Page 89 of Notorious

Gabriel stared at Byer without seeing his friend. His blood boiled, but not just with fury at Visel. No, words always hurt the worst when there was a grain of truth to them. And it was the unfortunate truth that he, too, had viewed marrying Drusilla as a harsh punishment.

“I told you that you wouldn’t like it,” Byer said, pulling Gabriel’s thoughts away from his shame.

No, he didn’t like it. In fact, he burned at the insult to his wife. “When the hell did you hear this?”

“He told me.”

“What?”

“Yes, he told me that night—not long after he apologized. You had left to go to Exley House and I ran into Visel at Mc-Nair’s.” McNair’s was a notorious gambling den so vile even the Runners avoided it. Byer, of course, adored the place.

Gabriel shook his head in disgust. “He told you because he wanted me to know.”

“Precisely. Which is exactly why I didn’t run and tell you.”

“If Visel is so damned happy at trapping me into marriage, then why is he lurking about my bloody house and what the devil is he plotting with Rowland?”

The waiter dropped off the fresh drinks, and Byer handed one to Gabriel before picking up the other. “That, my friend, is something I do not know,” Byer admitted, and then grinned at Gabriel like a mischievous boy. “But I’m bloody curious to find out—aren’t you?”

Chapter 18

Gabriel finished tying his cravat and stepped back to examine the results. His clothing looked well enough, but there were dark circles beneath his eyes and the grooves that ran between his nose and mouth seemed twice as deep as they’d been at the beginning of the Season.

He slipped into the coat Drake held out for him, exhausted. He’d been burning the candle at both ends since the night he’d caught Rowland in the garden, but so far he had learned less than nothing. In fact, it seemed as if Visel had disappeared. Gabriel couldn’t have said why, but an absent Visel made him almost more nervous than a lurking Visel.

As for Rowland? Byer had sent his valet—a sly, clever man who’d spent a stretch in the Steel—to the tea shop where Drusilla’s group met. Gabriel had protested, feeling as if it were spying.

“It is spying, Gabe—on Rowland. And that brings to mind something else. I think you should hire somebody to keep an eye on your wife anytime she leaves the house.” Gabriel had bristled, but Byer had rolled his eyes. “It’s not that, you daft bugger. It’s in case Rowland or Visel try anything.”

“Like what?”

“Who knows, but it is better to be safe than sorry—is it not?”

So Gabriel had engaged a Runner, yet another of Byer’s acquaintances. The man was slight, not at all what he’d expected of the famous Bow Street Runners.

“Don’t worry,” Byer had assured him. “Tompkins might be small, but he’s as tough and wily as a terrier.”

Drake held out Gabriel’s ring, the only piece of jewelry he wore. The ring was gold and encircled in fine Berber script. The center bore a ruby with a falcon in intaglio—the symbol of his Berber tribe. It had belonged to the sultan—the only thing he had from his father.

Drake cleared his throat, and Gabriel looked up from his woolgathering to find him holding his cane and hat.

Gabriel took both. “Ah, thank you.”

He left his chambers, heading toward the stairs, but stopped outside his wife’s room: it was quiet within, so he resumed walking. It was past noon; no doubt she had already gone out. He had slept late as he’d returned home close to five in the morning.

He was more on edge than ever and had no idea what the devil was going on—especially when it came to Visel’s mysterious absence. But he and Byer had done everything they could, short of invading the duke’s house and demanding he produce his heir.

Gabriel smiled to himself at the foolish thought as he made his way down the stairs.

When he reached the foyer, it was to find Drusilla, her maid, and one of the footmen just preparing to leave.

“Ah, good afternoon, Drusilla.” Acting on impulse, he kissed her cheek, causing her fair skin to blush. “Where are you bound?”

She paused in the act of pulling on her gloves. “To Hatchards and then to the dressmaker’s.”

“Perhaps I might steal a ride with you?”

She blinked up at him, her flush deepening. “Of course. I’ve ordered the barouche.”