most of his lovers. To be honest, women had flocked to him, and he’d never really given much thought to sexual encounters and what, if anything, they meant other than pleasure.
In Oran, Gabriel had been well aware it was not his irresistible person the women pursued, but the power he represented. And after his brother Assad had fallen from favor and Gabriel had been elevated to most favored? Well, more women had pursued him than there were hours in the day. They all would have known a sultan would never marry any of them, that he would take only a pure woman to wife. But they would have been promoting the interests of a younger sister or cousin or maybe even a daughter. Had he taken control of the sultan’s faltering empire, he would have gone about filling the vast seraglio with virginal women. After all, having male sons—and lots of them—was what insured the continuation of his family line.
Of course, when Assad had seized control, that had changed in a heartbeat.
Gabriel frowned at his thoughts: Now was not the time to be thinking of such things. No, he should be thinking of his virgin wife and not the life he’d left behind.
Gabriel’s eyes flitted around the table. This was his life now; these people were his family—all the family that remained to him. Even before he’d fled Oran in disgrace, his war with Assad had scattered and divided their vast number of stepsiblings. There was nothing back there for him. He no longer had to tell himself that a dozen times a day, but the yearning for his old life still hit him—sometimes with a violence that took his breath away. Today made him think about the life he might have had—and the one he now faced.
Gabriel looked at his new wife. Her expression reminded him of the Sahara: one did not always see movement in the desert—not until it crept up and surprised you.
Chapter 8
Drusilla hadn’t seen inside the town house where she would live with her new husband. There simply hadn’t been time before the wedding. But her clothing and possessions had been packed, and Fletcher had taken care of moving everything.
The house wasn’t far from the huge mansion where she’d lived with her father, and then, after his death, with her Aunt Violet, who would now make her home with Drusilla, so she could see to her care.
Drusilla had been glad to leave the monstrosity, and the first instructions she would give to her man of business, now that the property was hers, was to sell the house and everything in it. The house had never been home. Indeed, her father had constantly built or purchased bigger houses as his wealth increased. A poor lad from St. Giles, he’d seemed to feel it was the only way to keep track of his progress.
Drusilla had hated all those cold, empty, cavernous houses. She immediately liked this cozy town house far better. It looked like many others from the outside, but within it was warm, intimate, and decorated with taste and elegance.
The ride from Exley House had taken only a few minutes, and she and Gabriel had hardly exchanged a word. She wondered if he was thinking about tomorrow morning. The wedding ceremony would have been strange enough in itself, but the overhanging threat of his duel—the complete unreality of eating, drinking, and celebrating when he might very well die tomorrow—had left her feeling as if she’d suffered a hard knock on the head.
A dozen servants waited inside the small foyer and trailed down a hallway that must lead to the kitchens. Drusilla recognized her two favorite footmen among the servants and reminded herself to thank Fletcher later for thinking of such matters.
“This is Parker and Mrs. Parker,” Gabriel said, introducing her to the man dressed in the sober suit of a butler and a woman swathed in black bombazine.
Mrs. Parker dropped a curtsy and Parker bowed low. “Welcome, Mrs. Marlington.”
“Thank you, Parker, Mrs. Parker.”
The butler introduced the members of Drusilla’s staff, but when Mrs. Parker opened her mouth—no doubt to offer to show her to her room—her husband spoke.
“I shall give Mrs. Marlington the tour,” Gabriel said, dismissing the servants. He turned to her. “It’s far smaller than what you are accustomed to, I’m sure.” He continued before she could offer any comment. “There’s a small parlor on this floor, behind the stairs, and the kitchens are down the corridor.”
He gestured toward the staircase that led up