Page 4 of Notorious

Gabriel gently detached the curl from his stepsister’s hand and tucked it behind her ear. “Why is that, Evil? Because she is almost as pretty as you?”

Eva elbowed him in the ribs—hard.

Gabriel clutched his side. “Lord, you’re such a barbarian.”

Rather than appear chastised, Eva grinned, pleased with the accusation.

“Tell me, why don’t you like the Kitten?” Gabriel persisted.

“She only looks all soft and cuddly like a kitten. I think she is rapacious and sharp clawed beneath all her pretty fur.”

Drusilla agreed with her friend’s astute observation. How was it that men did not notice there was something hard about the exquisite and seemingly sweet heiress?

Gabriel cut Drusilla a sly glance. “And what about you, Miss Clare? Do you also dislike Miss Kittridge?”

“I have not wasted a second’s thought on her,” she lied.

His lips twitched, as if he knew how Miss Kittridge’s open attraction to him—and his reciprocation of it—ate at Drusilla like an acid when she was alone at night. Or during the day. Or anytime the horrid thought gained purchase in her mind.

She scowled at him.

“You’re not really going to offer for her, are you, Gabe?” Eva’s brow was furrowed with concern and Drusilla’s body clenched as she waited for his answer, the suspense painful.

But the annoying man merely smiled, as if he could sense her agony and enjoyed prolonging it.

Drusilla assured herself that was impossible: Gabriel Marlington could not know how she felt for him, not after she’d employed her considerable intellect to conceal her humiliating infatuation.

“Are you, Gabe?” Eva repeated, asking what Drusilla could not.

He shrugged. “You know how Mama has been these past few months, Eva. One of us must become leg-shackled before the Season is out if we’re ever to have any peace in our lives. And since you are showing no signs of doing so, it seems that I must fall on my sword.”

“I couldn’t agree more. You should fall on your sword for the good of the rest of us; just make sure that sword isn’t the Kitten.”

He smiled down at his half sister, who was staring pensively at the sword in question.

Agony and futility as sharp as needles stabbed at Drusilla’s heart. Was he so blind that he thought the Kitten might actually like—or love—him for who he was? Or maybe he didn’t care about such things? Perhaps his only requirement when it came to a mate was a pretty face?

He eyed Drusilla with amused speculation, as if she’d just spoken out loud. “And what is your opinion, Miss Clare—because I know you will have one.”

“Please, fall on whatever sword you wish.”

He laughed with obvious delight.

But the thought of Gabriel Marlington married to the Kitten made Drusilla want to fall on a real sword. It also made her want to slap the smug look off his perfect features.

Instead of doing either, she used the only weapon left to her: her wit.

“You seem terribly confident that your unsavory antics won’t sour Miss Kittridge’s parents’ eagerness for you and your suit, Mr. Marlington.”

He turned to Drusilla, arrested. “How flattered I am that you take such an interest in my, er, suit, Miss Clare. And my antics.”

She flicked a nonexistent piece of lint from the puffed sleeve of her pale blue gown. “Not interest, sir, merely an objective observation.”

“Ah, I see. But tell me, Miss Clare, just what unsavory antics have you heard about?”

A wave of heat began to make its journey up her neck. She compressed her lips, as if that could somehow stop the tide. “I can only imagine.”

“Can you? I’m all agog to hear the fascinating fruits of your active imagination.”