Page 7 of Notorious

Miss Clare.

He snorted. The name brought to mind the face of one who perplexed and annoyed him more than any other woman he had ever met. More than any person, really. Even his half brother Assad—who’d tried to kill him more than once—had not been so tiresome.

Gabriel knew he wasn’t alone when it came to his feelings about Eva’s bosom friend. He’d heard other men talking about the sharp-faced, sour-tongued—but exceedingly wealthy—daughter of the late merchant king Edgar Clare. She was critical, brutally direct, and sanctimoniously opinionated with everyone, but she seemed to save a little extra judgement for Gabriel. Or at least it seemed that way over the past few months he’d been accompanying Eva and her friend to every wretched event.

When Eva had first written to him about the wonderful friend she’d made at her finishing school—his mercurial and awkward sister’s only friend outside her family—Gabriel had been overjoyed.

But then he’d met Miss Clare.

Gabriel pursed his lips and shook his head. Just look at her tonight: she was a girl of one and twenty who devoted all her time, money, and efforts to charitable works and dressed like an aged spinster.

Not that he disapproved of her more modest necklines and voluminous petticoats; no, he thought her gowns were appropriate for a girl her age, if not always a flattering color or cut. Nor did he mind her devotion to worthy causes. However, he did find her superior attitude toward him grating. She behaved as though he were a savage libertine with no self-restraint. Restraint was probably her middle name—or perhaps it was Censorious.

Miss Clare comported herself like a woman of forty. Older, really. Gabriel’s mother, the Marchioness of Exley, behaved with more girlish spontaneity than Drusilla Clare.

Gabriel would like to have wiped her superior smirk off her face and told her the truth about where he’d spent the past week—not raking at Newmarket but down in Brighton on serious business—but that would have been foolish, considering how sensitive this particular business was. Besides, it wasn’t as if Drusilla Clare’s opinion of him mattered a jot. In fact, he hoped she imagined him off gambling, cocking, and whoring.

Ha! Drusilla: even her name was enough to dampen a person’s spirits.

Gabriel snorted at his own stupidity. The first notes of a reel filled the cavernous ballroom and he saw the set had formed while he’d been woolgathering. The luscious Miss Kittridge glared at him from over the head of her short, squat partner.

Gabriel smiled and gave a slight shrug, earning a decidedly unkittenish glare and angry toss of blonde curls.

Perhaps he’d ask her for the next set—which was the supper dance, a waltz.

He waited until the steps brought her around again and she could see him, and then he mouthed the word supper. Her eyelids lowered and her frown melted away. She hesitated a long moment before giving him the slightest of nods.

Gabriel experienced a slight pang of something at her acceptance—disappointment? He shook the thought away. So what if they had little in the way of conversation? It was true she seemed to have an excessive interest in clothing—or at least in talking about clothing—but why should that matter? Lucy Kittridge was breathtaking and charming—and she did resemble a kitten, albeit a wicked one. Gabriel could—and had more than once—imagined her being something of a tigress when it came to the sensual part of marriage. But no matter how appealing such thoughts might be, Gabriel suspected the magnificent Miss Kittridge would not be pleased to find herself saddled with another woman’s child. No, marrying Miss Kittridge was not in his future.

Lord. He couldn’t think about that right now.

He took out his watch and frowned: the girls had been gone far too long for the mere mending of a hem. What had Eva gotten up to now? He sighed and made his way toward the ballroom exit. It was time he take his chaperoning duties seriously and go find his sister and her annoying friend.

* * *

“You’re angry with me for suggesting Gabe dance with you, aren’t you, Dru?” Eva asked from behind her, having to trot to keep up with Drusilla’s longer—and angrier—stride.

“Of course I’m not mad,” she lied, tossing the words over her shoulder. “Oh my, there is a dreadful crush, Eva. We’ll never get in.” They both stared at the women thronging the room that had been set aside for wardrobe catastrophes and critical gossip sessions.

Drusilla glanced around. “Come,” she said, leading her friend away from the noisy, crowded chamber.

“Where are we going?” Eva asked as a footman leaped forward to pull open a door.

“To the conservatory, where we can sit down and rest a few moments.” The door closed behind them, and the sudden hush in the corridor made her voice sound loud. She spoke in a softer tone. “We can fix your hem and take a few moments of peace and quiet.”

“There is a conservatory?”

“Yes, I believe it was one of the first of its kind in the city.”

“How do you always know about such things?”

“It’s no secret, Eva. I read about Abingdon House long ago, in a guidebook to fine London houses.” Her lips twisted into a self-mocking smile. “Little did I know I would one day be allowed to actually set foot in this holiest of holies.” Dukes did not, as a rule, invite the daughters of tradesmen to their houses. But they occasionally made exceptions for the very wealthy ones, especially if they had five unwed younger sons.

And of course Eva had been invited; she might have madness in her veins but she also had a dowry that was greater than most other aristocratic misses as well as august connections that went all the way back to before the Conquest. It was ironic that two of the Season’s greatest prizes were also its biggest lepers.

Drusilla chewed her lower lip and hesitated. “I believe it is this way,” she said, taking a short corridor that led to the back of the house. There were candles in the sconces, but not enough to indicate this was a part of the house intended for ball guests. Drusilla didn’t care. She needed some peace and quiet to recover from her brush with Gabriel Marlington, just as she always did.

She had hoped protracted exposure to him this Season would eliminate her more severe reactions to him, but her attraction had become stronger, rather than weaker, the more she was exposed to him.