Glancing up, Gideon saw Nicky’s anxious face and he added quickly, ‘That is no reflection upon you, Nicky. I could not want for a better wife.’
‘But perhaps you could want a more beloved one.’
Gideon frowned.
‘We will not discuss that, if you please. The actress Max employed to impersonate you would not have been acceptable to my family.’
Dominique met his eyes across the table, the wine making her brave.
‘And am I any more acceptable?’
To her surprise the coldness in his gaze was replaced by something warmer, including a hint of laughter.
‘With your grace and dignity and your indomitable spirit—yes, you are, my dear.’
She was inordinately pleased with his answer even though it made her blush rosily. At the same time she felt that strong tug of attraction to the man sitting opposite. His look seemed to burn right through her decorous gown and she could feel her body responding, the breasts tightening, pushing against the restricting material as she imagined his hands caressing her body. It had been weeks since he had touched her like that and she was filled with an indescribable ache to feel his arms around her. She longed to say so, but the words would not come. The silence stretched between them, becoming ever more uncomfortable.
‘It—it has been a beautiful day,’ she said at last, glancing out of the window. ‘It seems a shame that we spent it travelling.’
‘I at least had the benefit of riding. You were shut up in the chaise all day. Perhaps you would like to take a little stroll with me now and catch the last of the sun?’
‘I would like that very much,’ she said, reaching for her shawl.
* * *
The inn was situated on a busy street, but Gideon had noticed a lane to one side and once they had walked a few yards the noise and bustle were left behind. They strolled side by side in companionable silence. The lane was bounded on each side by large fields of ripening corn, gleaming and golden in the setting sun.
‘How long will you stay at Rotham?’ she asked him.
‘Until you are established. I shall drive down to Brighton to see Gwen, then I shall go to Chalcots and see what is needed to make it habitable. I have been thinking we might set up home there.’
‘That is your godmama’s house, near Hampstead? I should so much like to see it.’
‘And so you shall, once your confinement is over. Too much travelling will fatigue you and I would not risk your health.’ His voice was kind, but Dominique’s spirits sank. He did not want her with him.
‘I shall write to you,’ he continued. ‘You shall have your say about the furnishings and the decoration.’
But from a distance.
‘Thank you.’ She could not keep the note of disappointment from her voice and Gideon’s next words told her he had noticed.
‘Believe me, it is best that you remain at Rotham, where Dr Bolton will be on hand if you need him.’
‘But your father will not want me.’
‘You are the mother of his grandchild, of course he will want you at Rotham.’
She nodded. Her first consideration now must be for her unborn child. She shivered.
‘The sun has gone down. Shall we return to the inn?’
Her shawl had slipped to her elbows and as they turned to make their way back to the inn she struggled to rearrange it.
‘Here, let me.’
He pulled up the shawl and her spine tingled with the familiar touch as his hands rested on her shoulders.
Hold me, she begged him silently. Kiss me.
* * *
Gideon’s hands stilled. He could feel the delicate bones of her shoulders through the thin folds of the shawl and the summer gown beneath. Her hair was caught up in a knot, but a few wisps curled darkly against the creamy skin at the back of her neck. He knew an impulse to place his lips there and taste her sweetness, but he feared that would lead him on to a more passionate exchange, so he quelled the desire rising in him and instead lifted the shawl a little higher.
‘There, is that warmer?’
‘Yes, thank you, Gideon.’ She put her hand up over his, where it rested at the side of her neck, and turned to smile up at him.
It was as if someone had knocked the breath out of his body. When had she become such a beauty? Those green eyes with their lush fringing of dark lashes, the straight little nose and soft, full mouth—desire leaped inside him and the blood pounded through his veins. It was all he could do not to drag her roughly against him and ravish her here and now, in this secluded lane.
No! He reeled back. What was he thinking of? This was summer madness, the proximity of a pretty girl combined with the effects of the wine, a good dinner and the balmy summer evening. She had been trapped into marriage with him through very little fault of her own and she deserved more respect than that. In an effort to quell his desire he reminded himself that she was not the woman he had set his heart on, although it was strange that now, when he thought of the bewitching actress called Agnes Bennet, he could hardly recall her face.
Dominique saw Gideon’s eyes darken, felt the jolt of mutual attraction, as if some invisible wire hooked them both, but the hot desire in his glance was quickly replaced by shock and he recoiled from her. She did her best to ignore the chill that filled her soul. She might be his wife, but she was not his love.
Hiding her own disappointment, she suggested they should go back to the inn and immediately turned her steps that way, head held high. This was her life now and she must be content.
Dominique’s image of Rotham as a sinister Gothic pile faded with her first view of the house. It was bathed in the golden glow of a summer’s evening, a many-gabled Jacobean mansion built of red-brick and creamy stone and the windows of the three-storeyed house flashed a fiery welcome, reflecting the glorious sunset.
‘Why, it is quite enchanting!’ she exclaimed involuntarily.
‘Is it?’ Gideon leaned forwards to gaze at his old home. ‘Yes, I suppose you might think so.’
As the coach pulled up at the front steps he leaped down, ready to hand out his bride. An elderly butler came out to meet them, bowing slightly as he announced that Lord Rotham awaited them in the drawing room.
‘Thank you, Colne. I shall take Mrs Albury to him.’
Silently Dominique accompanied Gideon through the small stone porch into an ancient-screens passage. After the sunlight, the passage with its unpolished wooden panelling was very dark and she stopped to let her eyes grow accustomed to the gloom before stepping into the hall. The wainscoting here was equally dull, but the sun streamed in through the windows, the bars of sunlight full of golden dust motes. Swords, shields and antlers adorned the walls. The whole room had the feel of another era, but it looked sadly neglected.
‘Is this room never used?’ she asked.
‘Rarely. When we had house parties everyone would gather here before going out for a day’s hunting or riding and we used to hold a harvest supper here for