Lady Beneath the Veil(38)

'My wife has no dowry. You yourself informed me of the fact when you were impersonating her.'

'That is what Martlesham told me and what he wants you to believe.'

'And now he wants you to tell me differently.'

'No.' She sighed. 'I had best explain. When Martlesham returned to town  this spring he sought me out. He wanted to make me his mistress.' She  gave a humourless little laugh. 'I am aware of my attractions, but I  knew that was not the whole of it, because when I refused his advances  he still took me to live with him-made it impossible to refuse him, if  you want to know the truth. He believes you're still in love with me-no  need to tell me that ain't true because I could see as much last night.'  She paused and looked up at him, a sudden smile lighting her eyes. 'We  enjoyed those weeks together last spring, didn't we? But it was never  going to last, I knew that.'

Looking down into her face, she did not seem quite as bewitching as he  remembered. She was still beautiful, but somehow the perfect features  and intensely blue eyes failed to rouse any desire in Gideon. Her smile  grew rueful, as if she could read his mind. With an expressive little  shrug she continued.

'Max installed me in his London house, where he parades me in front of  his friends as his mistress-he hasn't yet got me into his bed, but he  will, in time.' She rubbed her arms and shuddered a little. Gideon had  the impression that she was not at all happy with her current situation.  'He made me give up the stage and insists I remain in the house, even  when he is out at some entertainment. The servants ignore me when they  can, which suits me very well. I have spent my time exploring.' She  looked up, her blue eyes cold as ice. 'I will tell you now, Gideon, that  I do not like Martlesham. He is a cruel man.'

'Then why don't you leave him?'

'I intend to, but he is powerful, so I have to be careful. Whenever I  am alone in his house I spend my time looking through his papers, trying  to find something to give me a hold over him.'

'And have you succeeded?'

She shook her head.

'No. He is as careful as he is bad and most of his papers are in a  strong-room. However, there is a locked drawer in his desk-he keeps the  key, but it is a simple matter to open it.' She grinned. 'I knew a  picklock once, and he showed me how to do it. At the back of the drawer I  found some letters from France, from Jerome Rainault.'                       
       
           



       

'My wife's father,' said Gideon. 'But surely they are in French?'

Agnes nodded and allowed herself another smile. 'They are, but that  language is something else I picked up in my career! The letters were  written years ago, to Max's father. Monsieur Rainault consigns his wife  and daughter to the earl's care, but he is also anxious that little  Dominique should have a dowry. He transferred a large amount of money  from a French bank to Coutts, in the Strand. Martlesham holds it in  trust for Mrs Rainault and her daughter.'

'They certainly have no money now,' said Gideon, frowning.

'I know,' replied Agnes. 'The earl told me that Mrs Rainault and her daughter were his pensioners.'

'Then it is all spent.'

'That was my thought,' she said slowly. 'Until I saw a letter yesterday  morning, from Coutts, concerning the Rainault funds. They have never  been touched and Max wants them transferred to his own account.'

'The devil!' exclaimed Gideon. 'I must see these documents.'

'I thought that might be the case.'

'You did not bring them with you?'

'No, it was only after I saw you and your wife at the theatre last  night that I decided to tell you, and I have not had a chance to get  back into Max's study.'

'Why?' Gideon stopped and turned to face her. 'Why should you want to help me now?'

She spread her hands.

'I told you, I don't hold with the earl's trickery. I'm up for a bit of  fun, but he carried it too far, making that poor chit marry you. And  you don't need to tell me that he forced her into it, because I know his  ways. And besides...' she wrapped her arms around herself again, as if  for protection '...I should be glad to see his lordship get a taste of  his own medicine.'

'Do you think you can still get those papers?'

'Yes. The earl will be out tomorrow morning, taking his boxing lesson.  That will be my chance. He ordered me to see you-to entice you-so he  will not be surprised if I want the carriage again.' She stopped and  Gideon noticed that they had come full circle. 'Meet me here again  tomorrow, at noon.'

He hesitated.

'You realise the risk, if Max should discover what you are about-'

She laughed. 'He won't. Don't you worry about me, dearie. I have funds.  He doesn't know my real name, nor that I have a house of my own in  Covent Garden that I rent out. I bought it with the money he gave me for  my performance as his cousin. I shan't hang around once I have given  you the papers. But first, I want to pay him back, just a little.'

With a nod she left him, hurrying away through the trees, never once stopping to look back.

* * *

Gideon drove back to Chalcots, barely noticing the route. If what Agnes  said was true, then Dominique was not the penniless bride she thought  herself and he knew how much it would please her to know that. It was a  risk, of course. This could be one more elaborate plot by Martlesham to  drive a wedge between them, but instinct told him Agnes was sincere.

Should he tell Dominique? He had promised her he would not renew his  acquaintance with Agnes, but surely this was different. And it might all  come to nought. As he deftly turned the curricle through the gates and  bowled along the drive towards Chalcots he decided he would say nothing  until he had the papers and knew them to be genuine. If they were, then  Dominique would be delighted and he was beginning to realise just how  much her happiness meant to him.

* * *

Dominique stood alone in her bedchamber and gazed at the open trunk.  She remembered when she and Gwen had sorted through its contents,  pulling out shifts and negligees, finely embroidered stockings and gowns  of such sheer muslin they could be folded and packed into a pocket  book. Highly improper, all of them. The sort of things a mistress might  wear. She lifted out a filmy negligee. It was so fine that her hands  were visible, even through two layers of muslin. In her mind's eye  Dominique could see Agnes Bennet wearing such a gown, standing before  Gideon, offering herself to him.

'No! No, she shan't have him.'                       
       
           



       

'Did you call me, ma'am?'

Dominique quickly dropped the gossamer-thin garment back into the trunk  and was closing the lid as her maid came into the room. A shimmering  gown rested across her arms.

'I was just looking out your green sarcenet, ma'am, for you to wear this evening, but if you would like something else...'

'I would like something else,' declared Dominique. 'Fetch me my ruby  satin, if you please.' She glanced at the trunk. 'But before that, bring  me a glass of ratafia-a large glass, I think.'

* * *

An hour later she went downstairs, a fur-lined cloak over one arm, her  free hand gripping the bannister. Perhaps it had not been wise to have a  second glass of liqueur, but the idea of seducing her husband was  rather alarming, and she felt in need of a little sustenance.

A footman jumped to open the drawing-room door for her and as she  entered she had to resist the urge to pull up her low décolletage.  Gideon was standing by the sideboard, pouring himself a glass of wine,  but the rustle of her skirts alerted him. He glanced up.

Dominique experienced no little satisfaction as his eyes widened and  the hand pouring the wine shook, spilling a few drops on to the white  tray cloth. Gideon cleared his throat and bent a searching look upon  her.

'Is that a new gown?'

'No, sir. I wore it to the Graysons'.'

There was a fine pier glass fixed atop the walnut console table and  Dominique stopped before it to consider her appearance. The last time  she had donned this gown she had put on a demure white-satin petticoat  with puff sleeves and a wide lace edging that had discreetly covered her  bosom. Now she wore one of the shifts from the trunk. The effect was  quite startling. Instead of tiny white sleeves covering her shoulders  the muslin was so fine it was almost transparent and the delicate lace  around the neck merely drew the eye to the low neckline and the deep  valley between her breasts.

Gideon came to stand behind her and she met his eyes in the mirror.

'The colour suits you,' he said. 'And the way you have of dressing your  hair.' He raised his hand to touch the solitary ringlet hanging down  and as his fingers grazed her skin she drew in a sharp breath. His hand  moved from the curl to her neck. 'Dominique-'

The soft knock on the door made them jump apart.

'Sir, madam. Your carriage is at the door.'

Dominique noted Gideon's blank look and it was a full minute before he could respond.