Page 108 of Notorious

“Er, yes, sir. The Duchess of Richland’s ball tonight is a masquerade.”

“Damn! I’d forgotten all about that.” He ran a hand through the hair Drake had just carefully coiffed, the action causing his valet to wince.

“I thought you might have, sir, so I took the liberty of ordering three costumes for you to choose from.”

“Ah, excellent.”

“It is my understanding Mrs. Marlington will be going as Nell Gwynn, sir.”

Gabriel laughed. Could there be a better costume for her than the allegedly sharp-tongued and quick-witted mistress of Charles II?

“You know far more than I do, Drake,” he said. “Just select one of the costumes and have it ready for me.”

His dour valet gifted Gabriel with one of his rare smiles. “Very well, sir. It will take an extra half hour to dress you.”

“That sounds ominous.” Drake held out his coat, and Gabriel struggled into the navy superfine.

The other man just smiled as Gabriel buttoned up his coat and checked his reflection one last time.

Drake handed him his hat and cane, and he descended to the foyer. It was a remarkably clear, sunny day: perfect for walking.

Also perfect for delaying the inevitable, his conscience mocked.

Gabriel ignored the voice; he would not engage in any further internal arguments with himself. He had made up his mind: today was the day he would tell his mother and stepfather about Samir.

He would do so alone, even though he had invited Drusilla to join him last night.

“I don’t know, Gabriel.” She’d been lying atop him at the time, their bodies joined from shoulders to toes. “I believe this should be a private conversation between you and Lady Exley.”

“You do not need to come with me.” Gabriel ran his fingers through her heavy dark hair, which was so shiny and fragrant and soft he could not keep his hands out of it.

“Does it disappoint you that I don’t think I should be there?”

“No, you must do what you feel best. Although I daresay you will get a visit from my mother soon afterward. She will want to speak to you—to see if you are truly as sanguine about the decision as I say you are.” He ran both his hands up her arms and then down her sides, letting them rest on her waist. “Are you as sanguine as you say?” He stretched up and kissed her chin before lying back down.

Her eyes were grave. “Never more so—I look forward to moving to the country more than you can imagine.”

So here he was, strolling toward a confrontation he could not look forward to, even though he very much looked forward to the aftermath. His mother would be disappointed in him for behaving recklessly, of course, but she would welcome Samir with all the affection she showed to everyone who belonged to her. And she would immediately set about spoiling her grandchild with a vengeance. Certainly, Samir was a little boy who needed a great deal of spoiling after all he’d been through.

Whether Samir was Assad’s or his own, he was still Gabriel’s flesh and blood, not to mention a delightful child.

When Sami was of age, Gabriel would tell him everything, and he could seek out his mother’s family and make what connections he desired. Gabriel would see to it that he was raised with knowledge of and respect for his Berber connections.

He nodded at a passing acquaintance, his heart lighter than it had been for months—perhaps even years; most certainly since the British navy had approached him.

Life, he decided, giving his cane an extra flourish as he crossed the street, was turning out to be very good, indeed.

* * *

Drusilla was ready to leave the moment she heard Gabriel depart. She knew Lady Exley would be thrilled by the discovery of a grandson. She might not, however, be so thrilled with her son for hiding the truth for so long.

But when the marchioness met Samir, she would forgive Gabriel everything.

Drusilla pulled on her gloves as she considered Samir. Gabriel might not be sure whether the boy’s mother had spoken the truth, but Drusilla now was. Samir not only resembled his father, but he was also as sunny, sweet, and loving as Gabriel. Whatever other traumas had marred his early life—the bombing of his home and the tragic loss of his mother and the man he believed to be his father—Samir had been raised with a great deal of love.

In truth, she did not think it mattered to Gabriel if the boy was his or his brother’s. She could see he’d loved his brother greatly. Perhaps raising his son was something he could do to ease his conscience about leaving his people and what he’d done for the navy.

Drusilla checked her appearance in the mirror. Her walking costume was one of the new garments she’d purchased at the encouragement of her husband. She’d discovered that it was far more enjoyable to go shopping with one’s husband than with one’s maid. Gabriel not only seemed to like helping her choose her clothing, but he had exquisite taste. The walking dress was a deep teal blue-green that made her eyes an almost silvery gray. The fabric so rich and vibrant it practically glowed.