Page 57 of Notorious

“Besides, what do you care? It’s not as if anyone does anything to stop you. Just imagine how annoyed you’d be if you were me. And here you are, grilling me like the Inquisition, as if even the contents of my head are not my own.” Her voice rose as she repeated her earlier complaint. “It hardly seems fair that I’m not even allowed to keep my thoughts to myself.”

“Keep your voice down,” he said. “People are staring.”

“Oh, shut up, Gabriel. And quit asking me questions. You know I need to count while I dance.”

Luckily the music commenced, and they could concentrate on the dance. Eva had not been jesting: she did need to count. She was one of the worst dancers he had ever seen. How a woman who was such a superb equestrienne could be so clumsy, Gabriel would never know.

She stared down at their feet, her lips moving, as he guided her out of the way of a white-haired couple who moved in perfect concert and with enviable ease. He let his gaze wander over the dancers, easily picking out Drusilla, who was dancing with Exley. The marquess was an excellent partner who probably made any woman appear graceful, but Gabriel could see Drusilla was an accomplished dancer. He realized he’d never had a waltz with her. Indeed, they’d danced no more than a handful of times, and those usually under duress. Tonight, when they’d danced the opening set, had been the first time he’d partnered her out of interest rather than a sense of obligation, but it had not been a waltz. He grimaced at his past behavior. He’d allowed their childish rivalry and bickering to deter him from doing his duty as a gentleman and now—

Eva made a guttural noise, and Gabriel followed her gaze: Visel had appeared. The duke was not in sight and the younger man appeared to have arrived without his usual band of cronies. He stood beside his hosts, who were speaking and smiling at him while he surveyed the ballroom, as if looking for something.

“They say Visel is mad.”

It was Gabriel’s turn to stumble. “What?”

Heads turned in their direction at his expostulation, and Gabriel leaned closer to Eva and lowered his voice. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“I heard he has the male hysteria.”

He was momentarily nonplussed, and then: “Who told you that?”

“What does it matter who told me? Is it true?”

Gabriel looked at the man in question, as if careful study would somehow help answer her question. The war hysteria? He supposed it was possible. Visel had fought for over a decade, and Gabriel knew the toll war could take. While he’d not engaged in the vast battles on the Continent, he’d lived with war for almost a year after his father died. His desert campaign against his brother had been on a small scale, but the strain of around-the-clock conflict wore on men—it had certainly worn on Gabriel.

Was that what was wrong with Visel and why he mindlessly persecuted Gabriel? Was the man suffering some mental trauma and Gabriel just happened to be the unfortunate individual his fixation had settled on?

“Look. He’s staring at you, Gabriel.”

Visel had left his hosts and come into the ballroom. He was indeed turned in their direction although he was too far away to see his eyes.

“Perhaps he is staring at you, Eva. You are quite beautiful, even though you refuse to admit it.”

She didn’t seem to hear the compliment. “Are you sorry he apologized?”

“Of course, I’m not sorry. Did you think I wanted to fight him?”

“I don’t know. Did you?”

He would like to beat the man black-and-blue, but he didn’t want to kill him. Eva didn’t need to know that. “No.”

She made a skeptical humming sound, which he ignored.

“I’d like to fight him myself,” she said when he failed to comment. “With swords rather than pistols so I could make it last a good, long time.”

Gabriel could believe it; his little stepsister was fierce. She would have made a good man, and he’d often thought it was a pity she’d been born a woman. And such a beautiful one, at that.

“Are you angry at Drusilla?” he asked, not interested in discussing the subjects of Visel, war-induced hysteria, or duels.

She held his gaze for a long, stubborn moment before speaking. “Not really, not anymore.”

“Well then I do wish you’d patch up whatever it is that is bothering you, Eva. Haven’t we all endured enough emotional turmoil these past days to last us the rest of the year?” He recalled too late that ironic sarcasm was not the best approach to use with Eva.

Her body stiffened under his hands, and she glared fire up at him. “You aren’t my father, Gabe, so quit behaving as if you are.”

“I would if you’d quit behaving like a child,” he retorted.

“Look who’s talking. You still engage in duels.”