“Ahh, now I know the real reason you are deserting London: for a horse.”
“Guilty as charged.” Eva hesitated, her smile draining away. “But I also miss Mel. She is not happy about the approach of her eighteenth birthday. I hope to reassure her—to tell her that a Season is not nearly as dreadful as we’d both feared.”
Drusilla’s eyebrows rose. “Really? I never believed I would hear such words from you.”
“Well, it is boring and tedious and annoying, but not dreadful.” She cut Drusilla a look that was almost shy. “Especially not if you’ve a friend to endure it with you.”
They rode in silence, Drusilla far too emotional to speak for some moments. When she’d gathered the reins of her feelings, she turned to Eva. “I’ll miss you greatly. When are you leaving?”
“Not too early—perhaps a week before Mama and Papa.”
“But surely you are staying for the Richland ball? I know how much you love masquerades.” Indeed, Eva’s childish enjoyment of costumes had always made Drusilla fear she might run off and join a troupe of actors.
“I shall hate to miss it, but I keep putting Mel off. Besides, I want to be out of the house before the packing madness starts.”
“Well, I wish you were not leaving, but I certainly understand.” Drusilla wasn’t lying. She’d been hoping to persuade Eva to come and stay with her and Gabriel. And Samir. But she didn’t know when Gabriel would tell his family about the boy.
“Don’t look so sad, Dru—I’m not leaving yet. Tell me, what is your costume this year?”
“Nell Gwynn.”
Eva laughed. “You’re so lazy—you’re always Nell.”
“I know. But the costume is so easy. And I can always eat the oranges if nobody asks me to dance.”
“You’ll have at least one partner.” Her eyes slid to Gabriel, who was laughing at something Byer had just said. Drusilla’s cheeks heated as she recalled last night.
“I’m so glad you two seem happy.”
“We do?”
Eva shook her head. “Lord! Love really is blind. If you two were any more lovey-dovey this morning . . . Well, suffice it to say, it will soon be plain to the entire ton this marriage of convenience has turned into a love match.” She reached across and squeezed Drusilla’s hands. “I am so glad for you.”
It always had been love on Drusilla’s side. Was Eva saying she believed Gabriel might feel the same way?
She smiled at her friend. “Thank you, Eva. So am I.”
* * *
“There he is.” Gabriel took her hand and led her toward The Serpentine, to where a little dark-haired boy in short pants was throwing crumbs to ducks and laughing as they squabbled. Beside him stood a woman dressed in a domestic’s clothing. The nurse saw them first and leaned down to the little boy.
He dropped his bag of crumbs and ran at full speed toward them. Gabriel released her hand to bend down and pick up Samir, swinging him around in circles while he shrieked.
Other nurses and children looked on. At this time of day—long before the fashionable hour—they were the only people in the park.
“Jibril! Jibril!” he shouted when he’d stopped spinning enough to speak. “There is a duck who keeps climbing on top of another duck and being mean to him.” The boy spoke rapid, fluent French, and it was all Drusilla could do to keep up with him. She’d learned it in school but had never spoken the language with a native speaker.
Gabriel looked over the boy’s head at Drusilla, his eyebrows raised, his expression one of barely suppressed glee. “A mean duck beating up on other ducks, eh,” he said in the same language. “Well, let’s make sure he stops his wickedness, or there will be no bread.” He planted a smacking kiss on the boy’s cheek and lowered him to the ground. “Now, you little savage, turn and give this lady your best leg.”
The boy turned to Drusilla, suddenly shy, stepping closer to Gabriel and blinking up at her with huge hazel eyes. He had the same warm skin tone as Gabriel and she detected some reddish glints in his hair although it was considerably darker. They bore a certain resemblance to each other, although she did not believe they were enough alike to make their relationship a certainty.
He dropped a courtly bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle.”
“It is a pleasure, Samir. I am Drusilla,” she replied in less than fluid French.
Gabriel laid a hand on Samir’s shoulder. “This is my lady, Samir—my wife.”
The boy’s brow wrinkled. “Like Gigi and Maria?”
Gabriel laughed, his face flushing. I’m sorry, he mouthed at Drusilla. She arched one brow, trying to suppress the stew of jealousy. After all, that was in his past and she was in his future. Or so she would have to keep telling herself whenever jealousy threatened to get the better of her common sense.
Gabriel dropped onto his haunches, at eye level with the little boy. “Gigi and Maria are my friends, Samir. Drusilla is special—she is my one and only wife.”
She felt a thrill at his words, even though they were just meant to reassure a child.
Samir cocked his head, and she realized he would have lived the bulk of his life in the harem, among many wives. “Your favored wife, Jibril?”
Gabriel tweaked his ear and made him giggle. “My only wife, you little monkey. But she is a good one.” He winked up at her and swung Samir onto his shoulders as he stood, causing the little boy to shriek with laughter.
“Oh no,” Gabriel said, pointing toward the pond. “There is your duck, Sami—he is on top of that other one.” He grinned down at Drusilla and took her hand, giving it a hard, quick squeeze. “Let’s go see—what could that wicked duck be up to now?”
* * *
The next day Gabriel asked his wife if she had any objection to canceling their plans for the evening.
“You mean you don’t wish to go to the Carews’ ball?” she asked, looking up from the desk in the library, where she was engaged in writing a letter.
Once again, they’d spent the afternoon with Samir. Today, they’d taken him to a rather spectacular toy shop on Oxford Street. It seemed Drusilla was very well known there as she often bought toys in such quantity as to make her their most welcome customer.
They’d purchased a fine box filled with soldiers for Samir as well as several books that had been written expressly for children.
Afterward they’d brought Samir to Upper Brooks Street and introduced him to the senior members of their staff, all of whom would be accompanying them to Sizemore after the Season was over.
Gabriel suspected his servants already knew more than they let on, but it made him feel as if he’d taken a step in the right direction by bringing the two parts of his life together. As for his mother? Well, he had determined to wait to tell her anything until they left London in a few weeks. He assured himself that he was not afraid of her reaction—and he mostly believed that was the truth—but he did not wish to add yet more tension to what had already been a difficult Season.
After he’d taken Samir home, he’d returned to find Drusilla in the library and had settled down to do some much neglected paperwork. They’d spent the past few hours in companionable silence.
As the dinner hour approached, Gabriel realized he wanted more of her company—that he did not wish to share her tonight.
“Gabriel?”
He saw she was waiting for his answer, her graceful eyebrows arched and her full lips slightly parted in a way that sent a buzz of arousal through his body. She was, he thought with a shock, a remarkably sensual creature in addition to being clever and caring. He loved their time in bed, but he wanted more than that—no matter how wonderful their sexual relations might be.
“I would rather spend the evening at home.With you,” he added, diverted by the way she turned away, giving him her shoulder. A few weeks ago, he would have viewed such an action as rejection. But Gabriel was beginning to understand she was at her most prickly when she was most emotional.
“I shall write to expre
ss our regrets,” she said to the far wall.
Gabriel smiled, as eager for the evening as Samir had been for their visit to Gunter’s this afternoon. He strode toward her and took her upper arm, turning her.
She was a fiery red, her expression flustered. He lowered his mouth to hers, claiming her with all the hunger he felt. Her body shifted and molded itself against his, her arms circling his neck while she opened to him, sucking his tongue in a way that made his entire body hum with want. His wife was a very fast learner in many areas.
Gabriel was breathless when he pulled away. “I shall notify Parker that we will dine in our room tonight.” He took in her full, parted lips and slightly flaring nostrils and gave a growl of frustration. “I think we will have dinner early this evening. Very early.”
Chapter 22
Everything changed after that night.
Oh, they still needed to attend the interminable parties, routs, and balls that filled the Season every evening, but they spent part of every day together—days that sped by in a blur of happiness.
As Gabriel had suggested, Samir remained with his former mistresses until they departed for Sizemore.
Though Drusilla agreed that two moves in a brief time would be hard on him, she could not be comfortable with Gabriel’s frequent visits to their house to either bring Samir out for the day or read him a story before bed. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him; it was just that she felt . . . excluded.
To his credit, Gabriel tried to include her in his time with Samir. She saw the little boy every day, and, after a few weeks, she felt as though she’d known and loved him for years. She didn’t know if he was Gabriel’s son, nor did she believe the blood relationship mattered to her husband.
For a child who’d just lost both his parents, he was remarkably happy, but Gabriel told her Samir was plagued by nightmares, so Drusilla knew he was not as serene as he appeared on the surface. It would take years to help him overcome his grief. The best way to do that was to give him security and love. She was eager to begin their life as a family and could hardly wait for the day they could leave London for the country.
But, in the interim, there was the remainder of the Season to be gotten through.
In the evenings they went to balls, routs, soirees, and every other type of foolishness. She soon discovered that a Season with the man she loved was far more exciting and interesting than a Season as a wallflower. Drusilla was stunned by what a difference happiness made to activities she had always considered vapid.
Eva often accompanied them, and Drusilla was relieved to resume their friendship. She did not believe Eva felt excluded by the growing closeness between herself and Gabriel, although it seemed to her there was a new distance between herself and Eva. It was probably natural that their relationship had changed; they were now separated by a vast gulf of experience.
But it wasn’t only the fact she was now married; sometimes she felt as if Eva might be hiding something from her—or, at the very least, was distracted by somebody or something.
It was selfish of her, but Drusilla could not apply herself to discover whatever might be bothering Eva. Her daily life was simply too magical. Indeed, she could scarcely believe this was her life, that she had somehow managed to end up with the man she’d wanted and dreamed of all along. And that he seemed happy to be spending his days and, oh, his nights, with her.
He came to Drusilla every evening, often remaining until morning.
It was on one of those nights, not long before the last ball of the Season, when Gabriel said to her.
“Perhaps you might pay a visit to my chambers one of these nights,” he said in a teasing tone. They’d made love earlier and then dozed for a while, neither of them falling asleep. Drusilla loved these times—usually after a vigorous session in bed—when they talked, the subjects ranging from serious and emotional to playful and light.
A single candle burned low in its socket, allowing her to see the outlines of his face. His full lips were curved into a smile, his expression almost . . . loving.
“Why should I go to your room, Mr. Marlington? What would I find there?”
“You might find me.”
“Ah, I see. Would I like what I found?”
“I would make sure you did.” He traced a line down her jaw and across to her lips, outlining them with his finger.
She caught his digit between her teeth and held it there, lightly touching the sensitive pad with the tip of her tongue.
He groaned. “Again? You will break your poor husband, Mrs. Marlington.” He took her hand and pressed it against his tumescent organ, giving a soft grunt of pleasure as her fingers closed around him and her hand began to move on its own. He pushed the covers down, exposing his male beauty to her greedy eyes. The sight of her hand wrapped around him, his muscles taut and flexing, made her own body tighten.
“Mmm, that feels so good.” His hips pulsed against her hand. “Harder—grip me tighter.”
“It doesn’t hurt?” she asked, daunted by the thought of squeezing him any harder than she was.
“It hurts in a good way.” He spread his thighs, and his hand went between them. She stared in fascination as he tugged at the skin of his testicles. They locked eyes, and he thrust into her hand with increasing savagery.
“Drusilla,” he said, his tone urgent.
It was almost impossible to tear her gaze away from the hard, ruddy length of him and the increasing slickness in her hand.
“Yes?”
“I want you to suck me.”
Her hand stuttered and she gasped.
He chuckled and settled his hand over hers, resuming the stroking motion. “Should I apologize? I daresay that is not something one says to a well-bred lady.”
Drusilla’s mind rebelled against his words even as they sent spirals of heat to her sex. What he meant was that it was the type of thing he could ask of a mistress.
How could the thought of him asking another woman to do that to him be both arousing and infuriating? But there was no denying it was. One of those beautiful actresses she’d seen—had they—
His hips stilled and a notch formed between his eyes. “I am sorry—that was—”
“Is it something a man would say to his m-mistress?”
He hesitated, his lips slightly parted, his chest seeming to freeze in midbreath. And then he nodded, his eyes heavy, his hips resuming their thrusting, the head of his penis slick, hard, insistent. “Be my mistress, Drusilla.”
She shuddered at his words—at the way he devoured her with his eyes.
Drusilla opened her mouth and was surprised that she could force words out of it. “Will you tell me how to do it?”
He spread his thighs wider in answer and released her hand. “Come. Kneel between my legs.”
She scrambled up onto her knees.
“Come closer and lean back; sit on your heels so I can reach you.”
She complied, and he stroked her jaw with a light touch, his middle finger drifting over her lips, back and forth, back and forth. “Take my finger into your mouth.”
She parted her lips, and he pushed inside. Her eyes widened when she realized the musky scent on his hand was hers—from the pleasure he’d given her during their earlier lovemaking.
He gave her a wicked grin. “You taste good, do you not?”
Her face flushed and, luckily, he didn’t seem to expect an answer.
“Cradle my finger with your tongue. Yes, that’s good,” he praised, wincing slightly. “Be careful with your teeth, both top and bottom.” He began to move his finger in and out, slowly. “Caress me with your lips and tongue, yes, suck me.” His expression was sensual and eager. “Your mouth is so unspeakably soft and hot. I cannot wait to fill it.”
Blood pounded in her ears at his words, his blissful expression, and his gently pulsing hips. He’d taken himself in hand again. The sight was so erotic it sent excruciating pleasure rippling through her body, the sensations pooling and swirling in her lower bel
ly—in her sex. Was it possible to climax just from watching him and sucking his finger?
“I think you’re ready,” he murmured, his eyes lazy slits. “I know I am.”
She released his finger with a soft pop.
“Find a position that is comfortable.”
She lowered herself, her knees between his thighs, pushing his legs wider as she brought her face closer and closer, until she was mere inches away from his erect organ: it looked far too big to fit in her mouth without chafing him.
“Take me in your hand.”
She did.
“Explore and get the sense of me.”
Her mouth immediately went to the slick head. She tongued the small slit, and he groaned, his buttocks tightening and his hips pressing up—just as hers had.
She smiled, thrilled by his reaction, and ran her tongue around the underside of his flared head, fascinated by the growing moisture, which tasted mildly salty.
He tilted his chin down to look at her. “You are teasing me.”
She tongued the slit, and he jolted.
“I have created a monster.” His head dropped to the bed.
Drusilla laughed, heady with her newfound power.
* * *
Gabriel hadn’t been this hard in his life. His wife was inexperienced, but she made up for that with eager curiosity. He had to keep reminding himself this was the starchy, stern Miss Clare kneeling between his thighs. That it was her sharp, acerbic tongue and clever mouth that was laving and sucking. One of her hands stroked him with increasing skill while the other explored his pelvis, stomach, and, oh!, his nipple.
She chuckled against his stiff, slick flesh, her laughter echoing up his erection straight to his heart. He wanted to savagely thrust into her, to feel her throat tighten against the exquisitely sensitive skin, to fill her and to claim her in this manner, as well as every other.
Instead he lightly caressed a naked shoulder, her throat, her jaw, his fingers drifting to where she held him in her mouth. The feel of her lips stretching tight to accommodate his girth drove him beyond endurance.
“Come up here,” he growled, hooking his hands beneath her shoulders and pulling her off his far-too-excited cock. “Up on your knees, straddle my hips,” he said when she looked adorably confused.
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