be going?’
The maid chewed her lip, frowning in concentration. At last she said, ‘She—she did ask me where Cleveland Row might be.’
A cold hand clutched at Gideon’s heart. Without a word he strode out of the room, thundered back down the stairs and out to his curricle. It did not take him long to find the lodging house, but the servant who opened the door told him that Lamotte was not at home.
‘Has a lady called here for him?’ demanded Gideon.
The servant looked blank and shook his head. Even a generous bribe could not elicit anything more than the information that ‘monsewer’ had been out all day, but that he was expected back later, since he had sent out for a special dinner to be prepared and brought to his rooms that evening.
Gideon drove back to Brook Street, a mixture of fear and anxiety fermenting in his head. He tried to think logically. Perhaps he had misunderstood Nicky. She had many friends—it might well be that she was on a perfectly innocent outing. After all, she had said she would be home in time to join him for dinner. Gideon faced up to the fact that there was little he could do, save go home and wait for Nicky to turn up.
However, after he had dismissed his curricle and paced once through the empty house Gideon realised he could not be idle. He changed into his evening clothes, picked up his hat, gloves and cane and strode off to St James’s Street. If he could find Lamotte, then his main worry about Nicky would be assuaged.
* * *
No one in any of the hells he visited had seen the young Frenchman that day. In growing desperation he made for the last one on his list, the narrow house in King Street that Anthony patronised.
Despite the early hour the rooms were quite full, the heavy curtains pulled across the windows and the room bathed in candlelight. Gideon recognised several of the players and was hailed merrily and invited to join them. He declined politely and continued to ask after Lamotte, but his enquiries drew nothing but blank looks. No one had seen him.
The Earl of Martlesham was presiding over the faro table in the final room and he looked up as Gideon came in.
‘Albury, this is a new departure for you. Will you join us?’
‘No, thank you,’ he replied shortly. ‘I am looking for Raymond Lamotte, do you know him?’
‘Lamotte, Lamotte...’ Max considered for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think I do.’
Two of the players glanced up and exchanged looks, their brows raised. Gideon said nothing and after a moment Max continued. ‘What do you want with the fellow?’
‘Ribblestone gave me a message for him,’ he said casually. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘As you will.’ Max waved a hand. ‘We are about to go in search of our dinner. Why not come along with us?’
‘Thank you, no. I dine at home tonight.’
‘With your lovely wife? Gad, sir, but the two of you are inseparable.’
Gideon misliked the smile that spread over the earl’s face and his hand tightened on his cane. Did Max know something? How he would like to choke the truth out of him! Gideon left them to their play and went back out into the sunshine. He glanced at his watch. It was past six o’clock. Perhaps Nicky was home now and waiting for him.
And perhaps not.
He glanced up and down St James’s Street, doubt and indecision crowding his mind. Now she was with child his wife might consider it safe to take a lover. His hand tightened on the head of his cane. By God, if that was the case she would soon learn her mistake! Eyes narrowed, his jaw tight with anger, Gideon strode off.
* * *
Dominique had never spent such a long afternoon. When she had left her sister-in-law there were still two hours until she was due at Cleveland Row. She wished she had asked Kitty to wait for her, but Monsieur Lamotte had told her to come alone and she was afraid that Kitty might not understand the need for total secrecy. She whiled away her time wandering in and out of the various shops in Bond Street. She was ill at ease on her own and found herself purchasing various items—gloves, ribbons and parasols, as well as a quite hideous bonnet in puce satin—all of which she ordered to be sent to Brook Street. At last she judged it time to make her way to Cleveland Row for her rendezvous.
She was admitted by a respectable-looking servant, who then directed her to Monsieur Lamotte’s rooms on the first floor. Dominique knocked on the door and was a little relieved when the gentleman answered in person. She drew a folded paper from her reticule.
‘This is all the information I have on my father.’
He held the door wide.
‘Please, come in, madame.’ Observing her hesitation, he said gently, ‘I will need to read this through and we can hardly discuss the contents here on the landing.’
‘No, of course.’
She stepped across the threshold into the small, sparsely furnished room. An old-fashioned armchair and a sofa crowded the empty fireplace, a sideboard stood against one wall and a small table was placed beneath the window. A haphazard pile of newspapers and gentleman’s magazines on one of the dining chairs suggested that the table had been hastily cleared.
Raymond closed the door.
‘Pray, madame, let me take your coat. Eh bien, sit down, if you please, and be comfortable.’
Swallowing, she allowed him to remove her pelisse and guide her to the sofa, where she perched on the edge, her hands clasped nervously in her lap. Raymond dropped the paper on to the table and went to the sideboard, where he proceeded to pour wine into two glasses.
‘No—not for me,’ she said hastily. ‘I cannot stay.’
‘Just a glass, madame, that we may raise a toast to France.’
She took the glass from him and solemnly repeated the toast, but she was relieved that her companion then sat down at the table to read her document. She waited impatiently as he scrutinised every line, asking the occasional question, and making notes on the edge of the paper with a pencil. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly six. She must get back soon. A soft knock upon the door made her jump. Raymond answered it and after a muted conversation he stood back and a number of waiters came in, bearing trays.
‘My dinner,’ explained Raymond, smiling. ‘I ordered it earlier. I hope you do not mind if they set it up now, while I finish reading this?’
He threw himself into the armchair and continued to read. Dominique clasped her wine glass before her, wishing she had thought to wear a veil. She felt very out of place sitting there, while the servants marched in and out.
As soon as they were alone again she put down her glass and rose.
‘Monsieur Lamotte, you have read every word now. I must go—’
‘No, no, madame, not quite yet, if you please.’ He was on his feet and standing between her and the door. ‘I was hoping that you would do me the honour of dining with me.’
He reached out for her hand, but she snatched it away.
‘Out of the question,’ she declared. ‘It would be most improper to dine alone with you.’
‘But you are already here and alone,’ he pointed out, coming closer.
‘That is very different.’
‘Is it?’ He gave her his charming smile, but she was more alarmed than attracted.
Dominique retreated a few steps. She had placed herself in a most precarious situation. To visit a gentleman’s lodgings, without even her maid in attendance, was the height of impropriety. Gideon would never forgive her, if he found out. She took a breath.
‘Monsieur Lamotte, I think you misunderstand. You promised you could help me with news of my father.’
‘And