he’d been back then: how foolish not to realize that men would hate him not simply because of who he was, but because of what he was. These men—English aristocrats—who considered themselves the highest level of society, behaved no better than a pack of stray dogs encountering another stray, or a train of camels when a new member was introduced. In fact, they behaved worse. Because camels and dogs would eventually accept the new member, until, one day, you would not be able to tell them from the others.
These men would never accept him. That was what men like his stepfather and his grandfather would never understand. Gabriel did not need to look for fights: they would come looking for him.
“Gabriel?” Byer asked.
He realized the duke was waiting for his response. “You are correct, Your Grace. The sooner this is forgotten, the better.”
“Until tomorrow, then.” The duke gave a sharp nod and turned.
Visel paused before following him, nodding his head slowly, his smile never reaching his eyes. “Until tomorrow, Marlington.” And then he, too, was gone.
Men flowed from the room like bilge water from a scupper. At any other time, Gabriel would have been amused by his contemporaries’ behavior. But he was not in a mood to be amused tonight.
“Well,” Byer said.
Gabriel turned to his friend. “Well, indeed.”
“What do you think that was all about?” Byer asked, dropping back into his chair and picking up his half-full glass, his lazy gaze drifting over the nearly empty room.
Gabriel snorted softly, both body and mind worn down and exhausted. “I have no idea.” Visel’s flat, intense stare flickered through his mind. “But whatever it was, I believe it’s far from over.”
Chapter 10
After the emotionally draining episode with Eva, Drusilla had expected to fall asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. Instead, she’d lain awake in bed, staring at the connecting door between her suite and Gabriel’s. It seemed to be moving, breathing, expanding—just like a living thing. But she knew that was her imagination. It was just a piece of wood—a silent, unmoving piece of wood—that separated her room from her husband’s dark, empty chambers.
Her body was exhausted but her mind ran on like a tedious play—a play that enacted the same few scenes over and over: Gabriel’s face when he’d seen Theo holding her hand at the tea shop, his expression of fury earlier in the evening when Parker had delivered the letter, and Eva’s final, hurtful words.
She’d woken at five but was determined to wait until six to ring for hot water and Fletcher.
Meanwhile, she paced.
Where was he? Facing Visel in a field somewhere? Was one of them already injured or—
The sound of feet—boots, to be more precise—passed her door. A moment later she heard a door close somewhere nearby. Gabriel?
She tiptoed across the room and placed her ear against the dressing room door: the murmur of men’s voices—no doubt Gabriel and his valet, Drake. After an eternity she heard his door close again and soft footsteps recede down the corridor. A sliver of light shone beneath the door. Was he preparing for his duel? Or had he just returned? Either way, she could take it no longer. Drusilla swallowed a couple of times, controlled her ragged breathing, and then tapped on the door before she could lose her nerve.
There was a pause, and then the door swung open.
His expression was cool, but not hostile. “Drusilla. You are awake early.”
Drusilla’s eyes were immediately drawn to his body. Oh. Dear. God. He wore a red-and-black Chinese silk robe, the red the same dark, burning coal color as his hair. He’d not bothered to tie the sash, and it hung open, framing his nude, muscular, and magnificent torso. He still wore black pantaloons but his feet were bare. Her mouth flooded with so much moisture it threatened to drown her.
“How may I be of service?” His vivid green eyes glittered as he took in her worn dressing gown and the old pink flannel beneath. She had not purchased either garment for appearance, but, rather, comfort. And right now she was wishing she had thought to change before knocking.
He cocked his head, and she realized he was waiting for her to speak.
Her eyes darted around his room—there did not appear to be anyone else. “Do you have a moment?” Her hot face, she knew, would be as pink as her gown.
He stepped back. “Please, come in. I have only just arrived.”
“I know—I heard you. I was w-waiting for you.”
His eyebrows rose, his