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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.

      ‘Ahem, yes, of course.’ Gideon drank down his wine, then picked up her cloak and placed it about her shoulders. ‘I could almost wish we were not going out this evening.’

      The quiet words sent a delicious thrill running down her spine. So far her plan was working admirably. She peeped up at him through her lashes.

      ‘We need not stay for supper.’

      Gideon was silent as he accompanied her to the door and a glance showed her that he was looking quite bemused. He said, when they were seated together in the coach, ‘Has anything occurred today, my dear? A visitor, perhaps? You seem...different.’

      ‘No, I have been at home alone all day.’ She tucked her hand in his arm. ‘That is why I am glad of your company tonight.’

      * * *

      Gideon said nothing, but he did not disengage himself and when they arrived in Grosvenor Square he helped her down and kept his hand firmly over hers as he accompanied her into the house. Lady Ribblestone’s brows rose when she saw them, but a number of other guests had already arrived, so there was no opportunity to speak privately then or during dinner. It was not

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