Noble Intentions

CHAPTER TEN

“M’lady?”

Gillian moaned slightly and buried her head deeper into the pillow.

“My lady?”

There was that pesky voice again, trying to draw her away from the sated, relaxed feeling that had held her in its embrace ever since her Lord of Araby bestowed his own ethereal essences upon her. Repeatedly. With much vigor and manliness.

“My lady, you have guests.”

As mind-numbingly enjoyable as those Imperial Exercises turned out to be, what filled Gillian with happiness were the words Noble had spoken. Among the words of pleasure and passion, he had admitted that he loved her. She hugged those words to herself, cherishing them, holding them close in her heart. He loved her.

“The guests are in your sitting room, my lady.”

Oh, it was true he probably didn’t even realize he had spoken the words, but he had spoken them, and that meant that deep inside of him, probably in some small corner of his heart, she held sway over his beloved Elizabeth. If she could just nurture that love, it would grow, and he would come to love her as he did the former Lady Weston.

“They’ve been waiting for half an hour now, my lady, and Mr. Crouch asked me to tell you that he’d prefer you not meet with the women.”

Women? Guests? What on earth was Annie babbling about? “What time is it?” Gillian asked sleepily, burrowing her head deeper into Noble’s pillow. She loved his scent.

“Almost noon, my lady.”

“Mmmm.” He smelled so…so…Noble-ish!

“Gillian!”

Gillian groaned. She knew that voice.

“Gillian, you lazy slugabed, get up! I’ve been waiting for you for almost an hour, and here you are lolling around in bed.”

“Go ’way, Char. Sleepy.”

“I don’t care if you are sleepy, you’ve got to get up. Noble’s mistresses are here!”

The mistresses! Gillian sat up in bed. God’s shinbones, how had she come to sleep so late?

“The mistresses came? All of them? They all came? No one sent back a response; I didn’t think they were coming!”

“Here, you, open a window. Gillian, you must instruct the servants to see to the airing of these rooms. This room is quite…” She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “…stuffy.”

Gillian blushed and pulled up the sheet.

“Yes, they all came, and they’re all downstairs waiting for you.”

“Water, Annie; I need water quickly. Have tea served to my guests, and tell them I will be along shortly. And tell Crouch not to worry, his lordship is out for the day.”

“Good lord!”

Gillian paused in the act of reaching for the dressing gown her maid had laid across her feet as she left. “What?”

“Are you ill? Have you some sort of pox? You’re covered in little red marks.”

Gillian looked down at her arms. “Where?”

“There, on your bosom and neck.”

Her blush deepened as she tried to pull the bedding up to her chin.

“It’s nothing, Char.”

“It’s not nothing, it’s an epidemic!” Charlotte leaned closer, her eyes narrowed in concentration. “Lord, are those bite marks?”

Gillian thought her cheeks would burst into flames. “Charlotte, it’s nothing. Please hand me my dressing gown so I may dress and welcome my husband’s mistresses.”

“They are! They are bite marks. Did Lord Weston do that to you?”

“Charlotte!” Gillian hissed. “Please, you are embarrassing me.”

“Do they hurt?”

“No, they’re just little…love bites.”

“Do you have them everywhere?”

“Charlotte—”

Her cousin tugged at the bed linens. “You do! Look, there’s one there, on your stomach.”

“Charlotte if you do not cease this unseemly examination of my person, I shall ban you from the mistresses conference.”

“I can’t believe you’d let him bite you. I should never let anyone bite me. Do you have them on your legs?”

“Charlotte, remove your hand from my leg this instant or I shall do something drastic!”

Charlotte dimpled at her. “What?”

Gillian thought for a moment. “I shan’t introduce you to Noble’s cousin.”

“Faugh!” Charlotte said, and started to fumble with the bedding.

“He’s a duke, and he’s not married.”

Charlotte stopped. “Age?”

“I believe he’s in his forties.”

“Children?”

“Two daughters. He needs an heir.”

“Country seat?”

“Sussex.”

“Very well, but I think you’re being awfully mean about this. I shall go down and amuse Lord Weston’s ladybirds until you get dressed, but for heaven’s sake, wear something with a high neck. We don’t want you to shock them!”

Half an hour later Gillian stepped through the doorway to her sitting room.

“…say, I can’t imagine there can be any pleasure found in someone biting you. And my cousin was covered — oh, there you are.”

Gillian looked at the women gathered. All four were crammed together on the pale blue sofa, each with a cup of tea held carefully in a gloved hand. Charlotte was seated in an armchair, one leg negligently crossed over the other, swinging her foot in an annoying and unladylike manner.

Gillian raised her chin as four pairs of eyes turned in her direction.

“Good morning. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am that you could all take time out of your busy day to call on me. That is, I assume it’s your days that are busy, not your evenings, although I cannot say for certain. When are your busy times, mistress-wise?”

The four women looked at one another, then back at Gillian. One, a dark-haired woman with porcelain skin, coughed gently. “You are Lady Weston, are you not?”

Gillian smiled at her. The woman seemed a genteel sort for a lightskirt. Perhaps she had been misinformed about the character of such women. It made sense that Noble would consort only with a better class of women, not common doxies.

“Yes, I’m Lady Weston. Oh dear, I suppose it would be best if we started with names first, so that I might know who you are.”

The dark-haired woman in the middle set down her teacup and rose. The other ladies rid themselves of their teacups as well. “I am Madelyn de la Clare, Lady Weston, and I must admit that I’m a bit confused about why you’ve called us here. I can assure you that I have not seen your husband for several years. If you have something to say to me, I’d appreciate it if you could say it now, and I’ll be on my way. My sister is watching my daughter, and I’d like to fetch her home again.”

“You have a daughter?”

“I have three children, my lady.”

“Are any of them Lord Weston’s?” Charlotte asked.

“Charlotte! Don’t be impertinent. Noble would surely have acknowledged any of his children.”

“Oh, yes, Nick. Beg pardon, I’m sure.”

Madelyn looked from Gillian to Charlotte, her mien dignified. “No, my lady, none of my children belong to Lord Weston. I am married now.”

“How delightful for you.” Gillian beamed. “I will be happy to tell you why I’ve called you all together, but perhaps I could meet the other ladies first?”

A pert, chestnut-haired beauty next to Madelyn bounced up and gave her a sketchy curtsy. “I am Beverly Grant, my lady, and I have not seen Lord Weston in six years.”

“How nice to meet you.”

“I’m Laura Horn, m’lady,” a shy blonde said, nervously twisting her gloves and keeping her soft brown eyes lowered demurely. “I met Lord Weston eight years ago. He was very kind to me.”

“I’m sure he was. And you are?”

The last of the four raised her chin and gave Gillian a long, level look. Her hair was the color of spun flax, and she had expressive hazel eyes that were thick with dark lashes. “Anne Miller, ma’am. Lord Weston was my protector five years ago.”

Gillian was pleased; the women seemed quite civil and accommodating. Then again, given their occupation, they probably had practice in accommodation.

The dark-haired Madelyn coughed again. “Yes, my lady, we have all had practice.”

Gillian felt a blush creep up her throat. Charlotte rocked forward, clutching her sides with silent laughter. “Char, behave yourself, you’re embarrassing me.”

“I don’t believe you need my help with that, cousin,” Charlotte said, wiping back a tear.

Gillian ignored her and explained to the mistresses about the two attacks on Noble. The women all expressed surprise but seemed wary and uncomfortable, and Gillian sensed their hesitation.

“So you see, I have called you here to ask for your help.”

“Our help?” Madelyn said. “You want our help? For what, exactly?”

Gillian explained her and Charlotte’s plan. “In order to help Noble, I must first investigate his past. I intend to solve both mysteries, you see — how his beloved wife died, and who is attacking him now.”

“Do you think they are related?” Laura asked quietly.

“That’s a very perceptive question,” Gillian answered thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, I don’t know for certain, but I suspect they are. What other reason would someone have to suddenly plan a campaign against Noble? No, the source of the problem has to have its roots in his past, and that’s where you ladies can help me.”

“I’m sure we’d all like to help, madam, but it isn’t possible at this time,” Beverly said.

The other women voiced their regrets as well.

“Oh dear, I had so hoped you could help me,” Gillian said with genuine regret. It seemed the closer she got to Noble, the farther back she was pushed in her attempt to find the answers. “I realize you are all busy with your…protectors…but I—”

“It’s not that, my lady,” Beverly interrupted her. “I have no protector at this time. It’s a matter of finances, you see. We”—she looked to the other women, who all nodded at her—“we are at the mercy of the men we…accommodate, and once we lose that protection, we must rely on our own resources.”

“Oh, well, that,” Charlotte said with an airy wave of her hand. “Simply get another protector!”

“If it were only that easy, my lady,” Anne said tartly, “we would all be more than happy to help Lady Weston. But as it is, we must first find a gentleman who is willing to give us carte blanche, all the while hoping that he is not prone to abuse—”

“—or unnatural practices,” said Beverly.

“—or has the pox,” added Laura.

“—or gambles away his fortune,” nodded Madelyn.

“Or a man who will find someone new and discard us as if we were nothing but rubbish,” finished Anne.

Gillian was shocked at this side of the ladybird trade. “But surely there is something you can do to prepare for those eventualities? Save your funds earned…ah…in the course of your service?”

The women all laughed identical hard, bitter laughs. “We do save when possible, my lady, and sell any baubles given us, but that only goes so far, and then the time comes when we must again look for a protector or be forced into less desirable circumstances,” Madelyn said.

“What could be less desirable than being a mistress?” Charlotte asked.

“Charlotte, if you cannot behave, you will have to leave. Ladies—” Gillian spread her hands wide in a helpless gesture. “I wish there was something I could do for you. I can, of course, pay you a modest sum for your time helping me.”

“A modest sum?” Anne asked. “How modest a sum?”

Gillian calculated her next quarter’s pin money and divided it into four. “Ten pounds?”

The women all looked at one another again; then Madelyn spoke. “Since all the others are currently seeking protectors, and as my husband is…well, he’s in gaol, we accept your offer. What is it in particular you want us to do?”

Gillian told them.

Charlotte offered her advice. “You should not forget this last mistress, the one who sent Lord Weston the letter.”

“Oh, yes, thank you, Charlotte. Noble’s latest mistress was someone named Mariah. I don’t know her surname, but I would imagine it would not be too difficult to find out.”

The ladies agreed that it would not be difficult, and promised to find the whereabouts of the mysterious Mariah.

“As for the other thing,” Gillian said slowly, nibbling on her lower lip. “Have you thought of organizing yourselves — mistresses, I mean — into a group? A guild, if you will, that would help members in times of need?”

The women, Charlotte included, stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted wings. “A…mistresses guild?” Laura asked.

“Yes, a mistresses guild. For the…” Gillian gnawed on her lip for a moment. “For the welfare and betterment of the demimonde. You could arrange to have dues from those members who are currently…ah…employed, which go into a general fund to help those who find themselves unemployed and in need of assistance.”

The women all blinked at her.

“Do you know,” Madelyn said slowly, “that might be a thought. If we encourage enough women to join and subscribe for a set amount while they have carte blanche, we could set aside money for those women who are in between gentlemen.”

“It’s something to think about,” Gillian said.

The ladies discussed it with increasing enthusiasm.

“We’d need someone to manage the fund,” Beverly said loudly over the excited chatter. “Someone who could invest it for us, so that we could benefit from our subscriptions.”

“That’s our Beverly,” Laura said proudly. “She was with Lord Cardwell, you know. The banker.”

“Yes, she’s right,” Anne said, narrowing her eyes and giving Gillian a close look. “We’d need someone with connections to invest our money for us. No man would touch the money if he knew it was from us, but if it was from someone of the noble class, someone who might wish to invest her pin money, someone who had access to her husband’s man of affairs…”

All five of the women’s heads swiveled to look at Gillian.

“I’d be delighted,” Gillian said graciously. “We can talk about the details at a later date, but first, I simply must ask you something that’s been uppermost on my mind.” Four brows rose in inquiry. “It’s about you and Noble…”

The ladies smiled.

Noble was smiling as well. A silly, sated, smug sort of smile. He sat in a quiet corner of his club, his body blissfully at rest in the deep armchair. He had, he thought with amusement, all the strength of a newborn pup. His mind, the only thing that had the energy to function, wandered the merry paths of the memory of the past night’s — and the morning’s — activities. His smile turned into a cheeky grin.

“Will you look at that, Tolly?” Rosse said, prodding at Noble’s outstretched legs with the toe of his boot. “It looks as if our friend here is suffering from a newly wed man’s complaint.”

Sir Hugh watched as Noble lifted a limp hand to wave the two men into nearby seats. “ ’Pon my honor, Weston, I don’t know when I’ve seen you look so wasted. Are you ill? Ought to see a physician. Your color’s not good at all.”

“He’s not suffering from anything other than paying tribute to the altar of Hymen.” Rosse snickered, and waved for an attendant.

“Harry, if I had the strength I would thrash you soundly for that,” Noble said, and instead demanded a whiskey.

“Ah, but you haven’t, so I will take the opportunity to wish you a long and happy life with your lady, my friend.” Rosse lifted his glass in a toast. Noble acknowledged the toast and sighed with deep appreciation as the water of life spread warmth throughout his limbs.

“About last night, Weston—” Sir Hugh began. “It’s a damned shame that had to happen.”

Noble, thinking of his and Gillian’s activities against Lady Gayfield’s wall, murmured something unintelligible.

“But you’ll take care of that blighter Carlisle tomorrow morning, eh? Noticed the wagers are laid evenly across you both in the books.”

Rosse shot the baronet a questioning look. “Having a little flutter yourself, Tolly?”

Sir Hugh flushed and busied himself with arranging his fobs.

“What news do you have, Harry?” Noble asked, taking pity on the younger man’s discomfort. Nothing could sour his present mood.

“Ah, well, a bit of information there, as it turns out. Mariah, your Mariah, or rather, formerly your Mariah, has been seen in the company of Sunderland.”

One of Noble’s sable brows arched. “Really? I hadn’t imagined he would be interested in her.”

Rosse nodded. “It surprised me too. Rumors are that he prefers his women a bit more…masculine.”

“To say the least,” murmured Noble.

“Sunderland?” Sir Hugh asked, a look of confusion crossing his face. “The Duke of Sunderland? What has he to do with your mistress?”

“That is the question, is it not?” Noble said, setting his glass down and stretching his arms high over his head. He still felt drained, but it was an extremely pleasing sensation.

“You forget, Tolly, Sunderland is a cousin of Noble’s. Spent some time with him at Nethercote, or don’t you remember that? Ah, but that was before your time.”

“I’m not that much younger than you,” Sir Hugh replied with an angry glance at the marquis. “I remember Sunderland.”

“No other word on the matter I wrote you about this morning, Harry?”

Rosse shook his head. “Impossible to trace.”

“Other matter?” Sir Hugh asked, clearly peevish about being left out.

Noble gave him a quick accounting of the evening’s shooting, and told Rosse that he had his Bow Street Runners in place.

“Excellent,” Rosse responded, and rose with the others as they started off for the dining room. “With that much protection, I’m sure you need not worry about either Gillian’s or Nick’s welfare.”

One of the footmen presented Noble with a note on a silver tray as they were about to enter the dining room. He paused for a moment to read it, and then swore loudly.

Rosse turned back, watching silently as Noble questioned the footman. The man repeatedly shook his head and tried to back away from the enraged earl, but Noble was clearly bent on gleaning what information he could. Finally the man made his escape.

Rosse raised his brows as Noble turned back to his friends. “Trouble?”

Noble said nothing but ground his teeth together as he handed the note to his friend. Sir Hugh leaned in to read the note.

Rosse whistled softly. “This fellow’s really going for blood now, isn’t he?”

Sir Hugh frowned. “I’m sure it’s all nonsense. Why would anyone have wanted to shoot Lady Weston? Unless…”

Noble snatched the note back from Rosse’s hand. “There is no ‘unless’ about it. No one would have cause to hurt Gillian except as a means of hurting me.”

“Hold on now, Noble,” Sir Hugh cried as Noble spun on his heel and demanded his hat and stick. “You’re not thinking clearly; your mind is muddled. There is someone who could want to see her destroyed.”

Noble stopped so abruptly that the shorter man ran into his back. “Who?” he ground out, not bothering to turn around.

Sir Hugh danced to the side. “If you just apply your mind to the matter, I’m sure it will become clear, Noble. There’s only one man — or at least there’s only one at this point — with whom your wife has been disporting herse—”

The words stopped in his throat as Noble spun around and wrapped his hand around the baronet’s neck, lifting him off the ground. “My wife did not disport herself with anyone, Tolly. Is that clear?”

“Noble, let him down, you’re choking him,” Rosse said, placing a hand on his friend’s arm.

“Is that clear?” Noble said again, his eyes never leaving Sir Hugh’s face. The baronet’s eyes rolled back, but he managed enough of a nod to satisfy Noble.

“I will take care of McGregor tomorrow morning,” Noble said, claiming his hat and walking stick and storming out the door.

“Where are you going now?” Rosse asked, following him to his carriage.

“Home,” Noble told the coachman grimly, and then jumped into the carriage. “I’m going to make sure that bastard hasn’t harmed my wife and son.”

The mistresses looked at one another with chagrin.

“My lady,” Beverly said finally, “that’s…I don’t believe…I’ve never been asked that question by one of my gentlemen’s wives before.”

The other mistresses nodded.

“In fact, while we are speaking on the subject, I can honestly say that I’ve never met any of my gentlemen’s wives.”

The other three mistresses nodded again.

“It’s just not done.” Charlotte nodded with them. “Bad ton.”

“Oh, Charlotte, what do you know about it?” Gillian said with a frown at her grinning cousin. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

“You asked me.”

“I made a mistake.”

“Ha!”

“Lady Weston, perhaps if you were to tell us why you’ve asked that so very unusual question, we might better be able to answer it.”

“Ah. Well, it’s very simple, really. My husband loved his first wife very deeply—”

Laura gave a ladylike snort of disbelief.

“I beg your pardon, Laura? Did you say something?”

“I snorted in disbelief, my lady.”

“Disbelief? Over something I said?”

“Yes, my lady. Gentlemen who love their wives very deeply do not keep mistresses.”

Gillian thought about that.

“Good point, Mistress Laura,” Charlotte said with approval. “If Lord Weston loved his Elizabeth so very much, Gilly, why did he have a string of ladybirds?”

Gillian chewed on her lower lip.

“I saw her once, you know,” Anne piped up. “At Drury Lane. She was in the box of another gentleman.”

Charlotte leaned forward. “And?”

“She was…ah…fondling him.”

Gillian blinked at her in surprise. “Elizabeth? Noble’s Elizabeth? But if she…and if he…he engaged you all…”

It didn’t make sense; even she, half-witted as she was from a night spent in Noble’s arms, could see that.

“My understanding is that you wish to know your husband’s favorite…ah…” Madelyn paused and sent a glance toward the enraptured Charlotte.

“Oh, you can say it in front of her,” Gillian said with a sigh. “She’s blackmailed me into giving her all of the pertinent details. I daresay by now she knows more than all of us combined.”

“To be forewarned is to be small-armed,” Charlotte said sagely. “Yes, do go on, Madelyn. We’re yearning to know.”

The drive to his house was a hellish nightmare. The streets seemed to close up before him, filled with reckless fools who did not know how to handle a coach and four, overturned carts, dogs leaping out and startling the horses, small children dashing hither and yon wherever Noble looked, and any number of other delays that stayed him from the side of his family, where he was most desperately needed.

He had deployed the three Runners in strategic spots around his house, each with a particular assignment, but upon reading the words now etched indelibly on his mind, he began to think three men were not enough.

Hell, a small army wouldn’t be enough to protect his beloved Gillian. He thought of how she’d looked that morning when he managed to drag himself from his bed — on her back, her hair cascading a fiery path over the white linens, a rosy glow to her cheeks and a smile on her face as she slept the sleep of the well-loved.

He made a mental note to have his man purchase more of the Oils of Araby before considering again the problem of that murdering bastard McGregor. Could Harry be right in his suggestion that the real culprit might be someone other than the Scot? And if so, who? Who hated him enough to try to destroy first his marriage and now Gillian?

Gillian. Just as soon as he made sure she was in good health, he would take her upstairs and introduce her to more of the items on his list. For her security, of course, not for his own base pleasure — if he kept her so exhausted that she was unable to leave his bed, he’d have little worry that McGregor or any other murdering bastard could make good his threat and kill her. It was, after all, his duty to keep her safe, and if this was the only way he could do so…he grinned to himself as he acknowledged that the merits of such a plan were almost unlimited.

“Lord Weston!”

Noble frowned at the footman blocking the door. His door, by God. “Yes, it’s Lord Weston, and he’d like to enter his house. Stand aside, Charles.”

“But, my lord — we thought you were out for the day.”

“Well, now I’m home. Is Lady Weston in?”

Charles blanched and stepped back when Noble pushed past him. Tremayne wandered into the hall, saw the earl, gawked for a moment, and, with a stammered excuse, spun around and dashed for the green baize door.

Noble frowned. What the devil had bit his servants?

“Lady Weston?” Noble reminded the pale Charles as he stripped off his hat and gloves.

“Er…Lady Weston?”

“Yes. Where is she?”

Charles swallowed twice and continued to stare at Noble with a chalky face.

“Are you ill, man?”

“No, my lord.”

“Excellent. Then you can tell me whether my wife is at home.”

“Ah…”

“Yer Lordship! Yer ’ome early!” Crouch shot through the door leading to the servant’s domain so quickly he was forced to grab Noble as he skidded to a halt on the well-polished parquet floor. “Eh, sorry about that, m’lord. I’ll ’ave one of the maids sew that up.”

Noble glared at the small hole in his sleeve where Crouch’s hook had snagged itself. “Where is my wife?”

“Yer wife?” Crouch looked confused. “What wife would that be, m’lord?”

“The same wife who you have, for the past week, been dancing attendance upon. Where is she? Has she gone out?’

“Well, now, that’s a right good question, m’lord.”

Noble started toward the staircase. “Is she in the drawing room? Her bedchamber? Her sitting room?”

Charles made a choking sound and fell over backward in a dead faint.

“Fellow’s ill; see to him, Crouch.”

“Aye, m’lord, I’ll do that. Eh — wouldn’t yer lordship prefer sittin’ in yer library while I find yer lady for ye?”

“I have a feeling it’s better if I find her myself, Crouch,” he replied as he marched up the stairs. He wondered what Gillian had done now to bring out the protective instincts in his staff, then chuckled over the thought. She had endeared herself to them just as quickly as she had to him. Although he couldn’t let them think he supported such a notion, it warmed him to know they would protect her against what they perceived to be his unholy temper. He chuckled again as he turned down the hall toward her sitting room. Surely it would soon become apparent that no matter what outrageous act she committed, no matter what sort of a mess she embroiled herself in, he would bear it all with nary a word to the contrary. What could she possibly do, he asked himself as he opened the door, that could raise his ire now that he knew he loved her?

“…once pretended that I was a wheelbarrow and he a gardener…oh!”

Blast it, she had friends paying her a visit. He smiled pleasantly and was about to make a bow when the woman who had been speaking, a chestnut-haired beauty with vivid blue eyes, caught his attention. She looked familiar. She looked very familiar, quite like…dear God, it couldn’t be!

Noble stared at his former mistress, his mind doing cartwheels as it tried to manufacture a reasonable explanation for what Beverly would be doing in his wife’s sitting room, talking about…wheelbarrows? A groan slipped past his lips as he recalled another time he had been feeling inventive, a most successful invention as far as he was concerned, but not one he wished discussed in front of his wife. Not with his co-inventor, anyway.

His eyes, feeling like a particularly sticky boiled sweet, swept the room to find her but stopped on the figure next to that of his ex-mistress. Surely that couldn’t be…he closed his eyes and shook his head. No, he was seeing things. Perhaps the wound to his arm had given him a fever and he hadn’t realized it. He must be delirious.

He opened his eyes again. No, there they were, standing together, Beverly and Laura. By dint of grinding his teeth together and squeezing his hands into fists he managed to keep from screaming, but it was a near thing. He took a deep breath and prepared to ask his wife just what the hell she thought she was doing, inviting his old mistresses to tea.

“Good afternoon, Lord Weston,” a smiling blond woman bobbed a curtsy. Anne, that had to be Anne; no one else had that saucy tilt to her head. Noble’s mind started to go numb around the edges. Three mistresses? No, there was Madelyn; that made four. All together, here, in this room. How lovely. He peered suspiciously at a fifth occupant. No, it wasn’t Mariah; it was Gillian’s cousin. Which meant the other person, the sixth person, the person who was standing just behind his shoulder, no doubt chewing on that delectable little lip, was his wife.

“Gillian?” he asked softly.

“Yes, Noble?” She hurried around to his side. He was gratified to see he was right, she was chewing on her lip.

“Would you care to tell me why you have seen fit to entertain four women of whom, by rights, you should not acknowledge the existence, let alone know well enough to have to tea?” Noble was quite proud of how level and calm his voice was. The voice that spoke out loud, that is. The voice in his head was shrieking like a banshee.

Gillian thought about that for a moment. “Right now?”

“If you please.”

“Perhaps it would be best if we were to leave,” Charlotte said, making a quick dip toward the Black Earl and scurrying past him in a motion reminiscent of a startled crab. He looked, in her estimation, every bit as dangerous as his sobriquet, and she had no desire to be present to witness his reaction to Gillian’s explanation. If she had the chance to make one; Charlotte sent a fervent prayer heavenward that Gillian would survive the explanation, and bolted.

“Perhaps we had better…” Madelyn rose and motioned to the other women. They all bobbed curtsies at the earl, who did not acknowledge them, his eyes at that moment being busy with the task of trying to bore holes into Gillian’s head.

Gillian tried to avoid the Lord of Glares’ eye but knew her goose was plucked, stuffed, and cooked. She opened her mouth to make an excuse.

“My lord?”

It was Dickon.

Noble snarled at him.

Dickon’s eyes opened wide at the snarl. He picked at the trim on his jacket with bloodless fingers. “Eh…my lord, there is a matter that needs your attention belowstairs.”

“What?” If Noble’s lips had snapped shut any faster, Gillian thought, he would have bit the word in two.

Dickon looked as if he was going to be ill all over the carpet. “Mr. Crouch didn’t say, my lord. He just said to tell you there is something that needs your attention belowstairs.”

“Go.”

The word shot out of his mouth with the velocity of a bullet. Dickon didn’t hesitate. He went.

Gillian gave up avoiding his eye and raised her chin. “Before you commence lecturing me, I would like the opportunity to say one thing in my defense.”

Noble almost didn’t hear her, he was so busy trying to decide what to yell at her about first. “The choices are so tempting,” he said softly to himself. “They are laid out before me in a vast panoply of Bad Ideas. No, I take that back; Bad Ideas isn’t a good description of this particular venture. Taking hold of a wet, painted lantern was a Bad Idea. Bringing together four of my mistresses to discuss…my mind balks at the thought of exactly what you were discussing…bringing together my mistresses was not a Bad Idea. It was a Grievous Error of the highest degree.”

Gillian licked her lips nervously.

“Lord Weston? Lord Weston…uh…there’s an important note for you that’s just come.” It was Charles this time, a curiously pale and sweating Charles who repeatedly peered over his shoulder at something behind him. Gillian took a few steps to the side and looked beyond him. She could see a number of the staff out in the hall, huddled in a large group, evidently discussing something.

“Later.”

“But my lord—”

“Later, I said!”

Charles almost stumbled over his feet, but he managed to make it out of the room without mishap. Gillian felt the odds were fairly good that she would not be so lucky.

“Lecture, madam? You believe I am about to lecture you?”

“Aren’t you?”

Noble’s eyes narrowed as he watched her lick her lips again.

“Oh, no you don’t, my good lady wife! You will cease distracting me in such a manner.”

“Yer lordship? I hate to interrupt ye there when yer about to rip a strip off Lady Weston, but there’s a matter of a small fire in the library, and we thought ye might—”

“You thought wrong, Crouch,” Noble said, his eyes never leaving Gillian’s face.

“But yer books and such—” Crouch waved his hook about in an expressive manner. Gillian gave him a tremulous smile of gratitude. It was a sweet thought, really it was, but surely Crouch must know that nothing could save her now.

“Let them burn. The whole bloody house can come down around our ears for all I care at this moment.”

Crouch opened his mouth to say more but thought better of it. He closed the door softly behind him.

Gillian repressed the urge to flinch at the look in her husband’s eyes and instead bit her lip nervously.

“None of that delectable lip biting, either,” he said, shaking a finger at her. “It won’t work this time. I am beyond such temptations. You, madam, have finally gone too far.”

Gillian threw back her shoulders and raised her chin again. She wouldn’t try to defend herself; she was, after all, technically in the wrong, despite the fact that she had done it to help him.

Noble stared at her out-thrust bosom, sending a wave of heat out from the deepest part of her. “You can bare those delicious strawberry-tipped breasts at me for all I care,” he said, trying to snap his fingers but failing miserably. Gillian’s color rose even more as his eyes wandered over her form as if he could see right through her gown. “It will have no effect on me whatsoever. I am impervious to your charms.”

“Oh, my lord, my lady, you must come quick!” One of the parlormaids burst into the room, her eyes wild and filled with horror. She wrung her hands and tossed terrified looks back over her shoulder. “There’s a terrible fight in the hall, my lord. The Tremaynes are at it again, and one of them has a hatchet!”

Noble didn’t even flick a glance her way.

“Be gone!” he said, fluttering a hand at her.

“They’re sure to kill each other, my lord! You must come now and stop them from murderin’ each other!”

“One less person to interrupt me,” he muttered, and narrowed his eyes at Gillian as she took a precautionary step backward. She wiped her damp hands down her sides. His eyes followed her movements greedily.

“Oh,” she said breathlessly, little fires starting wherever Noble looked.

“You must come now!” the maid wailed.

“Out!” Noble said, turning to point at the open door. The maid glared at him for a minute, tossed her head, and spun around to face the hallway, her hands on her hips. “I hope you’re happy! He didn’t even look at me!”

An arm suddenly emerged through the opening, grabbed her by the elbow, and jerked her out of the room. The door closed quietly behind her.

Noble considered the closed portal for a moment. “…nine, ten,” he said. The door flung open, and a rumpled Tremayne Two rushed in. “Highwaymen, my lord! Masked highwaymen at the door! Quick, you must come and…”

Tremayne Two quite accurately read in his employer’s eyes his fate if he continued with that sentence. He turned on his heel and walked with stately dignity back through the door.

Noble tipped his head as he considered Gillian. “Do you have the feeling they are concerned for your well-being, my lady?”

“Should they not be, my lord?” she asked, hating the worry evident in her voice.

Noble pretended to think about her question. “Yes,” he said at last with a decisive nod. “Yes, they should be very, very concerned.”

He took two steps toward her and grasped her firmly by the shoulders. “Now, madam, now you will tell me exactly—” He froze as the door slowly opened behind him.

Over his shoulder Gillian could see a thin trickle of smoke gust into the room. The smoke seemed to possess a power all its own as it waved and eddied in an intricate smoke dance. It was almost as if someone were fanning it in through the door.

“My lord!”

Gillian was surprised to see Cook at the door. He cast a glance to his left, in the direction of the smoke’s origin, and cleared his throat loudly. Someone beyond him began to cough. He raised his voice to speak over the noise. “My lord, the fire has reached the first floor. Mr. Crouch has been overcome by smoke and the rest of the staff is dropping like flies. You must come now!”

Gillian fought hard to keep the smile from her face. Noble’s shoulders slumped briefly as he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Gillian’s. She took the opportunity to wrap her arms around his waist. He sighed noisily at the fresh spate of coughing from beyond the door.

“Cook, tell Crouch if I ever catch him at my cigars again, I’ll have his other hand.”

Crouch suddenly appeared behind the cook. He opened his mouth to speak, was taken by a paroxysm of coughing, and ended up clinging to the door frame for support. Gillian couldn’t help but notice there was a cigar stuck on the end of his hook. A long arm emerged from beyond Crouch, grabbed the cook, and slammed the door closed on both the cigar and Crouch’s hook. Gillian watched with fascinated eyes as the hook wiggled back and forth to the accompaniment of muttered oaths and odd thumpings on the door.

“Are they gone?” Noble asked without opening his eyes.

“All but Crouch’s hook and half of a cigar.”

Noble’s shoulders shook.

“There goes the hook now,” Gillian said happily over a loud, wood-splintering noise. “Would you like me to lock the door?”

“No, they’d just break it down. I will put their minds at ease with respect to your safety, my dear, but if you are not in my library in five minutes with a suitable explanation, I will feel fully justified in reneging on my word to them.”

“Five minutes? Would you consider, perhaps, an hour or two?” Gillian’s mind spun madly around, formulating and instantly discarding a number of explanations. It would take her just five minutes to work off the expletives she wanted to say in private. Any half-believable explanation would surely take at least an hour to form.

“Five minutes.”

“Half an hour?”

“Five…minutes.”

He tipped up her chin and kissed her very gently on her lips. Gillian felt it was a warning — he could be gentle, or he could be a raging volcano of anger. The choice of how he would hear her explanation was hers.

“Five minutes.” She sighed and began to think furiously.

In the end, she decided that the truth would have to suffice. She explained to Noble her plan to help him uncover the person behind the evil plots to harm him, and how the mistresses were to help. She pointed out that her sole motivation was to ensure his health and happiness. She mentioned that all the women were quite nice, really, and all had offered to help, although she did not mention the mistresses guild. Gillian was aware of her many faults but did not count stupidity among them. She expounded on Charlotte’s idea of locating Mariah in an attempt to ascertain what she knew about the appalling incident. She brought his attention to the fact that women were often more successful in endeavors of a covert nature, since they kept their heads better in stressful situations, though one look at Noble’s expression quickly ended that particular line of reasoning. She finished her arguments with a quick summation of the key points, made sure she stressed one last time that she was trying to help him because she loved him, and sat with her hands folded demurely and awaited judgment.

Noble had sat listening to her from behind his big mahogany desk, his fingers steepled and supporting his chin. Once or twice he had nodded as she made a point, but most of the time he watched her with an intensity that she found unnerving. His eyes glowed with a light from within their silvery depths, giving Gillian the almost overwhelming desire to shiver.

At first she listened carefully to what he was saying, as he was offering appreciation for her concern and her desire to help, but when it became clear that the rest of the lecture — and it was a lecture, despite the fact that he had assured he would refrain from lecturing — was headed for a detailed analysis of her conduct of the past few days, with particular emphasis on the outrageous nature of her plan with the mistresses, she let her mind wander. By the time he was through, however, she was unable to plan the dinners for the rest of the week, settle on what color wallpaper to use in the drawing room, or what shade of green to paint her bedchamber, as such useful lecture-passing musings were impossible to dwell upon when the Black Earl was storming around in front of her in one of his tempers.

At one point she thought he was finished and stood up to excuse herself. Noble, pacing by the window, spun around and pinned her with one silver-eyed glare. She felt her knees buckle beneath her and sank back down in her chair.

“Do not think I am through with you yet, madam,” he said, breathing heavily and perspiring slightly about the forehead.

“Oh, aren’t you? I thought perhaps you might be. It’s getting late, Noble, and Cook is waiting to speak with me about the dinners.”

“Damn the dinners!” Noble rubbed a hand over his eyes, and instantly Gillian’s heart went out to him. The poor man; she was such a trial to him.

“Trial?” he snapped, his eyes wild. “Trial? Madam, you are a plague! You are a tribulation! You are an ordeal by fire!”

“Well, really, Noble,” Gillian said crossly, her patience running thin, “I might be a trial, but I certainly am not an ordeal by fire.”

“You’ve set two fires that I know of in less than a fortnight. That, my dear wife, qualifies you as an ordeal by fire.”

Gillian compressed her lips into a thin line that said more than words ever could. Noble narrowed his eyes at her. “Do not don that obstinate look with me, my lady.”

He stormed around to the front of his desk and leaned over her. “Hear me and hear me well, Gillian. I forbid you to meet with the four women you brought to my house today. I forbid you to investigate the unfortunate incidents. I forbid you to leave the house unless you are in my company. And I forbid you to have anything further to do with my son!”

Gillian gasped, horrified by his mandates. She could live with the first two and tolerate the third, but not to have contact with Nick? Her son? A fury unlike any other she’d known welled up deep inside her and threatened to spill over. She pushed Noble back until she could stand up, and faced him with her hands fisted on her hips and her eyes blazing.

“Why?”

Noble stared at her neck, his hands twitching as if with the effort to keep from throttling her. “Why? Have you not been listening to me for the last forty minutes?”

“Why may I not see Nick?”

“Because you are an unsuitable influence. He is a lad of tender years, and I will not have him exposed to the seedier side of life before he is ready to see it.”

“The mistresses? He was not present, Noble!”

“It matters not. You took him with you when you had the harebrained idea to rescue me. You took him with you when you visited the man who was responsible for his stepmother’s death. You ran the risk of exposing him this afternoon to women of a lower class. Clearly you cannot be trusted with the responsibility of seeing to his upbringing, so I shall remove him from your sphere of influence.”

Gillian felt as if he’d struck her. He could rail at her all he liked, but to accuse her of being negligent where Nick was concerned — that was the outside of enough!

“I will not let you do this to me,” she shouted, and punched him in the chest in an attempt to drive home the point. “You can lock me away, you can forbid me to see my friends, but you cannot take my son from me.”

“He is not your son,” Noble roared at her.

“He became my son the minute you married me,” she yelled back, furious that despite all their intimacies, despite the fact that they loved one another, he still did not see them as a family. “You cannot take him away from me. I won’t let you.”

“You have no choice in the matter,” he snapped. “The decision is made. I will send Nick back to Nethercote in the morning. As you made a particular point about staying in town to be at my side, you will remain with me.”

“You will not destroy this family!” She pounded on his chest again until he held her hands still; then, with a wordless cry of protest, she ripped them from his grasp and stalked toward the door.

“Gillian, I did not give you permission to leave. I have not yet finished with you.”

“Oh, no, my lord,” she said as she threw open the door, ignoring the startled faces of the staff gathered immediately outside. “You very nearly are finished, but you have not yet destroyed us completely. If you do not want to annihilate what was beginning to be a family, I strongly urge you to take back your words. I shall wait in my sitting room for your apology.”

“Then you will wait for hell to freeze over,” Noble thundered. “Gillian, come back here!”

Gillian turned and pushed her way blindly past the servants and ran up the stairs. At the top of the flight she paused when she saw Nick hiding in the shadows and clutched him to her with a sob.

“I won’t let him take you away from me,” she whispered, hugging him as tightly as she could. “You won’t be alone again, I promise.”

Nick looked up into his stepmother’s eyes, and what he saw there warmed him down to the tips of his toes. He reached up to touch a tear streaking down her cheek and frowned at the wetness on his finger.

“My mother used to tell me a saying,” Gillian said, bending down and kissing him on the forehead. “She said nothing worthwhile is easy. You, my darling son, are very worthwhile. I will do whatever it takes to make us a family, whatever it takes to make your father realize that he can’t separate us. He’s hurt and angry right now, Nick, and when people are hurt and angry they very often lash out at those people near to them. Do you understand?”

An urge bubbled up deep in Nick. He tried to ignore it, but it pressed up and up, higher and more insistent, until he almost gave in to the urge. Instead he nodded his head.

“Good.” She pulled him into a hug again, and he let her warmth seep into him, comforting him. “I love you, my son,” she whispered in his ear, and with a final kiss she was off, running up the next flight of stairs.

The urge inside Nick pushed higher until he thought it would burst right out of his mouth. He watched the hem of her gown flap briefly as she turned the corner on the stairs, and then he gave in to the urge. “I won’t let Papa take you away,” he whispered.