Notorious

by Minerva Spencer

  “Was it not good?” she asked, wiping a wet sheen from her pouty lower lip with the tips of her fingers.

  “It was very good, but I want you this way.”

  Her eyebrows crept up her forehead and she looked down, realizing, apparently, that she was naked. She covered her breasts with her hands and then gasped as her fingers grazed her erect nipples, surprise and arousal on her face. So, his little sensualist had never fondled her pretty breasts. He would enjoy watching her discover them.

  He took his cock and nudged it between her thighs. Once he was positioned, he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her down while thrusting up. Hard.

  Her eyelids fluttered and her head dropped back. Gabriel took her hips in a punishing grip and drove them both to ecstasy.

  * * *

  “Gabriel?”

  “Hmmm?” He lay beside her with his eyes closed, holding one of her hands on his bare chest and absently moving it in circles.

  “When will you tell your mother about Samir?”

  He groaned.

  They’d discussed the matter earlier in the evening, but he’d not given any indication of when he would go.

  “I will go to her in the morning.”

  That was exactly what she’d wanted to hear. “Good. I want to go with you today.”

  His eyes opened, and he turned. “I thought you said you didn’t wish to be there for that conversation?”

  “I don’t.”

  “So where do you wish to go with me?”

  “I want to go with you today when you fetch Samir.”

  “Oh, Drusilla, that—”

  “These women—Giselle and Maria.” She had to force herself to say their names. “They are part of his life and he speaks of them with great affection. I can hardly pretend they do not exist.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is—” He muttered something she could not hear. “Because it is not done; that is why.”

  “A lot of what we are doing is not done. Besides, I have never given any credit to not doing things simply because they haven’t been done in the past.” The bed shook, and she realized he was laughing silently. “What? Why are you laughing?”

  “I’m laughing at the sheer understatedness of your words.”

  “I don’t believe understatedness is a word.”

  He laughed outright this time and kissed her shoulder.

  “I am serious—I will not be distracted on this subject.”

  He leaned onto his side and kept kissing, over her arm, and down, twitching off the sheet that covered her, his lips settling over one hard nipple.

  She groaned. “Gabriel . . .”

  “Mmm?” His mouth was full of her breast.

  “I will not be distracted,” she said, far less emphatically.

  And then he raised himself up over her and demonstrated—once again—his exceptional skills when it came to distraction.

  Chapter 23

  The last ball of the Season—and it hadn’t come soon enough in Gabriel’s opinion. He felt an almost childish excitement when he thought about taking Drusilla and Samir to the country.

  “Your costume will be delivered today at noon, sir.”

  Gabriel glanced up from the mirror at the sound of his valet’s voice, surprised to see that his hands had managed to tie his cravat into a respectable knot without any direction from his brain.

  “Costume?” he said as Drake handed him a stickpin in the shape of a plain gold bar.

  “Er, yes, sir. The Duchess of Richland’s ball tonight is a masquerade.”

  “Damn! I’d forgotten all about that.” He ran a hand through the hair Drake had just carefully coiffed, the action causing his valet to wince.

  “I thought you might have, sir, so I took the liberty of ordering three costumes for you to choose from.”

  “Ah, excellent.”

  “It is my understanding Mrs. Marlington will be going as Nell Gwynn, sir.”

  Gabriel laughed. Could there be a better costume for her than the allegedly sharp-tongued and quick-witted mistress of Charles II?

  “You know far more than I do, Drake,” he said. “Just select one of the costumes and have it ready for me.”

  His dour valet gifted Gabriel with one of his rare smiles. “Very well, sir. It will take an extra half hour to dress you.”

  “That sounds ominous.” Drake held out his coat, and Gabriel struggled into the navy superfine.

  The other man just smiled as Gabriel buttoned up his coat and checked his reflection one last time.

  Drake handed him his hat and cane, and he descended to the foyer. It was a remarkably clear, sunny day: perfect for walking.

  Also perfect for delaying the inevitable, his conscience mocked.

  Gabriel ignored the voice; he would not engage in any further internal arguments with himself. He had made up his mind: today was the day he would tell his mother and stepfather about Samir.

  He would do so alone, even though he had invited Drusilla to join him last night.

  “I don’t know, Gabriel.” She’d been lying atop him at the time, their bodies joined from shoulders to toes. “I believe this should be a private conversation between you and Lady Exley.”

  “You do not need to come with me.” Gabriel ran his fingers through her heavy dark hair, which was so shiny and fragrant and soft he could not keep his hands out of it.

  “Does it disappoint you that I don’t think I should be there?”

  “No, you must do what you feel best. Although I daresay you will get a visit from my mother soon afterward. She will want to speak to you—to see if you are truly as sanguine about the decision as I say you are.” He ran both his hands up her arms and then down her sides, letting them rest on her waist. “Are you as sanguine as you say?” He stretched up and kissed her chin before lying back down.

  Her eyes were grave. “Never more so—I look forward to moving to the country more than you can imagine.”

  So here he was, strolling toward a confrontation he could not look forward to, even though he very much looked forward to the aftermath. His mother would be disappointed in him for behaving recklessly, of course, but she would welcome Samir with all the affection she showed to everyone who belonged to her. And she would immediately set about spoiling her grandchild with a vengeance. Certainly, Samir was a little boy who needed a great deal of spoiling after all he’d been through.

  Whether Samir was Assad’s or his own, he was still Gabriel’s flesh and blood, not to mention a delightful child.

  When Sami was of age, Gabriel would tell him everything, and he could seek out his mother’s family and make what connections he desired. Gabriel would see to it that he was raised with knowledge of and respect for his Berber connections.

  He nodded at a passing acquaintance, his heart lighter than it had been for months—perhaps even years; most certainly since the British navy had approached him.

  Life, he decided, giving his cane an extra flourish as he crossed the street, was turning out to be very good, indeed.

  * * *

  Drusilla was ready to leave the moment she heard Gabriel depart. She knew Lady Exley would be thrilled by the discovery of a grandson. She might not, however, be so thrilled with her son for hiding the truth for so long.

  But when the marchioness met Samir, she would forgive Gabriel everything.

  Drusilla pulled on her gloves as she considered Samir. Gabriel might not be sure whether the boy’s mother had spoken the truth, but Drusilla now was. Samir not only resembled his father, but he was also as sunny, sweet, and loving as Gabriel. Whatever other traumas had marred his early life—the bombing of his home and the tragic loss of his mother and the man he believed to be his father—Samir had been raised with a great deal of love.

  In truth, she did not think it mattered to Gabriel if the boy was his or his brother’s. She could see he’d loved his brother greatly. Perhaps raising his son was something he could do to ease his conscience
about leaving his people and what he’d done for the navy.

  Drusilla checked her appearance in the mirror. Her walking costume was one of the new garments she’d purchased at the encouragement of her husband. She’d discovered that it was far more enjoyable to go shopping with one’s husband than with one’s maid. Gabriel not only seemed to like helping her choose her clothing, but he had exquisite taste. The walking dress was a deep teal blue-green that made her eyes an almost silvery gray. The fabric so rich and vibrant it practically glowed.

  And the hat she wore was a tiny fluff of a thing she never would have purchased for herself. It was not to cover or protect, but to display. The peacock feather that jutted out over one eye made her look sophisticated beyond anything she’d ever worn.

  Fletcher appeared in the doorway. “You rang, madam?”

  “Yes, we are going for a walk.” Drusilla would tell her maid the true destination once they were away from the house.

  What she was doing was . . . well, there was no word for it other than outrageous.

  Would Gabriel be angry? She thought back to his irritation about her questions regarding the duel with Visel and grimaced. Surely there was no subject more private than a man’s mistresses?

  She should turn around and go back immediately.

  Instead, she turned to Fletcher when they were two streets over and stopped. “Will you hail a hackney cab for us?” She felt foolish asking, but she’d never done such a thing. Did one merely stick out one’s arm and wave?

  “You want a hackney?” Fletcher said.

  “Yes, Fletcher. That is correct. I wish to go somewhere.”

  “We are not far from the house—shouldn’t we just—”

  “A hackney, Fletcher.”

  Her maid’s forehead wrinkled with concern, but she nodded before glancing up the street to where several carriages were approaching. She raised her hand and just as quickly dropped it. An oncoming carriage pulled up a short distance ahead of them.

  So that was how it was done. Not so difficult.

  The driver, a remarkably handsome young man, grinned down at her, his eyes bouncing from Fletcher to Drusilla. “Where can I take you two lovelies?”

  Drusilla’s jaw dropped at his familiar greeting. Before she could speak, Fletcher edged her much smaller body in front of Drusilla.

  “You mind your manners or I’ll climb up there and box your ears.”

  The driver laughed and touched his cap. “Aye, missus. Where may I take you ladies?” he repeated, mockingly stern.

  “Number twelve Alder Street,” Drusilla said.

  Fletcher opened the door and lowered the steps, pulling them up once they were both inside.

  “Miss Drusilla—”

  “I am going to visit the two women who have been taking care of Mr. Marlington’s son.”

  Her maid’s face reddened. “But—”

  “You won’t dissuade me, Fletcher. But I can understand if you do not wish to visit with me. I can have the driver set you down at the next corner. Do you have money enough to take yourself home?”

  Fletcher’s expression settled into martyrish lines. “I shan’t let you go alone, Miss Dru.”

  Relief flooded her at her maid’s words, and she sat back against the worn squabs of the carriage, watching the busy afternoon streets flicker past. Discovering where the well-known actresses lived had not been as difficult as she’d feared. But making the decision to visit them had been exceedingly difficult.

  She and Gabriel had taken Samir out dozens of times in the preceding weeks, and one of the things she noticed with every visit was how much Samir spoke about his “aunts” Gigi and Maria. He’d only been with the two women for a few months but he’d grown very close to them. He seemed to be a boy with a great capacity for love and had taken Drusilla into his heart without hesitation. She was grateful for that because he very well could have felt threatened to share his precious Jibril with anyone else. Instead he even seemed to look forward to seeing her now.

  But that didn’t make this decision to disobey Gabriel and pry into his life any easier.

  The carriage rolled along far faster than she would have liked, and it seemed only minutes had passed when they came to a stop.

  Fletcher laid a hand on her arm. “Are you sure about this, Miss Dru?”

  Was she? If she didn’t meet these women now, she would always wonder.

  She gave her maid a reassuring smile—which was as much for herself as it was for the other woman.

  “Yes, Fletcher, I am very certain.”

  Chapter 24

  The door to Drusilla’s dressing room opened, and a king walked in.

  Drusilla laughed.

  Gabriel put one hand on his hip and wagged a regal, beringed finger at her. “You risk our displeasure with such disrespectful laughter in our presence.”

  Even Fletcher, who’d been kneeling to stich up a small tear in the hem of her simple dress, laughed.

  Drusilla curtsied low. “Your majesty.”

  “That is better.” He smirked. “You may rise.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You look regal but . . . warm?”

  He lifted the long brown curls of his wig. “I was going to be Cromwell, but the breastplate was even hotter. Besides, the last masquerade I went to was swarming with Cavaliers. It’s worth a man’s head to show up as the Protector.” He came closer and took her hands, holding out her arms to inspect her.

  “And you, my dear”—his eyelids lowered—“are a woman fit to be my queen.”

  She gave him a saucy look and spoke a slightly altered version of the infamous line: “You are mistaken, sir, I am satisfied with the role of Protestant whore.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Your ready wit pleases us greatly,” he said, giving her a look that would have done the lascivious Charles II proud.

  Drusilla picked up her basket of oranges, hung it on her arm, and cut him an arch stare. “Your pleasure awaits, Highness.”

  * * *

  They gazed out the windows of the carriage, both of them shaking their heads.

  “I’ve never seen anything like such a crush of carriages,” Gabriel said.

  “Nor I.”

  The coaches crammed the streets in all directions leading to Richland House, packed so tightly a person could have walked across the roofs with ease.

  “You did not come last year?” he asked.

  “I was not invited last year.” Her lips—which he had a difficult time not kissing—twisted into a wry smile. “I doubt I would have been invited this year, either—but for you.”

  He grinned at her. “Your king is good for something, then?”

  “One hopes one will find many uses for him,” she said primly.

  Gabriel laughed. He delighted in her acerbic wit almost as much as he did her willing body and insatiable appetite for him.

  “You didn’t say how your visit with Lady Exley went today?”

  Gabriel stopped laughing immediately.

  “Ah,” she said, her expression filled with sympathy. “She was angry.”

  It was not a question. And, yes, his mother had been angry. She had railed at him at length—and at high enough volume to catch the attention of the marquess, who’d been several rooms away. Luckily she’d done most of her yelling in a language other than English. Indeed,Arabic had not been enough to express her thoughts—she’d switched to Berber and French, as well.

  He turned to his wife, who was still waiting for his reply. “She was, er, rather disappointed in me for acting irresponsibly six years ago, but mostly for not telling her sooner.” He didn’t tell her what his mother had said when she’d learned where Samir was staying. When she’d demanded he bring the boy to her house, Gabriel had put his foot down. The marquess, who’d stayed to keep his wife calm and stop her from working herself into a state, had—for once—come down on Gabriel’s side.

  “She wanted me to bring Samir to live with her, but eventually came to accept that wou
ld not happen.”

  Drusilla nodded, her smile wry. “I imagine she possesses quite a temper.”

  Gabriel snorted. “You have no idea.”

  Drusilla glanced out the window, and Gabriel realized the carriage hadn’t moved for several minutes.

  “We have not moved even a foot. Shall we walk?” She looked at him and then raised her hand to her mouth to hide her grin. “Or perhaps not. It will be easy for me—but you?”

  Gabriel wore a huge wig and more clothing than he’d ever donned at one time. The heavy velvet and ermine-trimmed cloak was stifling.

  “Perhaps if I remove my—”

  “Oh no.” She shook her head. “You mustn’t remove even a stitch—not until everyone has seen you.”

  “But, darling, they won’t know me because I will be wearing this.” He lifted the mask Drake had given him.

  “They will know you,” she assured him.

  “What does that mean, Miss Clare? Are you referring to my nose?”

  She giggled. His serious wife giggled.

  Gabriel heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Very well, we shall suffer in all our court finery. Come. It will be better to walk than swelter in here.”

  The streets were full of costume-clad guests with the same idea.

  “There seem to be an unprecedented number of Cleopatras,” he murmured in her ear as they approached the head of the receiving line.

  She shivered.

  “What, are you cold?”

  “No, only thinking of all those asps.”

  He chuckled as they reached the head of the stairs.

  “My goodness,” she said, her eyes wide as they handed their cloaks over to the footman and looked at the scene below.

  There were Greeks, Romans, figures from all eras of English royalty, explorers, and other, less recognizable characters milling around the packed ballroom dance floor.

  “You were right about the Cavaliers,” she said, adjusting the basket on her arm before pointing to a clutch of Royalists in a far corner.

  “Good God,” Gabriel muttered. “It is sweltering in here. Why are all the windows closed?”