Notorious (Rebels of the Ton #1) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,86

on his skin. He flung the wrinkled linen onto his dressing table and began unbuttoning his coat, his hands shaking with barely restrained violence.

“Mrs. Marlington was looking for you, sir.”

Gabriel stopped, arrested. “When?”

Drake swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that Gabriel might have found amusing—if he didn’t feel like such a monster for terrorizing the poor man. He pushed the air noisily from his lungs.

“I apologize for snapping at you,” he said, tossing his coat to Drake. His valet caught the garment and nodded, the slight flush over his cheekbones telling Gabriel the apology, as terse as it was, had pleased him.

“She was looking for you about two hours ago, sir.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Only that you’d gone out.”

Gabriel lowered himself into his dressing room chair, his boiling anger gone as suddenly as it had seized him, cold fury taking its place. So, she’d been doing proper reconnaissance before making her plans and inviting her lover.

Drake came to remove his boots. “I just fetched some hot water, thinking you might be back soon,” Drake said, turning one boot in his hand and looking for flaws before setting it down carefully and removing the other.

Gabriel grunted, his brain pulsing.

Drake glanced at the connecting door to his wife’s room. “Would you like me to shave you?”

He considered his reflection in the mirror. Candlelight glinted off the tiny hairs that grew fast enough that he had to shave twice a day. He ran his knuckles over his jaw. Did he want to see his wife? He’d been so certain a mere moment earlier, but he’d look a damned fool rushing in there like a jealous husband, wouldn’t he? Besides, he’d wanted to shave because he’d been planning to take her to bed. Now he wanted to throw her out of the bloody house. She could go to her lover, by God.

Gabriel realized he’d become excitable just thinking about speaking to her. No, talking to her in such a mood would be catastrophic.

He met Drake’s eyes in the mirror. His valet was a perfect example of his breed, and his expression was as unreadable as the dark side of the moon.

“Not tonight, Drake. I’m for bed.”

* * *

Her husband did not greet her with breakfast.

Drusilla had heard him return home last night—terrifyingly soon after Theo had left. Just thinking of the idiot’s ill-conceived visit made her stomach churn with nausea.

What would have happened if Gabriel had seen him on his way back? Good God! What if Gabriel had been here?

She knew the answer to that: Theo would be standing in Hyde Park at dawn with a pistol in his hand a few days hence.

She’d shivered at the thought.

Where had Gabriel gone for such a short time? He’d not been away above a few hours. He could have visited his mistress—mistresses—she corrected, gritting her teeth. But she somehow doubted that.

Yet he’d not visited her, either. She’d waited and waited for him to come to her last night, although she could hardly blame him for staying away after her shrewish behavior. She’d waited even after the light between their dressing rooms was extinguished—for over an hour. Even after she’d gone to sleep, she’d done nothing more than thrash and twist and turn until the bedding formed a tight spiral around her body.

So she’d given up on sleeping and gotten out of bed at dawn, waiting impatiently until it was a civil hour to summon Fletcher. She was dressed in her nicest morning gown and in the breakfast room before eight.

Only Parker was inside when she arrived. “Good morning, Mrs. Marlington.”

“Good morning, Parker.” She hesitated. “Has Mr. Marlington already eaten?”

“No, ma’am, he has not returned from his morning ride. Can I bring you some tea and toast?”

She smiled at the fact that her preferences were already well known. “Yes, thank you.”

A freshly ironed paper sat at the head of the table, giving her hope he might join her. She was just finishing her toast when she heard the distinctive sound of boots in the hall. She closed the paper and set it aside.

He stopped in the doorway when he saw her. “Ah, Mrs. Marlington. I didn’t expect you would be up or I would have bathed and changed first. I smell of the stables.”

He was ruffled and sweaty, his dark brown top boots dusty: he looked delicious.

“Please, do not delay your breakfast on my account,” she said, and immediately cringed at her cold tone and hastened to add, “Indeed, I would like it if you