the table toward him, drawing his attention away from his sister.
“. . . what possible difference could it make to you if women were to receive the same educational opportunities as men, Lord Byer? Or are you concerned a woman might best you if she were allowed to sit exams at Oxford?”
Before the viscount could answer her charge, the Marquess of Exley burst out laughing, causing all conversation at the table to come to an immediate halt. Every eye in the room was riveted on a man Gabriel had never actually seen laugh in all the years he’d known him.
The marquess appeared not to notice the effect of his laughter and was wiping the corner of one eye with his napkin, shaking his head.
“Good Lord, Byer, if I were you, I would give my tongue a holiday.” Exley turned his icy stare on Miss Clare. “My new daughter has already pinned your ears back. I should hate to see what damage she does if you continue to offer yourself up for fodder.”
Byer being Byer—which was to say good-natured—he laughed and lifted his glass.
“Thank you for saving me from myself, my lord.” He turned to look at Gabriel. “To your new wife, Gabriel—a woman who is not only lovely, but also formidable.”
The rest of the table, including Gabriel, lifted their glasses and the various conversations resumed. Gabriel cut a glance at his mother, only to find her gazing lovingly down the length of the table at the marquess.
Gabriel shook his head. He was happy for his mother, of course—life could not have been easy for her with the sultan—but it was a trifle mortifying when one’s own mother behaved like a besotted debutante after almost six years of marriage.
Marriage.
The word echoed in his mind like the banging of a judge’s gavel. He’d not even been married six hours and already he was fatigued. Thinking about tonight was causing him more stress than thinking about tomorrow’s duel. Especially after his mother, once again, had poked her nose into his business.
She’d pulled him aside the moment he’d arrived at Exley House and dragged him into the nearest room, which had been the music chamber, a room that went almost entirely unused by his family as not a single one of them could play the piano without making dogs howl.
“Sit,” she’d ordered.
Gabriel had sat. Really, what was the point of arguing with the woman? Not for the first time did he think that if his mother had been fighting against Assad for control of the sultan’s empire, she would have won quite handily.
“Have you given thought to tonight, Jibril?”
He had only stared. Surely she was not—
“You will be bedding a virgin. Have you ever done such a thing?”
Gabriel’s mouth had been open, but that hadn’t meant he could force any words out of it.
She gave him a knowing look. “Ah, I thought not. Virgins are different from the women you usually—”
“Stop.” The word had been a hoarse squawk. He’d stood, holding up one hand, as if that might hold her in check. “Just stop. I am not having this conversation with you, Mother.”
“But, Gabriel, you must—”
“No.”
“You do not wish to make her cry, do you?”
That had caught his attention. “What?”
She nodded, her expression sage. “Yes, virgins must be handled. . . delicately.”
He’d not believed his face could become any hotter nor his head pound any harder. “What kind of beast do you think I am, Mother? One who would roughly debauch an innocent?” He shook his head, cutting her off before she could respond. “I do not need your advice when it comes to the proper care and handling of... of—” He scraped a hand through his hair and glared upward in slack-jawed amazement, as if the entire interaction were the ceiling’s fault. “I cannot believe I am having such a conversation with my own mother.”
She’d grabbed his arm. “Be gentle and patient, my son, as I know you can be. She is—” Gabriel had actually been interested in what “she is,” but, for once, his mother had censored herself. Instead, she’d patted his arm. “I know you will do the right thing.”
Gabriel looked across at his wife now—his virgin wife—and thought that perhaps he should have swallowed his qualms and listened to his mother. After all, it was true he knew nothing about innocents, nor could he clearly recall losing his own virginity. Sexual encounters had been part of his life from the age of fourteen, and he’d enjoyed them and so—he hoped—had