Notorious

by Minerva Spencer

  Drusilla could imagine.

  “To make a long story much shorter, it turned out Fatima’s father was in league with Assad, and I barely escaped the palace with my hide. If her father had known what I was doing with his daughter—” He shook his head. “Let us just say I doubt he would have had the nerve to offer a soiled dove to Assad. As for Fatima? Well, she had no say in her future; she would marry whoever her father ordered her to marry.”

  “Oh, Gabriel,” she said.

  He turned and smiled at her, running the knuckles of one hand down her jaw. “Oh, Drusilla,” he teased.

  “You are making light of it, but you must have been heartbroken.”

  “I was. And it was fuel on the fire of my anger against my brother. Ever since he’d been disgraced, my mother had warned me to take steps against Assad, but I could never bring myself to do such a thing. Even though he’d certainly eliminated any of our siblings he believed might cause him trouble—some of our more assertive sisters in addition to our unfortunate brother Malik.”

  She stared, the horror of what he was saying sinking in. “Steps? You mean your mother wanted you to—”

  “Do not judge her, Drusilla. It was a different world where we lived.”

  “I would not presume to judge. It’s just that—”

  “She is so small and seems so loving and affectionate?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “She can afford to be soft now. But all the years I was growing up, she was alone and foreign and had given the sultan a son. Such a coup made for uncertain relations in the harem. My mother had always to be vigilant.”

  What a horrible, horrible life. Something suddenly occurred to her. “Your son—you said Fatima married your brother?”

  “Yes, they were married immediately after Assad secured my father’s palace in Oran and drove me and my small band of men into hiding.” He frowned. “I’m ashamed to say that did not take him very long.”

  “So Fatima married him quickly after you left?”

  He nodded. “I can see you understand.”

  “You don’t—”

  “I do not know which of us is Samir’s father.”

  She raised her hand to her mouth. “Do you think your brother ever suspected?”

  “No. Fatima would have suffered a dreadful punishment if he’d known. She must have taken steps on their wedding night to fool him. And if the child happened to come early? Well, that could always be explained away.”

  Drusilla had no idea what to say.

  “Samir’s mother was killed when Oran was bombarded. Perhaps you heard something of it?”

  She frowned in thought. “Yes. Yes, of course. It happened some months after the navy attacked Algiers, did it not?”

  “Three months later.”

  “And the casualties were considerably less?”

  He hesitated and then said, “Yes, they were. Unfortunately, Assad, Samir’s mother, and another of their children were among those killed.”

  “Oh, Gabriel.”

  “Samir was the only one of the royal sons who survived, and he had no family nearby. So I brought him back with the intention of finding his grandparents or any of his aunts or uncles on his mother’s side who might take him.”

  Drusilla gaped. “But . . . wait—you were there?”

  He paused, took a deep breath, and sighed heavily. “I was there—right before the siege and right after.”

  “But—but—wasn’t that dangerous?” She shook her head, as if trying to shake away cobwebs. “Didn’t the navy go with the intention of taking the city—as they had done in Algiers? Why would you be there? How did that happen?”

  His expression was beyond bleak. “I was there because I am the one who told the navy how to seize my brother. I also told them where to fire the bombs if they could not capture him.”

  Chapter 21

  Gabriel had known that this day would eventually come. He could not keep his past a secret from Drusilla forever—not when they were both trying to make a life together. But this was his greatest shame and he was about to lay himself bare before her. He could not avoid his past forever—nor did he wish to.

  Yet still he hesitated, considering what he was about to disclose. The regret, sadness, and loss that rose inside him every time he thought about his brother’s death did not fade, no matter how often he told himself he’d sacrificed Assad to save hundreds, if not thousands, of others.

  But regrets were pointless and they certainly had no place in this new life he’d chosen.

  “I’m sorry, Gabriel. I shouldn’t pry. You needn’t tell me any—”

  He gave her a swift kiss on the lips, stopping her words. “Yes, Drusilla, I do need to tell you this. You are my wife.”

  She swallowed audibly, but nodded.

  “During my last term at Oxford I was summoned to London. Lord Admiral Singleton wished to speak to me about my knowledge of Oran—specifically about my father’s palace.”

  Gabriel had been speechless and furious at the man’s audacity—at what he expected from Gabriel—until he’d explained the alternative.

  He glanced at Drusilla, who was watching him with an expression of concern. He smiled and took her hand. “I won’t go into the two weeks that followed. Suffice it to say he explained what the Royal Navy was planning, how many casualties there’d been in Algiers, and how I could make a difference in Oran.” He stroked the soft skin on the back of her hand with his thumb, recalling Singleton’s final argument—the one that had made his decision for him.

  “You have family in that palace, Marlington,” the dignified older man had all but shouted at him. They’d been in his offices at Whitehall. Though Singleton hadn’t sent armed men to bring Gabriel to London, he’d certainly made no secret of his willingness to do so. As a result, Gabriel had gone when summoned.

  “I cannot betray them by sharing the details of their home—of their defenses and their city. Would you give such details to men who wished to bombard your family home, Admiral?”

  “It is because we do not wish to bomb Oran that we are asking for your help.” He’d leaned across the massive expanse of his desk, his pale blue eyes hard. “You know what happened in Algiers—it was a bloody slaughter. You can stop the same thing from happening in Oran. Do you know how many casualties there—”

  “Yes,” Gabriel said through clenched jaws. “Thousands.”

  “We don’t even know the full extent of the losses suffered by the Regency of Algiers. And those losses were senseless—the dey accepted our terms. He could have spared his people the—”

  Gabriel raised a hand. “Enough, Admiral. Enough.” His sense of dread had almost made him ill, but he’d looked the older man in the eyes. “Tell me what it is you would have me do.”

  “Gabriel?”

  He blinked at the sound of his name and looked at Drusilla. “I apologize,” he said to his wide-eyed wife. “I’m afraid I was—”

  She lifted their joined hands to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. “You don’t need to apologize. I can’t even imagine how terrible that was for you.” She shook her head. “But whatever you told them, it must have helped? There was very little said in the newspapers about the whole affair. But I recall there wasn’t much loss of life—nothing like Algiers.”

  “That is true. Thousands died in Algiers. In Oran, twenty-three people died that day: twenty of my brother’s people, and three Englishmen.” He looked at her. “Three of those twenty were my brother, Fatima, and their daughter. Most of the others who were killed during the fighting were their personal guards. I led them into the palace, Drusilla. Me—I’m the one who led them to kill my brother and the others.”

  Two tears slid down her cheeks. “That must have been dreadful—I cannot imagine how terrible. But you saved so many, Gabriel. You saved Samir.”

  That was the one thing that gave him comfort. Not only had he stopped a bombardment that would have killed far more than twenty-three people, he’d been on hand when they’d
discovered Samir crouched in a cupboard, terrified and alone.

  “Because all the family had fled for their lives, I took Samir. I sent men searching for any remaining relatives. Thus far I’ve received word that a few of his aunts are alive.” He turned to Drusilla and kissed each cheek, his lips lightly brushing the damp trail of tears. “I’ve been lying to myself. None of his mother’s family will take him—it would not be safe for him or them. Part of me has always known I cannot send him back to our people. As Assad’s son, he would always be in danger. And if the truth were ever known—that he might be my son—that would be a death sentence for him.” He kissed the tip of her nose and gave her a sad smile. “Don’t cry, Drusilla.”

  She gave a loud sniff and wiped the back of her hand across her cheek. “But it is a dreadful situation. I know the problems you face here—the prejudice, ignorance, intolerance. Just look at Visel and what he—”

  “Shhh.” This time he kissed her lips. When he pulled away, he shook his head. “We will make sure Samir has all the love and family that was taken from him.”

  He paused, waiting until she nodded before continuing. “When I returned home, I found a letter waiting for me. I don’t know how she managed it, but Fatima must have sent it before matters became so bad. In the letter she told me her parents knew about Samir’s questionable parentage.”

  “My God! How?”

  “From her. Fatima sent them a letter when it was clear Assad would lose control of Oran. And in it she confessed the truth.”

  “But why—after so much time?”

  “I daresay she believed it would make Samir safer if he was not believed to be Assad’s. The political situation had become dangerous for my brother over the past few years and she must have known he could not hold onto power for long.” He shrugged. “It is my belief she hoped her parents would send the boy to me if anything ever happened. I daresay they would have if I’d not been there to take Samir.”

  “But he is their grandson. No matter who his father is, Fatima is still his mother—still their daughter. Wouldn’t they have wanted him?”

  “Samir is now a political liability. If he is Assad’s, then he will always be viewed as a threat by the new sultan. If he is mine, then he is a bastard and his mother has brought shame on her family.” He stared grimly. “I’m sure you can see how difficult this is. If I give him the protection of my name, I am dooming him to bastardy. If I don’t? If I tell him that he is Assad’s son am I dooming him to war—making him believe it is his duty fight for control of the sultanate—as both Assad and I did?” He shrugged. “If I tell him he is my son, then he will live knowing his father is a man who abandoned his own people to become English and helped in the attack on his very home—might have been responsible for the death of Assad and Fatima. Also, if I keep him with me, I will deprive him of his heritage.” He grimaced. “And nobody knows better than I just how unwelcome a man of mixed race often feels in this country. Even if he wishes to return to Oran one day, being raised in England will ensure he is a stranger in his homeland.” Gabriel shook his head at the tangle of problems. “No matter what I tell him or what I do, I will hurt him. You tell me, Drusilla—what should I do?”

  Gabriel could see by her expression she understood the magnitude of his quandary. He also knew she would have no simple answer—because there wasn’t one.

  * * *

  Gabriel stayed in her bed all night, making love to her again just before dawn.

  Afterward, he pushed up onto his elbow and looked down at her. “I want you to meet Samir today. Perhaps we can then make plans to bring him home.”

  Drusilla was glad her face was still flushed from their vigorous lovemaking so he could not see how foolishly pleased she felt at his words.

  “I would like that.”

  He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and she hated to think what a crow’s nest her hair must resemble.

  “Thank you for that, Drusilla.” He cocked his head. “But I need to ask more of you.”

  She stared into his serious green eyes, her heart pounding. What now? What . . . now?

  “Samir came to Maria and Giselle not long after his mother died, and he has developed an attachment to them.”

  Drusilla clenched her jaws.

  “I will bring him to live with us, but it would be cruel to deprive him of their company—or they of his—when he has lost most of his family so recently.”

  She could only stare. Good Lord, what was he saying? Did he expect to bring these women to live with them? Was he going to—

  His beautiful lips pulled into a rueful smile, and he leaned close to kiss the tip of her nose.

  “I can see by your expression that you are imagining the worst. I know this cannot be easy—nor is it the accepted or normal way of doing things. But this situation is not normal. There is bound to be discomfort and unhappiness, but I would prefer Samir not suffer any more than we can help.” He cupped her jaw, his warm hand holding her lightly. “Giselle and Maria are not my mistresses anymore, Drusilla, but they are friends to me. You are my only lover and have been since our betrothal.”

  Joy, jealousy, anger, fear, and a dozen other emotions swirled within her at his words. Logically she knew these women had been a part of his life long before she was. But logic played little part in the feelings she had for him.

  But he had called her his lover.

  He cocked his head. “You need never see them, but I do not wish to end his contact with them. It is best he stay with them for the last few weeks we are in London. And I will see to it that—”

  She forced herself to smile. “I’m not so fragile as that, Gabriel.” Her lips trembled a little. “We can take matters as they come—can we not? The most important thing is to make Samir feel loved after what he has endured.”

  “Thank you, Drusilla. I know most wives would not be so understanding.”

  Most wives? She wanted to yell—she doubted any wife would understand. Drusilla burned to tell him that she was boiling with jealousy about his bloody mistresses. Instead she told herself to remember that he was no longer a lover to either of these women—that everything between him and the two Frenchwomen had happened before they’d become betrothed.

  She met his concerned gaze and told herself that she could do this; she could master her jealousy for Gabriel and for Samir. She nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  The words were simple but Drusilla heard the sincerity beneath them.

  “Now,” he said, his manner brisk. “I am to meet Byer and Eva this morning.”

  Drusilla was relieved to change the subject, not sure she could take too many more revelations without giving in to her baser emotions. “I shall see you at breakfast?” she asked for lack of anything better to say.

  “Do you wish to join us?”

  “I have no horse.”

  “My stepfather keeps mounts for all three of my sisters and my mother. Melissa is close to your height. I will send word to have her mare made ready. Can you be dressed in an hour?”

  * * *

  Drusilla was riding between her gloriously beautiful husband and the outrageously garbed Viscount Byer.

  “You have a good seat, Mrs. Marlington,” Byer told her.

  “And you, sir, are an excellent liar.”

  He grinned, his handsome face lighting up. “Not good enough, it would seem. Are you looking forward to going to the country at the end of the Season?”

  “Yes, I am.” Relieved, was more like it. “And what will you be doing this summer, my lord?”

  “I will be staying at my family seat for the first time in many years.” His normally lazy expression was replaced by pensiveness. She knew he’d lost his brothers in rather horrifying succession. She also knew he was in dire straits financially. Even so, she’d never seen him pursue any heiresses, not even the delectable Miss Kittridge. Although it was difficult to see past his foppish clothing and jocular façade, she suspected he was more than half in love with Eva, who, o
f course, did not view him—or anyone else—in a romantic light. Poor Lord Byer.

  “Hard to imagine you a farmer, Tommy,” Eva said. She’d smiled at Drusilla this morning, seeming almost happy to see her. Drusilla had been ridiculously relieved. She had so very few close companions, and Eva was her dearest friend in the world.

  Lord Byer gave Eva a mock haughty look. “What? Can’t imagine me as king of my demesne?”

  “No, more like court jester.”

  The conversation devolved into teasing and taunting until they were almost back to the park gates. Eva rode up between Drusilla and Byer.

  “Excuse me,” Byer said as Eva’s horse shoved his aside. “Am I in your way?”

  “Yes. Go away. I wish to talk to my sister.”

  “Come on, Tommy,” Gabriel said, laughing. “You know better than to get in Evil’s way.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eva said, once the men were far enough ahead so that they couldn’t hear.

  Drusilla didn’t need an explanation. “Me too.”

  “Friends again?” Eva asked, her eyebrows raised high.

  “I never wasn’t your friend, Eva.”

  “Good. I hated not talking to you—especially since I will be leaving London before the end of the Season.”

  “You will? Where are you going?”

  “Mel keeps begging me to come to stay with her at Lily Repton’s.” She gave a sudden grin. “She says they’ve got a lovely goer that Lily’s brother is training.”

  By Mel, Eva meant Melissa, the youngest—and most reserved—of her two sisters. Lady Melissa was only seventeen and not yet out. Drusilla knew the girl was not looking forward to her Season. Although nobody had ever said the words out loud, it was obvious Melissa was not Lord Exley’s blood relative. She was taller than Drusilla, with fair, sandy hair and broad sunny features that were nothing like either the marquess or her two sisters. The only characteristic she’d inherited from a mother who was reputed to be the beauty of her age were her unusual blue-violet eyes. Well, and possibly a strain of madness.