Lady Beneath the Veil Read online

  ‘Maman has her own concerns and will think nothing amiss.’

  Gideon finished his wine and poured himself another glass. Dominique—he almost winced. He must get used to calling her that. The girl had hardly touched her wine and the cake lay crumbled on her plate. A tiny spark of sympathy touched him.

  ‘Do not despair,’ he told her. ‘In the morning we will return to Martlesham and I will arrange for an annulment.’

  ‘And until then?’

  Her gaze was sceptical.

  ‘We are not alone here. Mrs Chiswick is a respectable woman and, when we tell her there has been a mistake she will look after you until we can get you back to Martlesham.’ He tried a reassuring smile. ‘I think she can be relied upon to protect your honour.’

  Dominique forced herself to meet his eyes, wondering at the change in tone. It was the first time Gideon Albury had done anything other than glower at her. Oh, he had smiled in the church, but then he had thought her someone else. Now he was smiling at her, plain little Dominique Rainault, and her heart began to thud with a breathless irregularity. Often in the preceding weeks she had dreamed of such a moment, but had never expected it, not after the scene outside the church that morning.

  The revulsion she had seen in his face had quite chilled her and since then he had regarded her with nothing but repugnance. She was not prepared for the sudden charm, or the way it made her want to smile right back at him. Common sense urged her to be cautious. Despite the attraction she felt for him he was, after all, one of Max’s cronies, one of that crowd of irresponsible young bucks who were more than happy to play cruel jokes upon one another. Just because he was the victim of this particular jape did not mean she could trust him.

  * * *

  There was a light scratching on the door, and the housekeeper peeped in.

  ‘Beggin’ your pardon sir, madam, but I was wondering if you would be wishing to change before dinner? The bedchamber’s not prepared yet, but your trunks have been taken up to the dressing room and there is a good fire burning in there...’

  Gideon shook his head.

  ‘I will not change, but perhaps Mrs Albury would like to make use of it?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, I would like to wash my face and hands.’ Dominique made for the door, thankful for the opportunity to gather her thoughts. Unfortunately, the housekeeper was eager to talk as she escorted her up the stairs.

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to make up the bed, ma’am, for Alice hasn’t come yet so I’ve only got Hannah, the scullery maid, to help me and I can’t trust her to look after the kitchen, but I shall get around to that just as soon as I have finished cooking dinner. If only we’d had more notice, we would have been able to give you a welcome more suited to a new bride, but there, Mr Carstairs has never been one to give us much warning.’ The woman gave a wheezy laugh as she opened the door to the dressing room. ‘I’ve no doubt he’ll descend upon us one day with a bride of his own, and never a bit o’ notice of that, either!’

  Dominique knew this was her opportunity.

  ‘Mrs Chiswick, could you have another bed made up for me, if you please, in a separate chamber?’

  The housekeeper gave a fat chuckle as she went around the room lighting the candles.

  ‘Lord bless you, dearie, you won’t be needing that tonight.’

  ‘But I shall. You see, this is all a mistake, I never intended—’

  Dominique found her hands caught in a warm clasp.

  ‘Now, now, my love, you ain’t the first young bride to have last-minute nerves. Do you not know what to expect on your wedding night?’

  ‘Well, yes, but that’s not it...’

  ‘Now don’t you be worrying yourself, my dear, I’ve been with Mr Chiswick for nigh on thirty years and I can tell you that you have nought to worry about, especially with a kind young man like Mr Albury. He’s always been a favourite here at Elmfield, more so than many of Mr Carstairs’s friends, I can tell you. But there, it’s not for me to criticise the master. Anyway I’m sure Mr Albury will take very good care of you. You just go and enjoy your dinner, and I’ve no doubt that once you and your man are tucked up warm and cosy in the bedroom next door you will enjoy yourself there, too!’

  Dominique looked into that kindly, smiling face and knew she would have to tell the housekeeper that she and Mr Albury were not really man and wife and must have separate rooms. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Thank you.’

  The explanation withered before it even reached her tongue. The idea of confessing the truth—and her own collusion in the deception—even to this kind-hearted soul, was beyond her. She shrivelled at the very thought of it and allowed the housekeeper to withdraw without uttering another word.

  Dominique berated herself soundly. She should have insisted Mrs Chiswick make up another bed for her and put a second bed in the room for herself. She removed the lace fichu and poured water into the basin to wash her face. Did she really expect Gideon Albury to keep away from her if she did not take such measures? She might think him charming, but what did she really know of him? Should one not judge a man by his company? He was friends with her cousin and Max was a cruel bully.

  The heavy gold band on her finger touched her cheek, reminding her of her perilous situation. She was married. The register had been signed and she now belonged to the man sitting downstairs in that snug little parlour. The law of the land was quite specific: she was his property, to do with as he wished. A shiver ran through her.

  The distant chiming of a clock caught her attention. She had dallied as long as she dared, but she could not remain in the dressing room forever. Picking up the bedroom candle, she snuffed the other lights and made her way out through the adjoining bedchamber. The large canopied bed loomed dark and menacing in the centre of the room, the hangings casting ominous shadows over the bare mattress. Dominique averted her gaze, looking instead around the room. A large linen press stood against one wall next to a bow-fronted chest of drawers, while under the window was a pretty little writing desk, still adorned with its accessories. As she passed the light glinted on the silver inkstand with its cut-glass inkwell, silver nib box and a fine ivory-handled letter opener.

  Dominique stopped and set down the candlestick. She picked up the letter opener and slid it into her sleeve. The ivory handle pressed against the soft skin on the inside of her wrist, but the buttoned cuff disguised its slight bulge. She dropped her arm. The letter opener did not move, her tight-fitting sleeve holding it fast. Satisfied, she picked up her candle and continued on her way downstairs.

  * * *

  Gideon was waiting for her in the parlour, a fresh bottle of wine open on the table. He had loosened his neckcloth and was lounging in a chair by the table, one booted ankle resting on the other, but she thought he looked incredibly handsome, the candlelight accentuating the smooth planes of his face. Her eyes were drawn to the sensual curve of his lips and Dominique found herself wondering what he would taste like. The thought shocked her so much that she stopped just inside the door.

  Perhaps he thought she was offended by his negligent attitude, for he rose to his feet and pulled out a chair for her. Silently she sank down on to it, aware of his hands on the chair back, his presence towering over her. She took a deep breath to steady herself, but instead found her senses filled with the sharp tang of soap and a musky scent. She had a strong desire to lean back against his fingers, to turn her head and press a kiss against them, inviting him to—

  No! Good heavens, where did such wicked thoughts come from? She sank her teeth into her lip, forcing herself to sit still.

  ‘Well...’ he refilled her glass and held it out to her ‘...did you explain our situation to Mrs Chiswick?’

  ‘No.’ His surprised stare would have made Dominique flush, if her cheeks had not already been burning with her own wayward thoughts. ‘I thou
ght perhaps you should do so.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes.’ She took the glass, resisting the urge to slide her fingers over his. ‘I thought if I broached the subject she might think you had coerced me into this marriage.’

  ‘Instead of you tricking me.’

  ‘I did not!’ she retorted hotly. ‘I was as much a victim as you. Well, almost.’

  His lips tightened.

  ‘Let us agree to blame Max for this sorry mess, shall we? He knew that someone with French blood would be the worst possible match for me.’

  ‘Of course.’ She recalled his reaction when Max had explained her parentage. ‘Will you tell me why that should be?’

  ‘Because—’ He broke off as they were interrupted again, saying impatiently, ‘Yes, Chiswick, what is it now?’

  ‘Dinner is ready now, sir, if you is amenable.’

  ‘Very well, we will be over directly.’ As the butler withdrew he turned back to Dominique, ‘We will continue this discussion later.’

  He spoke harshly, but she detected a note of relief in his tone. Silently she rose and took his proffered arm as they crossed the hall to the dining room. Beneath her fingers she could feel his strength through the sleeve. He was tense, his anger barely contained. This courtesy was a veneer, a sham, and she felt as if she were walking beside a wild animal—one wrong word and he would pounce on her.

  * * *

  Chiswick served them, passing on his wife’s apologies for the lack of dishes upon the table. Dominique was quick to reassure him that there was more than sufficient. Indeed, by the time she had tried the white soup, followed by the neck of mutton with turnips and carrots, a little of the carp and the macaroni pie she had no room for the fricassee of chicken or any of the small sweet tarts and the plum pudding that followed. Mrs Chiswick proved to be a good cook and the wines her husband provided to accompany the dishes were excellent. Dominique drank several glasses, partly to calm her nerves. She had never before dined alone with any man and she was all too conscious of the taciturn gentleman sitting at the far end of the table. She shivered, regretting that she had left her lace fichu in the dressing room. Not that she was really cold, just...nervous.

  * * *

  Conversation had been necessarily stilted and she was relieved when the meal was over and she could return to the parlour. She hesitated when Gideon followed her out of the room.

  ‘Are you not remaining to drink your port, sir?’

  ‘Chiswick shall bring me some brandy in the parlour. I do not like to drink alone.’

  ‘I admit I have always thought it an odd custom, to remain in solitary state when there are no guests in the house. My cousin insists upon it at the Abbey, although he is rarely there without company.’

  Dominique babbled on as Gideon escorted her back across the dark and echoing hall, but she could not help herself. It was nerves, she knew, but there was something else, an undercurrent of excitement at being alone with Gideon. It was a situation she had thought about—dreamed of—for weeks, only in her dreams he had been in her company out of choice, not necessity. She continued to chatter until they were both seated in the parlour. Chiswick deposited a little dish of sweetmeats at her elbow and placed a tray bearing decanters and glasses on the sideboard.

  ‘Shall I send in the tea tray in an hour, madam?’

  ‘No, let Mrs Chiswick bring it in now,’ Gideon answered for her. He added, once they were alone, ‘You can tell her when she comes in that you will require another bed to be made up.’

  ‘Will not you—?’

  He shook his head

  ‘The running of a household is a woman’s business, madam. ’Tis for you to order the staff.’

  He got up to pour himself a glass of brandy while Dominique stared miserably into the fire. No matter how embarrassing, she must do this. The alternative was too dreadful to contemplate.

  Gideon was still standing by the sideboard moments later when Mrs Chiswick bustled in.

  ‘The tea tray, madam, as you requested. You must be very tired from your journey, ma’am, and you won’t be wanting to prolong your evening.’

  ‘Actually, Mrs Chiswick, I—’

  ‘Alice and I are going upstairs to make the bed now. I’ve taken the liberty of heating a couple of bricks for the bed, too, seeing as how it hasn’t been used for a while, but I don’t suppose you will be wanting me or Chiswick to remove them, now will you?’ The housekeeper gave a conspiratorial smile that made Dominique’s face burn, which only made Mrs Chiswick smile more broadly. ‘Bless you, my dear, no need to colour up so. You are on your honeymoon, after all! Now, the bedchamber should be all ready for you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Chiswick will leave your bedroom candles in the hall for you and we’ll say goodnight now, so we don’t bother you again. And we won’t disturb you in the morning, either, ’til you ring for us. I doubt you’ll be wanting to be up with the lark.’

  With another knowing smile and a broad wink the housekeeper departed, leaving Dominique to stare at the closed door.

  A strained silence enveloped them.

  ‘By heaven, what a gabster,’ remarked Gideon at last. ‘Difficult to get a word in, I admit.’ He sat down beside her on the sofa. ‘I suppose I can always sleep here.’ She turned to look at him, surprised. His lips twitched. ‘We were neither of us brave enough to stem the flow, were we?’

  Dominique’s hands flew to her mouth, but could not stifle a nervous giggle. Gideon began to laugh, too, and soon they were both convulsed in mirth. It was several minutes before either of them could speak again.

  ‘It is very like a farce one would see in Drury Lane,’ Dominique hiccupped, searching for a handkerchief to mop her streaming eyes.

  Gideon pulled out his own and, cupping her chin in one hand, turned her face towards him and gently wiped her cheeks.

  ‘But if such a story was presented, one would say it was too far-fetched and could never happen.’

  He was still grinning, but Dominique’s urge to laugh died away. Carefully she disengaged herself.

  ‘But it has happened.’ His touch on her face had been as gentle as a kiss and yet the skin still tingled. He was leaning back now against the sofa, relaxed and smiling. She thought again how handsome he was, with those finely chiselled features, the thick, auburn hair gleaming in the candlelight. If they had met in other circumstances... She stopped the thought immediately. He hated the French and there could be no denying her parentage, nor did she want to do so. She was proud of her father.

  Gideon was on his feet, going back to the sideboard.

  ‘You shouldn’t be maudling your insides with tea. Let me get you some port.’

  She looked towards the tea tray. He was right, she did not feel up to the careful ritual of making tea this evening. She was so nervous she feared she would drop one of the beautiful porcelain cups. When he held out a glass of dark, ruby-red liquid she accepted it with a murmur of thanks, holding it carefully between her hands. Perhaps it would put some spirit into her. She took a large gulp, swallowing half the contents in one go but thankfully Gideon did not see it, for he was busy pouring himself more brandy.

  ‘We are in a pickle, my dear.’ He sat down beside her again. ‘I lost my temper and I apologise for it. If we had remained at Martlesham everything would have been so much simpler.’

  ‘You were very angry, I understand that, and I beg your pardon for my part in it.’

  The corners of his mouth lifted a little. He said ruefully, ‘It is the red hair. When the angry mist descends I am not responsible for my actions.’

  A smile of understanding tugged at her own mouth.

  ‘My hair is not red, but I have a temper, too, at times.’

  ‘Your Latin temperament, perhaps.’

  ‘Yes.’

  * * *

 
There was a shy smile in her green eyes, and Gideon was pleased to note the anxious frown no longer creased her brow. She looked so much better when her countenance was not strained and pinched with worry. A soft blush was mantling her cheek as she went to the sideboard to put down her empty glass. Gideon noted the way the walking dress clung to her figure, accentuating the slender waist, the sway of her hips. As she returned he could appreciate the curve and swell of her breasts rising from the bodice of her gown. She was no ripe beauty, but he would wager that beneath that mannish outfit was a rather delectable body. He remembered standing behind her earlier, breathing in her fragrance and felt a flicker of interest—of desire—stir his blood.

  As if aware of his thoughts she chose to sit in the armchair beside the fire. Gideon cleared his throat.

  ‘I believe there is a gig in the stables. When it is light I shall drive you to Swaffham, and from there we will hire a post-chaise to take us back to Martlesham.’

  ‘Not the Abbey,’ she said quickly. ‘Will you please set me down in the village, at my mother’s cottage?’

  He shrugged. ‘If you wish.’ A sudden thud on the ceiling made them both look up. ‘But first we have to get through this evening.’

  The port had had its effect. Dominique knew now what she must do.

  ‘I shall remain down here,’ she announced, sitting very straight and upright in her chair. ‘You may have the bedroom.’

  ‘Nonsense. I have already said I shall sleep on the sofa.’

  She put up her chin. ‘I have made up my mind.’

  ‘Then unmake it.’

  His autocratic tone only strengthened her resolve.

  ‘I will not.’

  ‘I am not so unchivalrous as to condemn you to such discomfort.’

  ‘I shall be perfectly comfortable. Besides, there are bolts on the parlour door, while the bedchamber boasted not even the flimsiest lock.’

  Gideon sat up, frowning.

  ‘Are you saying you do not trust me?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  He jumped up.

  ‘Damn it all, when have I given you occasion to doubt me?’