Notorious

by Minerva Spencer

  “You wish for him to live with us?”

  Drusilla gave a small huff. “Of course I do, Gabriel. He is your son—conceived before we met—how could I be angry about such a thing?” She did not tell him she was jealous of the fact another woman had carried his child; there was no point. “I love children and I am eager to meet him.”

  “Even though he is not legitimate?”

  Drusilla gave him an arch look. “That’s hardly his fault, is it?”

  He flushed under her critical stare but then surprised her by smiling. “No, it is not.” He offered her his arm. “Come,” he said, “the carriage is waiting.”

  If Drusilla was hoping he would explain his son’s origins, she was to be disappointed. Still, she felt more optimistic about them—certainly about their ability to communicate when they both put their minds to it.

  Perhaps they might learn to make something of their marriage, after all.

  * * *

  The truce between Gabriel and his wife was a delicate one but it strengthened over the coming days.

  Like any ton couple, they went out every night, attending the mad whirl of routs and balls that occurred as the Season drew to an end. Unlike other ton couples, they attended many of the same functions. It was unusual for a husband and wife to socialize so often in each other’s company, but Gabriel knew his new wife did not have a broad social circle. Besides, he found that he enjoyed accompanying her. In addition to being a very clever woman, she also possessed a well-developed sense of humor and had a keen eye when it came to evaluating her fellow man.

  They often returned home near dawn, said goodnight, and did not see one another until the following evening, when it was time to do it all over again.

  During the day they lived almost separate lives.

  Drusilla spent a great deal of her time with her aunt and paid a few calls. She sometimes went shopping, although he did not think she was in any way as profligate as his sisters and mother when it came to clothing.

  Gabriel had considered offering to go shopping with her, himself. Her clothing was . . . well, it was not always flattering to her rather voluptuous figure.

  But of course he made no such offer.

  Instead he saw Samir each day and rejoiced in the opportunity to get to know the boy. He also went to his club, rode in the park with Eva and Byer—Drusilla had still not offered to join them—and even accompanied the marquess when his stepfather visited one of his newly acquired properties.

  Her friendship with Eva appeared rather stilted but at least the two women were talking. As for their own interactions, Gabriel had found the few times they were alone together to be agreeable. Dinner, which they usually ate at home, had been much more pleasant and enjoyable since the evening of their “talk.” They spoke on general subjects and avoided any of those topics that had caused trouble in the past. Gabriel never asked about what transpired at her charity group meetings, and she did not ask him how he spent his days.

  They lived the life of a newly married young couple, with one notable exception: Gabriel did not go to his wife’s bed.

  It was not that he did not desire her—quite the contrary—nor was it because he had not forgiven her for their past disagreements. He bore no grudges and he had enjoyed their one night of lovemaking—very much—and found that she grew increasingly appealing with each day that passed.

  But she was an enigma to him and he was in no hurry to make love to her and find himself slapped down the following morning. Besides, he’d decided it could not hurt to take some time and get to know her outside the bedroom.

  As often as he told himself that noble reason for avoiding Drusilla’s bed, he probably wouldn’t have been able to stay away from her for ten days if he’d not been spending his evenings elsewhere.

  Ever since seeing and hearing Rowland and Visel together, he’d been spending most nights after she’d gone to bed prowling around their house or the area where Visel and Rowland appeared to live. Because he couldn’t watch everywhere at once, he’d brought Byer in on his problem—not that he was sure what the problem was.

  It had turned out to be a good idea to bring in his friend as Byer seemed to know everything about every member of the ton, no matter how obscure.

  Gabriel had gone to meet the viscount at White’s the evening after he’d seen Rowland and Visel outside Rowland’s lodgings.

  “You might as well tell me what you know about the two of them,” he told his indolent friend, who’d been waiting at the club when Gabriel arrived.

  Byer’s eyebrows shot up. “The last time I tried to say anything, you told me you’d rather gargle glass than discuss Visel.”

  “And I would. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of ignorance. Back then I believed he was going to disappear from my life. Now I fear I shall never be rid of him.”

  “Very well, I shall tell you what I know, which is not very much. Visel and Rowland are cousins, although I did not know they were close. But if you saw them together twice in as many nights—in such odd places as your mews and outside Rowland’s lodgings—obviously they are closer than I believed,” he mused, tilting the glass of brandy back and forth in front of the light.

  “I know as little about Rowland as I do about Visel,” Byer admitted. “He is from the poorer branch of the family. I believe he was schooled at his father’s country manse—I recall his having a dozen siblings.” Byer shrugged and waved his hand as if dismissing the poorer man. “Now Visel . . .”

  “Yes?” Gabriel prodded.

  “Visel is older than I, of course. He was in my brother Kenneth’s form. They weren’t mates, but I recall his mentioning Visel when he went off to war.” He shot Gabriel a mocking smile. “Kenneth was mad to join up, but my father refused to cough up the dosh to buy him a pair of colors. He was destined for the Church, you know. But I am digressing. I think Visel was several rungs down the ladder when it came to inheriting his uncle’s dukedom. If I am not mistaken, Tyndale’s son and at least two of Visel’s elder brothers stood between him and the dukedom when he joined the army.” He stopped and took a sip, savoring the mouthful and clearly in no hurry to continue.

  “What happened to the brothers?”

  “They died. They’d gone over just before Napoleon escaped Elba. They went en masse to celebrate the end of the war and visit Visel, who’d been bedbound for months from a life-threatening injury.” Byer gave Gabriel an odd look. “Their ship was attacked on the journey over and their captain—a man who’d been in the navy—gave fight instead of trying to outrun their aggressor.”

  Gabriel shook his head in disbelief. “They were attacked between here and Calais?”

  “No, they didn’t take a packet. Visel was someplace smack in the heart of Spain. Apparently they deemed it faster to go through Gibraltar rather than overland.” Byer paused. For the first time in Gabriel’s memory, the talkative man did not seem interested in talking.

  “Out with it, Tommy.”

  “It was a corsair ship that sank theirs.” He shot Gabriel a flat look and then threw back the remains of his glass, grimacing at the burn. “Everyone on board was either killed when the ship sank or taken prisoner.”

  Gabriel had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Who was onboard?”

  “All of them—every single member of his immediate family decided to pull up stumps and go see him. You know how things were just after the war—people were giddy with the end of the seemingly endless conflict. The French had been vanquished—what danger could there be?”

  “Who?”

  He took a deep breath. “Mother, father, two brothers—one with his wife and child, and a younger sister.”

  “My God. Seven people. His entire family wiped out?”

  A mist of red covered Byer’s sharp cheekbones. “Not the sister or the second eldest brother. But by the time the duke sent a man with ransom money, the brother had died and the sister was nowhere to be found.”

  Gabriel closed his eyes and dropped h
is head into his hands, the sense of guilt crushing. He knew it was irrational: he’d fought to end his people’s dependence on slavery. He had never dealt with slavers and had argued more than once with his father that slavery was not only immoral, but that it was the way of a bygone era.

  No, he should not feel guilty—he’d done nothing. But he probably knew the people who had—he was probably even related to some of them. People who’d killed Visel’s entire family.

  He shook his head and looked up at his friend. “That is why Visel hates me—he blames me. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Because I knew you’d get that look on your face: the one you are wearing right now. The one you were wearing when you came back from Oran this last time.”

  “What look is that?” he snapped.

  “As if you’d like to put a pistol to your head.” Byer leaned forward. “What happened to Visel’s family is not your fault, Gabe.”

  “Where did the ship take the prisoners?”

  Byer shook his head.

  “Tell me, dammit!”

  Four men at the nearest table turned at the sound of his raised voice. Gabriel got hold of his frazzled emotions. “Just tell me.”

  “Oran.”

  Gabriel groaned. “Good Lord. Why don’t I recall reading about any of this?”

  “It was small news compared to Napoleon’s escape. People were in a state of shock and paying attention to the resumption of war—not the sinking of a ship. As for Visel’s sister? Well, the duke has impressive connections and made sure the story was not spread—on the chance the girl could be ransomed.”

  “How the hell do you know about it?”

  Byer just gave him a stony look. This wasn’t the first time Gabriel had wondered what his friend was really up to when he hadn’t been in their shared lodgings at Oxford. That there was more to Byer was apparent—Gabriel already knew that—but he suspected the man kept even deeper secrets hidden beneath his lazy, foppish façade.

  “So, Visel wants to make me suffer because somebody else—quite probably one of Assad’s captains—killed his family.”

  “You are the only one left to punish.”

  Gabriel knew his friend was correct—no matter how mad or illogical it was. “Then why did he apologize and call off the duel?”

  Byer’s face flushed, and he shifted in his chair.

  “What? What is it you are not telling me?”

  His friend shook his head. “No. If I tell you, you’ll kill the man.”

  Gabriel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I will not. I give you my word.”

  Still Byer hesitated.

  “Byer—”

  “All right, all right.” He raised his hand. “But I’ll need another glass for this.” He waved to a waiter and held up two fingers.

  “I didn’t ask for that,” Gabriel said.

  “No, but I think you’ll be glad you have it.”

  “Will you just get on with it?”

  “Visel apologized that night because he’d already gotten his revenge. Not only was he pleased about breaking up your budding romance with the Kitten, but he felt you’d been doubly punished by being forced to marry Miss—” Byer grimaced.

  Gabriel stared. “Go on.”

  “Dash it, Gabe—why must you make me say it? Fine.” He went on before Gabriel could answer. “Visel said it was punishment enough to be forced to marry a woman like Miss Clare.”

  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.”

  He offered his arm once her second glove was on. “I wasn’t aware we had a barouche,” he said, leading her down the front steps to a rather magnificent equipage.

&nbs
p; Her hand tightened on his arm. “I hope you don’t mind that I had it brought over, but it was my father’s and I just thought—”

  “Lord, what an ogre you must think me. Of course I don’t mind using your father’s barouche.” He motioned away the waiting footman and helped her into the carriage. Fletcher hovered a few steps away, uncertain. Gabriel smiled down at her. “You too, Fletcher.” He held out a hand, and the rather homely, narrow-faced woman blushed just as fierily as her mistress at the small courtesy. “You sit beside Mrs. Marlington, Fletcher. I’ll take back-facing.”

  “Where to, sir?” a footman Gabriel did not recognize asked before he shut the door.

  “I’ll disembark with the ladies; I need no special stop.”

  “So,” he said, after he’d settled himself in the seat. “How is your aunt feeling?” he asked his wife.

  “She is doing much better this past week.”

  “And did you convince her to pay us a visit before she leaves town?”

  “Yes, she will stay with us for three nights before she departs for Bath.”

  “Excellent. I look forward to having her in our household.” He could see his words pleased her. “Buying anything special today?”

  “A few books I’ve ordered have come in and I’m going to try on some gowns Fletcher believes might suit.”

  Gabriel’s eyebrows leaped. “New gowns?” he said with a playful smile. “Perhaps I should join you—I can act as your cicisbeo.”

  The maid choked back a laugh and even his stern wife smiled. “I’m sure you have better things to occupy your time.”

  Gabriel realized, suddenly, that he would actually like to spend some time with her doing something domestic. Although they’d been together often in the week and a half since establishing their tenuous truce, they were rarely alone.

  Besides, he was not to see Samir today or tomorrow as Giselle and Maria had taken him out of the city to visit one of their many friends from France. The friend in question had a little boy who was Samir’s age. They’d invited Gabriel, but he knew they would rather reminisce and gossip without a man in attendance.