Page 79 of Notorious

“He spoke the truth, Parker. I forgot my key.” He dropped his cane into the brass holder, tossed down his hat, and began yanking off his gloves.

A few letters were scattered on the salver, and one caught his eye. He turned his head to read the direction: Mr. Theodore Rowley.

Gabriel froze, his right glove only half off. His heart was pounding in his ears and his neck and back had become so tight—so tense—the muscles actually hurt.

He glanced up to find Parker looking at him, his gaze in the flickering candlelight . . . knowing. “You may go back to bed, Parker.”

“Thank you, sir. Good night.”

Gabriel waited until the older man turned the corner before looking at the letter. So, he had gone for a walk and she had not only had a secret meeting with her lover but she’d written him a letter, too?

He flung his gloves onto the table before picking up the letter, turning it round and round in his hands. The temptation to open it tore at him more violently than gale-force winds. It was his right to know whom she was corresponding with and what she was saying. As her husband everything she did was subject to his approval.

Gabriel suddenly envisioned himself lurking in the dimly lighted foyer, furtively reading his wife’s private correspondence like some sneak thief.

He tossed the letter onto the salver, snatched up the candlestick, and headed for the stairs. He took them two and three at a time, already composing the things he would say to her. He had told her he’d not tolerate a continued liaison with a man she was apparently accustomed to holding hands with and meeting in their back garden. Now she could deal with the ramifications of her willful, thoughtless actions.

He flung open the door to his room, startling Drake so badly the older man dropped a pair of boots he’d been carrying to the dressing room.

“What the devil are you doing still awake?” Gabriel snapped, slamming the candlestick down hard enough that it sheared a sliver of wood off the inlaid console table.

Drake’s eyes jumped from Gabriel to the table, back to Gabriel. He opened his mouth.

“Never mind,” Gabriel said, sliding a hand beneath his cravat and ripping it from his neck so viciously the fine fabric made a friction burn on his skin. He flung the wrinkled linen onto his dressing table and began unbuttoning his coat, his hands shaking with barely restrained violence.

“Mrs. Marlington was looking for you, sir.”

Gabriel stopped, arrested. “When?”

Drake swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that Gabriel might have found amusing—if he didn’t feel like such a monster for terrorizing the poor man. He pushed the air noisily from his lungs.

“I apologize for snapping at you,” he said, tossing his coat to Drake. His valet caught the garment and nodded, the slight flush over his cheekbones telling Gabriel the apology, as terse as it was, had pleased him.

“She was looking for you about two hours ago, sir.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Only that you’d gone out.”

Gabriel lowered himself into his dressing room chair, his boiling anger gone as suddenly as it had seized him, cold fury taking its place. So, she’d been doing proper reconnaissance before making her plans and inviting her lover.

Drake came to remove his boots. “I just fetched some hot water, thinking you might be back soon,” Drake said, turning one boot in his hand and looking for flaws before setting it down carefully and removing the other.

Gabriel grunted, his brain pulsing.

Drake glanced at the connecting door to his wife’s room. “Would you like me to shave you?”

He considered his reflection in the mirror. Candlelight glinted off the tiny hairs that grew fast enough that he had to shave twice a day. He ran his knuckles over his jaw. Did he want to see his wife? He’d been so certain a mere moment earlier, but he’d look a damned fool rushing in there like a jealous husband, wouldn’t he? Besides, he’d wanted to shave because he’d been planning to take her to bed. Now he wanted to throw her out of the bloody house. She could go to her lover, by God.

Gabriel realized he’d become excitable just thinking about speaking to her. No, talking to her in such a mood would be catastrophic.

He met Drake’s eyes in the mirror. His valet was a perfect example of his breed, and his expression was as unreadable as the dark side of the moon.

“Not tonight, Drake. I’m for bed.”

* * *

Her husband did not greet her with breakfast.