have indeed.’ He smiled at her and she found her anger melting away. ‘I have been thinking about it.’
‘You have?’
Had he stayed awake to relive their night together, as she had done? The little flare of hope quickly died.
‘Yes,’ he continued. ‘We could shorten it to Nicky. A pet name, if you like.’
‘My grandfather, the old earl, used to call me that.’
‘There we have it, then. I shall call you Nicky—but only with your permission, of course.’
She gave him a shy smile.
‘I should like that, si—’ She noted his sudden frown and corrected herself. ‘I should like that, Gideon.’
* * *
By the time they reached London Dominique thought they were getting on famously. They laughed at the same things, shared a love of music and poetry, talked for hours, like true friends. But not lovers. Gideon was polite and considerate, but nothing more, and Dominique, afraid to risk the fragile bond between them, lay awake in her lonely bed and ached for him to come to her. It would not do, however, to admit such a longing, so she hid it behind a smile and accepted as much companionship as her husband was willing to give.
Chapter Five
Her new home was a neat house in Brook Street, which Gideon informed her belonged to his father.
‘I do have a house of my own I inherited from my godmother, Lady Telford,’ he told Dominique as he helped her out of the chaise. ‘But it is a few miles out of town and so run down that I have never used it.’
‘I think this would be more convenient for you,’ remarked Dominique, looking up at the elegant facade. At that moment the door was thrown open and a liveried servant came out, beaming at them.
‘Master Gideon, welcome home, sir!’
‘Thank you. My dear, this is Judd, who has known me since I was a babe, which means he takes the greatest liberties.’
The old man chuckled in a fatherly way.
‘Now then, Master Gideon, you don’t want to be telling Mrs Albury such tales. Welcome to you, mistress. Mrs Wilkins is waiting inside and will show you over the house.’
‘Perhaps she will begin by showing Mrs Albury to her bedchamber,’ suggested Gideon, taking her arm and leading her into the narrow hall. ‘We have had a long journey and I am sure my wife would like to rest before dinner.’
‘Aye, of course, I will do that, Master Gideon.’ A plump, rosy-cheeked woman in a black-stuff gown and snowy apron bustled forwards and dropped a curtsy. ‘If Mrs Albury would like to come with me, there is hot water already on the washstands and I will send Kitty up to help you dress. She is only the second housemaid, but she’s a good girl and has ambition to be a lady’s maid, but if she don’t suit we will send to the registry office for someone else.’
‘I shall be delighted to see how she goes on,’ said Dominique quickly.
‘Very good, madam. Now, which of these trunks is yours, and we’ll have them taken up immediately.’
‘Only one.’ They had brought only the trunk Max had sent with her to Elmwood and now Dominique met Gideon’s eyes in a mute appeal.
‘My wife is to have everything new, as befits a future viscountess,’ he said coolly. ‘She will manage with what is in the trunk and tomorrow we will set about replenishing her wardrobe.’
The housekeeper looked a little shocked.
‘Very well, sir. If you would care to come with me, ma’am, I’ll show you to your room and we’ll unpack that single trunk of yours and see what there is for you to wear tonight...’
Taking a mental review of the items she had seen in the trunk, Dominique hastily declined the offer.
‘You have more than enough to do, Mrs Wilkins,’ she said. ‘I am sure the maid you have found for me will be able to help.’
* * *
When Dominique came downstairs for dinner she was wearing one of the muslin gowns from the trunk Max had provided. The previous owner of the gown had been somewhat taller than Dominique, but Kitty had proved to be very useful with a needle and had soon taken up the hem. The unknown woman had also been more generously endowed and Dominique had had to cover the extremely low and rather loose décolletage by draping a fine muslin handkerchief across her shoulders, crossing the ends over her bosom and tying them behind her.
When she joined Gideon in the drawing room he raised his brows and she felt obliged to explain.
‘I was delighted to leave off my travelling dress, but the trunk my cousin packed up for me was sadly lacking in suitable clothes. This is the most respectable of the gowns and even this required several petticoats beneath it before I was fit to be seen.’
Gideon raised his quizzing glass and surveyed her. His lips curved into a grin.
‘Yes, I can see that.’
She fingered the skirts, chuckling.
‘It is the finest quality, as is everything in the trunk, but most of it is highly improper. I think it must have been left behind by one of Max’s less-respectable guests. He is forever filling the house with lightskirts and actresses— Oh!’ She stopped, colouring painfully. ‘I—I beg your pardon, I d-did not think...’
The cheerful camaraderie disappeared in an instant. Gideon’s grin was replaced by a polite smile. He waved one hand, as if to dismiss her words, but Dominique knew she had erred.
* * *
Gideon saw her stricken look and wished he could say something to comfort her, but the words would not come. He had never been one for dissimulation. How could he tell her it did not matter that he had married the wrong bride when it did matter, when he regretted it so bitterly? The woman he had courted, the bride he had expected, was tall and fair and buxom, with blue, blue eyes and a smoky laugh full of sexual promise. Instead he found himself married to a diminutive brunette with a damnably obstinate streak. She was pretty enough, perhaps, if you liked thin women.
Here he stopped himself. She was petite, yes—the top of her head barely reached his chin—but she was not thin. He remembered their wedding night, when they had both allowed their pent-up emotions to run away with them. He recalled how well her small breast fitted into his hand, how her tiny waist contrasted with the full, rounded softness of her hips. Their lovemaking had been as hot and passionate as anything he had ever experienced and her untutored ardour had fuelled his desire. He hoped he had not hurt her. He had always expected to take his virgin bride gently, to go slowly and teach her the pleasures of the flesh.
Instead they had tumbled into a hedonistic, lust-filled coupling and he had risen at dawn bemused and mortified by his lack of control. He remembered glancing down at his sleeping bride, seeing her hair arrayed over the pillows in a dark cloud and feeling an unexpected tenderness for the innocent, fragile girl he had married. He had wanted to protect her—from the world, from himself. He had made a vow then, that
