Gideon was already furious with Max for the way he had cheated him. Now, when he heard the earl’s insulting description of his young relative, Gideon was aware of a burning desire to knock the fellow’s teeth out. But he had decided he would beat Max at his own game, so he concealed all signs of anger and merely raised his brows a fraction.

‘Really? Are we talking about the same woman, Martlesham?’ He noted the look of uncertainty in Max’s face and smiled. ‘We are going to London. I need to buy my wife a new wardrobe before I take her into Buckinghamshire.’

The uncertainty was replaced by amazement.

‘You are taking her to Rotham?’

‘Of course, that is her due.’

‘B-but the viscount hates the French. He will refuse to acknowledge her.’

The thought had occurred to Gideon, but Max’s shocked tones angered him and he responded with more than a touch of hauteur.

‘He will be obliged to do so, since she is the wife of his heir.’

Williams came mincing forwards, quizzing glass raised.

‘Now look here, Albury, we all know the marriage is a farce, it was never intended to go this far. Bring the gel back here and let Martlesham sort it all out—’

‘But there is nothing to sort out,’ replied Gideon, smiling again. ‘I am exceedingly happy and I have you to thank for it, Max.’ He patted the earl on the shoulder as he passed him. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have to collect my wife. I have booked rooms at the Globe and we have an early start for town in the morning.’

‘The Globe!’ Williams dropped his quizzing glass. ‘But that’s devilishly...’

‘Expensive, yes.’ Gideon smiled. ‘Only the best for Mrs Albury!’

He walked out, leaving them gaping and speechless behind him.

* * *

When he arrived back at the cottage, Lucy, the maid, accorded him a grudging curtsy and a slightly less-hostile look, from which he guessed that she had been apprised of the current situation. His wife he found in the sitting room with her mother. They were side by side in the armchairs, which had been drawn together. As Gideon entered the room Madame Rainault rose.

‘Dominique has explained it all to me, Mr Albury, including my nephew’s part in your marriage. It was a very wicked trick, sir, but I understand you intend to stand by my daughter. However, if you cannot be kind to her, then I pray you will leave her here with me.’

‘Maman, you know that is impossible!’

‘Madame, I give you my word that your daughter will receive all the kindness and consideration I can give her. As my wife she shall want for nothing.’

Madame Rainault’s anxious eyes searched his face and at last, satisfied, she held out her hands.

‘I believe you will do your best for her, sir, and I commend her to your care. Put on your cloak, Dominique, it is only a few miles to the Globe, but it is growing dark and there is no moon tonight.’

Mother and daughter exchanged kisses.

‘Maman, I wish...’

‘Go along, my love, I shall do very well here with Lucy to look after me. Besides, I have work to do. Now the new treaty with France is signed I am hopeful I shall begin to make progress. I have at last had word from one of my old friends and I am writing to him now, for news of your father. Lucy shall take it to the post office. She takes all my letters there now, instead of asking my nephew to frank them for me. I was never sure that he sent them on, you know...’

Madame Rainault was still talking as she waved them off. As his bride settled herself in the carriage, Gideon thought he saw the gleam of a tear on her cheek. He said, to distract her thoughts, ‘What news of your father? I thought he was dead.’

She shook her head.

‘He disappeared, soon after he sent us to England in ninety-three. He wanted to protect the king and queen, but the revolution had gone too far. Many moderate Girondins were executed, or imprisoned at that time. When we lost touch, Maman began writing to everyone she could think of in France, trying to find out what had happened. She has been doing so ever since.’

‘Ten years and you have heard nothing?’

‘No. Max thinks Papa is dead, but my mother does not believe that.’

‘And you?’

Her face was no more than a pale oval in the fading light, but he saw her chin go up.

‘I never give up hope, sir.’

* * *

The Globe was a prestigious hostelry and the couple were made to feel their lack of servants and baggage, until Gideon’s haughty manner and generous purse convinced the landlord that this wealthy viscount’s son was merely eccentric. Gideon had sent a runner ahead of him to bespeak a suite of rooms, which included, as Dominique discovered as she explored their apartment, two bedrooms.

‘It is de rigueur for married couples, so no one will think anything amiss,’ explained Gideon. ‘And I did not want to impose upon you.’

‘You are very kind, sir.’

‘Gideon,’ he corrected her gently.

‘Gideon.’

The lackeys had withdrawn and they were alone again, a situation that Dominique found disconcerting, despite their intimacy the previous night. Gideon came closer. His hand came up, as if to touch her cheek, then dropped away again.

‘I want you to be comfortable,’ he told her. ‘Is there anything I can do, madam, that will help?’

She clasped her hands together.

‘There is one thing, sir.’

‘Yes?’

She raised her eyes to his.

‘If—if you could call me Dominique.’ Silence met her words and she hurried on, ‘You never use my name—well, only once.’ She blushed furiously at the memory. ‘I do not think we can be c-comfortable if you continue to call me madam.’

She was looking down, and saw his hands clench into fists.

‘That is one request I am afraid I cannot fulfil, my dear.’

‘Oh.’ She blinked to clear the tears that had suddenly sprung up. ‘N-no doubt you think of Dominique as that b-beautiful actress.’

He did not contradict her. After a moment’s tense silence he said, ‘It is not only that. It is a French name.’

‘And—and is that so very bad?’ she asked him.

He hesitated, no longer than a heartbeat, but she noticed it.

‘Yes, my dear. I’m afraid it is.’

He turned towards her, his face polite, smiling, but that shuttered look was in his eyes, telling her he was unreachable.

They retired to their separate rooms that night. Dominique did not sleep, but lay tense and still in the middle of the bed, listening. She convinced herself that she was dreading a soft knock at the door, but when it never came she realised just how disappointed she was. Yet what could she expect? Gideon had never wanted to marry her; he was in love with the actress who had taken her place. So much in love that now he could not even bring himself to use her name.

* * *

At breakfast the following morning Gideon was all consideration. He escorted her to her chair, poured her coffee and helped her to the freshest of the toasted muffins before sitting down to his own meal.

‘You are right,’ he declared. ‘I cannot continue without a name for you.’

She bridled instantly.

‘I have a perfectly good name, thank you.’

‘You 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.