Dominique gulped. So the admiral knew she and Mr. Atherton had been feigning their attachment. Was that the cause of his good humor? She dared a quick glance up at him and found his eyes locked upon her. Lowering her gaze to her lap, she concentrated on her breathing, which had suddenly taken a rapid course.
“And I daresay the plan worked,” Mr. Atherton continued. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Dawson?”
“I do not know what you mean, Mr. Atherton.” She gave the admiral a measured look. “And I assure you I was not a part of this scheme.”
“I realize this was Percy’s doing, Miss Dawson.” The admiral’s deep voice floated over the room. “This is not the first time he has meddled in my affairs.” He grinned and shook his head. “I only wished to hear your part in the charade. Which is why I summoned you here.”
Mrs. Barton’s gaze scoured over Dominique, yet the usual flare of spite had cooled into a look of curious examination.
Chase inched closer to Dominique’s chair, and she looked down, feeling tension emanating from him in hot coils. How could she tell the admiral the truth? That her intention was only to prevent his advance; that although every ounce of her longed for his love, she could never accept it. But she could say none of that. “I have nothing to add, Admiral, save to beg your forgiveness.”
Mrs. Barton’s brow wrinkled.
A chill raked over Dominique as she remembered what Larena had told her about the admiral’s loathing for liars. Surely he would spew his rage upon her and dismiss her immediately.
“I do not fault you, Miss Dawson.” His soft words sent a wave of shock through her. “Atherton can be quite persuasive—especially with the ladies.” She heard him chuckle but could not bring herself to look at him.
Mrs. Barton opened her mouth as if to say something but then snapped it shut. The harsh lines on her face deepened as she studied her brother.
“Nevertheless,” Mr. Atherton interrupted, “as I have said, the plan was successful.”
“Whatever can you mean, Mr. Atherton?” Mrs. Barton’s lips tightened into a thin line.
“Do you not have eyes in your pretty head?” Mr. Atherton sat beside her on the couch and leaned back, propping his ankle across his knee. “You have only to observe the way they look at each other.”
“This is madness.” Mrs. Barton shifted in her seat and averted her gaze to the glowing coals in the fireplace.
The chill that had come over Dominique only moments before now transformed into a fire that quickly spread up her neck and onto her face. Not only was it most improper to be speaking of such things in public, but what made it all the more dreadfully embarrassing was that the conversation was about her and the admiral.
She swallowed. What was happening? Why wasn’t the admiral angry at her deception? Why was he not denying his feelings? She gazed up at him. Why was he just standing there staring at her with that warmth as if the center of his whole existence rested upon her?
Dominique quickly looked away but saw that their exchange did not go unnoticed by Mrs. Barton. She shifted her sharp gaze back and forth between her brother and Dominique, her eyes finally landing on Dominique, staring at her as if she had some grand malformation. Dominique reached up to check her face, expecting some glob of dirt to be hanging from her cheek. Nothing. When she returned Mrs. Barton’s gaze, the hatred had dissipated from her eyes, replaced by a confusion that was soon drowned in a pool of moisture that caused Dominique to blink.
Blood rushed to Dominique’s head, and she felt as though she would faint. She sought out Mr. Atherton in the hope that he would make some sense out of the unusual reactions from both the admiral and his sister.
Instead, he flung an arm over the back of the sofa and raised his cultured brows in a look that said, I told you so. “I do say, Miss Dawson, your very presence seems to have shut the mouths of both the Randals—a condition I have never seen in all my years of their acquaintance.”
Dominique gripped her moist hands together. “I fear you are mistaken, Mr. Atherton. I have done naught but sit here quietly.”
William suddenly burst around the corner, sending a wave of relief over Dominique. Mrs. Hensworth was quick on his heels as he ran toward the admiral. “Father, Father. I planted an herb seed all by myself.”
“Forgive me, sir.” Mrs. Hensworth scurried after the boy. “He got away from me.”
The admiral fisted his hands on his hips, and Dominique expected the usual angry reproof, but instead he gave William a look of teasing disapproval.
William froze. He scanned the room, glancing over his aunt and Mr. Atherton before seeing Dominique.
“Miss Dawson.” His eyes lit up.
Dominique opened her arms and he ran into them, gripping her around the neck and leaving fingerprints of mud on the muslin fabric of her collar.
Mrs. Barton let out an exclamation. “Chase, really. The boy’s manners.”
William pulled back and examined his fingers and then her dress. His eyes misted. “I am sorry, Miss Dawson.”
Dominique hugged him again. “Never you mind, William. A little mud never hurt anybody.”
William slowly raised a timid gaze to his father.
The admiral took a step toward him then halted. The muscles in his jaw tensed, and he rubbed the scar on his cheek. He gazed toward the window then back at Dominique, a troubled look in his eyes. She longed to reach out to him, to ease his struggle, his pain.
Finally, he expelled a huge sigh then approached and knelt beside them. He gave her a skeptical look before turning toward his son.
William shrank back.
Chase winked solemnly at his son. “William, please go with Mrs. Hensworth and have her clean you properly.”
The boy tilted his tiny brows at his father then smiled and scooted away from Miss Dawson. “Yes, Father.”
Mrs. Hensworth took him by the hand and led him toward the door.
“Father?” William tugged on the housekeeper’s arm and turned.
“Yes?”
“Miss Dawson said she likes you very much.” A stunned silence enveloped the room. Dominique clamped her eyes shut in horror.
“Indeed?” she heard the admiral declare. “Yes. Can she be my new mother?”
CHAPTER 21
Dominique slid farther into the pew of St. Mary Woolnoth and lowered her gaze. Letting out a long-suppressed sigh, she blinked back the tears that had been threatening release all through the Sunday morning service. Now that the parishioners and attendants had left the beautiful sanctuary—all save for Rev. Newton—she unleashed the emotions she had kept so carefully guarded all week long.
“What has you so distraught, my child?” Rev. Newton eased beside her with a slight moan.
“Please forgive me, Reverend.” She raised her gaze to his. “It has all become too much for me, I fear.”
The many furrows on Rev. Newton’s brow deepened. “What has?”
“The deception, the terror, the pain … everything.” Dominique wrung her hands together. After William’s embarrassing question about her becoming his mother, Percy had chuckled, Mrs. Barton had choked until her face reddened, and the admiral had remained in silent perusal of Dominique until she could stand it no more. Upon politely excusing herself, she had fled from the drawing room as fast as her slippers would take her. Since then, she had avoided the admiral with great success, though she often heard him roaming the halls in the middle of the night.
“I do not understand, child.” Rev. Newton pressed his bony hand upon hers and gave her a look of concern. “If you would tell me exactly what has you so vexed, perhaps I could pray for you.”
“I wish I could, Reverend.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I have made such a mess of things.” Why had she allowed herself to grow so close to William? To the admiral? Even to Larena—who had informed Dominique the other day of how much she valued their friendship—when Dominique knew she must betray them all and leave? And Dominique’s very presence had done nothin
g but distress Mrs. Barton and bring back painful memories of her husband’s betrayal. It would have been better for them all if she had never met them.
“You are still in Admiral Randal’s employ?”
Dominique opened her eyes and nodded.
“God makes no mistakes.” Rev. Newton patted her hand and smiled. Light from a chandelier hanging above them shimmered over his gray hair and swept down upon his black robe, making him appear all the holier. “He has you there for a reason.”
“What, I cannot imagine.” Dominique gazed at the two massive white pillars that stood like sentinels on each side of the wooden altar and felt insignificant by comparison. “I have done naught but destroy lives. Larena still believes no man, especially God, is to be trusted. Sebastian is the same cold, unhappy man as when I first encountered him. Mr. Atherton continues his destructive ways despite my warnings, and Mrs. Barton and Lady Irene hate me all the more each day. The only one I believe I have impacted is young William.” She sniffed. And now I must leave him and break his heart.
Rev. Newton regarded her with twinkling eyes, the bags beneath them forming a gentle smile. “You may think you have made no impact, but I am always amazed to discover what a sincere child of God can do simply by being present.” He glanced up at the gold cross centered on the retable. “Our Lord does not ask us to be perfect, only willing.”
Dominique frowned. “Willing and able, I imagine, which is where I fail Him.”
“You can never fail Him, and you do not need to prove yourself in battle for Him. He has already won.” The reverend grabbed her hand and gave it a strong squeeze that belied his frail appearance. “But what of the admiral? I sense this has something to do with him, as well?”
The admiral … Chase. Dominique swallowed against a burning in her throat, unable to deny her intense feelings any longer. “I love him, Reverend. I cannot help myself.”
“Ah, yes.” Rev. Newton’s chuckle echoed through the sanctuary. “Perhaps that is why the Lord has placed you there, my dear?”
She looked at him, wishing that were the case. Wishing for one brief moment she was free to love the admiral and his son without the threat of losing Marcel.
The reverend cocked his head. “Love is never wrong. It covers a multitude of sins and heals all wounds.”
“In this case, it will cause only pain.”
“Hmm. Then he does not return your affections?”
Dominique rose and began to pace. “No, I believe he may.” Her heart leapt at the thought, and a longing to be loved by such a man consumed her. “That is what makes it all the worse.”
“This involves the threat on your brother you spoke of before?” Rev. Newton’s lips tightened as he grabbed his cane and strained to rise from the pew.
Dominique rushed to assist him. “Yes, I must leave tomorrow night. My brother’s life depends on me.” A shudder ran through her. How she hoped to deal with such unscrupulous men and escape with Marcel unscathed, she had no idea.
Rev. Newton leaned on his cane and drew his brows into a knot. “I see.”
“Where is the strength promised to me in the Bible?” Dominique pressed her hand over her agitated stomach. “I still feel like the same frightened little girl I have always been.”
“I never said you would feel any differently, my child.” Rev. Newton smiled. “God does not promise we will never be afraid. He only promises He will never leave us, and He will protect and help us with the tasks He has called us to do.”
“Called?” Dominique huffed. “I cannot imagine that He has called me down this beastly path.”
“If your heart is toward Him, He will show you the way.” Rev. Newton took one of her hands in his. “You are trembling.” He led her back to the pew. “Have a seat and allow me to read you a passage from one of my favorite psalms.” Grabbing a Bible from the podium, he opened it and sifted through the pages, finally landing on one near the center. “Yea, the sparrow hath found an house, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even thine altars, O Lord of hosts, my King, and my God.”
Dominique’s heart froze. “The admiral calls me a little sparrow.”
Rev. Newton lifted his gaze and grinned, revealing a row of aged, yellowing teeth. “Perhaps God is indeed speaking to you.” He returned to the Bible and continued, “Blessed are they that dwell in thy house: they will be still praising thee. Blessed is the man whose strength is in thee; in whose heart are the ways of them. Who passing through the valley of Baca make it a well; the rain also filleth the pools. They go from strength to strength, every one of them in Zion appeareth before God.”
He gently closed the Holy Book. “Perhaps this is a journey of strength for you, my dear, one in which God is teaching you to trust in Him.” He touched the tip of his cane to his chest and gave her a knowing look. “No matter what you may be feeling inside.”
Dominique allowed herself to grin. “You are such a wise man.”
“I serve a wise God.” He chuckled. “But, ah, you forget, I was once a slaver, a loathsome creature who ne’er had a thought for anyone but himself.” He clutched the Bible to his chest. “ ’Tis only by God’s grace I am still alive.”
“I shall miss you, Reverend.” Her heart sank at the thought of leaving such a strong spiritual man who seemed almost like a father to her now.
“Will you never return to London?”
“I do not believe I will ever be able to.” She looked away. If she succeeded in betraying England as she must do to save Marcel, then without a doubt, she could never return to her homeland.
“Then I shall see you in heaven.” Rev. Newton raised his brows, a twinkle in his eye.
As Dominique considered what might happen to her if she was caught by British authorities—or worse, what Cousin Lucien might do to her anyway—she let out a tiny snicker.
“Perhaps that shall be sooner than we think.”
Dominique set the candlestick down upon the oblong table in the middle of the kitchen and glanced around the gloomy room. The pungent scent of roast venison filled her nose like a taunting memory, though she knew the evening’s meal would be long gone by now. She must find something to eat—anything to still the turmoil in her stomach. This was her last night in the Randal home. She had not expected to find sweet slumber in light of what she must face the following night, but she had not expected a mutiny within her belly, either. Now forced from the safe haven of her chamber, she had ventured down the service staircase to the kitchen in hopes that some sustenance would quiet her rebellious nerves.
The kitchen, always a bright and bustling place during the day, overflowing with gleeful chatter and succulent smells, appeared a cold gray vault in the middle of the night. Dominique shivered and tightened her robe around her, scanning for the familiar cupboard where she knew the cook stored extra food.
Her eyes landed on the kitchen door, a dark rectangle in the shadows of the room, and visions filled her mind of the ragged children clambering down the steps from the street above, their dirt-encrusted hands reaching out for the morsels of food she often gave them.
Who would feed them now? Oh Lord, take care of them and of all who are hungry on the streets.
Careful not to wake up the servants who slept nearby, she crept toward the cupboard. Light from a street lantern trickled through the window in a band of shifting rays that joined the light from her candle in a dance that bounced through the room, illuminating choice spots while leaving others in darkness.
As she reached for the cupboard, the light shifted, and shadows swallowed her hand. She bumped into something hard and cold, sending the interfering object tumbling to the stone floor. Clang! Clang! Clang!
Dominique stiffened and held her breath until the ringing ceased. Some spy she was.
When she dared to move again, thankfully the rasping of her released breath was the only sound that reached her ears. Leaning down, she retrieved the rebellious copper kettle and placed it on the counter before returning her
attention to the cupboard. Grabbing a jar of preserves, she could wait no longer for food and plunged her finger into the succulent jam. She brought it to her mouth, breathing in the sweet strawberry scent. Stifling the moan on her lips, she scooped another fingerful to her mouth.
Something scuffled in the hallway. A strip of light appeared beneath the wooden door.
The jam spurted up her throat in a warm, sour glob, nearly choking her. She set down the jar and blew out the candle, then searched the room for a place to hide.
Too late. The door creaked open. Candlelight filled the room.
Dominique froze.
There the admiral stood, dressed only in pantaloons and a white shirt that hung open. Stepping inside, he set his candle down and gave her a most enticing grin. “So I see the little sparrow has finally left her nest.”
Dominique shifted her gaze away, chastising herself for not being able to control her hunger. Now she must face the one man she had hoped most to avoid. How could she look him in the eyes, knowing she would soon betray him? How could she look him in the eyes and not betray her deep love for him? “I was hungry.”
“A common occurrence, I am told.” He chuckled and lifted the jar of preserves from the table, eyeing it suspiciously. “Have you been avoiding me? You have not joined us for dinner.”
“I have not felt well.”
“Ah, but you have recovered, I see.” Chase set down the jar and took a step toward her.
Dominique’s insides melted, but she dared not raise her gaze to his. A trace of alcohol swirled in the air between them and mingled with the spicy scent she had come to associate only with Chase. The room began to spin.
Chase raised his hand toward her, spanning the distance between them. Dominique flinched. He took a lock of her loose hair and fingered it as if it were made of silk, then released it, allowing it to flow across his hand.
All the air in the room seemed to swirl around Dominique.
“You are not truly ill, are you?”
Was that fear in his voice? Dominique still dared not look at him.
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