Notorious (Rebels of the Ton #1) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,31
what the devil have you heard?”
“Perhaps one part the truth, nine parts exaggeration? You know how word of scandalous happenings spreads fast.”
“What did you hear and from whom did you hear it?”
“Maria saw Visel and his cronies when they came to an opening night party—I was not there.”
“And he was talking, was he? That surprises me.” As much of an irritant as Visel had been, Gabriel had never believed he was the type to have a big mouth.
“According to Maria, Visel said nothing. It was one of the other men—a man who was somewhat the worse for wear.”
“Visel wasn’t drunk?” Gabriel asked. He had certainly seemed well on the way during their scuffle. Perhaps the prospect of a duel had sobered him up?
“Maria only said he was quiet, as he usually is.” She took his hand and placed her delicate palm against his, absently examining the difference in size. “He does not seem the type to run with that crowd of louts. I believe he is more of a lone wolf beneath the reckless and outrageous veneer he has cultivated.”
Gabriel believed she was correct. “He appears to harbor a good deal of enmity toward me.”
“Yes, it certainly seems so.” She cocked her head. “Have you had many dealings with him? I thought he only recently returned to England a short while ago?”
“Yes, only a few months—six at the most, after years in the army.” And then he came to London with the sole intention of annoying and persecuting Gabriel. Or so it seemed.
Gabriel’s gaze was on her fingers, which were slender, soft, and delicate against his own much broader hands.
“Tell me what really happened last night? There was a girl, I think?”
He smiled at her. “You know I cannot speak of such things, Giselle.”
She gave him a playful nudge. “You are such an honorable man, mon amour. Surely you can tell me who this girl is?”
He supposed that would not hurt—since she was soon to become his wife. “Her name is Drusilla Clare. She is a close friend of my sister’s.”
She slanted him a look. “Ah, she is a good girl, then?”
Gabriel ignored that question. “We are to be married, tomorrow.”
Her hand tightened, but her expression did not change. “That is what Maria and I suspected. I am so sorry, Gabriel. I know you had become quite fond of Miss Kittridge. We both believed you might ask her to marry you before the Season’s end.”
Gabriel did not feel inclined to confirm such a statement even if there might have been some truth in it. He was to be married to Miss Clare and hardly wished to begin their union by dishonoring or embarrassing her by admitting to a regard for another woman.
Instead he asked, “Where are Maria and Samir?”
“Sami was getting restless so Maria took him out.”
Gabriel frowned, and Maria squeezed his hand. “He is safe—you look so worried.”
“Did they take—”
She laughed. “Yes, they took Daniel with them.”
Gabriel was anxious at the thought of Samir wandering around the city without him—even if Maria or Giselle was with him. He’d worried about the women going out unattended, as well, although they’d teased him, pointing out that both of them came from the stews of Paris and had survived.
Gabriel might be an Englishman now, but he’d spent his first seventeen years in a place where women and children rarely left the safety of the palace—and when they did, they were never alone. He felt compelled to protect those in his care and didn’t mind if others viewed his concern as excessive.
Maria and Giselle had allowed him to employ Daniel, a brawny footman, and had also agreed to use him whenever they went out. Gabriel slept better knowing that. He wondered if he should hire somebody else—just for Samir. What if Maria wished to go somewhere and—
Soft lips kissed his temple and he looked up.
Giselle was smiling. “Quit worrying.”
He would like to, but did people ever stop worrying about their children? He supposed that must be part and parcel of being a parent: worrying.
“Where did they go?”
“Maria took him to see the beasts—to the show at Astley’s.”
That made Gabriel laugh. “Again?”
“Marie told him she would take him if he stopped pulling Bonbon’s tail.” Bonbon was Maria’s ancient, fat, ill-tempered poodle.
“That little rascal. You know that is where I took him before I went to Brighton.”
She slipped her fingers into his hair and massaged the back of his neck, making him groan with pleasure. Her small hands were remarkably strong.