‘It is my cousin. Must we meet him?’
But Gideon did not reply. He was staring at the dazzling beauty on Max’s arm.
‘Good evening, Cousin.’ The earl bowed, smiling. ‘You know Mrs Bennet, of course, Albury. Mrs Agnes Bennet?’
If Dominique had not been holding on to Gideon’s arm she would have collapsed, for her knees suddenly felt very weak. She was at last face-to-face with the woman Gideon had expected to marry.
In those months leading up to the wedding Dominique had avoided the woman pretending to be Max’s cousin, but now there was no escape and she forced herself to acknowledge every detail of the beauty who had stolen Gideon’s heart. Agnes Bennet was tall, full-figured and as fair as Dominique was dark. Her golden curls clustered around her head and the whiteness of those smooth bare shoulders made Dominique very aware of the olive tint to her own skin. She hoped her face did not give her away, for Max was watching her carefully.
‘Ah, I was forgetting,’ he said smoothly, ‘you did not meet Mrs Bennet, did you, Cousin?’
The actress laughed, a dark, smoky sound that Dominique thought was sinfully seductive.
‘Of course I’m not really Mrs Bennet, as Mr Albury knows.’ Her blue eyes were fixed upon Gideon. ‘That is merely a convention for the stage—I am not married.’
Beneath the sleeve, Gideon’s arm was hard as steel.
‘I believe it is time we returned to our seats.’ His voice was icy, and with barely a nod towards the earl he turned and walked away, Dominique almost running to keep up with him.
* * *
Damn Max, trying to stir up trouble!
Gideon fought to control his anger as he pushed his way back through the crowd. He should have expected something of the sort. He had spotted Max in the box on the far side of the auditorium, but in the dim light he had not recognised his companions.
‘Gideon, please!’
Dominique’s urgent entreaty pierced the red mist that enveloped him and he slowed.
‘I beg your pardon.’ She was looking up at him, her eyes dark with apprehension, and he muttered through clenched teeth, ‘How dare he try to introduce that woman to you!’
‘Max likes to make mischief. We should ignore him.’
‘You are right, of course.’ Gideon struggled for composure. ‘Come, let us go back to the box. I hope Ribblestone has not murdered Gwen, or Hatfield...or both!’
She rewarded his attempt at levity with a strained smile. When they reached their box Hatfield was standing outside the door.
‘Ah, glad you are back, Albury. Didn’t like to go in on my own, don’t you know.’ He grimaced. ‘Dashed awkward, Ribblestone turning up like that.’
Gideon raised his brows.
‘Why should that be?’ He added, with barely disguised menace, ‘Unless you were intent upon some impropriety with my sister—’
‘Oh, no, no, nothing like that. I am at Lady Ribblestone’s service, of course. Pleasure to be her escort, but nothing more than that, I assure you!’
‘Well don’t act so damned guilty, then.’ Gideon opened the door and stood back to let Dominique enter before him. He waved Hatfield in, but as the man passed he caught his arm.
‘Just how did you secure this box at such short notice?’
Hatfield was watching Lord Ribblestone, trying to discern his mood, and he answered distractedly, ‘Martlesham gave it to me. Said he had booked it months ago, but that now he was engaged to join another party.’
So Max had planned this. Gideon felt the slow burn of his anger as he took his seat for the main performance. From his seat he could see only Dominique’s profile, but when Lady Grayson leaned to whisper something in her ear, the smile she gave in return was forced. The incident in the foyer was not forgotten.
* * *
The performance ended, but although Dominique applauded heartily she could not recall a single scene. Lord Grayson went off to his club and Lady Grayson, oblivious of the tensions in the box, reminded Gwen that they had planned to go on to the rout at Baverstock House.
‘We shall be there in time for supper, is that not what you said, Mr Hatfield?’ Lady Grayson fixed the gentleman with an enquiring gaze and he floundered hopelessly, unwilling to commit himself.
Lord Ribblestone took out his snuffbox.
‘I have ordered the carriage to be waiting and I intend to return to Grosvenor Square.’ He looked towards his wife. ‘Will you come with me, madam?’
Dominique held her breath, willing Gwendoline to go home with her husband.
‘But I am pledged to go to the rout,’ said Gwen, tossing her head.
For a long moment no one stirred. The atmosphere was brittle as glass. Lord Ribblestone put away his snuffbox and Dominique thought she saw the veriest tightening of his mouth.
‘As you will, my dear.’
He departed and Mr Hatfield gave an audible sigh of relief. Gwen did not look very happy with her victory and impulsively Dominique touched her arm.
‘Let Gideon run after Anthony and tell him that you have changed your mind.’
‘But I have not,’ protested Gwendoline, shaking off her hand. ‘La, that I should forgo a party of pleasure to sit at home! If you are ready, Lady Grayson, Mr Hatfield, let us be off to the rout.’
* * *
‘Shall we go home, my dear?’
Gideon placed her cloak about her shoulders and Dominique immediately forgot Gwen’s troubles as his hands lingered for a moment, their warmth seeping through the silk and into her skin. The meeting with Max and Agnes Bennet had dominated her thoughts since the interval. Gideon’s face was a polite mask, but she had no doubt that he, too, was thinking of it. Dominique understood only too clearly why Gideon had wanted to marry the actress. She was everything that Dominique was not—tall, fair and beautiful—and no doubt well versed in the art of pleasing a man.
All through the comic opera Dominique had thought about her. As the musicians played she had heard that dark, smoky laugh, remembered the graceful beauty, the cerulean-blue eyes and painted lips curving into an alluring smile. It was useless to remind herself that she was Gideon’s wife, the mother of his child. If his own father advocated taking a mistress, why should he not give in to the temptation?
In the darkness of their carriage as they drove back to Chalcots he reached for her hand.
‘You are very quiet.’
‘I am fatigued. It has been a long evening.’
‘I hope you are not fretting about your cousin. Or Mrs Bennet.’
‘No, of course not.’ She was glad he could not see her face in the darkness. She added, unable to help herself, ‘She is very beautiful.’
‘Exquisite.’ Her heart sank. ‘But you have nothing to fear from her, Dominique. I have no intention of renewing that particular acquaintance.’
Fine words, but would he be able to resist, having seen her again? Only time would tell.
‘Dominique?’
‘Yes?’
‘You do believe me, don’t