Page 62 of Notorious

“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 the 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.

Still, what else could he do but say, “We would be honored,” and nod at the younger man, whom he’d played cards with on several occasions. Deveril was a shy, spindly, and pockmarked young fellow, but he would inherit an earldom one day: no doubt the reason he was Lucy’s partner for the supper dance.

Gabriel felt Drusilla stiffen beside him at the invitation and looked down as he followed Deveril. Her face had the set, superior expression he had always associated with her in the past—not the sweet, soft, almost affectionate look she’d given him in the garden. A sudden insight struck: this was her mask—for those times she felt insecure, it must be. How had he been so foolish not to notice? She was far cleverer and more interesting than the kittenish Miss Kittridge—even if her tongue was also sharper—but the other woman was, undoubtedly, far more physically beautiful, so it must be insecurity about her appearance. But then she was best friends with Eva, a woman even more lovely than Lucy. Perhaps it was something else?

Gabriel drew her arm closer, feeling an overwhelming urge to protect her wash over him. It surprised him—and surprised her, if her quick glance was anything to go by.

Lucy and another couple—people whose names Gabriel could not recall—were already seated when they arrived.