Lady Beneath the Veil Read online

  ‘I beg your pardon, my dear, but we have so little in common.’

  ‘It was more than that. You were positively arctic!’

  ‘I am certainly surprised by your friendship with the fellow.’

  ‘You are offended, because he is French,’ she declared hotly. ‘Your hatred of the whole race is quite unreasonable.’

  He did not reply and with a toss of her head she turned away.

  ‘Nicky!’ She stopped and he said quietly, ‘I would rather you did not pursue your acquaintance with Monsieur Lamotte.’

  She turned, her brows raised in haughty surprise.

  ‘That is outrageous! You cannot dictate with whom I shall associate.’

  ‘I was not aware I was dictating to you, my dear, merely making my wishes clear.’

  ‘It is the same thing.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘And if I refuse to comply?’

  His eyes narrowed. He leaned closer so that his words were for her alone.

  ‘Do not forget, madam, that you are my wife.’

  Her head went up.

  ‘But I am not your slave!’

  With a swish of her skirts she flounced away from him.

  How dare Gideon dictate to her! It was nothing but prejudice, because Raymond was French, and she was tired of it. She wished Gwendoline was here, but she was attending some tedious political dinner with Ribblestone. There was no one else present to whom she could pour out her anger and frustration, so she took herself off to the card room and proceeded to lose a large portion of her pin money.

  * * *

  However, by the time she left the card room her temper had cooled, so that when she saw her husband in the ballroom she went straight up to him, saying penitently, ‘I beg your pardon, Gideon, I should not have ripped up at you so.’ His brows went up, but the harshness left his face as he took her outstretched hand and she was emboldened to continue. ‘I understand why you might not like Monsieur Lamotte, but he is a link with my childhood, the life I knew before we moved to England.’ She clung to his fingers. ‘Please do not ask me to give him up.’

  He stared down at her, a look she could not interpret in his hazel eyes.

  ‘Is he merely an acquaintance, Nicky, nothing more?’

  ‘Of course. What else should he be?’

  ‘And your morning meetings with him in Green Park?’ When her eyes flew to his face he gave her a wry smile. ‘You were seen, by Anthony. I told him it was nothing and the fact that you had your maid with you gives weight to my belief.’

  ‘And it is nothing, Gideon, I give you my word.’ She sighed. ‘But I quite see how it must look, so I shall not meet him there again.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I will not have the fellow call at Brook Street, but if you meet him at such parties as this and wish to dance with him, I will not object.’

  A compromise. She was aware of how much ground he was giving.

  ‘Very well, Gideon. Thank you.’ She suddenly felt very tired. ‘Do you think our hostess would object if I went home now?’

  ‘No, of course not. I shall escort you. Go downstairs and collect your wrap while I give our excuses to Lady Dortwood.’

  Dominique made her way to the hall, where a lackey was sent scurrying off to fetch her cloak.

  ‘I fear your husband does not like me.’

  Dominique whirled about to find Raymond Lamotte standing behind her.

  She gave a sad little smile. ‘It will be best if we discontinue our walks together, monsieur.’

  He shook his head. ‘Ah, that is a sadness, because I have something to discuss with you.’

  ‘We will have to do so the next time we meet—’

  ‘It concerns your father.’ His words brought her eyes flying to his face. He continued, ‘You told me you were trying to find him, so I have made the enquiries. I have friends in France who still have influence with the Directoire. They will know how to find the missing person. Some have been imprisoned for many years and it is not easy to gain information, but there is a man who knows how to do these things. He moves regularly between France and England, but secretly, so the less people who know of this the better. I have spoken to him about your father and he thinks we may be able to find him.’

  She shook her head, hardly daring to hope. ‘Then you must come to the house. Gideon could not object to that—’

  ‘Oh, but I fear he would, madame. You have told me yourself he is not a friend to my country. He would think it a—how do you say it?—a ploy. Non, I would rather discuss this with you alone. I need information from you.’

  ‘Anything,’ she said eagerly.

  ‘Eh bien, you must write down everything you remember of your father—where he lived, what he looked like, who his friends were. No little detail is too small. When you have done that, you must bring it to me at my lodgings and I will pass it on to my friend.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I will, of course.’

  ‘Good. I need the information by tomorrow evening. My contact is returning to France the following morning and he has promised to seek out news of your father.’

  ‘Oh, oh, thank you.’ She felt the hope bubbling up within her again. Maman would be so pleased when she told her! ‘I shall begin writing it all up tonight and send it round—’

  ‘No, you must bring it yourself. Can you be there at five o’clock? Then I can read it and if there are any things that are not clear, any questions, you will be there to answer them.’

  ‘Yes, of course, I understand.’

  ‘Good.’ He gave her his direction, looking over his shoulder as the servant hurried up to them carrying her rose silk wrap over his arm. ‘I must go now. Remember, my contact relies upon secrecy—if he is discovered, then all is lost.’

  She nodded. ‘You may trust me to tell no one.’

  ‘Thank you, madame.’ He smiled and pressed a final kiss upon her fingers. ‘Until tomorrow, then. Five o’clock. Do not be late!’

  He hurried away and Dominique absently fastened her cloak about her shoulders. Maman had been trying for years to find news of Papa without success. To have someone else searching, someone who knew the workings of the French government, surely they would have far more chance of finding out the truth? She had never quite given up hope, but it had lain dormant and now, suddenly, it was blossoming again. She could not wait to get back to Brook Street and write out everything she could remember about her father.

  * * *

  Gideon found his wife very distracted on the homeward journey. He wondered if she was regretting her promise to give up her walks with Raymond Lamotte. When Ribblestone had mentioned that he had seen Nicky walking with a French émigré in Green Park Gideon had shrugged it off. He guessed it was a chance meeting, and he quite understood why she had not mentioned the matter to him, but a casual remark to Kitty when he met her on the stairs two days later elicited the information that her mistress was in the habit of walking in the park every morning. And, yes, the French gentleman was always there.

  Intrigued, but not yet alarmed, Gideon had asked Anthony to make discreet enquiries and found that the émigré was an impecunious young man from an obscure but perfectly respectable French family who had fled the Terror and was now living in bachelor lodgings in Cleveland Row. The worst that was known of the young man was that he frequented a gambling hell in King Street that Ribblestone himself favoured. However, Gideon knew that if his wife continued to meet with Lamotte it would only be a matter of time before the gossipmongers heard of it and began to speculate upon the nature of their acquaintance. Their liaison might be quite innocent, but it would not do and Gideon had known he would have to speak to Nicky about the matter.

  However, he had been reluctant to do so—until he had seen Lamotte dancing with his wife. Then Gideon had been
aware of a sharp stab of disapproval. He had watched Nicky dance with dozens of fellows since they had come to town and thought nothing of it—after all, he was a reasonable man—but Raymond Lamotte was a Frenchman and to see the handsome young dog paying such attentions to his wife had roused Gideon’s temper. In fact, in any other circumstances he would have thought the emotion he felt when he saw them together was jealousy, but how could one feel that for a wife one did not love?

  No, he did not love his wife, he thought as the carriage pulled up in Brook Street and he escorted her into the house. How could he? She was a constant reminder of the loss his family had suffered. He felt a tiny kick of guilt. Perhaps his disapproval this evening of her friendship with Lamotte had been a little severe. In an effort to make amends he invited her to join him in the drawing room. She gave a little start.

  ‘Oh—no! That is, how kind of you, Gideon, but I—I am very tired. I think I will retire....’

  He covered his disappointment with a smile.

  ‘Of course, my dear, if that is what you wish.’

  He raised her hand to his lips and her fingers trembled in his grasp. As he looked up he was surprised to find something in her green eyes that made his brows snap together. A wistfulness, a longing that touched a chord inside him and roused the desire for her that was never very far away. How long had it been since he had been in her bed?

  ‘Perhaps you would like me to come up with you?’

  Her recoil told him immediately how wrong he had been.

  ‘Oh, I— If only... Not tonight, if you please, Gideon. I am nigh on dropping with fatigue.’

  With a shy, apologetic smile she wished him goodnight and hurried away.

  * * *

  Gideon waited until she was out of sight before walking into the drawing room. It was perfectly reasonable for her to be tired. After all, she was increasing, although no one watching her lithe figure skipping around the dance floor this evening would have guessed it. She had looked quite animated, too, never more so than when she had been dancing with Lamotte. Quickly Gideon dismissed the thought. He glanced around him. It was the custom to keep this room in readiness every evening with a good fire and candles burning in their wall-brackets, but despite the room’s cheerful aspect Gideon found that he had no desire to drink alone, so he went up to bed. When he reached Nicky’s room he stopped. A strip of light shone beneath the door, showing that she was still awake, but there was no sound from the room, and after a few seconds he went on to his own bedchamber, disturbed by a vague, niggling dissatisfaction.

  * * *

  At breakfast the next morning Nicky greeted him with her usual good humour and Gideon’s day brightened immediately.

  ‘You are not fatigued by last night’s exertions?’ he asked her as she poured coffee for him.

  She gave him a sunny smile.

  ‘Not in the least. You know Dr Harris said I could carry on very much as before.’

  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she thought that included her wifely duties in the bedchamber, but he was afraid to bring that haunted, frightened look back into her face, so instead he asked casually what she planned to do today.

  ‘I have some letters to write, and after that I am taking Kitty to Grosvenor Square with me. Gwen’s dresser is an excellent coiffeuse—’

  ‘You are not going to cut it short?’ He frowned, recalling the way her dusky curls cascaded over her shoulders, a perfect foil for the creamy whiteness of her skin.

  He remembered her standing naked before him while he pulled the pins from her hair so that it fell in a dark curtain to the small of her back, almost resting on her gently rounded buttocks. He remembered pulling her towards him and tangling his hands in the thick skeins of silky hair, holding her fast while his tongue plundered her mouth.

  His body responded immediately to the memory and he struggled to give his attention to her reply.

  ‘Heavens, no. Kitty is merely going to learn a new way to put up my hair.’

  ‘Ah, I see. And what do you do after that? I am busy this morning, but perhaps later you would like to drive out with me.’ He grinned at her. ‘We might go to the Park at the fashionable hour and show off your new hairstyle.’

  A shadow crossed her face.

  ‘Oh, I would enjoy that, only I... um... We are going to visit a new tea garden in Hampstead and I shall not be back until dinnertime.’

  ‘Of course. Then we shall meet again at dinner.’

  Gideon pushed his plate away and rose from the table. Why he should feel disappointed he did not know. The notion of driving out with his wife had only just occurred to him and was easily dismissed. However, after spending the morning poring over his accounts, he found the sun shining in through the study window was too tempting to ignore. It was not yet the fashionable hour for the promenade and Gideon decided he would exercise his greys in the Park before it became too crowded. He sent a message to the stable and ran upstairs to change into his riding coat and buckskins and to thrust his feet into his glossy top-boots.

  By the time he came down again Sam was waiting at the door with the curricle. The greys were fresh and leaped into their collars as they set off, but as they swept through Grosvenor Square Gideon spotted his sister approaching in her open carriage. He waved to her coachman to stop, bringing his own team to a plunging halt when the carriages were alongside each other.

  ‘Really, Gideon, we cannot hold up the traffic in this way, I shall be hounded out of the square!’

  ‘I thought Nicky was with you,’ he said, ignoring her laughing protest.

  ‘She was, until half an hour ago.’

  ‘Oh. Are you not going to Hampstead with her?’

  Gwen’s brows rose.

  ‘Hampstead? No, indeed. Why should she go to Hampstead?’

  ‘There is a new tea garden, I believe.’ Gwen’s blank look made him frown and the horses jibbed as his hands tightened involuntarily on the reins. He said, ‘She has her maid with her, I take it?’

  ‘No, we sent Kitty home as soon as Dominique’s hair was finished. Gideon, what—?’

  He cut her short, not wishing to explain anything. With a hasty farewell he drove on. Plans for Hyde Park were abandoned. He considered driving to Hampstead, but something told him he would not find Nicky there. Instead he drove back to Brook Street, and with a curt order to Sam to walk the horses he went indoors to look for the maid.

  He found her in Nicky’s bedroom, mending a flounce, and asked her without preamble if she knew where her mistress would be.

  Kitty jumped to her feet.

  ‘I—I don’t know, sir,’ she stammered, dropping a wobbly curtsy. ‘She sent me off from Lady Ribblestone’s and said she’d be making her own way home later.’

  ‘And she didn’t say where she was going?’

  ‘N-no, sir.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Gideon bent his frowning gaze upon her. ‘Think, girl!’

  Kitty stared at him, wide-eyed as she screwed her apron nervously between her hands. Gideon drew a breath and forced himself to speak quietly, ‘Did she give you no idea of where she might be going?’

  The maid chewed her lip, frowning in concentration. At last she said, ‘She—she did ask me where Cleveland Row might be.’

  A cold hand clutched at Gideon’s heart. Without a word he strode out of the room, thundered back down the stairs and out to his curricle. It did not take him long to find the lodging house, but the servant who opened the door told him that Lamotte was not at home.

  ‘Has a lady called here for him?’ demanded Gideon.

  The servant looked blank and shook his head. Even a generous bribe could not elicit anything more than the information that ‘monsewer’ had been out all day, but that he was expected back later, since he had sent out for a special dinner to be prepared and brought
to his rooms that evening.

  Gideon drove back to Brook Street, a mixture of fear and anxiety fermenting in his head. He tried to think logically. Perhaps he had misunderstood Nicky. She had many friends—it might well be that she was on a perfectly innocent outing. After all, she had said she would be home in time to join him for dinner. Gideon faced up to the fact that there was little he could do, save go home and wait for Nicky to turn up.

  However, after he had dismissed his curricle and paced once through the empty house Gideon realised he could not be idle. He changed into his evening clothes, picked up his hat, gloves and cane and strode off to St James’s Street. If he could find Lamotte, then his main worry about Nicky would be assuaged.

  * * *

  No one in any of the hells he visited had seen the young Frenchman that day. In growing desperation he made for the last one on his list, the narrow house in King Street that Anthony patronised.

  Despite the early hour the rooms were quite full, the heavy curtains pulled across the windows and the room bathed in candlelight. Gideon recognised several of the players and was hailed merrily and invited to join them. He declined politely and continued to ask after Lamotte, but his enquiries drew nothing but blank looks. No one had seen him.

  The Earl of Martlesham was presiding over the faro table in the final room and he looked up as Gideon came in.

  ‘Albury, this is a new departure for you. Will you join us?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ he replied shortly. ‘I am looking for Raymond Lamotte, do you know him?’

  ‘Lamotte, Lamotte...’ Max considered for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think I do.’

  Two of the players glanced up and exchanged looks, their brows raised. Gideon said nothing and after a moment Max continued. ‘What do you want with the fellow?’

  ‘Ribblestone gave me a message for him,’ he said casually. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘As you will.’ Max waved a hand. ‘We are about to go in search of our dinner. Why not come along with us?’

  ‘Thank you, no. I dine at home tonight.’

  ‘With your lovely wife? Gad, sir, but the two of you are inseparable.’