Notorious (Rebels of the Ton #1) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,6

are perfectly well if they are interested in dancing.” All three of them looked across the room toward the clutch of men Gabriel had passed—several of whom were looking in their direction, but not—Drusilla was sure—with any interest in dancing.

Eva was right. The young men of the ton had no interest in either of them. They shunned Eva because of her long-dead mother. And they ostracized Drusilla for philosophical reasons: her philosophies, to be precise.

While Dru didn’t have a shocking family secret or keep two mistresses in the same house, she was just as notorious in her own way. It wasn’t just the prison break she’d inadvertently funded, but her views on marriage and the rights of women that had relegated her to the fringes of society. Not even her considerable wealth could lure suitors.

The young men weren’t staring at Drusilla and Eva, but Gabriel.

Lord Visel, in particular, seemed to be watching him. Women might swoon over Gabriel Marlington, but a good number of men seemed to dislike him. Drusilla could only imagine it was jealousy or envy that elicited such animus.

Eva elbowed him in the side again. “Now that you’re here, Gabe, you can dance with Dru.”

If Drusilla hadn’t been staring at Gabriel like a condemned woman eyeing her last meal, she might have missed the lightning-fast expression of irritation that crossed his handsome features. But she was watching and she did see it. And when he cut her a quick glance, she could see that he knew she had seen it. And she wanted to kill her well-intentioned friend.

“Er, but what about your gown?” Gabriel said lamely. “Doesn’t it need mending?”

Drusilla snatched her friend’s arm before Eva did something even more humiliating, like beg Gabriel to dance with her.

“Yes, Eva, your gown. We must go and fix it.”

Eva’s sudden flush said she realized she’d been too impulsive. She glanced from Drusilla’s mortified expression to her brother’s wooden one. “You’ll be here when we return, Gabe?”

“I’ll be here. With Mrs. Peel temporarily out of commission, it appears I am your chaperone as well as your companion.” The smile he gave his stepsister was warm and protective. And then his green eyes flickered past Drusilla as if she wasn’t even there and settled on the lovely Lucinda Kittridge.

Chapter 2

Gabriel watched the two girls head toward the door leading from the ballroom to the ladies retiring room. Should he follow them to ensure they weren’t meddled with? He shrugged the foolish thought away. Who the devil would meddle with them inside a room bursting with women? The retiring room was probably the safest place in the house for two young girls—safe, at least, when it came to their virtue. Not that a roomful of women was necessarily safe. Gabriel had grown up around mostly women and knew they could be just as dangerous—more dangerous, really—than most men.

He considered the matter of their absent chaperone, Mrs. Peel, his eyes sweeping over the clutch of nearby matrons He did not recognize any of his mother’s acquaintances or he would have approached them and asked for help. Although the marchioness had told him his chaperoning duties were ornamental, Gabriel couldn’t help his concern. In Oran his half sisters had never been allowed outside the palace without proper covering. But here?

Gabriel glanced around the room at the various necklines. He was still shocked at the dresses women would permit their eighteen-year-old daughters to wear. The English aristocracy seemed to have no trouble sending their daughters out into public half-dressed despite their puritanical attitudes toward sex and sexuality.

Well, there was little he could do about the situation tonight. He would seek out his mother tomorrow and raise the subject of Mrs. Peel, who was quite an elderly woman and had appeared to feel out of sorts often this past month. He believed the two girls required a more robust chaperone, but he could hardly suggest that to Miss Clare as Mrs. Peel was her aunt.

Miss Clare.

He snorted. The name brought to mind the face of one who perplexed and annoyed him more than any other woman he had ever met. More than any person, really. Even his half brother Assad—who’d tried to kill him more than once—had not been so tiresome.

Gabriel knew he wasn’t alone when it came to his feelings about Eva’s bosom friend. He’d heard other men talking about the sharp-faced, sour-tongued—but exceedingly wealthy—daughter of the late merchant king Edgar Clare. She was critical, brutally direct, and sanctimoniously opinionated with everyone, but she seemed