‘What can he do? When people see that we are perfectly happy together then the rumours will soon die away.’
‘I fear that will inconvenience you greatly.’
‘Me?’
‘Why, yes, if you must be seen everywhere with me, instead of enjoying your own life as you have been used to do.
Gideon was startled at her matter-of-fact tone and rather alarmed, too. All her concern appeared to be for his well-being, while he had given very little thought to hers. He had been happy to leave his sister to look after Nicky, to provide her with the wardrobe she would need for her new life, but he knew most brides would consider him very neglectful. Not that Nicky wanted his attentions—she had been very reserved since their wedding night. True, she had seemed very willing then, but she had been an innocent and his passion must have frightened her as much as it had shocked him. It was not how he had expected to behave with his new wife.
It was one of the things his father had drummed into him, that wives were fragile, delicate creatures and must be treated with great care and gentleness. Gideon had not visited her bed again and Nicky had shown no signs of wanting him to do so. He would need an heir, of course, but there was plenty of time for that when they were more comfortable together. Since they had arrived in London he had left her to settle in, seeing her only at breakfast and for dinner some evenings. He told himself it was for her sake, but there was something about his new wife that unsettled him, an unlooked-for attraction that stole up on him when he was too long in her company and he was determined not to take advantage of her again, but suddenly it all seemed incredibly selfish.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said now, painfully aware of his shortcomings. ‘I have been very busy, but you have every right to be angry with me for my lack of attention. Most new brides would be ringing a peal over their husbands for such behaviour.’
‘But ours is a most irregular marriage. I do not expect you to—what is the term?—live in my pocket.’ She shifted in her seat and looked up at him, her green eyes dark and earnest. ‘I want to make you a good wife, Gideon.’
He did not know how to reply, but stared in silence at the serious little face framed by dark curls. No wonder the ton was so interested in his marriage. They had been in town for almost three weeks and this was the first time they had been seen out together. Well, he thought grimly, that would change. His friends would look for him in vain tonight. He would stay at home with his wife.
He did not realise he was still staring at her until he heard Sam’s gruff voice, telling him to mind his horses. Nicky blushed and a shy twinkle appeared in her eyes.
‘Yes, look to your driving, sir,’ she admonished him, straightening in her seat. ‘You are wandering all over the path.’
* * *
When Gideon informed Dominique at dinner that evening that he was not going out she could not conceal her surprise. It would be the first time he had spent the whole evening with her since the night they had arrived in Brook Street.
‘Those who made your acquaintance in the park today will no doubt be sending you invitations very soon,’ he told her, straightening the cutlery. ‘This may be the last opportunity to enjoy a quiet evening together.’
* * *
When the meal was over Dominique left him to his port and went off to the drawing room. At first she nervously paced the floor, plumping cushions and straightening the ornaments, until she took herself to task for being so nervous. This was her home, too, and she should enjoy it. What would she really like to do? The beautiful pianoforte in the corner of the room gleamed enticingly, so she sat down and began to play. She was so lost in the music that she did not notice the time passing until she looked up and found Gideon standing by the door, watching her.
‘Do go on,’ he said, moving into the room and taking a seat by the fire.
Dominique continued until she had finished the Haydn sonata and, as the last notes died away, Gideon began to applaud.
‘That was very good, Nicky. And to play without music, you are very accomplished.’
‘Thank you, I have been practising here every day, since I discovered this lovely instrument. I play the harp, too. My mother is very fond of music and insisted I should learn. When we came to England she badgered the earl into providing a tutor. The lessons continued until my uncle died three years ago.’
‘And do you sing, too?’
‘Yes, a little.’
‘Then will you sing for me?’
A flush of pleasure tinged her cheeks.
‘Of course. What would you like? An English folk song, perhaps?’
Receiving a nod of assent, she played an introduction, then added her voice, a little hesitant at first, but as the music took over she closed her eyes and sang with more confidence. It was a favourite of her mother’s, a haunting love song about a young woman waiting for her lover to return. The thought of Mama, writing her endless letters, refusing to give up hope, gave an added piquancy to the song and when at last she had finished and opened her eyes again, for a moment she could not recall quite where she was.
‘That was quite beautiful.’ Gideon had moved closer. ‘There is so much I do not know about you.’
His eyes were fixed upon her, dark and intense in the glow of the candles. A shiver ran down her spine and she felt desire curling deep inside her.
‘We know so little about each other,’ she said, trying not to think of the night they had spent together. He had seen her naked, explored her body in the most intimate way. Yet they were still strangers.
‘Nicky—’
‘I have asked Mrs Wilkins to bring in the tea tray,’ she interrupted him hastily. ‘And perhaps I should ring for Judd to build up the fire.’
He caught her hand as she walked by him and her fingers trembled in his grasp.
‘You are afraid of me.’
She dared not look at him.
‘Not afraid, no.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘You said it yourself. We do not know each other.’
‘Then we must put that right.’ His breath was warm upon her cheek. He must be bending, perhaps about to kiss the bare skin of her shoulder. If he did that she knew the slender rein she had over herself would snap, she would turn and throw herself at him again, and he would know what a wanton soul she had. She remembered the accusations against the late Queen of France: that she had been unable to control her lust. She had seen many such women at Martlesham since Max had become earl, not only actresses and whores, but also the wives of his so-called friends, all of them willing to share their favours. Her mother had kept her well away from those riotous gatherings, but she had heard Max’s disparaging comments and knew the servants viewed them with contempt. Men despised such women and she was desperate that Gideon should not despise her any more than he did already.
She said with forced lightness, ‘We can relate our histories over a dish of Bohea.’
‘Yes, of course. And here is Judd now with the tea tray. Shall I light the spirit kettle?’
She uttered up a prayer of thanks at his friendly tone. This she could cope with, the ritual of making tea, sitting in separate chairs, their only contact the accidental touch of fingers when she handed him his cup. They conversed easily, but with a wary restraint, on guard lest any remark should cause offence or embarrassment.
‘Your sister has invited me to her musical soirée on Thursday,’ she said when he brought his cup to her for more tea. ‘I would like to go, if you have no objection?’
‘Of course not. May I come with you?’ His brows snapped together. ‘Now why should you look so surprised—would you rather I didn’t?’