It was not the most relaxed of evenings. Visel was present—as was Tyndale. Both had conspicuously come to pay their respects during the break. If that wasn’t enough, Lucy had come by with Deveril. She’d made up to Gabriel in a shameless way, touching him and treating him as if he were an object that belonged to her. There was nothing he could do as she chose to carry out this exhibition in their box, in front of his wife and half the ton.
Gabriel thought the theater manager would have done better to charge tickets to watch Exley’s box than to watch the actual production.
Not that Giselle was not at her best.
She was powerfully gripping in her role as Regan. And Maria performed her much smaller role with the usual flair. Gabriel would have preferred not to bring his wife to watch his former mistresses, but Tyndale had been the one to ask that they be there.
Tonight the need to see and be seen with Visel had been more important than who was on the stage.
While Tyndale watched the production from a box almost directly opposite Exley’s, Visel watched from the pit. Gabriel was certain the farcical nature of the arrangement was fueling at least some of the attention they were receiving.
He felt Visel’s gaze more than once during the evening—when the other man wasn’t watching either Maria or Giselle. Gabriel was not stupid. Visel’s message was clear: the gorgeous actresses were available, and he would do his best to have them. Visel was, he supposed, an attractive specimen. Certainly the women of the ton seemed to flock to him, although that could be his position as a duke’s heir rather than his person. Gabriel thought the man was unbalanced and did not trust his public apology in the least. Still, there was nothing Visel could do to hurt him, so there was no point wondering what he was up to.
Gabriel found the other man’s actions amusing rather than annoying. If he thought to make Gabriel jealous, he was certainly engaging in futile behavior. While he had no idea what Giselle and Maria might do, he was positive that inviting Visel to become their lover while Samir was living in their house was not going to happen.
Samir.
The name brought a poignant blend of pleasure and pain. He’d gone to see the boy today after his wife had tossed him from her chamber. Each time he visited, he found it more difficult to leave him. There was a perfectly good nursery in their London house and Sizemore Manor had a huge schoolroom and nursery. Apparently some ancestor of his grandmother’s had enjoyed a large brood and an entire floor of the house had been given over to children’s quarters.
He’d been optimistic about broaching the topic after his first night with Drusilla and had planned to bring it up today.
Just thinking about last night made him stiffen. God. She’d been so responsive. He shouldn’t have used her so hard her first night but she’d looked at him with such . . . hunger. Gabriel was not a believer in false modesty; he knew women found him appealing and he was no stranger to lustful looks. But the way Drusilla had stared at him when he’d taken off his robe? It had done something to him. He could only assume it was the knowledge that this was his wife—she was his and he was hers. It was different from the feelings he’d had with lovers, even Giselle and Maria. He’d always known what the three of them had wasn’t permanent; they loved each other far more than they did him. Last night had been different—special. But then there had been this morning . . .
He felt a sharp jab in his side and looked over to find Eva staring up at him. He raised his eyebrows at her.
“Why does he keep looking up here?” she whispered behind the protection of her fan.
Gabriel didn’t need to ask whom she meant. “I don’t know.”
“Those are your mistresses, aren’t they?”
“What?”
Heads turned in their direction—including Drusilla’s—at his expostulation, and Gabriel leaned closer to Eva and lowered his voice. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“I’m not stupid, Gabe. That’s one of them—the beautiful blonde down there. Regan. And that’s the other one—playing the servant girl.”
“Who told you that?”
“What does it matter? Is it true?”
How did this keep happening to him? Why were the women in his life so curious about his personal matters?
“Well?”
“Ex-mistresses.”
“Good. Anything else wouldn’t be fair to Dru.”
Gabriel turned his body to look at her. “Oh? And you are so interested in being fair to her, are you? Is that why you’ve been shunning her?”
Her lips thinned, and she turned back to the stage, staring as if she’d never seen a more fascinating production in her life.
So, he guessed that answered that question. He shook his head; wasn’t there enough aggravation in their lives? Did he have to deal with feuding women as well as a nosy mother and a mad, antagonistic possibly war-traumatized earl, and repairing his and his wife’s damaged reputations before this disastrous Season was over?
The sound of clapping pulled him from his thoughts. The play had ended; it was time to go home.
* * *
Drusilla paced.Would he come to her?
His words from last night, You are a goddess, came to her unbidden and made her belly tighten.
She tried to consider his statement objectively. Would he have said such a thing if he had not meant it? And the expression on his face when he’d uttered the words. Lord. Just recalling the hunger in his eyes sent desire licking through her body. No, it had not been a lie. At least not in that moment, in that moment he had believed her desirable.
But then she’d behaved like a shrew. Not only that, but she’d seen the two women reputed to be his mistresses tonight: they were both beautiful.
When she’d realized whom she was watching onstage, she’d been furious—and glad she’d snubbed him this morning. But then she’d recalled it was not Gabriel who’d made tonight’s arrangements. He hadn’t looked pleased or relaxed, and she’d seen that it was all he could do to greet Visel and Tyndale with a smile: he’d been as tense as a coiled spring.
No, he’d not been the one to orchestrate a mess like this evening. That realization didn’t eliminate her jealousy, but it did make her feel relieved to know he did not enjoy situations that caused her discomfort or embarrassment.
Fletcher set her ivory hairbrush down on the dressing table. “Will that be all, my lady?”
Drusilla looked at her reflection. She’d left her hair down, just as he’d requested. Fletcher had not commented when she’d said she didn’t want either a cap or a braid, but the knowing look in her eyes had made Drusilla blush.
Her dark curly hair glowed from brushing, the heavy mass striking against the plain white lawn of her nightgown. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. She should have felt embarrassed, but instead all she felt was expectant. And aroused.
“That will be all, Fletcher.”
She was too anxious to get into bed, so she went to her dressing room and took out her favorite dressing gown—the one she’d put on the night they’d gotten married. As she tied the sash, something crinkled in her pocket. She took out a folded piece of paper: the message from Theo. She had forgotten all about it after reading it. She opened it:
Dear Drusilla:
I apologize for my behavior today. I do hope you will forgive me and chalk it up to my extreme shock and disappointment. I am sorry I made you uncomfortable and wish you every happiness in your new life. I hope we can continue to work together. I am making excellent progress on all three establishments and would hate to think I’ve jeopardized the future happiness of untold women with my foolish behavior.
Lastly, I hope we shall continue to meet on Thursdays but will understand if you feel you can no longer work with me.
Respectfully yours,
Theo
She had been angry with him—not so much for his behavior at the tea shop, but for his ill-advised message and how it had appeared to Gabriel. She frowned. She realized she had do
ne more to offend Gabriel this morning than Theo’s letter had done the other night.
Although she’d been angry at the time, she had already forgiven Theo. He’d been repentant and nervous, eager to apologize. She could understand that. She felt as if she should apologize to Gabriel and had agonized over the words she would use. But he’d been gone when she’d finally come downstairs and hadn’t returned again until it was time to dress for dinner.
And dinner? She grimaced. Today’s awkwardness was all her fault. She glanced at the clock—it was not quite midnight. She decided to pen a brief message to Theo and let him know all was well and forgiven.
That took less than ten minutes, so she riffled through the pile of invitations and selected a few she’d decided they should accept. She wrote brief responses to all of them, which only took another fifteen minutes.
Where was he?
She pulled the bell and gave the letters to the sleepy-looking footman who answered her summons. “See these go out first thing in the morning, please.”
Alone again, she crept toward the dividing door. All was silent on the other side. Perhaps he’d already gone to bed?
Drusilla leaned against the doorframe and chewed her lip. She should apologize. He’d come in peace this morning—even bringing her breakfast—and she’d recoiled from his affectionate behavior as if she found his touch repulsive. Not only had she flinched away from him, she’d behaved like a tongue-tied fool after. Why should he come to her, expecting such a reception?
She took a deep breath, arranged her hair over her shoulder, and knocked.
And waited.
And waited.
She’d just turned away when the door opened.
It was Drake. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
The man’s demeanor and voice were as mild as milk, but Drusilla couldn’t help imagining he regarded her with disfavor. “I was looking for Mr. Marlington.”
“He has gone out, madam.”
Drusilla cocked her head. “Out?”
“Yes, madam.”
She opened her mouth to ask when he would return, but then she saw something in Drake’s eyes she did recognize: pity.
Heat washed over her face, and she nodded. “Thank you. Good evening, Drake.”
“Good evening, madam.” He shut the door and left her alone.
She stood in the dressing room, staring blankly at the door. He had gone out without saying anything to her. Two out of three nights of marriage. Drusilla had opened her mouth a dozen times to apologize for her coldness toward him this morning, but something had always stopped her—her pride, most likely.
She groaned and turned away from the door, which seemed to silently reproach her. Why did she have to be so prickly? Today could have been the beginning of a whole new life. How would she have liked it if she touched him and he flinched away as if she were repulsive?
And she’d had an entire day to explain her awkward behavior. All she’d needed to do was say she was shy about physical affection in the harsh light of day—which was no more than the truth. He’d been pleasant to her this evening, not cold but a little reserved. Even so, he’d made an effort to ask her about her day and to compliment her on her gown. She’d sat in muted agony, unable to respond naturally to his conversational gambits because of her stupid inability to open her mouth and speak.
And now he’d gone out.
Chapter 16
Perhaps it was the strain of the last few days, or even the past six months—or maybe the lack of exercise—but Gabriel was far too restless to go to bed. Nor was he feeling calm enough to deal with his wife just now. He promised himself he would not make this a habit—leaving her, especially without any explanation—but he simply did not have the patience for yet another baffling interaction with her. Nor did he wish to see her expression go flat and hostile as it had this morning. What had happened? One moment they’d been laughing and chatting—almost flirting—and the next her face had become rigid and she’d recoiled from him as if he were a poisonous serpent. He probably would have overlooked her behavior and persisted with his overtures of friendship if they’d not had such an emotionally draining few days. But he was too fatigued for more dramatics tonight.
It would be a good night to sleep alone. Tomorrow was a fresh, new day and he always woke with optimism. But tonight. . . well.
Gabriel had enjoyed making love to his wife last night and had looked forward to seeing her this morning. It had shocked him to realize that he was the only one of them prepared to be pleased with their marriage and forget how it had begun.
His young wife—he’d been surprised to learn—was a sensual, passionate woman in bed. But outside a bed? The barriers she had erected between them had been clear in the bright light of day: They were high and well fortified. She disliked him—or at least disapproved of him.
Gabriel shook away the thoughts, alternately feeling enervated and restless as he walked the darkened streets. When he’d been a boy, he could walk for hours and never see another soul. His father’s palace was on the outskirts of Oran. To the north and west was the ocean; to the south, the foothills and mountains and endless expanse of the Sahara.
London was, naturally, nothing like it. But after midnight the streets were quieter, the carriages and wagons no longer clogging every thoroughfare; clerks and vendors and park saunterers were home in their beds, at least most of them. While it was true pedestrian traffic was sparse—a few servants scurrying out on errands and young men moving from one entertainment to the next—the city by no means slept.
He considered going to Byer’s, but he found he didn’t wish to speak to his friend, either; he didn’t wish to speak to anyone. What he needed was time alone to think—especially about all the things he’d been avoiding. Things like his last trip to Oran—the trip only a handful of people knew of and which he’d avoided thinking about since he’d returned to England; things like bringing Samir down to Devon this summer. Every day he became more attached to the little boy. He was beginning to believe he could not relinquish him even if one of Fatima’s brothers or sisters sent a letter saying they would take him. And what if—
“Well, well—what have we here?”
The voice cut through his thoughts like a machete. Gabriel had to blink to clear his mind’s eye of disturbing images, but he knew whom it belonged to before he turned around.
He stared at Visel with disbelief. “Did you follow me?”
The other man laughed. He still wore his theater clothing and looked the epitome of an unruffled English aristocrat out for an evening of entertainment. But all was not serene beneath his unrippled surface. As usual, Gabriel sensed a lethal whirlpool of hatred, fury, and something like a lust for vengeance churning within the other man.
Visel was watching him with an intensity that was combustible. What was he looking for? And what the hell was he doing so close to Gabriel’s house—which was only a few streets over?
“I was not aware we were neighbors,” Gabriel said when the other man did not answer his first question.
Visel smiled. “I don’t live nearby.” He gestured with his chin to the street ahead. “I was visiting a friend not far away from here, on Gray Street.”
Gabriel didn’t believe him for a moment.
“What are you doing out so late?” His blue eyes glinted. “Away from your new wife so soon after your wedding?”
Visel’s grin was annoyingly insouciant and it was all Gabriel could do not to plant the man a facer. Instead he tightened his grip on his emotions—he refused to let Visel push him into another situation he did not want.
“How reassuring it is to know you care so much about my doings, Visel. But perhaps your time would be better spent on your own affairs.”
His blond eyebrows jumped. “Perhaps you are correct—I can’t decide whether I should spend my time consoling Miss Kittridge or keeping my lovelorn cousin from doing anything foolish.”
Gabriel blinked. “Your cousin?
“Yes
, Theodore Rowland is my cousin—although once removed.” He cocked his head. “Didn’t your wife tell you that?”
Gabriel was nonplussed. Rowland was Visel’s cousin? Did Drusilla know that? She must—she’d certainly appeared very well acquainted with the man. Why would she not have mentioned that the man he was dueling was a cousin of the man she’d been holding hands with? It was not a critical piece of information to withhold, but he couldn’t help feeling it epitomized their marriage.
He felt Visel’s scrutiny. The air between them was as thick as a swamp—a swamp of volatile emotions. Visel appeared driven to make trouble any way he could—although Gabriel did not know why. That Visel was so transparent about his mischief-making did not make it any less dangerous or effective. Still, Gabriel did not think there was anything to be gained by drawing out this exchange. Quite the contrary. He was beginning to believe Visel was mad, as Eva appeared to think.
So he shrugged. “Your relationship to my wife’s friend makes no difference to me,” he lied.
Visel chuckled. “You’re too busy with your other family to care for such matters.”
Gabriel froze. “I beg your pardon?”
“Why, the boy, of course.” He grimaced. “Damned and blast! I didn’t realize the matter was a secret—I’m afraid I might have said something indiscreet to your wife.” Visel’s wide-eyed innocence was underlaid with avid glee.
So Visel had seen Gabriel with Samir. Well, he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, it wasn’t as if he was doing anything to hide the boy—he just hadn’t decided how to handle the child’s future. It would have been nice for the matter to remain quiet for a bit longer, but it really made no difference. Although he was curious why Drusilla had said nothing to him. Was this the reason for her prickly behavior? But, no, Visel had been indiscreet at the ball—which had been before their night of lovemaking.
Gabriel shook away the pointless speculating and looked at Visel; he had no intention of letting the other man know he’d needled him. He would take the subject of Sami up with his wife, as he should have done before now.
Notorious Page 21