Page 63 of Notorious

“Mr. and Mrs. Marlington,” Lucy gushed, her remarkable blue eyes flickering from Drusilla to Gabriel. “I told Deveril that I absolutely must have the ton’s newest couple at my table.”

Gabriel waited until Drusilla was seated before taking Lucy’s hand and bowing over it, ignoring the almost painful squeezing of his fingers such a delicate hand could inflict. “What a dark horse you are, Gabe. I was just telling Deveril that I had no idea you and Drusilla were such fast . . . friends.”

Gabriel ignored the unconcealed dig. Instead, he smiled. “I think I speak for both myself and my wife when I say thank you, Miss Kittridge.”

Her laugh—a sound that was truly heavenly, even though he now knew it held nothing but thwarted anger—filled the air like chamber music. “Oh please, we were Gabriel and Lucy before—I do hope that won’t change now that you are married?” She cut Drusilla an arch look.

Drusilla returned her look with a slight, almost contemptuous twist of her lips. “Indeed no, Miss Kittridge. Rest assured that Gabriel’s name remains the same; only my surname has changed.”

Gabriel bit back a smile.

“How you must dislike that, Mrs. Marlington.” Lucy was looking at Drusilla with a notch of concern between her luminous eyes.

Drusilla blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Changing your name—isn’t that something your heroine, Mary Wollstonecraft, advocated? That women should not have to take their husband’s names?”

“No thank you,” Drusilla said to the footman who’d arrived to pour her a glass of wine. She turned back to Lucy. “I must say I am pleased, Miss Kittridge. I did not know you’d read Miss Wollstonecraft’s books.”

Lucy frowned, the expression a petulant moue. “But I haven’t.”

“Ahh.” Drusilla’s features were arranged in an expression of patient understanding.

Gabriel’s face ached from suppressing a grin. His wife was a mistress of subtle but oh-so-effective snubs—who should know that better than he? Even so, being the focus of the Kitten’s claws could not be enjoyable.

Gabriel laid a hand on her forearm. “Will you come help me select our supper, my dear?”

She flashed him a look of gratitude and anger mingled with fierce pride. But it was replaced in an instant by cool, imperturbable acceptance taking its place. “I should be pleased to.”

Gabriel took two plates from the hovering servant. “I will do the heavy lifting if you choose for us.”

“You trust me to select your food?”

“It is a weighty burden, I know. I trust you are up to the challenge?”

“You’d better behave, Mr. Marlington, or I’ll fill your plate with nothing but pilchards.”

Gabriel’s stared in mock horror. “God no—they can’t have such horrid things here, can they?” She laughed, as he was hoping she would. “Who the devil told you I loathed pilchards?” he asked, holding out both plates for lobster patties.

“Eva frightened you with one,” she said, placing two on each plate. “Several times, if I recall.”

“I take great offense at the word frighten, ma’am.”

“Oh?” She gestured to a platter of thin slices of ham, and he nodded. “And what word would you use, sir?”

“Menace, or perhaps brandish. Yes, definitely brandish.”

“One brandishes pilchards?” She was openly grinning as she put a cluster of purple grapes on each plate.

Gabriel nodded, transfixed: Lord, she was a bloody siren when she smiled.

He realized she was waiting for a response and gave her an exaggeratedly lofty look. “Yes, it is most assuredly brandishing. It is a little-known fact, but pilchards were at one time offered along with pistols and swords. Thankfully, that barbaric practice has been discontinued.”

She made a choking sound, the tongs she was holding shaking with her suppressed laughter.

Gabriel was foolishly pleased to have made such a serious woman laugh with his silliness. “Oh, please, some of those strawberries, Mrs. Marlington. Yes, that big one fits just nicely on my plate—no, no—do not try to take it for yourself.”

She laughed outright.