Notorious (Rebels of the Ton #1) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,5

Kittridge while Drusilla and Gabriel had been sparring. The girl—and her mother—were preening at the unprecedented experience of having attracted the interest of a duke’s heir, no matter how scandalous the man’s reputation for outrageous and reckless behavior.

If seeing his nemesis paying court to Miss Kittridge caused Mr. Marlington any heartache, he certainly did not show it.

Instead he turned to his sister. “I heard the marquess picked up Gerald Hine’s chestnuts at Tatt’s?”

The stepsiblings began talking horseflesh, a subject that seemed to occupy at least three-quarters of Eva’s mind.

As much as Drusilla yearned for Gabriel Marlington’s attention, she was weak with relief when she no longer had it. Sparring with him always made her feel as if she’d barely survived a treacherous journey. She relaxed and permitted herself furtive glances at his irresistible person, behaving just like a glutton at a banquet in Dante’s Third Circle of Hell.

Dru had no idea what Gabriel’s father had looked like, but the former sultan and the Duke of Carlisle’s daughter, Lady Euphemia, had certainly produced a heavenly son. Not only was he one of the most stunning men in the room, he was also one of the most distinctive. His speech was still quite heavily—and charmingly—accented. His appearance, as well, was rather exotic, his bronze complexion standing out among the pale, pasty-faced crowd of young bucks. And his hair? Well, that was truly his crowning glory. It was a dark, burnished auburn of a sort she’d not seen on any other person. It was true that all of the Marlingtons had red or reddish hair, and his mother—the marchioness—had particularly lovely copper curls. But Gabriel’s hair was almost black with a sullen crimson undertone.

His nose was a great hawk’s beak that should have made him ugly but instead served to keep him from being too perfect. It also heightened his resemblance to his illustrious maternal grandfather, the Duke of Carlisle.

Last, but certainly not least, were his eyes.

Drusilla heaved a half-worshipful, half-disgusted sigh, which earned her a quick questioning glance from the sooty-lashed, almond-shaped green orbs in question. She returned his mild querying expression with a haughty, superior stare she’d perfected years ago. He recoiled as if she’d reached out and poked him. Or kissed him.

The thought sent heat flaring through her body. Her entire body. She looked away. God save her if he ever had any idea of just how fascinating she found him. Or at least his person. No, that was not true. She found all of him too interesting. Which was unfortunate. If it had been only his appearance, she would have gotten past her obsession quickly. But he was also clever and funny and brave and mysterious and something else for which she had no word—but which made her tingle all over when she was around him. What woman could resist such a combination?

What she felt for him was something she kept deeply buried: a secret so mortifying she’d never even exhumed it and taken a look at it herself.

Couples began assembling for the next set, and Gabriel glanced around.

“Where has Mrs. Peel gone?” he asked, surveying the room for Drusilla’s aunt, who was acting as their chaperone tonight.

“She didn’t feel well and has gone to the retiring room to rest,” Drusilla said.

His full lips thinned. “You two should not be here alone, unsupervised.”

Drusilla bristled at his chiding, but Eva smacked him on the arm with her fan. “We’re not toddlers, Gabe. Besides, we aren’t alone: we’re with you.”

Gabriel shook his head at his sister but let the subject drop. Instead he asked, “And what are you both doing over here in the corner?”

Drusilla called him Gabriel in the privacy of her own mind. And why not? After the way she’d treated him these past five years, it was unlikely he would ever invite her to use his Christian name in real life.

“We like it here,” Eva said.

He frowned down at his tiny stepsister. “You shan’t meet any nice young men if you hide in the back.”

“Lord, Gabe, you sound just like Mama: nice young men indeed. You should know better. You’re the only nice young man within spitting distance.”

His gaze flickered ceilingward, as if rendered speechless by his sister’s vulgarism.

“Besides,” Eva continued, either undeterred or unaware of her stepbrother’s reaction. “Dru and I have already met every young man in London—nice or otherwise.” She gestured to the aisle of empty space around them with her fan, which Drusilla noticed no longer closed properly. “And they can see where we