Notorious (Rebels of the Ton #1) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,108
her heart pounding. What now? What . . . now?
“Samir came to Maria and Giselle not long after his mother died, and he has developed an attachment to them.”
Drusilla clenched her jaws.
“I will bring him to live with us, but it would be cruel to deprive him of their company—or they of his—when he has lost most of his family so recently.”
She could only stare. Good Lord, what was he saying? Did he expect to bring these women to live with them? Was he going to—
His beautiful lips pulled into a rueful smile, and he leaned close to kiss the tip of her nose.
“I can see by your expression that you are imagining the worst. I know this cannot be easy—nor is it the accepted or normal way of doing things. But this situation is not normal. There is bound to be discomfort and unhappiness, but I would prefer Samir not suffer any more than we can help.” He cupped her jaw, his warm hand holding her lightly. “Giselle and Maria are not my mistresses anymore, Drusilla, but they are friends to me. You are my only lover and have been since our betrothal.”
Joy, jealousy, anger, fear, and a dozen other emotions swirled within her at his words. Logically she knew these women had been a part of his life long before she was. But logic played little part in the feelings she had for him.
But he had called her his lover.
He cocked his head. “You need never see them, but I do not wish to end his contact with them. It is best he stay with them for the last few weeks we are in London. And I will see to it that—”
She forced herself to smile. “I’m not so fragile as that, Gabriel.” Her lips trembled a little. “We can take matters as they come—can we not? The most important thing is to make Samir feel loved after what he has endured.”
“Thank you, Drusilla. I know most wives would not be so understanding.”
Most wives? She wanted to yell—she doubted any wife would understand. Drusilla burned to tell him that she was boiling with jealousy about his bloody mistresses. Instead she told herself to remember that he was no longer a lover to either of these women—that everything between him and the two Frenchwomen had happened before they’d become betrothed.
She met his concerned gaze and told herself that she could do this; she could master her jealousy for Gabriel and for Samir. She nodded.
“Thank you.”
The words were simple but Drusilla heard the sincerity beneath them.
“Now,” he said, his manner brisk. “I am to meet Byer and Eva this morning.”
Drusilla was relieved to change the subject, not sure she could take too many more revelations without giving in to her baser emotions. “I shall see you at breakfast?” she asked for lack of anything better to say.
“Do you wish to join us?”
“I have no horse.”
“My stepfather keeps mounts for all three of my sisters and my mother. Melissa is close to your height. I will send word to have her mare made ready. Can you be dressed in an hour?”
* * *
Drusilla was riding between her gloriously beautiful husband and the outrageously garbed Viscount Byer.
“You have a good seat, Mrs. Marlington,” Byer told her.
“And you, sir, are an excellent liar.”
He grinned, his handsome face lighting up. “Not good enough, it would seem. Are you looking forward to going to the country at the end of the Season?”
“Yes, I am.” Relieved, was more like it. “And what will you be doing this summer, my lord?”
“I will be staying at my family seat for the first time in many years.” His normally lazy expression was replaced by pensiveness. She knew he’d lost his brothers in rather horrifying succession. She also knew he was in dire straits financially. Even so, she’d never seen him pursue any heiresses, not even the delectable Miss Kittridge. Although it was difficult to see past his foppish clothing and jocular façade, she suspected he was more than half in love with Eva, who, of course, did not view him—or anyone else—in a romantic light. Poor Lord Byer.
“Hard to imagine you a farmer, Tommy,” Eva said. She’d smiled at Drusilla this morning, seeming almost happy to see her. Drusilla had been ridiculously relieved. She had so very few close companions, and Eva was her dearest friend in the world.
Lord Byer gave Eva a mock haughty look. “What? Can’t imagine me as king of my demesne?”