Chapter 12
Drusilla had a lot of time alone to think.
First she paid a brief visit to her Aunt Vi, who was staying in the old house for a few weeks to supervise the dismantling of the household before the property was offered for sale. Drusilla had tried to convince her to move with them to the new town house, but the older woman had been adamant.
“You are a newly married couple, Drusilla; you need some time together,” her far-too-thin aunt said when Drusilla issued the invitation. “Besides, now that you have a husband to escort you, I believe I will rest for the remainder of the Season and retire early to Bath. You know Maisie has invited me to stay the summer with her and her niece. It shall be pleasant.”
Maisie was a distant cousin whom Violet had always been close to, and her niece was a girl not yet out of the schoolroom. No doubt her aunt would enjoy Bath’s more gentle entertainments, which only the young and old seemed to truly relish.
After leaving her aunt she considered paying a call on Eva, but her friend’s furious, hurt face flashed in her mind’s eye, so she left that visit for tomorrow—or maybe even the day after. Besides, she would see Eva at the Renwick ball tonight.
Thinking about the ball made her think about her clothing—a pastime she rarely engaged in. But she was no longer an unwed wallflower; she was the wife of a handsome, sought-after man. It behooved her at least not to shame him when she went out in public. A dress flashed into her head—it was a gown she knew had been made and then not been paid for. She’d seen it at Maison d’Hortense when she’d gone with Eva to pick up a new white muslin to replace a dress her friend had ruined with some food item or other.
“You should buy that,” Eva had told her when she’d noticed Drusilla eyeing it.
The gown was a deep shade of teal, an unusual blue-green silk that had made her fingers twitch to touch it. She loved colors and fine fabrics, but she tended to order more serviceable clothing. It wasn’t only her academic reservations concerning finery, but also the fact so many people had nothing—why did she need a hundred gowns that she would wear only once? And so she wore her simple gowns many times. She kept the minimum in her dressing room, giving away an old gown whenever she bought another and keeping her selection of clothing sparse. Sparse enough to drive her maid to distraction. But now . . . didn’t she have some duty to her husband? A duty to not always appear the dowd?
Oh, she was so weak; she was just lying to herself. All she wanted was to make him see her—not as an object of pity he’d needed to rescue, but as a desirable woman.
A new dress is hardly likely to do that. You will not be different—only the dress.
Drusilla did not want to become a different woman, but she wouldn’t mind looking like a more attractive one. Surely there was no sin in wanting to make the most of the gifts one had?
Perhaps the gown was still available?
* * *
Fletcher had just finished with Drusilla’s hair and was securing her small pearl drop earrings when the door to her dressing room opened and Gabriel entered. Drusilla had to pull her eyes away from his powerful body, which she had often imagined bestride some stallion charging through a desert, but which also looked every bit as natural in stark white-and-black evening clothing, his hair glowing like a banked fire.
He met her gaze in the mirror and smiled. “Good evening, Drusilla.” His eyes drifted to Fletcher, who was fiddling with something in her jewelry case.
“You may go, Fletcher. And you needn’t wait up tonight.”
The maid left without a word, her cheeks flaming.
Gabriel came to stand behind her, their gazes locked.
“This is a new gown, I think? Or at least I have not seen it before.” His expression was one of surprise and it immediately put her on the defensive—but not as much as his admission that he might have noticed what gowns she wore, which left her feeling almost light-headed.
“I thought this color was more suitable for a married woman than white. I am not profligate when it comes to clothing. Or at least I hope not. I saw this last week when I was out with Eva and thought it was an unusual color.” She stopped, her cheeks also an unusual color.
He looked amused by her babbling. “It is a lovely color and you look very fine.” His eyes dropped to the snug, low bodice, a bodice that was moving up and down more quickly than was normal. “You have very beautiful skin—like a pearl.” His eyes lingered on her breasts, which were mounded over the top of the bodice. Her breasts had always embarrassed her. They were large—far too large for her small rib cage, and she usually did her best to reduce the appearance of their size. But this gown had already been cut, and there was nothing Madame Hortense could do to create a more modest neckline. And of course one did not wear lace fichus with ball gowns.
He looked up and caught her with lips parted in shock. She closed her mouth.
“It was your skin which made me think of this for you.”
She saw he was carrying a rather large jewelry box.
“This is a belated gift to thank you for agreeing to be my wife.”
Drusilla’s hands shook when she took the box, and she stared at the lovely inlaid patterns on the lid rather than her husband’s face. She was no stranger to jewels, even though she didn’t wear most of them. Her father had lavished them on her, and there was a king’s ransom in the safe. But this was different. Gabriel had picked out something for her?
She flipped up the lid and gasped. “Oh.”
He chuckled and she looked up. “Is that a good oh? Or a bad oh?”
“It is a very good oh. These are so lovely.”
His cheeks darkened with pleasure. “I am relieved to have selected something you like. Here, let me help you put them on.” He reached into the box and removed the five joined strands of pearls that were held together with a gold clasp inlaid with diamonds. His long, elegant fingers were intensely masculine against the creamy, silky pearls.
“The jeweler called this a choker.” She stared at his hands as they hovered over her shoulders and then lifted the strands against her throat. “Not only do they look lovely with your skin, but I knew this design would be flattering to your neck, which is long and elegant.”
Her breath froze in her chest. She wrenched her eyes up to his, but he was looking at the clasp he was fastening, unaware of the impact of his words. It was pitiful to experience such crippling pleasure at such a minor comment. But only her aunt and father had ever complimented her appearance, and they’d made just the obligatory “you look pretty” type of comment she knew was not true. But a long, elegant neck? She turned her head slightly as he continued to fiddle with the clasp. Yes, she did have a rather nice neck—why had she not noticed before?
“There,” he said, his gaze turning back to the glass, his mouth curving into a genuine smile. “They suit you.” He absently caressed the jewels, his fingers grazing her skin, his pupils flaring. They stared at each other, and Drusilla realized she wasn’t the only one whose breathing was uneven. His gaze dropped back to the box.
“Remove your earrings and put these on,” he instructed in his usual arrogant style. She decided to forgive him for it this time and did as he bade her. Each earring was a pearl dropped from a large solitary diamond, the design simple and extremely elegant.
“Thank you. I—I like both gifts very much.” Drusilla knew the dress and jewels didn’t transform her into a diamond of the first water, but she did look her best.
His expression turned serious. “It will be uncomfortable tonight. We will have to acknowledge Visel.”
“I understand.”
“It is probable he will ask you for a dance.”
“I assumed he would.”
“And you are prepared?”
His concern warmed her. “I will be fine.”
He laid a hand on her shoulder, his body hot through the fine silk of her sleeve. “I will be there to support you—should you need me. And our family will also be there.”
&nbs
p; Drusilla was still struggling with the words to thank him when he turned away. She resolved to thank him at some point tonight. She wanted him to know she appreciated his gesture and regretted the friction between them. Yes, she would tell him so tonight.
He returned, holding a long wisp of teal gauze. “This is your wrap?” She nodded, luxuriating in the brushes of his warm fingers as he arranged the silky fabric over her shoulders.
“There,” he said, lowering both hands lightly onto her shoulders and studying their reflection.
In the mirror was a young couple. He was a creature of masculine perfection, and she—while not beautiful—was a not-unattractive woman with a graceful neck and beautiful skin now stained with a fetching blush.
Drusilla smiled at him, and his eyes widened. Did she really smile so rarely?
He held out his arm. “Shall we go slay the dragon?”
* * *
Gabriel held out his hand to his sister. “Will you honor me with a dance, Evil?’
She lost her surly look and rolled her eyes, her exquisite features illuminating the room like a flaming branch of candles.
“You never tire of that, do you, Brother?”
“Tormenting a younger sibling is one of life’s true pleasures.”
She laughed, and they took their places for the waltz. Gabriel could feel the tension in her hand and body.
“What is wrong?” he asked.
She glanced up, worrying her lip so hard it made him wince. “What makes you think anything is wrong?”
“You haven’t said a word to Drusilla—not through dinner and not on the carriage ride here.”
She shrugged, her eyes restlessly sweeping the room.
“Eva?”
Her unusual blue-violet eyes narrowed. “Honestly, Gabe, just leave me be. You get to do whatever you choose—engage in swordplay, keep mistresses—and I am allowed no say in my life, not even when it comes to my own private thoughts.”
Gabriel could not believe it. “What the devil do you know about my mistresses?” he demanded in a low voice.
“No more than anyone else in our circle.”
He swore in Arabic, and she lifted her eyebrows, making him remember he’d taught her most of the words when he’d been young and foolish.Well, younger and more foolish.
“Do people have nothing better to do than carry tales about my doings?” he demanded.
“Not when your doings are so very wicked.”
He snorted.
“Besides, what do you care? It’s not as if anyone does anything to stop you. Just imagine how annoyed you’d be if you were me. And here you are, grilling me like the Inquisition, as if even the contents of my head are not my own.” Her voice rose as she repeated her earlier complaint. “It hardly seems fair that I’m not even allowed to keep my thoughts to myself.”
“Keep your voice down,” he said. “People are staring.”
“Oh, shut up, Gabriel. And quit asking me questions. You know I need to count while I dance.”
Luckily the music commenced, and they could concentrate on the dance. Eva had not been jesting: she did need to count. She was one of the worst dancers he had ever seen. How a woman who was such a superb equestrienne could be so clumsy, Gabriel would never know.
She stared down at their feet, her lips moving, as he guided her out of the way of a white-haired couple who moved in perfect concert and with enviable ease. He let his gaze wander over the dancers, easily picking out Drusilla, who was dancing with Exley. The marquess was an excellent partner who probably made any woman appear graceful, but Gabriel could see Drusilla was an accomplished dancer. He realized he’d never had a waltz with her. Indeed, they’d danced no more than a handful of times, and those usually under duress. Tonight, when they’d danced the opening set, had been the first time he’d partnered her out of interest rather than a sense of obligation, but it had not been a waltz. He grimaced at his past behavior. He’d allowed their childish rivalry and bickering to deter him from doing his duty as a gentleman and now—
Eva made a guttural noise, and Gabriel followed her gaze: Visel had appeared. The duke was not in sight and the younger man appeared to have arrived without his usual band of cronies. He stood beside his hosts, who were speaking and smiling at him while he surveyed the ballroom, as if looking for something.
“They say Visel is mad.”
It was Gabriel’s turn to stumble. “What?”
Heads turned in their direction at his expostulation, and Gabriel leaned closer to Eva and lowered his voice. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“I heard he has the male hysteria.”
He was momentarily nonplussed, and then: “Who told you that?”
“What does it matter who told me? Is it true?”
Gabriel looked at the man in question, as if careful study would somehow help answer her question. The war hysteria? He supposed it was possible. Visel had fought for over a decade, and Gabriel knew the toll war could take. While he’d not engaged in the vast battles on the Continent, he’d lived with war for almost a year after his father died. His desert campaign against his brother had been on a small scale, but the strain of around-the-clock conflict wore on men—it had certainly worn on Gabriel.
Was that what was wrong with Visel and why he mindlessly persecuted Gabriel? Was the man suffering some mental trauma and Gabriel just happened to be the unfortunate individual his fixation had settled on?
“Look. He’s staring at you, Gabriel.”
Visel had left his hosts and come into the ballroom. He was indeed turned in their direction although he was too far away to see his eyes.
“Perhaps he is staring at you, Eva. You are quite beautiful, even though you refuse to admit it.”
She didn’t seem to hear the compliment. “Are you sorry he apologized?”
“Of course, I’m not sorry. Did you think I wanted to fight him?”
“I don’t know. Did you?”
He would like to beat the man black-and-blue, but he didn’t want to kill him. Eva didn’t need to know that. “No.”
She made a skeptical humming sound, which he ignored.
“I’d like to fight him myself,” she said when he failed to comment. “With swords rather than pistols so I could make it last a good, long time.”
Gabriel could believe it; his little stepsister was fierce. She would have made a good man, and he’d often thought it was a pity she’d been born a woman. And such a beautiful one, at that.
“Are you angry at Drusilla?” he asked, not interested in discussing the subjects of Visel, war-induced hysteria, or duels.
She held his gaze for a long, stubborn moment before speaking. “Not really, not anymore.”
“Well then I do wish you’d patch up whatever it is that is bothering you, Eva. Haven’t we all endured enough emotional turmoil these past days to last us the rest of the year?” He recalled too late that ironic sarcasm was not the best approach to use with Eva.
Her body stiffened under his hands, and she glared fire up at him. “You aren’t my father, Gabe, so quit behaving as if you are.”
“I would if you’d quit behaving like a child,” he retorted.
“Look who’s talking. You still engage in duels.”
Gabriel took a deep breath, counted to ten, and tried again. “Drusilla has had a difficult time of it, and I’d prefer not to have her upset yet again.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you left her alone on your wedding night to go gallivanting about town.”
Gabriel gaped.
She didn’t look away, but a red stain was creeping up her neck.
“What the devil are you talking about, Eva?”
“You were obviously at White’s, since Visel found you there and apologized to you—didn’t he?”
Her reasoning was unassailable, but somehow he thought that was not the whole of it.
“I don’t wish to argue with you, Eva.”
“Then don’t.”
He studied her beautiful, rigid profile and sighed. When she was in one of these moods, it didn’t matter how much a person cajoled her: she wouldn’t leave her irritation behind until she was ready. Luckily the music indicated the dance was about to end, so he could drop the matter, telling himself a dance floor was hardly the place for a discussion of such a subject—and certainly not with his mercurial sister.
They returned to where Lady Exley sat with several other married women. Gabriel thought his mother was looking rather pale and cursed the need to drag her out in such a condition. Although she would deny it, each pregnancy seemed to be harder than the last. But she’d insisted on being here and also attending the theater tomorrow night.
“I can offer my support for these two appearances, Jibril,” she’d said when he’d tried to argue. Gabriel had looked to the marquess, but Exley had, surprisingly, agreed.
“I don’t like it, either, but we need to provide a unified front. And these are the two events you’ve discussed with Visel. We should all be there.”
So, here she was, wan and exhausted, but at least she was sitting.
“Can I get you something to drink, Mama?”
Her gaze flickered over his shoulder, and she smiled. Gabriel knew who was behind him before he even turned.
“Thank you, Jibril, but you may see to your wife and sister.”
Drusilla went to sit beside Eva while the marquess came toward his wife, exchanging a glance with her that appeared to contain entire conversations. “Lemonade, my dear?”
“Thank you, Adam. I would love a glass.” When he turned to go fetch her drink, she gestured Gabriel closer. “We will slip out during supper, Jibril.”
“You needn’t stay, Mama. The first rush of fascination is over. People are beginning to lose interest. Eva can stay with us and I will bring her home. We will be fine.”
“I know you are fine, my son, but how is Drusilla? This cannot be easy for her.”
“No, but she is a strong woman.” He smiled. “Like another woman I know.”
Again her gaze flickered over his shoulder, but this time her smile was cool rather than melting. The hairs on Gabriel’s neck rose as he turned.
“Ah, and this must be Lord Visel,” the marchioness said, her tone like an arctic cold front.
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