believe him for a moment.
“What are you doing out so late?” His blue eyes glinted. “Away from your new wife so soon after your wedding?”
Visel’s grin was annoyingly insouciant and it was all Gabriel could do not to plant the man a facer. Instead he tightened his grip on his emotions—he refused to let Visel push him into another situation he did not want.
“How reassuring it is to know you care so much about my doings, Visel. But perhaps your time would be better spent on your own affairs.”
His blond eyebrows jumped. “Perhaps you are correct—I can’t decide whether I should spend my time consoling Miss Kittridge or keeping my lovelorn cousin from doing anything foolish.”
Gabriel blinked. “Your cousin?
“Yes, Theodore Rowland is my cousin—although once removed.” He cocked his head. “Didn’t your wife tell you that?”
Gabriel was nonplussed. Rowland was Visel’s cousin? Did Drusilla know that? She must—she’d certainly appeared very well acquainted with the man. Why would she not have mentioned that the man he was dueling was a cousin of the man she’d been holding hands with? It was not a critical piece of information to withhold, but he couldn’t help feeling it epitomized their marriage.
He felt Visel’s scrutiny. The air between them was as thick as a swamp—a swamp of volatile emotions. Visel appeared driven to make trouble any way he could—although Gabriel did not know why. That Visel was so transparent about his mischief-making did not make it any less dangerous or effective. Still, Gabriel did not think there was anything to be gained by drawing out this exchange. Quite the contrary. He was beginning to believe Visel was mad, as Eva appeared to think.
So he shrugged. “Your relationship to my wife’s friend makes no difference to me,” he lied.
Visel chuckled. “You’re too busy with your other family to care for such matters.”
Gabriel froze. “I beg your pardon?”
“Why, the boy, of course.” He grimaced. “Damned and blast! I didn’t realize the matter was a secret—I’m afraid I might have said something indiscreet to your wife.” Visel’s wide-eyed innocence was underlaid with avid glee.
So Visel had seen Gabriel with Samir. Well, he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, it wasn’t as if he was doing anything to hide the boy—he just hadn’t decided how to handle the child’s future. It would have been nice for the matter to remain quiet for a bit longer, but it really made no difference. Although he was curious why Drusilla had said nothing to him. Was this the reason for her prickly behavior? But, no, Visel had been indiscreet at the ball—which had been before their night of lovemaking.
Gabriel shook away the pointless speculating and looked at Visel; he had no intention of letting the other man know he’d needled him. He would take the subject of Sami up with his wife, as he should have done before now.
He gave Visel an abrupt nod. “I bid you a good evening.”
Visel wasn’t quick enough to hide his surprise—or the flash of angry disappointment—at Gabriel’s sanguine reaction. It was almost as if he’d followed Gabriel with the hope of generating another disagreement—perhaps another duel, or a confrontation of a more immediate nature.
The back of his neck prickled as he walked away. Visel’s dislike of him was almost tangible. The primitive part of his mind—the animal part that had saved him countless times in his war against Assad—strained for any sound and prepared to repel Visel’s attack.
But the only footsteps he heard were his own.
By the time he reached Upper Brooks Street, he was loose-limbed and exhausted. And also more than a little expectant when he saw his wife’s windows were still lighted. He stared up at her room for a long moment before making his decision. Visel was nothing but a troublemaker and he should ignore whatever it was the man had been trying to imply. Indeed, his hatred of Gabriel probably meant he was willing to say anything. He refused to let the other man come between him and Drusilla.
He would shave himself since Drake would be in bed, and then he would pay his wife a late-night visit. The notion made him smile. Yes, he would try again—and keep trying, until she grew to accept him.
When he went to open the front door, he found it locked, which was when he recalled he’d sent the servants to bed when he’d left. And forgotten to bring his key.
“Idiot,” he muttered beneath his breath. He looked at his watch: it was past two. He’d