Historical Romance – The Best Of The Year. Кэрол МортимерЧитать онлайн книгу.
Tonight.’
‘Good.’
Her hands were clasped around the bedpost, as if to support herself. Gideon continued quietly, ‘Agnes found proof that Max was holding your father’s fortune. I wanted to make sure it was true, that I could secure the money for you and your mother before I told you. I was wrong to keep it from you. I beg your pardon for that.’ There was no reaction, no movement at all from the silent figure before him. ‘I am going to France, to find your father and bring him back. Perhaps that will prove to you that I don’t hate you, or your French blood.’ He stopped. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, exhaling slowly. ‘No, it is more than that. My anger has been misdirected for years. I used it to disguise my hatred of myself. You see, my French was always better than my brother’s. I might have survived.’ He rubbed a hand across his eyes. ‘There is not a day goes by that I do not wish I had disobeyed my father and gone to France instead of James. I thought Father’s keeping me here was a punishment for allowing James to die—in fact, it was because he was afraid of losing me, too. I understand that now, because I finally know what it is to love someone so much that you cannot bear to contemplate life without them. Dominique, you say you cannot love me. I understand that. I promise you I shall never force my attentions upon you, if they are unwelcome. But I hope, when I return, that we may be able to salvage something from this mess.’ He paused, his eyes fixed on her rigid, unyielding back. ‘Will you not wish me God’s speed?’
He waited, but when she made no move he turned on his heel and left the room.
* * *
Dominique heard the door click shut behind him. Her hands were clenched so tightly around the bedpost that the carvings cut into her skin. She had wanted to run to him, to cast herself on his chest and beg him to be careful, but her anger held her silent and immobile. She could hear his steps in the corridor, that firm, familiar stride, the tap-tap of his boots on the boards, gradually dying away to silence. With a sob she threw herself across the room and wrenched open the door.
‘Gideon, wait!’
She flew along the passage and to the stairs. From the central stairwell she saw only the flapping edge of his greatcoat disappearing into the hall below. Desperately she sped down the remaining stairs. She could hear the rumble of voices and even as she reached the hall she heard the heavy thud of the door being closed.
‘Colne, Colne, tell him to wait!’ she called out as she ran. The butler opened the door again as she came up and she dashed past him and out on to the drive.
The moonlight showed her one figure already mounted, and Gideon with his foot in the stirrup. When he saw her he stepped away from the horse and without pausing she hurled herself at him.
‘Oh, Gideon, I am so sorry, so sorry!’ His arms closed around her and she cried into his shoulder. ‘I was so j-jealous when I saw you with her and I quite lost my temper. Please don’t go without saying you forgive me.’
He gave a shaky laugh.
‘There is nothing to forgive, love.’ He put his fingers under her chin and forced her to look up at him. With the moon overhead his face was in shadow, but she could discern the glint of his eyes and it tugged up that now familiar ache of desire deep in her belly. ‘Wait for me.’
‘Must you go?’ she murmured between kisses.
‘Yes. I have to do this. For you, for Tante and the duc. For James.’
‘Not for my sake! Please, I could not bear to lose you now. And no one can blame you for obeying your father.’
‘Only me. At the very least I should have gone with James—I can never forgive myself for letting him go to France alone.’
‘Then your father might have lost both sons and I would never have known you.’ She cupped his face between her hands and gazed up at him. ‘I love you, Gideon. So very, very much. Promise me you will be careful.’
‘Of course.’ His grin flashed white in the moonlight. ‘I have so much to live for.’
He gave her one last, lingering kiss before putting her from him and mounting up. As he and his companion cantered out of the gates, he raised his hand for a final salute.
* * *
Dominique stood on the drive and watched until the riders were out of sight, then she made her way slowly to the drawing room to join her father-in-law. When he saw her he went over to the sideboard and poured her a glass of Madeira.
‘So you have made up your differences,’ he said. ‘I am glad.’
‘It all seemed so petty, once he had told me where he is going.’
He held out the glass to her. ‘Believe me, my dear, I would have stopped him if I could.’
‘I know, my lord, but he is determined, even if it should prove dangerous.’ Something in the old man’s look alerted her and she sank down on a sofa, saying quickly, ‘What is it, what should I know?’
‘It will be dangerous, my dear. Extremely so, because we are now at war with France again.’
Days turned into weeks. Dominique busied herself around the house and looked after her baby. She scoured the newspapers every day, but the reports only made her more anxious. Bonaparte’s fury at being forced into war before he was ready was manifesting itself in attacks and imprisonment of the English who had not managed to leave France in time. If that was the case for innocent travellers, how much worse would it be for Gideon, if he was caught?
Dominique took some comfort from the fact that Gwen and Anthony were now much closer—so much so that Ribbleston soon told Gwen of the duel Gideon had fought with Max and she promptly passed the news on. Dominique’s worst fears—that Max should die and Gideon would then be wanted for murder—were soon eased when the social pages reported that the earl had retired to Martlesham Abbey amid rumours that he was seriously in debt. Dominique could only be thankful that she and her mother no longer lived under his aegis.
There was a small diversion at the end of May when she travelled to London with her mother to see Mr Rogers and go with him to Coutts’ bank. The dowry her father had set aside for her was signed over and the remainder of the Rainault fortune was secured for her mother’s use, but the knowledge that Gideon had made this possible only added to Dominique’s unhappiness. She had not thanked him for his efforts and the fear deep in her heart was that now she would never have the chance to do so.
* * *
The atmosphere at Rotham became hushed, expectant, as if the house itself was waiting for news. Mrs Rainault spent so much time there with her daughter that the viscount suggested she should come and stay again until Gideon’s return.
‘And he will return,’ he assured Dominique. ‘The family has many friends in France, believe me.’
But as the summer wore on even the viscount’s confidence wavered.
‘I am sure that if it was not for our being here, and little James, Lord Rotham would return to his reclusive ways,’ Dominique told her mother, when they were strolling in the walled garden one afternoon. The July sun was beating down, filling the still air with the scent of roses.
‘He has told me how much you have changed his life,’ said Mrs Rainault. ‘Rotham had grown cold and silent before you came, but he says you brought it back to life—more than that, you restored his son to him.’
‘And I am the reason he has gone away, perhaps forever.’
‘You must not talk like that.’ Mrs Rainault gave her arm a little shake. ‘You must not give up hope, Dominique.’
‘But it has been ten weeks. It feels like a lifetime. You have been waiting for news of Papa for ten years—how, Maman? How have you lived with the pain, the uncertainty?’
Mrs