Page 110 of Notorious

She gave her maid a reassuring smile—which was as much for herself as it was for the other woman.

“Yes, Fletcher, I am very certain.”

Chapter 24

The door to Drusilla’s dressing room opened, and a king walked in.

Drusilla laughed.

Gabriel put one hand on his hip and wagged a regal, beringed finger at her. “You risk our displeasure with such disrespectful laughter in our presence.”

Even Fletcher, who’d been kneeling to stich up a small tear in the hem of her simple dress, laughed.

Drusilla curtsied low. “Your majesty.”

“That is better.” He smirked. “You may rise.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You look regal but . . . warm?”

He lifted the long brown curls of his wig. “I was going to be Cromwell, but the breastplate was even hotter. Besides, the last masquerade I went to was swarming with Cavaliers. It’s worth a man’s head to show up as the Protector.” He came closer and took her hands, holding out her arms to inspect her.

“And you, my dear”—his eyelids lowered—“are a woman fit to be my queen.”

She gave him a saucy look and spoke a slightly altered version of the infamous line: “You are mistaken, sir, I am satisfied with the role of Protestant whore.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Your ready wit pleases us greatly,” he said, giving her a look that would have done the lascivious Charles II proud.

Drusilla picked up her basket of oranges, hung it on her arm, and cut him an arch stare. “Your pleasure awaits, Highness.”

* * *

They gazed out the windows of the carriage, both of them shaking their heads.

“I’ve never seen anything like such a crush of carriages,” Gabriel said.

“Nor I.”

The coaches crammed the streets in all directions leading to Richland House, packed so tightly a person could have walked across the roofs with ease.

“You did not come last year?” he asked.

“I was not invited last year.” Her lips—which he had a difficult time not kissing—twisted into a wry smile. “I doubt I would have been invited this year, either—but for you.”

He grinned at her. “Your king is good for something, then?”

“One hopes one will find many uses for him,” she said primly.

Gabriel laughed. He delighted in her acerbic wit almost as much as he did her willing body and insatiable appetite for him.

“You didn’t say how your visit with Lady Exley went today?”

Gabriel stopped laughing immediately.

“Ah,” she said, her expression filled with sympathy. “She was angry.”

It was not a question. And, yes, his mother had been angry. She had railed at him at length—and at high enough volume to catch the attention of the marquess, who’d been several rooms away. Luckily she’d done most of her yelling in a language other than English. Indeed,Arabic had not been enough to express her thoughts—she’d switched to Berber and French, as well.

He turned to his wife, who was still waiting for his reply. “She was, er, rather disappointed in me for acting irresponsibly six years ago, but mostly for not telling her sooner.” He didn’t tell her what his mother had said when she’d learned where Samir was staying. When she’d demanded he bring the boy to her house, Gabriel had put his foot down. The marquess, who’d stayed to keep his wife calm and stop her from working herself into a state, had—for once—come down on Gabriel’s side.