Lady Beneath the Veil

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?’

Her brows went up.

‘When you insisted we come here.’

The truth of her statement caught him on the raw and he swung away, striding over to the window.

‘Do not be so damned obstinate, woman! I have said I will sleep on the sofa and I shall.’

His words appeared to have no effect.

‘Impossible. It is far too short for you. Why, you must be six foot at least.’

‘Six foot two,’ he said absently. ‘But that is not the point.’

‘It is very much the point.’ He heard the quiet rustle of skirts. ‘You see, it is the perfect length for me.’

When he looked around she had stretched herself out on the sofa. Her gown fell in soft folds around her, accentuating the contours of her body, the swell of her breast and curve of her hip that only served to emphasise the tiny waist. And how had he failed to notice the length of her legs? She stretched luxuriously and he had a glimpse of dainty ankles peeping from beneath the hem of her skirts. In any other situation he would have found the view enchanting, but—hell and confound it, she was mocking him!

‘The bedroom has been prepared, madam and you will sleep in it.’

‘And I tell you I shall not.’

He almost ground his teeth in frustration.

‘I admit it was a mistake to come here.’ He spoke carefully, reining in his anger. ‘I was at fault, but you will agree the provocation was great.’

‘Of course.’

‘However, when all is said and done, I am a gentleman. I will not have it said that I enjoyed the comfort of a feather bed while you spent the night on a sofa!’

Dominique felt an unexpected frisson of excitement at his rough tone. He was rattled and clearly no longer in control of the situation. An exulting feeling of power swept through her. She put her hands behind her head and gazed up at him defiantly.

‘But I am already in possession, so I do not see that you can do anything about it. I suggest you admit yourself beaten and retire in good order.’

She closed her eyes and forced herself to keep very still, feigning indifference. He would see she was not to be moved and would go away and leave her in peace. She expected to hear a hasty footstep and the door snapping closed behind him. Instead she heard something between a snarl and a growl and the next moment she was being hoisted none too gently off the sofa. Her eyes flew open and she gave a little scream as she experienced the novel sensation of being helpless in a man’s arms. But not just any man, and along with her natural indignation she was aware of the urgent desire curling through her body. It frightened her, but she would fight it. She would show him she was no milk-and-water maid, to be treated so abominably.

‘You said you were a gentleman,’ she protested, struggling against his hold. In response his grip tightened, one arm pressing her against his chest while the other supported her knees, so that her frustrated kicks met nothing but air.

‘I am, but you have tried my patience too far!’

‘Put me down this instant!’

She tried to free her arms, but at that very moment he loosened his grip around her shoulders. Instinctively her hands went around his neck to save herself from falling. He looked down at her, a wicked glint in his hazel eyes.

‘I thought you wanted me to let go?’

She was feeling extremely breathless and her heart was thudding so painfully against her ribs that he must feel it, since she was pressed against his hard chest, but she replied with as much dignity as she could muster.

‘I do not wish to be dropped on my head.’

With a little grunt of satisfaction he settled her more comfortably before him. Her arms were still around his neck and she could not for the life of her release him. Dominique told herself this was solely for the purpose of supporting herself, should he drop her, but she could not deny the sensual pleasure of feeling the silk of his hair, where it curled between her fingers and the back of his collar. Shocked by the idea that part of her was enjoying Gideon’s masterful behaviour, she gave a half-hearted kick. His arms tightened and her breathing became even more constricted.

‘You are suffocating me,’ she protested.

‘Keep still, then.’

He crossed the room in three strides and somehow managed to open the door.

‘Put me down!’ she hissed at him as they crossed the empty hall. ‘I can walk perfectly well.’

‘And give you the opportunity to run straight back into the parlour? I think not.’

Silenced, Dominique marvelled at his strength as he took the stairs two at a time. He held her firmly with his arm around her back and his hand clasped about her ribs and she was achingly aware of how close his fingers were to her breast. She was filled with outrage—at herself, for her wanton feelings, but even more so at Gideon for his cavalier behaviour. How dare he manhandle her in this way!

As they reached the landing Chiswick appeared in the corridor. He stopped, his eyes almost popping out of his head.

‘Don’t just stand there gawping, man,’ barked Gideon. ‘Open the door for me!’

Speechless with anger and shock, Dominique watched the servant throw open the door to the bedchamber. The golden light of the fire and several candles greeted them. Gideon sailed through with his burden and the butler reached in to close the door behind them. As it clicked shut there was the unmistakable sound of a throaty chuckle. It was all that was needed to fan the spark of her anger into full flame. She began to kick and struggle violently.

‘How dare you treat me like this!’

‘If you behave like a fishwife, then I will treat you as one.’

‘Fishwife! I merely asked you to leave me alone.’

With an oath he set her on her feet, but kept hold of her wrists.

‘By Gad, woman, you are beyond reason! Do you not want to sleep in a comfortable bed tonight?’

‘No! I was quite happy to sleep downstairs.’

‘Well I was not! Damnation, madam, you are here now and here you will stay, whether you like it or not.’

‘Oh, and who is going to make me?’

‘I am, even if it means I have to stand guard outside your door all night.’

‘Much good that will do you, since there is a door from the dressing room on to the landing.’

‘Then I had best stay here where I can see you.’

He released her, but there was a challenging look in his eye. Dominique knew that if she made a bolt for the dressing-room door he would catch her. She threw up her head.

‘I demand you let me go back downstairs.’

‘Ho, demand, do you? What about those wifely vows you took, to honour and obey?’

‘Worthless. Now will you let me go?’

‘Never.’

He towered over her, sparking a tiny frisson of unease as she realised she was now in the very situation she had been trying to avoid. However, her temper was up and she was not daunted by his superior height and strength.

‘I refuse to sleep in that bed.’

‘That may be so, but you are not leaving this room again tonight.’

She took a step back, glaring up at him as she folded her arms across her chest. As she did so she felt the solid line of the letter opener against her left forearm. She pulled it out with a triumphant flourish.

‘What the devil are you going to do with that?’

‘Stab you with it, if you don’t get out of my way.’

* * *

Gideon stared at her.

‘Good God, madam, anyone would think I intended to ravish you, instead of offering you the most comfortable bed in the house.’

He wished he hadn’t used the word ravish, it brought all sorts of unhelpful connotations to his mind as she stood before him, breasts heaving and eyes flashing fire. Her hair had come loose in the struggle and now fell in a dusky cloud to her shoulders. The desire he had felt earlier stirred again, only stronger. He reminded himself he was a gentleman and should retire now, before it was too late. But she was still defying him, brandishing the letter opener like a sword, and that was a challenge he could not resist.

‘Step aside,’ she ordered him. ‘Let me return to the parlour.’

‘The devil I will.’

‘I—I will stab you if you get in my way.’

He threw his arms wide.

‘Stab away.’

His taunt brought a blaze of anger to her eyes again and with a shriek she launched herself at him. He grabbed her wrist. The letter opener was not that sharp and he doubted it would do much damage, but she seemed intent upon attacking him and he was damned if he was going to allow that. She was surprisingly strong. He twisted her wrist and she dropped the weapon, but immediately she sank her teeth into his hand.

‘Ouch! You little termagant!’ He wrestled her backwards on to the bed, pinning her wrists above her head. ‘Will you stop fighting like a wildcat?’

She continued to struggle and he was obliged to use the weight of his body to hold her down and prevent her flailing legs from kicking him.

‘Let me go!’

‘Not if you are going to scratch my eyes out. Stop it!’ She ceased struggling and glared up at him, the gold braid on her bodice glinting with the rise and fall of her breast. ‘That’s better.’

He, too, was breathing heavily, but he recognised it was not just exertion. The feel of her body beneath him was exciting him almost beyond reason. He smiled and earned for his troubles a smouldering look that sent the blood pounding faster through his body. He was lying between her legs, crushing her skirts against the bed, and for one searing moment he imagined what it would be like if her thighs were pressed against his, skin on skin rather than separated by numerous layers of cloth.

‘That reminds me.’ His voice seemed very distant and slightly unsteady. ‘I have not yet kissed the bride.’

He told himself he was teasing her, punishing her just a little more. She watched him from those huge eyes. Large and dark, unfathomable pools, dragging him down. His gaze moved to her mouth.

Better stop this now, before it gets out of hand.

Too late. The pink tip of her tongue flickered nervously across her lips and he could not resist lowering his head to capture her mouth. It was a swift, hard kiss and she trembled beneath him. Immediately he drew back.

* * *

Dominique took a quick, shuddering breath. That was the last straw. Her blood was up, she had been aware of a sharp exultation when she had flown at him with the paperknife in her hand and her heart was still pounding from the ensuing tussle. He had overpowered her, of course, but she was not beaten. She told herself she would never give in, even with his body pressing down upon hers she felt herself stronger, not weaker, as sensations she could not explain took control of her body. She felt alive, buzzing with energy, ready to fight him again. Then he had closed the distance between them, his mouth finding her parted lips and taking possession. Her body responded with a shudder of desire that shocked and startled her. A longing, a need she could not control was unleashed—she wanted him as she had never wanted anyone, or anything, before.

It was a shock to realise she would sell her soul to the devil for one night with Gideon Albury, and what did it matter? Her reputation was ruined, whatever happened, so why should she not have one glorious night to remember? He was easing himself away. In another moment he would be lost to her forever.

* * *

‘I beg your pardon,’ he muttered, releasing her hands. ‘I should not—’

Gideon broke off in surprise as she reached up and clutched at his neckcloth. She pulled him close and began to kiss him, a little inexpertly, but with such eagerness that desire lanced through him. He was lost. It was as if someone had opened the floodgates and a torrent of passion poured forth, carrying all before it.

Clothes were hurriedly discarded, buttons torn off in their haste to disrobe and all the while they strove to continue those heady, desperate kisses that kept all coherent thought at bay. Gideon lifted her easily on to the cool silk covers of the bed and measured his naked length against her. She clung to him, eager for his touch, returning his embraces with a fervour that more than matched his own. She cried out as he entered her, but when he hesitated she pulled him to her, claiming his mouth, tangling her tongue with his and leaving him in no doubt that she wanted to continue the hot, passionate coupling that carried them on to a heady, exhilarating climax and left them both panting and exhausted.

* * *

Dominique woke up when the fire was dying down and the night air cooling her skin. She lifted one hand to her head, trying to make sense of where she was and what had happened. She remembered dining with Gideon, then arguing with him and finally, when he had laid hands on her—understandably, since she was trying to stab him—she had wanted nothing more than to cling on to him forever. It was as if she had been possessed, filled with desire that must be satisfied. She ran a hand over her body. It felt no different, yet everything had changed. She was no longer a virgin.

She tried to examine her feelings about that and about the naked man sleeping beside her. She felt numb. It was as if there was some great unhappy void ahead of her that she dare not face just yet. Perhaps in the morning she would be able to make sense of it all. For now her main concern was to get warm. She slid between the covers. The hot bricks so thoughtfully supplied were gone. They had fallen out on to the floor at some point, unnoticed, and the sheets were cold.

Her movements disturbed Gideon and he followed her under the covers, silently pulling her close. She could not deny the comfort of his warm limbs wrapped around her. Nothing mattered when she was in his arms. Tomorrow. She would think about it all tomorrow. She closed her eyes and, as she was drifting away into sleep, she felt his breath against her cheek, heard him whisper one word.

‘Dominique.’

Chapter Four

The early morning sunshine was just peeping into the bedchamber when Dominique opened her eyes again. She was alone in the canopied bed. Soon she would have to get up and face the day—and Gideon—but for now she lay very still and allowed the memories to flood back. Perhaps she had been wrong to agree to her cousin’s plan, but if it had secured her mother’s independence then she could not regret it.

And her night of passion with Gideon? She would regret that, she was sure, but it had been inevitable. From the first moment she had peered through the thick wedding veil and seen him standing at the altar, tall and athletic, with the bars of sunlight from the windows striking red-gold sparks from his auburn hair, she was lost. Her heart had turned over and, oh, how she had wished that his smiles had really been for her and not for the person he thought her to be.

His anger, when he discovered the deception, had been monumental, but she could forgive that—as she would have forgiven him if he had taken her in anger, forced himself upon her. After all, what rights did she have now, as his wife? But she truly believed he had planned to protect her. If she had not been so obstinate, they might well have spent their wedding night in separate rooms, emerging chaste and unsullied this morning. But his autocratic behaviour had angered her and she had a temper equal to his own. Over the years she had learned to keep it in check, except in the most trying circumstances, and there could be no denying that yesterday had been extremely trying.

Once she had lost her temper there had been no way of regaining it again and when Gideon had kissed her she had reacted instinctively, taking her opportunity to possess him, if only for one night. She had given in to pure, wanton lust and now she must pay for it.

* * *

Dressing took some time. Clothing was scattered across the room—one stocking was dangling from the handle of the linen press and her garters had disappeared completely. She rummaged through the trunk that Max had supplied, but soon realised that her cousin’s cruel sense of humour was present even here. The diaphanous nightwear and flimsy muslin gowns were more suited to a courtesan and had probably been left at Martlesham by one of Max’s numerous lovers. She would have to wear her walking dress again.

However, she found in the trunk a clean chemise of the very finest snow-white linen and a pair of silk garters to replace her own embroidered ones. She considered cutting off the gold tassels from the garters, but in the end decided to leave them. After all, no one would see them under her skirts—unless Gideon wished to repeat last night’s passionate encounter.

Oh, if only he would! A delicious curl of desire clenched her stomach and left an ache between her thighs as she remembered how it had felt to be in his arms, to have him love her.

Love. How could it be love? Gideon had no reason to think well of her. And for herself, she had watched him courting the actress, but had never spoken to him before yesterday. It could only be a savage, primitive animal attraction, acceptable in a man, but not at all the sort of thing that a respectable young lady would admit.

* * *

Dominique made her way downstairs. She found the housekeeper in the parlour, spreading a cloth over the little table.

‘Good morning, Mrs Albury. I’m setting up breakfast for you here. Mr Albury thought you would prefer that to eating in the dining room, which can be draughty when the wind is in the east, as it is today.’

Dominique nodded absently and asked if she had seen Mr Albury.

‘Aye, madam, he took himself off for a walk about an hour ago, it being such a fine morning. Would you like to break your fast now, madam, or will you wait for your husband to come back?’

‘A little coffee now, if you please. I will take breakfast when my...husband returns.’ She stumbled over the words, but she was glad to have a little longer to compose herself before meeting Gideon again.

* * *

She did not have long to wait. The thud of the front door, footsteps and the rumble of voices in the hall warned her of his arrival. She remained at the table, trying to look calm. He strode into the room, his greatcoat swinging open, his face alight with the effects of fresh air and exercise. He greeted her civilly, but she saw the sparkle fade from his eyes, replaced by a closed and shuttered look. She glanced away, trying not to feel hurt. She gestured to the table.

‘There is coffee here, sir, and it is still warm, if you wish for it.’

‘Thank you, yes. Mrs Chiswick is bringing in a fresh pot, but that might be some time.’

He threw his greatcoat over a chair and came to sit down. Dominique poured coffee into a cup and Gideon accepted it in silence. She wondered if she should say something and was relieved when the bustling entrance of Mrs Chiswick made speech unnecessary, at least for a while. They managed to get through breakfast with mere courtesies, but when the table had been cleared and they were alone again, the silence hung heavily between them.