Notorious (Rebels of the Ton #1) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,9

“As good as new,” she pronounced. “Are you ready to return to the ballroom?”

Drusilla wasn’t. This room was far too magical to leave, but . . . “I suppose I’d better go check on Aunt Vi and—”

Eva laid her hands on Drusilla’s shoulders and smiled down at her. “You stay here and take a few moments to rest. I’ll check on her.”

Drusilla gave her friend a dubious look. “Are you certain?”

“Quite.”

“But it will be supper and your brother will wonder what has become of you.”

“I’ll tell him all is well after checking on your aunt, and then I’ll return and we can enjoy this beautiful, magical garden together until after supper, when we can ask Gabriel to take us home. Is that not an excellent idea?” Eva looked hopeful. She was constantly seeking ways to either get out of ton functions entirely or leave early. Drusilla knew she shouldn’t encourage Eva’s behavior, but . . .

“Promise you won’t go anywhere, Dru?”

“I promise, just—”

“Good—then I’ll be back soon.” Eva spun and headed toward the door at an unladylike trot.

“Don’t forget to check on Aunt Vi first,” Drusilla reminded her.

Eva did a clumsy pirouette, stumbled, and then laughed before pulling open the door. “I shan’t,” she called out, and then disappeared.

Well, that was Eva: unable to behave like a lady no matter how often she’d been disciplined in school. Drusilla envied her friend her carefree nature and her ease when it came to doing exactly what she wanted—no matter the consequences.

She glanced at the spot Eva had just vacated. Why not? Why was she always so proper? It wasn’t as if anyone was ever watching her. Eva had stretched out on the bench without a care in the world. So could she.

Feeling as naughty as if she were displaying her garters at Almack’s—not that she could ever hope to secure a voucher for that venerable establishment—Drusilla lay back on the bench and balanced her reticule on her midriff. She closed her eyes and forced her tense body to relax in this unusual position.

Pictures of Gabriel Marlington immediately formed behind her eyelids. She grimaced. Why must she be afflicted with this stupid infatuation? Could there be anything more pitiful than a homely wallflower yearning for an arresting, attractive Corinthian? Because that was exactly what Gabriel Marlington was. Even with her dismal knowledge of male pursuits, Drusilla knew he rode, shot, fenced, and boxed superbly.

And then there was the way women behaved toward him.

A groan of frustration slipped from her, and she bit her lower lip. They say eavesdroppers never hear good about themselves, but in Drusilla’s case, she never heard anything good about Gabriel when she listened to the conversations of others. Oh, it was nothing too horrid—he didn’t torture animals, nor was he cruel to small children—but he was, it was loudly whispered, a slayer of hearts.

It appeared that tales of his wickedness only made women wilder for him. Even smart women like Drusilla were not immune to such charm and male beauty.

She’d pondered her obsession with Gabriel Marlington for years, long before she’d heard tales of his mistresses—plural—or seen the amorous widows stalking him, or watched him bewitch one woman after another.

Drusilla was not, in the main, attracted to bright and shiny objects. She’d always believed that if she ever did marry, it would be to a man who was kind and gentle and devoted to the same causes as she was. Not that Gabriel was not kind and gentle—at least to his family. And apparently the Kitten.

Thinking about Gabriel and the Kitten was like abrading her soul with a cat-o’-nine-tails. How could a person make themselves stop wanting something they could never have?

She punished herself by envisioning them together.

Yes, some sage inner voice praised her flagellating behavior, that is the way—face your fears head-on and you will conquer them.

Drusilla pictured them dancing—waltzing—together. She didn’t have to imagine it because she’d seen it times beyond counting. Separately they were perfect; together they were almost too perfect to look upon.

Next, she pictured them kissing. She’d seen people kissing more than once. Oftentimes the more fortunate people—the beautiful people—believed they were unobserved at the balls, routs, and picnics that comprised the Season. They should have realized the walls had eyes. Or, to be more precise, the wallflowers had eyes. And what else did they have to do with those eyes but watch those around them?

Thankfully, Drusilla had never actually seen Gabriel and the Kitten kissing. She knew the Kitten had probably schemed to