of the tension he had been feeling eased. He gave a nod of his head. ‘Thank you.’ His eyes met hers. ‘I will leave you to your dinner.’ He bowed and turned away.
‘Dominic!’ There was an urgency in her voice he had not heard before. ‘Will you not stay for a little while?’
He peered round at her, hardly believing this sudden change in her.
She gestured to the sofa. ‘Let us sit down and … talk.’
There was such earnestness in her face he could not refuse. Besides, if she wanted to talk then he wanted to listen. Maybe she would tell him the answer to the question that had weighed heavy in his mind for every single day of the last six years.
‘Tell me about your day.’ He could sense the nervousness running through her, see it in the way she wetted her lips and clutched her hands together that bit too tightly.
‘You wish to know about my day?’
‘Yes. I am interested to hear it. You have not told me anything of your life.’ She perched herself on the edge of the striped green sofa.
‘You have not asked,’ he said and sat down beside her.
‘Then I have been remiss in my duty.’ She smiled, but Dominic could not help but notice that the smile did not touch her eyes.
Her fingers were gripping the edge of the sofa. He laid his hand gently over them.
‘I do not want you to ask out of duty, Arabella,’ he said quietly.
Her gaze met his and the smile dropped away from her face.
A loud clatter sounded from the hallway and Arabella jumped.
‘What on earth …?’ He got to his feet to go out and see what was going on.
But Arabella was already on hers and standing before him. ‘Gemmell is a little clumsy. Do not be harsh with him, Dominic, I beg of you.’ Her face had paled and she looked almost frightened.
‘I have no intention of chastising anyone, Arabella. I mean only to check that there has been no mishap.’
‘Dominic …’ She stepped towards him. He saw the intensity of her expression, the uncertainty in her eyes. Slowly she reached her hand out and brushed the tips of her fingers against his face.
And everything in Dominic’s world seemed to stop.
She touched her fingers over his cheek as if she were reassuring herself that it really was him.
Dominic held his breath and did not move.
She traced down the line of his nose, omitting his mouth to move over the angles of his chin, first one way and then the other, before coming back to linger within its cleft. Her fingers were chilled as ice against his skin.
Not once did he move his gaze from her, just watched her following the path her finger was drawing.
And then slowly she inched her fingers higher …
Dominic’s body tightened.
And higher …
His breath shook.
Until at last, her fingertips touched against his lips and stilled. They were light as a feather and trembling.
Dominic ceased to think. He responded in the only way he knew how with Arabella. He kissed those sweet delicate fingers, kissed each one in turn. And when she came into his arms and her body cleaved to his it seemed the most natural thing in the world to kiss her mouth.
Arabella kissed him and forgot that she was only doing this to prevent the discovery of Archie and her mother. She kissed him and everything else ceased to be. He held her as if he cared for her, kissed her as if he loved her. He was the same man she had known, the same man she had loved. And in this moment as she felt the fast beat of his heart beneath her hand and the warmth and the strength of his body, she felt everything that she had done as a girl of nineteen. He worshipped her with his lips and she believed the illusion his tenderness wove—of love and of protection. She slid her hand up around his neck and gave herself up to the kiss, revelling in it, wanting it all the more. All of these years without him. Her heart clung to his and refused to let go.
Lies, all lies, the little voice in her head whispered. And she remembered all that he had done. And her son who had no father. And the memories cooled her ardour like a bucket of iced water.
She stumbled back, clutching a hand to her mouth, appalled at what she had just done.
‘Arabella?’ Dominic’s eyes were dark and dazed. His voice sounded low and confused.
‘I …’ She backed away and shook her head, knowing that there were no words to explain how she was feeling. She did not know what to say to him. She could not even begin to pretend that she was unaffected by what had just happened between them or by anything of this situation.
‘I …’ she tried again and as her gaze lowered she saw the evidence of his arousal within his close-fitting pantaloons and realised that she had seduced him just like the courtesan she was. What she had done meant he would take her now. And she trembled at the thought of it.
Dominic looked right into her eyes, as if he could see every thought in her head, then walked away without saying a single word.
There was the thud of the front door shutting, and Arabella’s eyes closed in anguish.
The night of the Vauxhall masquerade came around too quickly.
Arabella slipped the silver-beaded and feathered mask into place and turned to face Dominic. He had barely said a word since entering the drawing room of the Curzon Street town house and there was an atmosphere in the room thick enough to be cut with a knife.
Dominic’s gaze perused her face, lingering for seconds that seemed too long, so that it was almost as if she had only just touched her fingers to his lips, only just kissed him with such wanton abandon. The sweat prickled upon her palms and the butterflies were flocking in her stomach.
It was not only the mask she was worrying over. ‘My dress …’ She had been so very determined to thumb her nose at him during its ordering; now she was aware that its very respectability might reveal more of her identity when she was by Dominic’s side. ‘It will not attract …’ Suspicion. Speculation ‘… attention,’ she finished, ‘will it?’
She watched his gaze drop to the bodice, then sweep down to the skirt and she bit her lip in worry.
It was a dress like none that Arabella had ever owned. Plain yet elegant. Pale silver silk cut to fit her body perfectly. With its small capped sleeves, bodice scattered with small crystal beads that sparkled in the light and décolletage that teased rather than revealed, the dress was beautiful but pure in a way that made it unsuitable for any courtesan. The irony of its styling was not lost on Arabella.
‘How
