Page 5 of Notorious

Drusilla narrowed her eyes in what she hoped was a condescending and repressive fashion and gave him a deceptively sweet smile. “I hardly need to cudgel my brain to invent antics for you, do I, Mr. Marlington? Not when you are so good at providing all of us with real examples.Your notoriety is legend and tales of your behavior—or should I say misbehavior—abound, many of them as entertaining as an evening at the . . . theater.” There, let him chew on that.

But if she had hoped to discompose or embarrass him with a veiled reference to his notorious liaisons, he disappointed her. Instead he gave her a smile of genuine delight

“Ah, Miss Clare, I never imagined you to be the type of woman to pay any mind to scurrilous gossip.”

Drusilla widened her eyes in mock wonder. “Oh? Please, do tell, Mr. Marlington,” she said, echoing his earlier words. “I’m all agog to hear the type of woman you imagine me to be.”

He leaned toward her and said in a voice so low that only she could hear, “My imaginings are not the type of thing I can discuss in public.”

Drusilla took a hasty step back and bumped into a passing dandy, the impact enough to send her sprawling.

Gabriel’s response was quick and unobtrusive as he set a light hand beneath her elbow to steady her, giving the other man a dismissive nod before releasing her arm.

“The heat in here is quite oppressive, is it not?” He was looking at her with something suspiciously like concern.

She ignored her palpitating heart and his question, eager to move the subject away from herself and back to him.

“We were speaking of your recent trip to Newmarket, I believe,” she said. “It has been disappointingly quiet thus far, but it is still early days, Mr. Marlington. Tell me, what stories can we expect? Reckless wagers? Impromptu mills? Duels? Orgies?”

He grinned in a way that made her wish she could take back her words. Or at least that last one.

“Orgies?” he repeated.

Her face became impossibly hotter.

“You do have an active imagination, Miss Clare. I should dearly love to hear your thoughts on orgies. Not to mention how I fit in with such speculations about orgies.”

“Quit saying orgy,” she hissed.

“You started it.”

“You sound like a twelve-year-old, Mr. Marlington.”

His lids lowered and heat burned through her body, the conflagration hottest between her tightly clenched thighs. “Orgy,” he whispered.

Eva’s laughter broke the terrifying trance. “You two! Always funning one another.”

Drusilla and Gabriel turned to stare at Eva in amazement. How was it that she failed to recognize the hostility that characterized the relationship between her best friend and brother?

But Eva was gazing across at the beguiling debutante, oblivious to their astonished expressions. “It looks like you aren’t the only one chasing the Kitten, Gabe.”

Lord Visel had approached Miss Kittridge while Drusilla and Gabriel had been sparring. The girl—and her mother—were preening at the unprecedented experience of having attracted the interest of a duke’s heir, no matter how scandalous the man’s reputation for outrageous and reckless behavior.

If seeing his nemesis paying court to Miss Kittridge caused Mr. Marlington any heartache, he certainly did not show it.

Instead he turned to his sister. “I heard the marquess picked up Gerald Hine’s chestnuts at Tatt’s?”

The stepsiblings began talking horseflesh, a subject that seemed to occupy at least three-quarters of Eva’s mind.

As much as Drusilla yearned for Gabriel Marlington’s attention, she was weak with relief when she no longer had it. Sparring with him always made her feel as if she’d barely survived a treacherous journey. She relaxed and permitted herself furtive glances at his irresistible person, behaving just like a glutton at a banquet in Dante’s Third Circle of Hell.

Dru had no idea what Gabriel’s father had looked like, but the former sultan and the Duke of Carlisle’s daughter, Lady Euphemia, had certainly produced a heavenly son. Not only was he one of the most stunning men in the room, he was also one of the most distinctive. His speech was still quite heavily—and charmingly—accented. His appearance, as well, was rather exotic, his bronze complexion standing out among the pale, pasty-faced crowd of young bucks. And his hair? Well, that was truly his crowning glory. It was a dark, burnished auburn of a sort she’d not seen on any other person. It was true that all of the Marlingtons had red or reddish hair, and his mother—the marchioness—had particularly lovely copper curls. But Gabriel’s hair was almost black with a sullen crimson undertone.

His nose was a great hawk’s beak that should have made him ugly but instead served to keep him from being too perfect. It also heightened his resemblance to his illustrious maternal grandfather, the Duke of Carlisle.

Last, but certainly not least, were his eyes.

Drusilla heaved a half-worshipful, half-disgusted sigh, which earned her a quick questioning glance from the sooty-lashed, almond-shaped green orbs in question. She returned his mild querying expression with a haughty, superior stare she’d perfected years ago. He recoiled as if she’d reached out and poked him. Or kissed him.