She wasn't even aware of saying his name. Tears filled her eyes and she shook them away, despising herself for being so vulnerable.
She put on clean underwear: brief satin panties and a matching suspender belt in a pretty soft cream that had been a Christmas present from her parents. She couldn't wear a bra under her dress. She avoided her reflection in the mirror as she slid on silk stockings, and then pulled on her old dressing-gown before starting on her make-up.
The gauche, uncertain girl she had been when she first went to London no longer existed, and she applied skilled touches of colour to her eyes and skin with the expertise she had learned during her years as David's assistant.
Downstairs the grandfather clock sounded the hour. Soon Dominic would be here. Christy shivered slightly as she stood up and checked her evening bag. She was ready. All she had to do was put on her dress.
She stepped into it, swearing mildly under her breath as she fought with the mass of petticoats. It zipped up more easily than she remembered, but then her mother had already commented that she seemed to have lost weight.
The dress had been designed for a play where every historical detail had to be exact, but it still came as a shock to realise how much of the upper curves of her breasts the lace-trimmed neckline revealed. And surely her curves had never been quite as provocative and luscious as they appeared to be now? The fabric moulded and held her breasts into a rounded fullness that made her frown and chew a little on her bottom lip.
Ridiculously, when she tried on her mask and looked at herself in the mirror she felt slightly better about the neckline of the dress, as though somehow hiding behind her mask gave her some sort or protection from her own awareness of her body.
She held her breath slightly when she went in to show her mother, but she needn't have worried. She made no comment at all about her neckline, instead marvelling at the beauty of her gown. When Christy drew her attention to her exposed breasts, her mother laughed and said robustly, 'I suppose it is rather provocative, but only in the nicest possible way.'
Even so, Christy was glad of the velvet cloak that Meryl had suggested that she hire, and she was very careful to keep it carefully closed when she heard the sound of Dominic's car, and her father opening the door to him.
'I'd better go,' she told her mother. 'Dominic will want to be there early.'
'Yes. He told me that most of the committee are sitting together on the same table.'
They were, but Chri
sty wasn't sure whether Dominic intended to join them. She suspected that Amanda would have plans of her own for the evening which wouldn't include sharing Dominic with the rest of them.
From the top of the stairs she looked down yearningly at where Dominic stood chatting to her father, knowing that she was shielded from him and that he couldn't see how avidly and needingly she looked at him. He was wearing a dinner suit, and a giant fist seemed to close round her heart as she looked down at him, tanned and dark-haired, and completely at ease in his no doubt expensive evening suit. He wore it with a familiarity that said that he felt completely at home in its tailored smoothness.
Perhaps that was what she needed. Christy thought sadly: to be reminded of the vast gulf in experience that now lay between them. He wouldn't have lived the life of a monk while he was in America, she was sure of that. He wouldn't have held himself aloof from sexual experimentation because his heart and mind was full of her image.
She saw him glance at his watch, light bouncing off the thin gold strap, and she started to walk downstairs.
'Ah, there you are,' her father beamed at her. 'Aren't we going to get a preview of the outfit?' He turned to Dominic before she could speak. 'I remember her first grown-up party dress, don't you, Dominic? She couldn't wait to show it off to you.'
They all laughed, but her father was the only one whose laughter was natural. There was simply no way she could remove her cloak and twirl round for her father's inspection with Dominic standing there watching her, and so she shook her head and said in a voice made husky with tension, 'I'm sorry, Dad, we'll have to go. We can't be late…'
She could feel the tension emanating from Dominic as he escorted her to his car, but it wasn't until she was sitting beside him as he drove down the lane that he spoke to her.
'What's the matter?' he demanded harshly. 'Were you afraid that your father would recognise it as a dress bought by a man for his lover? Is that why you wouldn't show it to him?'
For a moment she was too shocked to speak. Did Dominic honestly think that? She remembered how he had looked at the box when they were on the train and opened her mouth to contradict him, but the words died unsaid. What was the point of saying anything? Let him think what he wanted. Surely it was easier to endure his contempt and animosity than to have to battle against his physical desire, especially when she was so aware of her own weakness and how very vulnerable she was to him?
Not that she had anything to fear from him in that regard any longer, and as she met the cold condemnation in his eyes she marvelled that they had ever gleamed hot and molten with desire for her. Looking at him now, it seemed almost an impossibility. But he had wanted her, he had told her so, and she had turned away from him, heartsick because it was only desire and not love.
They weren't the first to arrive. Several other cars were already parked in front of the house. Anticipating Dominic's intention of opening the car door for her, Christy beat him to it, feeling idiotically gauche as he stepped back from the car and watched with a grim humourless smile.
'You're very wise,' he told her under his breath. 'If I put my hands on you feeling the way I do tonight, I might be tempted to indulge myself in violence. You have that effect on me, didn't you know?' he asked her savagely as she made a small sound of protest.
'Then I suggest you go and look for Amanda,' Christy told him bitterly. 'She looks to me like a woman who knows how to handle a violent male. She might even like it.'
Aghast at her own jealousy, she half stumbled in the drive. Sickness churned through her stomach. She wasn't sure which of them she hated the most— Dominic, for getting beneath her guard, or herself for allowing him to do so.
'Bitch!' She heard him curse as he caught up with her and took her firmly by the arm. 'It doesn't suit you, you know, Christy,' he told her, swinging her round to face him. 'Is that what he's done to you: turned you from a sweet, innocent girl into…'
'A woman?' she threw at him, wrenching her arm free. The door opened and she hurried inside. Dominic was close behind her.
With an almost bitter sense of satisfaction she watched Amanda detach herself from her godmother's side and hurry across to them, promptly annexing Dominic. Christy already knew which room had been put aside as the ladies' cloakroom, and she made her way there without giving Dominic and Amanda a second glance.
The wives of several other members of the committee, plus some of her mother's friends from the WI, were already there, and Christy exchanged hellos and smiles with most of them before taking off her cloak. She had been carrying her mask on her arm, and she paused in front of one of the mirrors to put it on.