Notorious (Rebels of the Ton #1) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,50

a sacred trust between sisters.”

It was like having a knife twisted in her chest. “I know you came here to share this, but he is my husband, Eva, and I owe my first allegiance to him. Even without asking him, I know he would not want you there. And he would be furious with me if I concealed your plan from him.”

Drusilla had always known Eva had a terrible temper, but she had never been the focus of it before.

“So, you are married now and our friendship is nothing? Is that how it will be with us?”

Drusilla tried to take Eva’s hand, but she jerked away.

“No, don’t try to placate me.” Her mouth twisted into a sneer. “There was a time—only yesterday, I believe, when we were as close as sisters—no, closer, because my sisters and I never shared as much as the two of us have. But now I see that is over. I tell you things in confidence, and you tattle on me.” She barreled toward the door, her billowing coat brushing against a side table and sending a small crystal bowl to the polished wood floor. The sound of shattering glass made her spin around.

“Eva—”

“Don’t worry,” she said, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I won’t be going tomorrow morning—I won’t force you to betray my confidence.” She paused, her hand resting on the door handle, and then turned, her expression spiteful. “Oh, and since we are now embracing this new code of honesty, I should tell you that Gabe did not go to his club—he went to see his mistress. Or perhaps I should say mistresses as he keeps a lovers’ nest for all three of them.” And with that she was gone, not bothering to close the door, leaving it swaying gently on its hinges.

Drusilla felt as if she’d just been run over by a mail coach. Her friend’s final words rang in her ears. She shook her head. Of course she’d known about his scandalous liaison with the two actresses. But she’d hoped he’d not gone to them tonight. Had she really believed he would end his relationships because he was married? This was what men did. Drusilla’s own father—a commoner and of the merchant class—had kept a mistress, the truth of which had emerged only at her father’s death when Drusilla had encountered the woman, a rather plain, small, mousy female, at her father’s grave. But of course her mother had died long before then, so it was not the same thing at all.

Gabriel, apparently, would not wait for her to die before taking a lover—two of them. Drusilla slumped down in her chair and lowered her head in her hands. Perhaps she should just sleep here tonight? Who would care?

Nobody.

She groaned. No, it was bad enough all of London knew her husband had abandoned her on his wedding night for his mistresses. The last thing she needed was to set the servants abuzz with more pitiful behavior.

Drusilla was so exhausted she could barely raise her feet to climb the stairs. Fletcher was waiting in her bedchamber.

“Ahh, there you are, Miss Dru. I’ve laid out your nightgown.”

“I want my pink flannel.”

“Oh, ma’am, surely not that old thing? Why I—”

“Pink. Flannel.”

Even in her barely aware state, she could register Fletcher’s disapproval. Too bad. The last thing she intended was to get dressed like a sacrificial lamb, only to find there was to be no sacrifice.

* * *

Gabriel had known it would be bad, but he’d somehow not expected it to be this bad. Half the ton—the male half—was crowded into White’s, with more drifting in every minute.

“Everyone is here except Visel,” Byer drawled.

“Good God,” Gabriel muttered, shaking his head. “That is all we would need to make this farce complete.”

The other man chuckled.

“I’m glad you find this so entertaining,” Gabriel snapped.

Byer was as impeccably—if outrageously—dressed as ever, even though Gabriel knew he couldn’t have slept more than a wink last night. It seemed Visel’s second had shown up at Byer’s lodgings not long after Gabriel and the girls departed the ball two nights ago. And, of course, last night there had been the dinner and an evening of revelry afterward.

Yet somehow Byer looked as fresh as a daisy.

“How the devil do you manage it?” Gabriel asked, aware the rest of the room was listening so hard to their conversation the only audible sound was the distant buzzing of a fly.

Byer raised his brows slightly, as if to do more was too much effort. The