just how badly the dress fitted. Its original owner had obviously been of much more generous proportions than the waiflike creature who stood before him. Even with the drawstrings pulled tight the décolletage was extremely low, exposing the gentle swell of her bosom and more flesh than was becoming. Even as the thought entered his head he knew he was being unfair. Many ladies wore dresses as revealing as this, possibly even more so.
A glance in the mirror showed him that his wife was uncomfortable. One hand had come up to her breast, as if to protect herself from prying eyes and a faint blush mantled her cheeks. He smiled, wanting to reassure her as he carefully put the necklace around her throat. She tilted her head, lengthening the back of her neck, and as he brushed aside the dark curls his fingers grazed the delicate ridge of her spine. He wanted to place his lips there, then to trail a line of kisses across the soft whiteness of her shoulder, where the candlelight played upon the exposed skin. But she had trembled as he struggled with the catch. She was clearly frightened of him—why should she not be, since he had taken advantage of her innocence in such a way? Besides, to kiss her now would be the action of a lover and he could never be that.
He removed his hands and stepped back.
‘There. You have a beautiful neck and the emeralds enhance it.’
She seemed to stand taller at his compliment and his breath caught in his throat when he met her eyes in the mirror. They twinkled with a shy smile that far surpassed the gleaming emeralds.
How long they would have remained there he did not know, for at that moment the housekeeper bustled in with the tea tray and the mood was broken. Nicky reached for her kerchief, but he held it away.
‘No, you look very well like that, so there is no need to cover up again. Unless you are cold?’
‘Not in the least, sir. There is a good fire in here, you see.’
‘Indeed there is,’ agreed Mrs Wilkins, setting the tray down on a small table. ‘The mistress used to say this was the cosiest room in the house when the fire was burning.’ She glanced back at the nervous housemaid following her into the room.’ That’s right, Jane, put that down here—it’s the spirit kettle,’ she explained as the maid set down the shining silver pot and its burner on a small square wooden stand beside the tea table. ‘It hasn’t been used since the mistress died, but I thought it should come out again, now we have a new mistress in the house.’
‘How thoughtful of you, Mrs Wilkins.’ As the servants bustled away Dominique returned to the table, throwing Gideon a look that was brim-full with mischief. ‘Since Mrs Wilkins has gone to so much trouble you will have to take tea with me this evening, sir, even if you do consider it to be maudling your insides.’
He grinned, pleased to have their previous easy companionship restored. He took a seat on the opposite side of the hearth, where he could watch her. It was very restful, he thought, to be sitting at one’s own fireplace with no need to go out for company or entertainment.
* * *
Dominique took great trouble brewing the tea. Gideon must have seen his mother do this a hundred times and she did not want to fall short of his expectations. And when she at last held out a cup to him, she had to try hard not to feel self-conscious in her low-cut gown. The emeralds, be they paste or real, rested heavily upon her neck and gave her a certain amount of reassurance. Gideon had given them to her and he was smiling now, so she was confident she was not offending him. She recalled the touch of his hands on her skin when he had fastened the necklace. It had caused such a leap of desire that she had found it difficult to keep still. If they had been sweethearts, she thought she would have turned and kissed him to thank him for his thoughtfulness, but they were strangers, thrown into marriage, so she must be careful not to put herself forwards.
* * *
‘My sister Gwendoline is in town,’ he said, settling back in his chair. ‘I shall visit her tomorrow to explain our situation and ask her to take you shopping.’
Dominique almost dropped her cup.
‘You—you will tell her about our marriage?’
‘Of course. There is no point in hiding it. As soon as Max and his cronies return it will be all over town anyway.’
‘I suppose you are right. But will she want to help me?’
‘She is my sister and will want to dispel any gossip.’
Gideon replied with calm certainty, but Dominique was not so sure.
* * *
It was in a mood of trepidation that Dominique went downstairs to greet her visitor two days later.
She was immediately struck by the likeness between brother and sister, the same auburn hair and hazel eyes, but although Lady Ribblestone was tall she could not be described as lean. A gown of the finest cream displayed her ample figure beneath the holly-green pelisse that hung open from her shoulders, while a matching bonnet of the same dark green silk sat jauntily on her burnished curls.
‘So you are Gideon’s bride by mistake,’ she said bluntly.
‘Yes, Lady Ribblestone, I—’
‘Oh, no formality, please, you must call me Gwen.’ The lady came forwards and hugged her. ‘And what shall I call you?’
‘Dominique—that is, G-Gideon prefers to call me Nicky,’ she said, emerging, startled, from the scented embrace.
‘Now, why should he do that, when Dominique is such a pretty name?’
‘I—it is French...’
‘Ah, of course.’ A shadow crossed Gwen’s countenance, but she recovered quickly and gave another blinding smile. ‘Gideon tells me you are seriously in need of clothes.’ Dominique found herself being scrutinised from head to toe. ‘Well, perhaps it is a little out of fashion, but it is not that bad.’
Dominique glanced down at her walking dress and gave a rueful smile.
‘Perhaps not, but it is the only thing I have.’
‘What? My dear girl, you must explain everything.’
And suddenly Dominique found herself on the sofa beside Lady Ribblestone, telling her about her sudden departure from Martlesham and the trunk Max had sent with her, full of improper garments. Immediately Gwendoline demanded to see them.
‘I am sorry to say it, my dear,’ she said as they made their way to Dominique’s bedchamber, ‘but I cannot like your cousin. If this whole sorry business has given Gideon a dislike of the earl’s company then some good has come of it. And Gideon’s marrying you, of course.’
‘I am not sure he thinks of it that way,’ replied Dominique, a little wistfully. She led Gwendoline into her room and pointed at the trunk. ‘Everything is in there, save the muslin dress I wear in the evenings, which my maid has put in the linen press.’
Her sadness gave way to amusement as Lady Ribblestone began to pull out quantities of silk and lace, holding up the items for inspection before throwing them on to the bed. Gwen was not shocked or outraged by the see-through muslins, lacy undergarments or diaphanous nightgowns, she merely chuckled.
‘Perhaps not quite suitable for you to wear in public,’ she remarked,
