‘Well, madam, shall we go in to the wedding breakfast?’
Miserably, Dominique accompanied him into the house.
* * *
‘Now, perhaps you will explain to me what the hell is going on.’
Gideon looked about him at the company assembled in the dining room. The servants had been dismissed and it was only the twenty or so guests who had comprised Lord Martlesham’s house party for the past two months—with the exception of the blonde beauty, of course. The woman he had believed was Martlesham’s cousin. She had been replaced by the poor little dab of a girl who was now his wife.
Everyone stood around, ignoring the festive elegance of the dining table, all gleaming silver and sparkling glass, set out in readiness for the wedding breakfast. His eyes raked the crowd, but no one would meet his gaze.
‘It’s a practical joke, old boy,’ said Max, who was helping himself to a glass of brandy from the decanter on the sideboard.
‘Not one that I appreciate!’ Gideon retorted.
Max turned to him, still smiling.
‘No? Strange, I thought you would, given what happened at Covent Garden last year.’
‘Ah...’ Gideon nodded slowly ‘...so that is it. You are paying me back for stealing the divine Diana from under your nose!’
The scene came back to him. He had been one of a dozen rowdy, drunken bucks crowding into the dressing rooms after the performance. Max was paying court to a pretty little opera dancer, but Gideon knew from her meaningful smiles and the invitation in her kohl-lined eyes that she would happily give herself to the highest bidder.
‘Confound it, Albury, I had been working on that prime article for weeks, then just when I thought she was going to fall into my lap you offer her a carte blanche!’
Gideon felt his temper rising. There was a world of difference between competing for the favours of a lightskirt and trapping him into marriage!
‘And because I bested you on that occasion you concocted this elaborate charade?’
‘Why, yes, and I thought it rather neat, actually,’ returned Max, sipping his brandy. ‘I hired Agnes Bennet to play my cousin and you fell for her—quite besotted, in fact. All I had to do then was persuade you to propose. Of course, it helped that you were still smarting from the roasting your father gave you at Christmas and ripe for any mischief that would pay him back.’
Gideon could not deny it. He recalled that last, fraught meeting with his father. They had rowed royally. If he was honest, Gideon had already been a little tired of Max and his constant tricks and stratagems, but he did not like his father criticising his friends. He had lost his temper, declaring that he would do what he wanted with his life. He remembered storming out of the house, declaring, ‘I will make friends with whom I like, do what I like, marry whom I like!’
How unwise he had been to relay the whole incident to Martlesham.
The earl continued, ‘You knew that marrying any cousin of mine would anger your father. It helped, of course, that she was such a little beauty. A typical English rose.’
‘Couldn’t wait to get her into bed, eh?’ cried one of Max’s cronies, a buck-toothed fop called Williams.
Dear heaven, Gideon wondered why he had never noticed before just what a hideous smirk the fellow had! Max filled a second glass with brandy and handed it to him.
‘Then, of course, you said you could never marry a Frenchie.’
‘Well, what of that?’ said Gideon, stiffening.
Max’s smile grew.
‘It so happens that my dear cousin here is most definitely French. Ain’t that so, m’dear?’
The girl made no answer, save for a slight nod of the head. Gideon’s eyes narrowed.
‘Reynolds is an English name. And you told me Dominique was an old family tradition...’
‘Now there I admit I misled you, my boy. The name is a family tradition, but it belongs to her French ancestors, not mine.’ Max’s hateful smile widened. ‘My dear Gideon, you should have looked more closely at the register before you signed it. You would have seen then that her father’s name was Rainault, not Reynolds. Jerome Rainault, a wine merchant from Montpellier. A full-blooded Frenchman, Albury, and a paid-up Girondin to boot.’
‘What!’
Gideon was surprised out of the dispassionate hauteur he had assumed. Max’s pale blue eyes gleamed with malicious triumph.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said softly. ‘You swore that the French were all your enemies, did you not? It seemed poetic justice to marry you off to a Frenchwoman.’
More of Gideon’s last, heated exchange with his father flashed into his head.
‘Martlesham is a bad lot,’ the viscount had said. ‘You should choose your friends more carefully.’
He had been angered by his father’s words, but now the truth of them stung him even more.
Williams guffawed loudly. ‘What a good joke. You have been well and truly duped, Albury! You fell head over heels for Max’s actress, didn’t you? He made the switch this morning. He even had shoes made with a heel so that you didn’t see that your new bride was shorter than the lovely Agnes.’
Williams pushed his silver-topped cane under the bridal skirts, but the girl whipped herself away from him, her cheeks aflame with embarrassment. The others sniggered and Gideon cursed silently. How had he ever found their childish humour amusing?
He said furiously, ‘This goes beyond a joke, Martlesham. This time you are meddling with peoples’ lives.’
Max shrugged.
‘We all found it devilishly amusin’, old fellow.’ He held out the glass. ‘Here. Admit we caught you fair and square. Then let us enjoy the wedding déjeuner and afterwards I’ll summon the vicar and my lawyer from the village and we can arrange to have the marriage annulled. After all, there’s witnesses enough to the fact that you have been tricked.’
Gideon took the brandy and sipped it. Everyone around him was grinning, save the bride. The heat had left her cheeks and she now stood beside him, pale and silent. This slight, dark figure could not be less like the bride he had been expecting. The enormity of his folly hit him. He had not consulted his father about the marriage—a petty revenge against his parent for daring to ring such a peal over him at that last meeting. He had not even notified his lawyer, knowing that Rogers would demand settlements should be drawn up. In his eagerness to secure his bride he had accepted Max’s assurances that they could deal with all the usual formalities later. Now he knew why and a cold fury seized him.
He said slowly, ‘Admit I was tricked and become a laughing stock? No, I don’t think so.’
It gave him some satisfaction to see the smiles falter. Max frowned. His bride turned to stare at him. Gideon forced a smile to his lips.
‘No,’ he drawled. ‘I have to marry sometime. Your cousin will do as well as anyone, Martlesham. The marriage stands.’
* * *
‘No!’
Dominique gasped out the word. This was not the way it was meant to be. She looked imploringly to her cousin, but the earl’s face was a mask.
‘Come.’ Gideon was holding his hand out to her. ‘Let us sit down and enjoy our first meal as man and wife.’
His tone brooked no argument. Reluctantly she accompanied the stranger who was now her husband to the table. Only he was not a stranger to her. For the past two months she had watched him from the shadows as he laughed and danced and flirted with the woman chosen to impersonate