? It was good of him to pretend she had a choice.

  * * *

  When Gwen heard that they were going to Rotham she screwed her face up in distaste. Dominique blinked away a rogue tear that threatened her eye.

  ‘Gideon says I am to stay there until the baby is born.’