Page 54 of Notorious

Gabriel thought about the wreckage that was now his father’s palace and shook his head. “I’ve had a much easier time than many others.”

Maria and of course Giselle were two of the very few people who knew about his last trip to Oran and why he’d gone. She kissed his cheek and changed the subject.

“And now you are a married man.”

He sighed; this topic wasn’t much better. But to avoid it was cowardly, not to mention an injustice to his new wife.

“I must tell her about Samir, Maria—but what do I tell her when even I do not know the truth?”

“I cannot answer that—I do not know her. But I do know well-bred English ladies do not usually accept their husband’s offspring by their former lovers.”

Gabriel knew that, too. It would be an insult to Drusilla to expect her to live with his by-blow. But it would be an insult to Samir to make him live anywhere else. Regardless of their actual relationship, they were still family. He groaned. All of this would not have been a problem but for blasted Visel goading him into this marriage. He kept such thoughts to himself.

“Tell me,” he said, “how does one broach such a conversation with one’s new spouse? Over tea and toast? Dinner?”

Maria laid her head on his shoulder, her small body a comfort beside him. “Perhaps after you’ve made love to her and she is sated and sleepy and malleable?”

Gabriel tried to imagine such a sight as a sated Drusilla Clare—well, Drusilla Marlington now—but could bring to mind only her furious face from this morning. Still, if he couldn’t imagine her sated, that was entirely his fault, wasn’t it? He should have gone to her last night instead of storming off like a child. But he would go to her tonight. This could not drag on.

He took Maria’s hand in both of his. “What would you want—if you were my wife? Would living with a child who was not your own be unbearable? Would you find it a crushing stigma?”

She turned her head, until her chin was resting on his arm. “I am not the right person to ask, my love.” Her dark eyes were soft and caressing. “Stigma? Embarrassment?” She gave a throaty chuckle. “You know I care nothing for such things. Life is fleeting and precious; wasting time worrying about pleasing strangers is foolish.As to my feelings on such a matter? Well, I do not seem to feel jealousy like other women or men.” She lifted one shoulder in a gesture that was ineffably French. “I have always believed I have enough love to share. I don’t need to ration it among the people I care for or hold it close.” She gave him an arch look. “If I could share my beloved Giselle with you, I certainly would not begrudge the child of a lover or spouse their own parent—especially when the child was conceived long before we even met.”

He kissed her forehead; she was correct. Both she and Giselle had more self-assurance than almost anyone he’d ever met, male or female. Gabriel knew the number three was a difficult number when it came to lovers: a dangerous triangle. But not once in the years they’d been together had there been any jealousy or hurt feelings or competitiveness among the three of them. Was that unnatural? He smiled to himself at the question—there was no denying the rest of the ton viewed the arrangement as unnatural.

Perhaps the word he was searching for was unusual. Lovers did not usually like to share. He knew his mother and Exley would never share each other. Gabriel had been raised with the expectation that he would eventually have several wives and that they would need to learn to share him, but never the other way around. He knew relations in his father’s harem had never been easy. Some of the women had waged war against one another—a few even resorting to murder to get what they wanted. But he did not think any of his father’s wives had been jealous of his father’s affection, only jealous of his favor and on whom he bestowed it.

To be truthful, Gabriel knew he could not share a woman he loved with another man; Samir’s mother had been an excellent case in point. Perhaps that was wrong of him—especially since he had expected females to accept such behavior from him. It might be wrong, but it was a simple truth.

“We would be overjoyed to keep him, Gabriel.”

Maria’s voice pulled him out of his memories, and he smiled at her. “I know you would, and this is a loving household. But if he can’t be with his mother’s family, then he should be with me: I am his family.”

“So you will tell her?”

Yes, he would tell Drusilla, and the sooner, the better.

The sound of little feet followed by a slower pair roused him from his reverie, and he disentangled himself from his erstwhile lover and stood.

“Jibril!” Samir called when he realized Gabriel was not waiting in the foyer.

Maria chuckled as Gabriel picked up his hat and gloves. “You’d better make haste as the young master sounds short-tempered. Where will you take him?”

Gabriel pulled on his gloves. “It seems like a nice day for an ice, don’t you think?”

Chapter 12

Drusilla had a lot of time alone to think.

First she paid a brief visit to her Aunt Vi, who was staying in the old house for a few weeks to supervise the dismantling of the household before the property was offered for sale. Drusilla had tried to convince her to move with them to the new town house, but the older woman had been adamant.

“You are a newly married couple, Drusilla; you need some time together,” her far-too-thin aunt said when Drusilla issued the invitation. “Besides, now that you have a husband to escort you, I believe I will rest for the remainder of the Season and retire early to Bath. You know Maisie has invited me to stay the summer with her and her niece. It shall be pleasant.”

Maisie was a distant cousin whom Violet had always been close to, and her niece was a girl not yet out of the schoolroom. No doubt her aunt would enjoy Bath’s more gentle entertainments, which only the young and old seemed to truly relish.

After leaving her aunt she considered paying a call on Eva, but her friend’s furious, hurt face flashed in her mind’s eye, so she left that visit for tomorrow—or maybe even the day after. Besides, she would see Eva at the Renwick ball tonight.

Thinking about the ball made her think about her clothing—a pastime she rarely engaged in. But she was no longer an unwed wallflower; she was the wife of a handsome, sought-after man. It behooved her at least not to shame him when she went out in public. A dress flashed into her head—it was a gown she knew had been made and then not been paid for. She’d seen it at Maison d’Hortense when she’d gone with Eva to pick up a new white muslin to replace a dress her friend had ruined with some food item or other.