afraid I cannot stay. I have business to attend to.” He gave her a significant look. “Wedding matters, you know.”
She inhaled sharply, but did not speak.
Gabriel dropped an abrupt bow. “I shall see you tonight at dinner, Miss Clare.” He didn’t bother speaking to the man but turned and left.
Once he was outside, he stood in the shop doorway and glanced left and then right. Now what the devil had he been doing? Where the hell had he been going? He cursed under his breath. Rather than look like an utter pillock, he turned left and continued on past the bow window, this time not looking inside.
He walked a good five streets before he recalled just what it was he was supposed to be doing. In his pockets were three gifts—two of them parting presents. He’d not given much thought to his amorous arrangements, but his mother—the nosiest and bossiest woman in the world—had cornered him early this morning after he’d finished speaking about settlements, dowries, and a dozen other matters with Drusilla’s three men of business. While it had been entertaining to stun the three men with his disinterest in her fortune, the exchange had still put him in a foul mood.
And then his mother had pounced on him the moment he’d returned to Exley House to discuss a few matters with his stepfather. She’d dragged him into the library, forced him into a chair, and then stared at him.
Gabriel had massaged his temples. “What is it, Mother?” he’d demanded when he could take it no longer. He’d been tired from lack of sleep, irritated from the mind-numbingly tedious meeting, and there were still a half-dozen matters to deal with—such as meeting with Viscount Byer to see if he’d received a visit from Visel’s second. But the duel was a far from his most pressing concern.
Namely, that he was filled with a sense of impending dread: he would soon be married. His life stretched before him, years and years of furtive couplings in dark rooms until she was breeding. Although he wondered what the point was? He was no scion of some great house in need of an heir. He was simply a man without a country who was now living on the bounty and charity of his family. He was—
“Jibril, you are not paying me any mind!”
He looked up to find the marchioness staring down at him. “Yes, Mother, I am here and listening. What is it?”
“You must discharge your mistresses.” Her eyebrows descended to form a surprisingly threatening frown. “All of them.”
Gabriel was a man of four and twenty, but his mother still had the power to rob him of breath. He could have ended the conversation right then if he’d disclosed that he’d already made up his mind on the matter. But that was none of her concern, and the last thing he wished to do was engage in an in-depth conversation with his mother about mistresses.
Instead he’d rested one glossy booted ankle on his knee and asked, “What do you know of such things?” But then he raised his hand in a halting gesture. “Never mind that question—I do not wish to know the answer. It is a testament to how exhausted I am that I would even ask such a foolish thing. No, the better question is, Why you have decided it is your place to broach this subject with me?”
She paced in front of his chair. “Because you are your father’s son and were raised with far different expectations from other English gentlemen, I have not commented on your amorous arrangements.”
Gabriel considered reminding her of the dozens of times she’d not only commented, but actively meddled, in his amorous arrangements, but he’d decided it would only prolong their conversation. So he clamped his jaws shut, letting her run her course.
“I’ve seen how women of all ages fling themselves at your head, so it does not surprise me that I hear of your exploits almost daily. Indeed, I believe you’ve almost charmed the ton with your shocking behavior, especially your notorious arrangement with the two French actresses.”
Gabriel examined his fingernails.
“You might have been raised with certain marital expectations, but you are English now.”
His jaw hardened and his head whipped up. Their gazes locked, but Gabriel did not speak. So she continued. “You cannot marry this young girl and maintain mistresses. It will crush her spirit and poison any chance you might have for happiness.”
His face heated, which only irritated him more. He raised his