‘Actually, Mrs Chiswick, I—’

‘Alice and I are going upstairs to make the bed now. I’ve taken the liberty of heating a couple of bricks for the bed, too, seeing as how it hasn’t been used for a while, but I don’t suppose you will be wanting me or Chiswick to remove them, now will you?’ The housekeeper gave a conspiratorial smile that made Dominique’s face burn, which only made Mrs Chiswick smile more broadly. ‘Bless you, my dear, no need to colour up so. You are on your honeymoon, after all! Now, the bedchamber should be all ready for you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Chiswick will leave your bedroom candles in the hall for you and we’ll say goodnight now, so we don’t bother you again. And we won’t disturb you in the morning, either, ’til you ring for us. I doubt you’ll be wanting to be up with the lark.’

With another knowing smile and a broad wink the housekeeper departed, leaving Dominique to stare at the closed door.

A strained silence enveloped them.

‘By heaven, what a gabster,’ remarked Gideon at last. ‘Difficult to get a word in, I admit.’ He sat down beside her on the sofa. ‘I suppose I can always sleep here.’ She turned to look at him, surprised. His lips twitched. ‘We were neither of us brave enough to stem the flow, were we?’

Dominique’s hands flew to her mouth, but could not stifle a nervous giggle. Gideon began to laugh, too, and soon they were both convulsed in mirth. It was several minutes before either of them could speak again.

‘It is very like a farce one would see in Drury Lane,’ Dominique hiccupped, searching for a handkerchief to mop her streaming eyes.

Gideon pulled out his own and, cupping her chin in one hand, turned her face towards him and gently wiped her cheeks.

‘But if such a story was presented, one would say it was too far-fetched and could never happen.’

He was still grinning, but Dominique’s urge to laugh died away. Carefully she disengaged herself.

‘But it has happened.’ His touch on her face had been as gentle as a kiss and yet the skin still tingled. He was leaning back now against the sofa, relaxed and smiling. She thought again how handsome he was, with those finely chiselled features, the thick, auburn hair gleaming in the candlelight. If they had met in other circumstances... She stopped the thought immediately. He hated the French and there could be no denying her parentage, nor did she want to do so. She was proud of her father.

Gideon was on his feet, going back to the sideboard.

‘You shouldn’t be maudling your insides with tea. Let me get you some port.’

She looked towards the tea tray. He was right, she did not feel up to the careful ritual of making tea this evening. She was so nervous she feared she would drop one of the beautiful porcelain cups. When he held out a glass of dark, ruby-red liquid she accepted it with a murmur of thanks, holding it carefully between her hands. Perhaps it would put some spirit into her. She took a large gulp, swallowing half the contents in one go but thankfully Gideon did not see it, for he was busy pouring himself more brandy.

‘We are in a pickle, my dear.’ He sat down beside her again. ‘I lost my temper and I apologise for it. If we had remained at Martlesham everything would have been so much simpler.’

‘You were very angry, I understand that, and I beg your pardon for my part in it.’

The corners of his mouth lifted a little. He said ruefully, ‘It is the red hair. When the angry mist descends I am not responsible for my actions.’

A smile of understanding tugged at her own mouth.

‘My hair is not red, but I have a temper, too, at times.’

‘Your Latin temperament, perhaps.’

‘Yes.’

* * *

There was a shy smile in her green eyes, and Gideon was pleased to note the anxious frown no longer creased her brow. She looked so much better when her countenance was not strained and pinched with worry. A soft blush was mantling her cheek as she went to the sideboard to put down her empty glass. Gideon noted the way the walking dress clung to her figure, accentuating the slender waist, the sway of her hips. As she returned he could appreciate the curve and swell of her breasts rising from the bodice of her gown. She was no ripe beauty, but he would wager that beneath that mannish outfit was a rather delectable body. He remembered standing behind her earlier, breathing in her fragrance and felt a flicker of interest—of desire—stir his blood.

As if aware of his thoughts she chose to sit in the armchair beside the fire. Gideon cleared his throat.

‘I believe there is a gig in the stables. When it is light I shall drive you to Swaffham, and from there we will hire a post-chaise to take us back to Martlesham.’

‘Not the Abbey,’ she said quickly. ‘Will you please set me down in the village, at my mother’s cottage?’

He shrugged. ‘If you wish.’ A sudden thud on the ceiling made them both look up. ‘But first we have to get through this evening.’

The port had had its effect. Dominique knew now what she must do.

‘I shall remain down here,’ she announced, sitting very straight and upright in her chair. ‘You may have the bedroom.’

‘Nonsense. I have already said I shall sleep on the sofa.’

She put up her chin. ‘I have made up my mind.’

‘Then unmake it.’

His autocratic tone only strengthened her resolve.

‘I will not.’

‘I am not so unchivalrous as to condemn you to such discomfort.’

‘I shall be perfectly comfortable. Besides, there are bolts on the parlour door, while the bedchamber boasted not even the flimsiest lock.’

Gideon sat up, frowning.

‘Are you saying you do not trust me?’

‘Yes, I am.’

He jumped up.

‘Damn it all, when have I given you occasion to doubt me?’

Her brows went up.

‘When you insisted we come here.’

The truth of her statement caught him on the raw and he swung away, striding over to the window.

‘Do not be so damned obstinate, woman! I have said I will sleep on the sofa and I shall.’

His words appeared to have no effect.

‘Impossible. It is far too short for you. Why, you must be six foot at least.’

‘Six foot two,’ he said absently. ‘But that is not the point.’

‘It is very much the point.’ He heard the quiet rustle of skirts. ‘You see, it is the perfect length for me.’

When he looked around she had stretched herself out on the sofa. Her gown fell in soft folds around her, accentuating the contours of her body, the swell of her breast and curve of her hip that only served to emphasise the tiny waist. And how had he failed to notice the length of her legs? She stretched luxuriously and he had a glimpse of dainty ankles peeping from beneath the hem of her skirts. In any other situation he would have found the view enchanting, but—hell and confound it, she was mocking him!

‘The bedroom has been prepared, madam and you will sleep in it.’

‘And I tell you I shall not.’

He almost ground his teeth in frustration.

‘I admit it was a mistake to come here.’ He spoke carefully, reining in his anger. ‘I was at fault, but you will agree the provocation was great.’

‘Of course.’

‘However, when all is said and done, I am a gentleman. I will not have it said that I enjoyed the comfort of a feather bed while you spent the night on a sofa!’

Dominique felt an unexpected frisson of excitement at his rough tone. He was rattled and clearly no longer in control of the situation. An exulting feeling of power swept through her. She put her hands behind her head and gazed up at him defiantly.

‘But I am already in possession, so I do not see that you can do anything about it. I suggest you admit yourself beaten and retire in good order.’

She closed her eyes and forced herself to keep very still, feigning indifference. He would see she was not to be moved and would go away and leave her in peace. She expected to hear a hasty footstep and the door snapping closed behind him. Instead she heard something between a snarl and a growl and the next moment she was being hoisted none too gently off the sofa. Her eyes flew open and she gave a little scream as she experienced the novel sensation of being helpless in a man’s arms. But not just any man, and along with her natural indignation she was aware of the urgent desire curling through her body. It frightened her, but she would fight it. She would show him she was no milk-and-water maid, to be treated so abominably.