Page 78 of Notorious

Gabriel blinked. “Your cousin?

“Yes, Theodore Rowland is my cousin—although once removed.” He cocked his head. “Didn’t your wife tell you that?”

Gabriel was nonplussed. Rowland was Visel’s cousin? Did Drusilla know that? She must—she’d certainly appeared very well acquainted with the man. Why would she not have mentioned that the man he was dueling was a cousin of the man she’d been holding hands with? It was not a critical piece of information to withhold, but he couldn’t help feeling it epitomized their marriage.

He felt Visel’s scrutiny. The air between them was as thick as a swamp—a swamp of volatile emotions. Visel appeared driven to make trouble any way he could—although Gabriel did not know why. That Visel was so transparent about his mischief-making did not make it any less dangerous or effective. Still, Gabriel did not think there was anything to be gained by drawing out this exchange. Quite the contrary. He was beginning to believe Visel was mad, as Eva appeared to think.

So he shrugged. “Your relationship to my wife’s friend makes no difference to me,” he lied.

Visel chuckled. “You’re too busy with your other family to care for such matters.”

Gabriel froze. “I beg your pardon?”

“Why, the boy, of course.” He grimaced. “Damned and blast! I didn’t realize the matter was a secret—I’m afraid I might have said something indiscreet to your wife.” Visel’s wide-eyed innocence was underlaid with avid glee.

So Visel had seen Gabriel with Samir. Well, he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, it wasn’t as if he was doing anything to hide the boy—he just hadn’t decided how to handle the child’s future. It would have been nice for the matter to remain quiet for a bit longer, but it really made no difference. Although he was curious why Drusilla had said nothing to him. Was this the reason for her prickly behavior? But, no, Visel had been indiscreet at the ball—which had been before their night of lovemaking.

Gabriel shook away the pointless speculating and looked at Visel; he had no intention of letting the other man know he’d needled him. He would take the subject of Sami up with his wife, as he should have done before now.

He gave Visel an abrupt nod. “I bid you a good evening.”

Visel wasn’t quick enough to hide his surprise—or the flash of angry disappointment—at Gabriel’s sanguine reaction. It was almost as if he’d followed Gabriel with the hope of generating another disagreement—perhaps another duel, or a confrontation of a more immediate nature.

The back of his neck prickled as he walked away. Visel’s dislike of him was almost tangible. The primitive part of his mind—the animal part that had saved him countless times in his war against Assad—strained for any sound and prepared to repel Visel’s attack.

But the only footsteps he heard were his own.

By the time he reached Upper Brooks Street, he was loose-limbed and exhausted. And also more than a little expectant when he saw his wife’s windows were still lighted. He stared up at her room for a long moment before making his decision. Visel was nothing but a troublemaker and he should ignore whatever it was the man had been trying to imply. Indeed, his hatred of Gabriel probably meant he was willing to say anything. He refused to let the other man come between him and Drusilla.

He would shave himself since Drake would be in bed, and then he would pay his wife a late-night visit. The notion made him smile. Yes, he would try again—and keep trying, until she grew to accept him.

When he went to open the front door, he found it locked, which was when he recalled he’d sent the servants to bed when he’d left. And forgotten to bring his key.

“Idiot,” he muttered beneath his breath. He looked at his watch: it was past two. He’d go around back and see if the door to the sunroom was unlocked. If it wasn’t, then he’d have to wake up a servant.

The narrow alley that ran beside the house was dark and he had to walk slowly. The servant’s entrance was at the rear of the house and the journey was treacherous it was so dark. He would tell Parker to hang a lantern outside the door and leave it all night. A person could break their neck in this gloom and the last—

“—all right, Dru. I understand. I do.”

Gabriel froze as a dark figure came out through the door in the high wall that led to his garden. What the devil?

The shadow stopped just outside the wall. “I shall see you on Thursday?”

Gabriel took a quick step back into the servant doorway, his hand clenching so hard on his walking stick it cut into his skin. He recognized the voice even though he’d only heard it once before.

Whomever Rowland was talking to—Gabriel’s wife, apparently—spoke too softly to be heard.

“What’s that you say?” There was another long pause: “Well, just once more, then—for old time’s sake. I know, me too. Thank you, Dru.” He shut the garden door and then turned—not in Gabriel’s direction, but toward the small stables that served the house. Rowland didn’t even hesitate before opening the door into the building and closing it softly behind him, behaving for all the world like a man who was comfortable in his surroundings.

Gabriel leaned back against the servant’s door, his brain refusing to admit what his eyes and ears had just witnessed. She was meeting a man she’d held hands with, a man he’d asked her not to see again—in their back garden, at two in the morning.

It was bloody amazing.

He stalked back around to the front door and rang the bell, coming to a boil as he waited. It was Parker who opened the door, and he was wearing his nightcap and a red plaid robe.

“I am sorry, sir. The evening footman said you’d dismissed him earlier and I took him at his word.”

Gabriel forced himself not to shove past his servant and thunder up the stairs to his wife’s room.