Lady Beneath the Veil(22)

'And it is nothing, Gideon, I give you my word.' She sighed. 'But I  quite see how it must look, so I shall not meet him there again.'

'Thank you.' He squeezed her hand. 'I will not have the fellow call at  Brook Street, but if you meet him at such parties as this and wish to  dance with him, I will not object.'

A compromise. She was aware of how much ground he was giving.

'Very well, Gideon. Thank you.' She suddenly felt very tired. 'Do you think our hostess would object if I went home now?'

'No, of course not. I shall escort you. Go downstairs and collect your wrap while I give our excuses to Lady Dortwood.'

Dominique made her way to the hall, where a lackey was sent scurrying off to fetch her cloak.

'I fear your husband does not like me.'

Dominique whirled about to find Raymond Lamotte standing behind her.

She gave a sad little smile. 'It will be best if we discontinue our walks together, monsieur.'

He shook his head. 'Ah, that is a sadness, because I have something to discuss with you.'

'We will have to do so the next time we meet-'

'It concerns your father.' His words brought her eyes flying to his  face. He continued, 'You told me you were trying to find him, so I have  made the enquiries. I have friends in France who still have influence  with the Directoire. They will know how to find the missing person. Some  have been imprisoned for many years and it is not easy to gain  information, but there is a man who knows how to do these things. He  moves regularly between France and England, but secretly, so the less  people who know of this the better. I have spoken to him about your  father and he thinks we may be able to find him.'

She shook her head, hardly daring to hope. 'Then you must come to the house. Gideon could not object to that-'

'Oh, but I fear he would, madame. You have told me yourself he is not a  friend to my country. He would think it a-how do you say it?-a ploy.  Non, I would rather discuss this with you alone. I need information from  you.'

'Anything,' she said eagerly.

'Eh bien, you must write down everything you remember of your  father-where he lived, what he looked like, who his friends were. No  little detail is too small. When you have done that, you must bring it  to me at my lodgings and I will pass it on to my friend.'

'Yes, yes, I will, of course.'

'Good. I need the information by tomorrow evening. My contact is  returning to France the following morning and he has promised to seek  out news of your father.'

'Oh, oh, thank you.' She felt the hope bubbling up within her again.  Maman would be so pleased when she told her! 'I shall begin writing it  all up tonight and send it round-'

'No, you must bring it yourself. Can you be there at five o'clock? Then  I can read it and if there are any things that are not clear, any  questions, you will be there to answer them.'

'Yes, of course, I understand.'

'Good.' He gave her his direction, looking over his shoulder as the  servant hurried up to them carrying her rose silk wrap over his arm. 'I  must go now. Remember, my contact relies upon secrecy-if he is  discovered, then all is lost.'

She nodded. 'You may trust me to tell no one.'

'Thank you, madame.' He smiled and pressed a final kiss upon her fingers. 'Until tomorrow, then. Five o'clock. Do not be late!'

He hurried away and Dominique absently fastened her cloak about her  shoulders. Maman had been trying for years to find news of Papa without  success. To have someone else searching, someone who knew the workings  of the French government, surely they would have far more chance of  finding out the truth? She had never quite given up hope, but it had  lain dormant and now, suddenly, it was blossoming again. She could not  wait to get back to Brook Street and write out everything she could  remember about her father.                       
       
           



       

* * *

Gideon found his wife very distracted on the homeward journey. He  wondered if she was regretting her promise to give up her walks with  Raymond Lamotte. When Ribblestone had mentioned that he had seen Nicky  walking with a French émigré in Green Park Gideon had shrugged it off.  He guessed it was a chance meeting, and he quite understood why she had  not mentioned the matter to him, but a casual remark to Kitty when he  met her on the stairs two days later elicited the information that her  mistress was in the habit of walking in the park every morning. And,  yes, the French gentleman was always there.

Intrigued, but not yet alarmed, Gideon had asked Anthony to make  discreet enquiries and found that the émigré was an impecunious young  man from an obscure but perfectly respectable French family who had fled  the Terror and was now living in bachelor lodgings in Cleveland Row.  The worst that was known of the young man was that he frequented a  gambling hell in King Street that Ribblestone himself favoured. However,  Gideon knew that if his wife continued to meet with Lamotte it would  only be a matter of time before the gossipmongers heard of it and began  to speculate upon the nature of their acquaintance. Their liaison might  be quite innocent, but it would not do and Gideon had known he would  have to speak to Nicky about the matter.

However, he had been reluctant to do so-until he had seen Lamotte  dancing with his wife. Then Gideon had been aware of a sharp stab of  disapproval. He had watched Nicky dance with dozens of fellows since  they had come to town and thought nothing of it-after all, he was a  reasonable man-but Raymond Lamotte was a Frenchman and to see the  handsome young dog paying such attentions to his wife had roused  Gideon's temper. In fact, in any other circumstances he would have  thought the emotion he felt when he saw them together was jealousy, but  how could one feel that for a wife one did not love?

No, he did not love his wife, he thought as the carriage pulled up in  Brook Street and he escorted her into the house. How could he? She was a  constant reminder of the loss his family had suffered. He felt a tiny  kick of guilt. Perhaps his disapproval this evening of her friendship  with Lamotte had been a little severe. In an effort to make amends he  invited her to join him in the drawing room. She gave a little start.

'Oh-no! That is, how kind of you, Gideon, but I-I am very tired. I think I will retire....'

He covered his disappointment with a smile.

'Of course, my dear, if that is what you wish.'

He raised her hand to his lips and her fingers trembled in his grasp.  As he looked up he was surprised to find something in her green eyes  that made his brows snap together. A wistfulness, a longing that touched  a chord inside him and roused the desire for her that was never very  far away. How long had it been since he had been in her bed?

'Perhaps you would like me to come up with you?'

Her recoil told him immediately how wrong he had been.

'Oh, I- If only... Not tonight, if you please, Gideon. I am nigh on dropping with fatigue.'

With a shy, apologetic smile she wished him goodnight and hurried away.

* * *

Gideon waited until she was out of sight before walking into the  drawing room. It was perfectly reasonable for her to be tired. After  all, she was increasing, although no one watching her lithe figure  skipping around the dance floor this evening would have guessed it. She  had looked quite animated, too, never more so than when she had been  dancing with Lamotte. Quickly Gideon dismissed the thought. He glanced  around him. It was the custom to keep this room in readiness every  evening with a good fire and candles burning in their wall-brackets, but  despite the room's cheerful aspect Gideon found that he had no desire  to drink alone, so he went up to bed. When he reached Nicky's room he  stopped. A strip of light shone beneath the door, showing that she was  still awake, but there was no sound from the room, and after a few  seconds he went on to his own bedchamber, disturbed by a vague, niggling  dissatisfaction.

* * *

At breakfast the next morning Nicky greeted him with her usual good humour and Gideon's day brightened immediately.

'You are not fatigued by last night's exertions?' he asked her as she poured coffee for him.                       
       
           



       

She gave him a sunny smile.

'Not in the least. You know Dr Harris said I could carry on very much as before.'

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she thought that included  her wifely duties in the bedchamber, but he was afraid to bring that  haunted, frightened look back into her face, so instead he asked  casually what she planned to do today.

'I have some letters to write, and after that I am taking Kitty to  Grosvenor Square with me. Gwen's dresser is an excellent coiffeuse-'

'You are not going to cut it short?' He frowned, recalling the way her  dusky curls cascaded over her shoulders, a perfect foil for the creamy  whiteness of her skin.

He remembered her standing naked before him while he pulled the pins  from her hair so that it fell in a dark curtain to the small of her  back, almost resting on her gently rounded buttocks. He remembered  pulling her towards him and tangling his hands in the thick skeins of  silky hair, holding her fast while his tongue plundered her mouth.