Page 52 of Notorious

“You . . . you . . .” Drusilla could find no words. How dare he speak to her about such things?

“Oh dear, it would seem I overestimated your sophistication.”

Anger, mortification, and something else—jealousy?—pounded her like waves hitting the shore. She shot to her feet. “You have certainly overestimated my tolerance for vulgarity.”

He stood. “Leaving so soon, my dear?” he called after her as she stormed toward their connecting door. “By the way,” she heard him say as she went through, “we are expected at Lady Renwick’s ball tonight. Make sure you wear your prettiest gown.”

She slammed the door with all her might, but the sound of his laughter—though muffled—was still audible through the thick wooden door.

* * *

Gabriel shook his head at the still-vibrating door, poured himself more wine, and then returned to his bedchamber and stretched out on his bed, balancing his half-full glass on his chest. Lord, but he was tired. He closed his eyes, his body heavy yet tense, willing himself to rest. For a moment the velvety blackness was all he could see, but then visions of his wife’s furious face thrust aside the curtains of darkness.

He opened his eyes and groaned.

He should not have provoked her. Or let her provoke him, more accurately. And certainly not regarding such unseemly topics as mistresses, diseases of the sexual organs, and sheaths. He should have told her that he had already parted ways with his mistresses—even though he’d seen her holding hands and reading missives from her mooncalf of a lover on their wedding day.

Gabriel could tell her that he’d stopped bedding Giselle and Maria, but she’d never believe it when he continued to visit their house, and he knew word of that would circulate. He could move Samir, but that was hardly fair to the boy. No, he refused to take Samir from the comfort and security of their home only to put him—where? Here? In this house of discontent and dissension? No. Samir would stay with Giselle and Maria until it was time to remove to the country.

His jaws ached and his tired brain reeled from the oddly invigorating encounter. As to the rest of his behavior—his inability to resist taunting her—yes, it was wrong of him to shock her sensibilities. In reality, he’d been rather surprised she’d not heard of a sheath. Didn’t she spend her time with charities for impoverished women? What better use of her funds than to promote sheaths and the concomitant reduction in disease and unwanted children? He took a sip of wine and decided he probably should not raise such a question to a well-bred English lady.

What was it about Drusilla that made him behave like such a brute? Perhaps it was the prudish expression she wore whenever her eyes landed on him? It made him wonder what stories she’d heard of him. Obviously she’d heard of Giselle and Maria. He snorted. Who hadn’t? The subject of his amours seemed to fascinate the ton.

As for the scores of married women and widows who pursued him? Those rumors seemed to take on a life of their own, regardless of the fact he had never bedded a married woman. The notion of cuckolding another man was repulsive to him. He had enjoyed liaisons with a few widows, but hardly the number he’d read about in the various betting books and none since his association with Giselle and Maria.

“You are an exotic creature, Gabriel. You might as well become accustomed to the amount of attention you attract,” his friend Byer had said when Gabriel once complained about the erroneous gossip. “Whether you are doing the things people think or not, they will still speak and wager about them.”

Byer was correct: the ton was determined to find his behavior notorious, no matter what he did. The fact that he’d been in a monogamous relationship—albeit with two women—for three years seemed to count for nothing.

He finished his wine and placed the glass on the nightstand, pressing the tips of his fingers into his temples, willing his eyes to close, his brain to slow, his body to go to sleep.

His body refused to obey.

“Damn it!” Gabriel considered ringing for Drake, but decided it was too much of a bother. He swung his feet off the bed, yanked the sash of his robe, and tossed it aside before going to the now-cool water in the ewer and pouring it into the basin. A quick, cold wash woke him but did not make his brain any less fuzzy. Well, it wasn’t as if he had to do anything mentally strenuous today. While he was up and awake, he might as well visit Samir. He would enjoy seeing what the boy made of the gift he’d left with Giselle—a brightly colored top that depicted alternating illustrations of cages and animals. When it spun, it created the optical illusion of the animal in the cage.

Gabriel had become quite skilled at choosing gifts for young children. His three half siblings were aged five and three. And of course his mother had yet another child on the way.

He pulled a fresh shirt over his head as he considered the subject of children—not that he would ever get one on his wife at the rate they were going.

He flopped onto the bed and pulled on his boots, cursing himself for acting like an ass toward her. He was tired, but that was no excuse. He would go out, see the boy, swing by the jewelers, and fetch something for his wife—a bride’s gift was what such things were called. He should have done so already, but it had seemed wrong to buy his wife and mistresses a gift at the same time.

Gabriel shook his head at the idiocy of that concern as he shrugged into a waistcoat and pushed his hair off his forehead. Tonight would be difficult, but once they’d been seen in public receiving Visel and Tyndale, the furor would die down.

With the duel out of the way, he could concentrate on making something out of this marriage they’d both been forced into. He didn’t wish to live in constant conflict with her. He would make more of an effort from now on, no matter how much she tempted him to misbehave and taunt.

Chapter 11

Today it was Maria who was home and Giselle who had gone out. Luckily, Samir was in the nursery, finishing his breakfast.

Maria was already in the gold-and-blue sitting room when the maid ushered Gabriel in.

She stood and reached out both hands for him. “Gabriel! How lovely to see you. I was so sorry I missed your visit.”

“I missed you, too,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks and then lowering himself onto the dull gold silk of the bergère settee beside her. Whereas Giselle was blonde, voluptuous, and blue-eyed, Maria was dark, slight, and possessed eyes of such a dark brown they looked black. She was not pretty in the traditional sense, but the colors, cuts, and designs she chose for her clothing, along with her short, almost boyish dark brown curls, made her a delectable combination. Both women had that panache Frenchwomen possessed when it came to knowing how to dress and turn themselves out.

Today she was wearing an exceptionally plain and simple white muslin day dress, which perfectly set off her velvety olive skin and rich brown hair. She smoothed her small hands over her skirt and cut him a curious look, her dark eyes twinkling.

“Gigi told me some rather surprising news when Samir and I came home from our journey—and then I heard even more surprising news last night when I stopped briefly at Mr. Kipling’s house.”