Notorious

by Minerva Spencer

  The tall blond man flashed her a smile of genuine amusement as he took her hand and bowed low over it. “And you must be the famed Lady Exley.” He lowered his mouth over her gloved hand but—wisely—did not touch it with his lips. Even so, Gabriel bristled at the sight of this man touching his mother.

  As if sensing the incipient violence, Lady Exley pulled her hand away, cutting Gabriel a mildly repressive look.

  “You are even lovelier than I’d heard, my lady.” Visel didn’t appear to notice his mother’s frosty expression. Instead, his eyes moved on to Eva and Drusilla. “Lady Eva, Mrs. Marlington, please let me take this opportunity to apologize for my behavior the other evening.”

  Drusilla eyed him with a cool, unruffled stare that made Gabriel proud. “I’m ready to put the entire affair behind me, my lord.”

  “As am I,” Eva added, her face almost dangerously composed. Gabriel felt a twinge of apprehension as he looked at his sister’s tight expression, but Visel’s smile only grew.

  “You are indeed generous in your forgiveness. I hope it extends to a dance with each of you? Perhaps the next set, Mrs. Marlington?”

  “I’m engaged for the next set but free the one after that.”

  Visel nodded and turned to Eva, his air expectant.

  “I only have the supper dance free, my lord.”

  Gabriel knew that was a lie. In fact, it would surprise him if there was even one slot filled on her dance card. What was she doing? By dancing the supper set with Visel, she was dooming herself to dining with him.

  The earl grinned as if well pleased. “I’m honored.” He dropped a bow, cut Gabriel a glance that was sharper than a razor, and took himself off.

  Just as at White’s, it was not until the conversation was over that Gabriel realized just how quiet the ballroom had gone around them.

  * * *

  Drusilla was glad to be sitting down. The confrontation, although clothed in civility, had been the most tension-filled minutes she could remember.

  Seeing Visel and Gabriel a mere foot apart, and under the bright light of the chandeliers, had made her realize the men were almost physical equals. If Visel was a hair taller, then Gabriel was a little stockier. The men had reminded her of an animal trainer she’d gone to see when she was a girl. The man had exhibited a mongoose and a cobra, the animals such inherent enemies they’d been frozen with ire—until one of them had struck, moving faster than the eye.

  She’d had the same feeling tonight—although it would be difficult to say who was the cobra and who was the mongoose.

  “Drusilla?”

  She pulled her gaze away from Visel’s departing back and looked up into the concerned face of her husband.

  “Are you committed for this set?”

  She shook her head. She’d only told Visel the next set because she knew she would need some time to prepare her wits.

  “Would you like to take a stroll on the terrace?”

  She stood immediately. “Yes.”

  The way the crowd parted told her everyone had been listening and watching the exchange with Visel. The murmur of voices right now was like the hiss of the surf as the gossip made its way to the far reaches of the ballroom.

  “Ah, this is pleasant,” he said, once they stepped from the sweltering room. He glanced down at her. “Would you like me to fetch your wrap?”

  “No, the air is lovely.”

  “Shall we follow the lanterns? They seem to have been placed out here for that purpose.” He led her down the steps into a sizeable garden, following behind several other couples, most of whom would need to remain within sight of their chaperones. The hedges had been trimmed and shaped to form a series of concentric circles with breaks, the inner circle containing a huge fountain that held pride of place. It was flanked by stone benches, the colorful lanterns more sparsely spaced on their wrought iron holders. It was . . . romantic.

  He led her to a bench, and she sat while he propped one foot on it and leaned over his bent knee until their faces were not far from each other. The nearest lantern had a blue glass cover, and the cool light bathed his handsome features in silver and made him seem as distant as the moon.

  “That was not so terrible,” she said, uncomfortable with his silent regard.

  “Yes, but you’ve still to dance with him.”

  “Just one dance, and that will be the end of it.”

  “Hmm. I meant to ask you sooner—are you free for the supper dance?”

  “But—” She bit her lip, not wanting to say the next words.

  “But what? Surely you cannot be thinking a man cannot ask his brand-new wife to have supper with him?”

  She couldn’t help smiling at his arrogant tone. “It will be our second dance this evening.”

  He shrugged. “You are free? And if you are not, you can disappoint the other gentleman.”

  She shook her head to hide the joy leaping inside her. “You are incorrigible. Do you always get your way?”

  He gave her a smoldering look. “Always.”

  Drusilla felt as if she’d been brushed with fire. He was flirting with her—just as she’d seen him flirt hundreds of times with other women over the past few months. But now he was flirting with her, even though he did not need to expend the effort. She was his under the law to treat however he pleased; he did not need to charm her to bed her.

  She realized he was still staring at her in a way that seemed to consume her. In fact, she’d rejected two offers for the supper dance earlier—unheard of for her—hoping he might ask “Yes, I am free.”

  He nodded, taking her acquiescence for granted. Drusilla tried to work up some outrage, but found she couldn’t. After all, it was a dance with her he was arrogantly commandeering—how could she dislike that?

  “Why do you think Eva would give Visel the supper dance?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “I’ve been wondering about that myself.”

  He cocked his head. “And you cannot ask her?”

  She opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

  “Come, Drusilla, why are you two out of sorts with each other? I asked her, but she would not tell me. She is in ill humor tonight—I don’t envy Visel his supper with her. If he is not careful, he will end up with a fork in his forehead or a plate of food in his lap.”

  “She is very angry at me.”

  “I gathered as much. You don’t wish to tell me why?”

  “I will tell you if you demand it, but I would rather not.”

  He straightened at her cool tone and clipped words, lowering his foot and stepping back, the intimacy between them gone as suddenly as it had come. “You are under no compunction to share your thoughts or secrets with me.”

  He didn’t sound any different, but Drusilla knew her words had hurt him. She reached out and touched his hand, and he glanced down at her, his eyebrows arched, his expression proud and haughty.

  “I didn’t mean to repulse you. I would like to tell you, but I would ask you not to speak of it to anyone else.”

  “Of course, what you tell me is in confidence.”

  His posture was stiff and he was frowning, and she realized she’d impugned his honor yet again: gentlemen did not carry tales. Lord, would she ever get this right?

  “Eva came to me with the location and time of your duel. She wanted me to go and watch with her.” She decided to leave out the matter of Eva’s clothing and her Visel-related espionage.

  He sucked in a noisy breath and let it out along with a few harsh-sounding words in Arabic. He pinned her with his gaze. “I take it you said no, hence the argument?”

  She hesitated, and he sat down beside her. “Go ahead. I will not speak of this to Eva or my parents.”

  “I threatened to tell the marquess if she went alone.”

  He grimaced. “Ah, I see why she is so angry.”

  “Should I not have done so?” she asked, her tone sharp.

  He smiled. “Shhh. You remind me of a creature we have back home.”


  “I look like a creature?”

  “Tsk, my precise wife, you did not listen. I said you remind me of this creature, not that you look like it. It is called a porcupine—you have heard of it?”

  “Yes, of course, an animal with some sort of spines?”

  “They are covered in sharp quills; it is their defense mechanism—they display their quills when threatened.” He rubbed the top of her hand, his thumb warm through the fine kid glove. “You do the same with me—you always have.” He leaned in and breathed into her ear. “Why do you display your quills? To scare me away?” She sat frozen as he stroked from her hand up her leather-sheathed forearm, not stopping until he reached the place where glove met skin just above her elbow. She shivered with pleasure.

  “I do no such thing.” Her voice was breathy and not her own.

  “Mm-hmm, you do.” He brushed her lobe with his lips as he whispered, “Put down your quills, Drusilla. I would like to come closer and touch you.”

  She stiffened. “But—but somebody might see us.”

  “We are married—kissing, and more—is permitted.” His mouth caressed the sensitive skin of her neck, and she sucked in a noisy lungful of air. The sound acted as some sort of catalyst, and he slipped a hand around her nape and turned her to face him, his other hand at her waist, his lips moving across her jaw until they reached her mouth, where he began to feather kisses.

  “So soft,” he whispered, the words hot against her skin.

  She was breathing loudly, her soughing, uneven gasps drowning out even the stridulation of the evening insects.

  “I like kissing and touching you far better than fighting with you, Drusilla.” He paused, nibbling her jaw, an area she’d never thought of as particularly sensitive. Until now. “Do you like me touching you? Kissing you?”

  She swallowed convulsively, not trusting herself to speak.

  He pulled back and she opened her eyes, but he did not release her. Instead, he studied her with huge pupils and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I want you.” His nostrils flared. “I desire you. I want to make you my wife. Tonight I will come to you.” His voice had lost its usual smooth, low timber, and it made her heart thrash and swell: he wanted her.

  “Yes,” she said, the only word she could manage to squeeze out. But it was enough.

  He lowered his mouth over hers, the hot tip of his tongue tracing the seam. He nibbled her, licked her, sucked her—she lost track of what he was doing, until his tongue slid between her parted lips. Drusilla started.

  “Shhh,” he murmured, kissing and nibbling her lower lip. “Let me inside.”

  Her head spun at his words and the tone with which they’d been uttered.

  She opened and he slid inside, his tongue stroking hers, teasing a response. Drusilla was hesitant at first, but his low growl of encouragement made her bolder and she accepted his invitation to explore. She gloried in his taste, smell, and texture, and invaded him more deeply and with growing confidence. When she took his tongue between her lips and sucked, he groaned, his arm tightening around her, making her realize he’d been feathering touches up and down her side, his hand hot against the silk of her gown.

  He kissed her once more and then pulled slowly back.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw that his were black and heavy lidded. His lips seemed fuller and redder, and his breathing was uneven and labored.

  He gave a slight shake of his head, his smile gentle as he tucked a straying curl behind her ear. “Drusilla.” His voice pulsed with . . . something.

  His other hand continued its caressing while they held each other’s gazes. Never had she imagined she would see such an expression on his face: he wanted her.

  He sighed, leaned close, gave her a brief kiss, and then stood, turning away to make some adjustment to his clothing before turning back and holding out his hand.

  “Come,” he said, “let us get the next few hours over with and then we can scheme some way to get out of here early.”

  When they reentered the ballroom, Drusilla was stunned to find that life was still moving on as usual. How could that be? Out in the garden the earth seemed to have altered—or the air had thinned, or her body had begun to float away, or something.

  He wanted her. Gabriel Marlington, the perfect star always beyond reach, wanted her. The knowledge left her breathless, as if she’d been dropped suddenly from a great height. He wanted her.

  “Ah, it appears we returned just in time,” Gabriel said, leaning down to whisper in her ear, the intimate gesture causing a tightening that began in her chest and shot down to the place between her thighs. So this was what it was like not to be a wallflower? To be with a handsome man? She cut a furtive glance around the room beneath her lashes and saw female eyes trained on her with envy.

  “Mrs. Marlington, I believe this is my set?”

  They turned to find Visel behind them, his arm extended. Gabriel squeezed her hand and released her.

  Lord Visel’s blond good looks were angelic, but the expression in his celestial eyes was hard: he was not a happy man.

  They took their positions, his gaze never leaving her. “How are you enjoying married life thus far, Mrs. Marlington?” He did not speak loudly, but the words would have reached those around them, all of whom were behaving as if their ears weren’t stretched to capacity to listen to this most fascinating of conversations.

  Drusilla realized he was trying to discompose her, expecting her marriage was not a happy union.

  She gave him what she hoped was a smug, self-satisfied smile. “I find that it suits me very well, my lord.”

  The music began, and it was a few moments before he could respond. They came together, and he bowed over her hand before leading her into formation, the two of them side by side.

  “I’m very pleased to hear that, Mrs. Marlington. I’m afraid I inferred—from your husband’s presence at White’s on your wedding night—that matters between you might be rather . . . unsettled.”

  Drusilla stumbled slightly. How dare he!

  “Is aught amiss?” His question was solicitous, but the glint in his eyes was avid.

  They broke the figure and she was spared from answering. It was just as well, because she pulsed with fury. Her face was hot and she could only hope she was not glowing like a lighthouse beacon. Plainly he was trying to make mischief, and that should have made his behavior easier to dismiss. However, the fact that Gabriel had left on their wedding night merely provided grist for people like him.

  Any hope that her anger would go unnoticed was dashed when they next came into contact.

  “I can see my comment upset you,” he said in a low voice, gracefully guiding her into the turn. “I didn’t mean to, but I seem to be making a dreadful hash of my apology.” His mobile, shapely lips were turned down at the corners, giving the appearance of contrition. Drusilla knew better.

  She ignored him, hoping he would shut up. Unfortunately, he either did not notice or did not care.

  “It’s just that . . . well, I feel somewhat responsible for what has happened to you—for your marriage to Marlington.”

  “You take quite a lot upon yourself, sir.”

  He smiled at her chilly tone. “It is the guilt, you see. If only I could be sure of your happiness.” He hesitated, as if he were indecisive, and then said, “But that is not my place—I beg your pardon. Besides, I can see you are both putting on your best face.”

  Drusilla followed his gaze to where Gabriel was dancing—with the Kitten. All the joy she’d felt earlier drained away like liquid down a funnel. The two beautiful people were laughing as they danced, their movements easy and confident, as if they’d danced together a hundred times before.Which Drusilla knew they had, because each time she’d seen them was etched into her soul.

  “I shouldn’t worry,” Visel said, interrupting her agony. He wore an expression of regret that seemed genuine. “Neither of them appears heartbroken.”

  Drusilla met that comment with t
he stony silence it deserved.

  “Tell me,” the earl said, the next time the dance brought them together, “how are you enjoying being part of such a big family?”

  The innocuous question aroused her suspicion, but she could hardly ignore a direct question. “Very much, thank you.”

  “I was surprised to learn that even Mr. Marlington’s family from Oran managed to make an appearance at your nuptials—I didn’t see the boy’s parents,just Mr. Marlington walking with the handsome little fellow in the park.”

  Drusilla stared. “I beg your pardon?”

  Visel’s eyes became wide, and he grimaced. “I’m devilishly sorry, ma’am—it seems I—dash it!” He bit his lip, and Drusilla fumed through the next several minutes until they were once again close enough to speak.

  “I apologize, ma’am. I must have mistaken Marlington for somebody else.”

  Only by sheer force of will was Drusilla able to lift her eyebrows and give him a cool smile, once again saved by a break in the dance from having to respond.

  Just what was the man up to? Whatever it was, Drusilla knew it involved mischief.

  Chapter 13

  Gabriel had hoped to sit with Eva and Visel at their supper table, but there were no places available when he and Drusilla made their way through the crowd into the area set aside for dining.

  Instead, unfortunately, Lucinda Kittridge saw them looking about for seats and sent her companion over to fetch them. He wanted to groan. He had already engaged in one heated interaction with her this evening—in the middle of the bloody dance floor. Tonight seemed the night for that. She’d taunted him about Drusilla so relentlessly that he’d finally been forced to point out how unbecoming her jealousy was.

  That had made her beautiful, jewel-like eyes fly open. “Jealous? Of—of her?”

  Gabriel had bristled at the scorn in her voice. “Have a care, Miss Kittridge. That is my wife you are speaking of.”

  The remainder of the dance had passed in false laughter and smiles.

  “Lucy would like you both to join us,” Lord Deveril said, his soft, peach fuzz–covered cheeks flushing as he extended the invitation. Gabriel could just bet she did. No doubt her plans would be unpleasant.