You want it. You want him more than life itself, her conscience accused. It’s Gabriel who will be punished, not you.
Drusilla knew that was true—there was no denying it. She couldn’t even console herself with the argument that he would gain possession of her money. After all, the Kitten was wealthier, more beautiful, charming, and everything else a man could want. And now he would have to settle for plain, tall, gawky, and surly Drusilla.
There was a light tap on the door before a maid poked her head into the room. “Your presence is requested in the drawing room, Miss Clare.”
Eva stood, but the maid shook her head. “Lord Exley said only Miss Clare, my lady.”
Drusilla forced herself to smile. “I shall be fine, Eva.”
“I could come—Father would—”
“No. You should wait here. But thank you for the offer.”
“Very well. But, please, send for me if . . .” She shrugged. “Well, if you have need of me.” Eva threw up her hands. “If anybody has need of me.”
* * *
Lord and Lady Exley and Gabriel awaited her in the drawing room. Gabriel was looking out the window, his hands lightly clasped behind his back.
The marquess gestured to a chair across from his wife. “Please have a seat, Miss Clare.”
Drusilla had always been a little frightened of Eva’s father. Not that she believed he would hurt her, but rather because he was so very . . . perfect.
Lady Exley fluttered toward her in the graceful way she had and settled beside her on the settee, taking Drusilla’s hand in her much smaller ones. She was dainty and tiny and as perfect as her husband. She was also quite pregnant. Guilt welled up in her at the trouble she’d caused them all by embroiling Lady Exley’s son in a duel because of her foolish actions.
Gabriel came to sit across from Drusilla, his face unreadable. “How is your aunt, Miss Clare?”
“She feels dreadful, of course. And responsible. But I refuse to hold her to blame. I knew she was ill, but I also knew it meant a great deal to her to be involved with this Season. I should have put my foot down when I saw how much these late evenings took out of her, but—”
Lady Exley chafed Drusilla’s hand reassuringly between hers. “You did not want to make her feel rejected or redundant because you are kind. We understand that, Drusilla.”
Drusilla glanced at the two men, both of whom looked as if they were very far from understanding such a decision. But they were men, rulers of their domains, not women who must depend on the kindness of others.
“Would you like to wait until your aunt is well enough to join us?” the marquess asked.
She shook her head. “I understand the matter is somewhat. . . urgent. She’s already indicated to me, on the ride from the ball, that she understands the gravity of the situation.” Drusilla did not relate what her aunt—the guardian of her trust—had actually said: that she would approve the union between Gabriel and Drusilla and advise the other trustees to do likewise, a necessary step according to the terms of Drusilla’s father’s will. At least if she wished to accede to her fortune before the age of thirty.
“She’s given me permission to speak for myself, my lord. Of course, I have men of business to see to my affairs, so . . .” She let that hang, not wishing to state the obvious: that she would be well represented when it came to the marriage contract.
Lord Exley traded a look with his stepson, who nodded.
“I’m sure you’re aware of the scandal we are facing, Miss Clare?” Gabriel’s voice was subdued, but clear.
“Yes. I am r-ruined.” She swallowed, amazed at how difficult it had been to say so little.
“Not ruined,” Lady Exley chimed in, but then bit her lower lip after a sharp look from her son. “I am sorry, Jibril. Perhaps you would like some time to speak together alone?”
Gabriel looked at Drusilla. “Would you like me to ring for your maid?”
“No, that will not be necessary.”
The marquess helped his wife to her feet. “We shall give you a few moments’ privacy.” The door clicked softly shut behind them, and they were alone.
Chapter 5
Gabriel wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting—eyes red-rimmed from crying? He should have known better. Miss Drusilla Clare was not a woman to be overset by much—apparently not even a forced marriage to a man she openly despised.
She gazed across at him, her face pale but composed.
“I am sure you know what tonight means?”
“I know my reputation is ruined and I will be ostracized. Unless . . .” She let the sentence dangle.
Her pale face blushed wildly, and Gabriel wondered what she was thinking.
She chewed her lip and then blurted, “It doesn’t seem fair that you should be punished for saving me from my foolishness, Mr. Marlington.”
Gabriel had been thinking the same thing, but it was hardly politic to say it. “I would be honored to marry you. I would—”
She laughed and the sound was bitter. “Please, we both know that is a lie. If you had any intention of marrying at all this year—which I doubt—it would have been Miss Kittridge you would have honored.”
Gabriel met her cool gray stare and realized her obsession with bluestocking causes was not the only way in which she differed from other young women. Miss Clare did not like her truths to be sugarcoated. So be it.
“While it is true we might not be each other’s first choice for marriage—”
She snorted.
Gabriel ignored the flare of irritation he experienced and continued. “I’m afraid we are the only choice we have.”
She eyed him shrewdly. “There is another way.”
Hope flared in his breast. “And what is that?”
“If you give up the duel, I’ll release you from any obligation to marry me.”
It was Gabriel’s turn to snort. “I’m not sure you understand what has happened, Miss Clare. Visel has attacked a woman in my care—” She opened her mouth, but he raised his hand. “Yes, you were under my care. Not only has he insulted you, but he was unpardonably cruel to Eva. He has, in short, exhibited behavior no gentleman should tolerate. But the most compelling reason for our nuptials is the rumor currently making the rounds: that you and I were trysting in the conservatory and Visel interrupted us—hence my behavior toward him. If he’d not challenged me, ma’am, I would have challenged him.”
Drusilla did know about the rumor that had, amazingly, been in circulation before their carriage had even come for them. “But Eva knows the truth. She’s our witness and would say what really happened.”
“Please, Miss Clare. I think you know that would never wash. Whether there is a duel or not is irrelevant: we must marry.”
She pursed her lips, her expression not entirely convinced. Her eyes flickered back to his, and her cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink. “I’m a very wealthy woman, Mr. Marlington. I could carve out a solitary existence of sorts and weather this scandal alone.”
“You could,” Gabriel admitted. He waited for her to think through her suggestion.
“But it would make life difficult for you, wouldn’t it?”
He gave her a wry smile, and she glanced away.
“Difficult is not the word I would use, Miss Clare. My reputation—such as it is—would be in tatters for debauching an innocent female under my care and then abandoning her. And then there is Eva. My sister loves both of us and she is loyal beyond reason, beyond self-preservation—to a fault, in other words. She would never shun you or give up your friendship—no matter how society regarded you. I’m not sure there is a chance of her ever marrying, but if there was, that chance would diminish if she maintained her association with you.”
Rather than argue the matter—which Gabriel had expected—her shoulders slumped, and she nodded. “I understand.”
Gabriel began to get to his feet, but her voice stopped him.
“If I agree to marry—will you give up the duel?” She was s
taring down at her clasped hands rather than at him.
Gabriel chuckled, and her head jerked up.
Her flush, which had receded during their discussion of Eva, flared with a vengeance. “I am pleased to entertain you, sir.”
“You are a like a hedgehog with me, Miss Clare. You always have been. No matter what I say or do, your spines come out.” He cocked his head, curious about this woman who would soon be his wife. “Do you really hate me so much, ma’am?”
She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again.
Gabriel waved his hand. “Never mind; it does not signify. To answer your question, no, I will not apologize to Visel for any reason, ever. Does that put paid to that idea?”
Her jaw was so tight it hurt merely looking at her. A wave of pity washed over Gabriel, and he gave her a gentle smile. “I’m aware I’m hardly the husband of your dreams, Miss Clare. But—”
“As difficult as it might be for you to believe, Mr. Marlington, I am no schoolroom chit whose head is stuffed with nothing but dreams of marriage. In fact, it would be fair to say thoughts of marriage hardly penetrate my mind at all.”
Gabriel grinned at this very Miss Clare–like flare of spirited defiance. “No, that is not difficult to believe. So you were not dreaming of marriage. Well, neither was I, truth be told, yet here we are. I advise you to do as I am and look on the positive side, Miss Clare.”
“And what side would that be, exactly?”
“We will salvage what remains of our reputations and make a life together, just as others have done in our position from time immemorial. I think you will also find your position as a married woman is much freer than an unmarried one. As Mrs. Marlington you may pursue your”—he waved his hand in the air—“causes, and what have you, with far less interference.”
“Except from you, that is.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon.”
“I might pursue my causes and what have you”—she spoke the words in an accent that was a surprisingly good imitation of his own—“with more latitude. But I pointed out that you—as my lord and master—would be able to curtail my activities.”
He laughed. Life might be irritating with Miss Clare, but it certainly would never be boring.
“You are correct, Miss Clare. You will be my wife and, therefore, subject to my will under the law. Does that really concern you?”
She huffed out a puff of air. “Does it concern me? No, Mr. Marlington, it terrifies me.”
Gabriel frowned, his amusement draining away. “Whatever for? Do you really think I am such an ogre?”
Her mouth flattened into a remarkably straight, tight line. “You don’t want to know what I am thinking.”
“Oh, but I do. Please, enlighten me.” Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest and told himself to be calm. After all, he would be with this woman for the rest of his life. She was not a garden-variety miss, but a woman of sharp wit and piercing intelligence; it behooved him to treat her with a little patience. Surely they could find some common ground?
He would begin practicing such patience right now. “Well?”
* * *
Drusilla wanted to bang her head on the arm of the settee. Why had she even raised this topic?
She looked into his captivating, no-longer-laughing eyes. “Whether or not you are an ogre is utterly beside the point. Why should I have to give control over my person to any man—ogre or saint? Why should it not be you who is subject to my control and will?”
The way his mouth fell open was comical. “What?”
“I said—”
He held up a hand. “No, I heard you. I merely do not take your point.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“You wish to be my master in this marriage.” The flat way he spoke the words told her all she needed to know what he thought about that.
“I did not say that.”
He inhaled deeply, his fine nostrils flaring, and assumed the expression of a man who was forcing himself to stay calm in the face of overwhelming provocation. Drusilla had seen this same expression on men’s faces whenever they did not meet with instant agreement from a female.
When he spoke again, his voice was cool. “Are you worried I will beat you? Lock you away in the country? Commit you to Bedlam? Because I can assure you, Miss Clare, even if you do not take my word that I would never do such things, you can certainly agree that my mother would never permit any harm to come to you.”
Drusilla knew that, of course. But she could not tell him what she truly feared: that she would be married to a man she loved who would never love her. That she would have to suffer in silence while he took lovers. Already she had suffered knowing he kept not only one mistress, but several. Watching him court Miss Kittridge and flirt with countless widows who pursued him had been painful enough when she had no claim on him. What would it be like if he was her husband? It would be agony.
But she could hardly say any of that, could she? So she said nothing.
He continued. “And then there is Eva. I ask you this, Miss Clare—can you imagine my sister sitting by quietly while I did villainous things to you?”
A choked laugh broke from her at the notion, and his eyes widened.
“What?” she demanded, immediately suspicious. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
He pushed out his full lower lip and slowly shook his head from side to side, his expression bemused, his eyes never leaving her face. “It is nothing.”
Drusilla stared at him hard, looking for answers. All she found were more questions. Why was she arguing? Just to save face? Well, she’d probably never manage that feat. He was watching her with a speculative look she found annoying—yet also invigorating.
“What about you?” There, how would he enjoy it if she turned the tables?
“Me?”
“Yes, you have said nothing about your own concerns when it comes to this marriage.”
“I have none,” he said.
“I believe you are lying.”
That made him laugh. “Only you, Miss Clare—only you would call me a liar to my face.”
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Drusilla would have given her entire fortune to spend five minutes inside his beautiful, mysterious head, even though it would most likely be a painful experience for her. Already the blend of emotions inside her was bewildering. The knowledge that he would soon be her husband was, like a rose with thorns, both delightful and painful. She could never, ever, ever let him see either emotion.
She gave him an arch look. “You are taking a bride with the stink of the shop, Mr. Marlington. It is an association that will not endear you to the circles you are accustomed to move in.”
“Such matters hardly concern me. Besides, my connections will make any concerns irrelevant.” He gave her a mocking smile. “Although you probably find that difficult to credit.”
“I am fully aware of your connections. And how will His Grace of Carlisle feel about your marrying a cit?”
“My grandfather will support whatever decision I make.”
Drusilla somehow doubted that.
“And we already have the support of my stepfather and mother who are—” He hesitated, a slight smile curving his lips. “Well, unorthodox but not without powerful friends and influence of their own. Come, what else should I be concerned about?” he prodded.
She chewed her lip, trying to think of something else—anything else—that might save her from a lifetime of unrequited love.
When she remained mute, he gave a dry, humorless laugh. “I thought as much.”
Drusilla glared at him. “What?”
“It is not my concerns that worry you, but your own, Miss Clare. Does the ton’s reaction to our marriage really cause you such anxiety?”
“Of course it is not the ton that concerns me, Mr. Marlington.”
“Then what is it? Is it my background? The fact I am not wholly English?” Her face heated at his suggestion, and his
pleasant smile shifted into one that was distinctly unpleasant. “Ah, so is it the fact my father was the infamous Sultan Hassan?” She opened her mouth to deny it, but he didn’t let her. “You must tell me if that is the sticking point, Miss Clare, because there is not a thing in the world I can do about my parentage, even if I wished to. My father might have done bad things, but he was my father and I loved and respected him. I will not refute him any more than I already have by abandoning my country, my name, and my people.” He cocked his head. “Or perhaps you cannot see yourself married to a man who once practiced a religion most in this country would view as heathenish?” He paused, and then launched one last salvo. “A man who was raised to expect more than one wife?”
Drusilla bit the inside of her mouth hard enough to taste metal.
His laughter dripped disdain. “Ah, so that is it—the English preoccupation with harems.”
“I’m afraid I don’t find that to be a laughing matter.”
“Trust me, Miss Clare, neither do I.” He gave her a hard look. “Is that your concern? That I will keep a harem hidden away in our cellar or attic?”
“Of course not!”
“Perhaps you were not aware, Miss Clare, but when I moved from Oran—from my home—to England, I not only changed the pronunciation of my name to make it more palatable to my new countrymen, I also changed my religion and my way of life. I changed everything to live in this country, Miss Clare. Believe me, my right to have more than one wife was the least of the many things I gave up.”
“But that is what you were raised to expect, was it not?” She stopped, bit her lip, and then blurted. “Are you sure you can be satisfied with only one wife?”
He leaned toward her with eyes that had suddenly become heavy lidded. “That question is one only you can answer, is it not? Will you be able to keep me satisfied, Miss Clare?”
She gaped, and he took advantage of her tongue-tied state to pursue another tack.
“Enough about me and all the wives I will have to forgo if we marry. What about you, Miss Clare? Is all this resistance about me? Or is it about what you will have to give up?”
Notorious Page 5
