Noble Intentions

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“M’lady? Pssst. M’lady, are ye awake?”

Gillian gently pushed Noble’s arm aside and peered over his biceps. “Crouch? Is that you, Crouch?”

“Aye, m’lady, yer needed.”

Gillian brushed her hair from her eyes, stole a quick glance at Noble to make sure he was still sleeping, sent another glance downward to verify that she was covered as decently as possible, discovered that the bed linens must have been kicked off sometime during the night, and blushed when she realized the only thing covering her womanly parts was her husband.

“Crouch, this really is the outside of enough! I don’t believe it’s proper for a butler, even a pirate butler, to come marching into one’s bedchamber.”

“I’ave m’eyes covered, m’lady.”

“I can see that, Crouch, but I can also see that you are peeking, and if you think I won’t tell Lord Weston that, you are sadly mistaken.”

Crouch’s fingers slammed into tight formation. “ ’Tis those bits o’ ’is lordship’s muslins. They’re back and they won’t leave.”

“The mistresses? His mistresses, or rather ex-mistresses, since they are no longer in his employ, and even if they were, he wouldn’t employ all of them at the same time, although if last night was anything to go by…” She gazed at her sleeping husband’s face thoughtfully. “…but no, my mind is wandering. Crouch, please tell the ladies I will be down shortly.”

“Aye, m’lady.”

“Oh, Crouch?”

The butler tipped his head in question.

“You didn’t really see anything you shouldn’t have, did you?”

“No, m’lady, just ’is lordship’s arse, and the sight o’ that’s nothin’ that fills me with joy.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gillian said, reaching a fond hand over and stroking Noble’s lovely behind. “The sight of it fills me with joy. I think it’s quite a nice behind, as behinds go.”

“Mmmm?” Noble murmured, and tightened his arm around Gillian.

“Nothing, my love,” Gillian cooed into his ear. “Crouch and I were just discussing your arse.”

“Aye, m’lord. ’Er ladyship is of the opinion it’s a sight to bring joy to the eye, but I’ve been debatin’ the point with ’er.” He eyed Noble with pursed lips, scratching at his chin with the sharp point of his hook. “Not that it ain’t attractive on its own, I reckon. If you like that sort of thing.”

“Crouch?” Noble breathed sleepily.

“Which I do, Crouch, and I’ll thank you to keep your disparaging comments to yourself and be about your business. I will tend to his lordship’s behind. And stop that peeking.”

Crouch grinned and, feeling the way toward the door with his hook, made his exit.

Gillian slid out from under the arm and leg Noble had tossed over her and stood for a moment, admiring his derriere. It was a very nice one. She put out a hand and pressed gently.

“I don’t know what Crouch is nattering on about. It’s very fit. I bet I could bounce a shilling off it if I were so inclined.”

With that happy thought she went to prepare to greet the mistresses.

Noble rolled onto his back and stretched carefully. His head felt like someone had been pounding on it with an anvil while his mouth tasted worse than something extremely nasty that he didn’t want to go to the trouble to think of lest it make his headache worse and his tongue feel even thicker.

He rolled out of bed and, pulling the bell cord, staggered into his dressing room to attend to his morning ablutions.

It was while he was sitting in the armchair as Tremayne was shaving him that a faint thought wended its way through the fogged labyrinth of his mind and suddenly stood up and caught his attention.

“My arse?” he roared, startling Tremayne into dumping the basin of warm water down the earl’s front. “She had Crouch in admiring my arse?”

“I really couldn’t say, m’lord. I wasn’t present. Would you like me to consult Crouch about this grave question?”

“Don’t be smart, Tremayne,” Noble snapped, and allowed his shirt to be removed, the water mopped up, and a fresh garment reapplied.

“My arse,” he said later as he strode down the hallway and leaped down the stairs. Midway to the breakfast room he passed his son.

“Good morning, Papa,” Nick said.

“Morning, Nick. My arse!” Noble fumed, and stormed into the breakfast room. He would have a thing or two to say to his wife about conducting tours of his person when he was asleep. “Wife, I have a few — oh, hell. Where is she…uh…which one are you?”

“Forsythe, m’lord. I’m one of the Runners her ladyship hired.”

“Oh, yes, well, have you seen Lady Weston this morning?”

The slight little man in livery too large for him shook his head and endeavored to look like a footman. “I haven’t seen her, no, my lord, although I did hear Mr. Crouch say something about a group of lightskirts calling for her.”

The pounding in his head increased. She wouldn’t dare. Not after he had made his feelings clear on the subject and given her a direct order. No, he shook his aching head; it must be some other group of lightskirts she was entertaining. Perhaps she had plans of reforming the entire demimonde. He wouldn’t put it past her to try.

He took the stairs two at a time as he headed toward her sitting room.

Nick was still standing where he had passed him earlier. “Papa, could I talk to you?”

“Later, son. I have to go throttle your mother.” Just see if he wouldn’t. How dare she bring those women back to his house, exposing himself to ridicule and his son to…Noble paused a moment, then shook his head again. He must have imagined it.

He threw open the door of her sitting room, glared at the assembled women therein, and opened his mouth to deliver a scathing lecture that he would make sure Gillian never forgot. She turned to look at him, and the acrimonious words shriveled and died on his lips.

“What is it?” he asked instead, going down on one knee and taking her hand in his. It was cold.

Gillian squeezed his hand and tried to look a little less like the scared rabbit she knew she resembled. “Noble, Mariah is dead.”

“Mariah?”

“Mistress Mariah. Your mistress, that is. Ex-mistress. The ladies here came to tell me that her body was found this morning, bobbing up against a pier. She had been…” Gillian looked as if she would be sick. Noble pulled her into a protective embrace.

“She’d been tortured, my lord, and then garroted,” Anne said with a solemn face.

Gillian shivered in his arms.

Noble rallied his troops, explaining briefly to the staff that the danger to Gillian and possibly Nick had increased, and until further notice they were to maintain the utmost caution.

“No visitors, unless known to Lady Weston or myself, are to be allowed in,” he ordered as he paced before the line of servants. “No tradespeople will be allowed in the house for any reason. Likewise, servants from other houses, your personal friends and acquaintances, will be banned. Until we have the bastard responsible for the threats against Lady Weston locked away in gaol, your sole responsibility will be to see to her safety, and that of my son. Are there any questions?”

The line of footmen, butlers, and other male staff members shook their heads. Crouch raised his hook.

“Yes?”

“Eh, m’lord, what should we do if’er ladyship is desirin’ to leave the ’ouse?”

“I have informed Lady Weston that she will not leave the house except in my presence, or the presence of Lord Rosse.”

Crouch rubbed his chin with the curved part of his hook. “Beggin’ pardon, m’lord, but that didn’t stop ’er last time.”

Noble’s face was grim. “It will not happen again. Are there any other questions? No? Excellent. Is everyone armed?”

The row of men nodded. One of the footmen coughed and stepped forward.

“Yes, Dickon?”

“My lord, shouldn’t we have a watchword? Like in The Mysteries of Limehouse, where the watch captured an infamous band of pirates when they were spiriting away a group of young ladies for a sultan from a distant land, where they would be made slaves to his desire and forced to—”

“Yes, yes, I see your point, Dickon. Very well. We shall have a watchword. Any suggestions as to what it might be?”

“Testicle!” piped up Charles.

Noble frowned at him.

“ ’E means tentacle, m’lord. ’Ad ’is ’alf day yesterday and saw one of them octopantses at the zoological gardens.”

“No, I mean testicle,” argued Charles.

Noble considered his footman. “Is there any reason why you wish the watchword to be testicle, Charles?”

The young man sucked in his cheeks and bounced on the balls of his feet. “No, my lord.”

“Just like the word, do you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Noble stopped pacing in front of the footman and narrowed his eyes at him. “There’s nothing you should have told me that you haven’t, is there, Charles?”

Charles’s eyes widened. “Me, my lord?” he squeaked.

“Mmm,” Noble said, giving him a close look, then continued his pacing. “Very well, our watchword is testicle. Should you encounter someone who does not answer your cry of ‘Halt, who goes there?’ with a snappy ‘testicle,’ you will restrain him and shout for assistance.”

“A lady wouldn’t say it,” Charles said.

Noble spun around to face the interruption. “What’s that?”

“You asked me if I had a reason for choosing the word testicle, my lord. I thought of one. A lady wouldn’t say it. Therefore, any lady villains we encounter wouldn’t say the watchword.”

“Er…quite right. Are there any other questions?”

“They’d say something else,” Charles said. Noble ignored him and gazed down the line of footmen.

“Like whirlygigs,” Dickon said with a nod. “That’s what my mum used to call them.”

“Dusters,” said Crouch. “Jenny Hills. Flowers and frolics.”

“Yes, quite. Are there any—”

“Gooseberries,” said one of the Runners.

“No, they’s jingleberries, they are,” said another.

Noble rubbed his still-aching head. The pain seemed to be increasing again.

“Les accessories,” said Tremayne Two in a perfect French accent.

“Orchestra stalls,” offered Crouch.

“Twiddle-diddles. A lady would surely say twiddle-diddles,” Charles suggested, looking up as the door opened. “Oh, my lady, could you answer a question? If you were asked to say the word—”

“Charles!” Noble bellowed. “That will be all! You are dismissed, all of you.”

“If I was asked to say what word?” Gillian asked as the footmen filed out. Noble glared at the men and dared them to answer her.

“Whennymegs,” Crouch muttered as he closed the door behind him.

Gillian turned to Noble. “Whennymegs? Oh, testicles. What about them? Are yours all right, my lord?” She turned her attention to the front of Noble’s buckskins, concern writ across her face. “Did you damage them last night? You were quite enthusiastic, husband, but I thought everything looked hale and hearty this morning. Shall I check them for you?”

She started reaching for the buttons on his breeches. Noble caught her hand. “Everything is fine there, thank you. Did you do as I asked?”

“Yes, the ladies are gone, but really, Noble, you were quite rude, not even staying to chat. They do know you, and seem very fond of you. I think it would have been only polite if you had stayed to talk with them, find out how they’re doing, who they’re mistressing for, that sort of thing. Why, Laura had quite nice things to say about her time with you—”

Noble grabbed Gillian by the arms and pulled her up against him, ending the discussion the only way he thought would be effective. Gillian look bemused when he released her from the kiss, but he noted the sparkle in her eye was in no way diminished.

“And Anne said you were the best lov—”

He kissed her longer this time, deeper, dipping his tongue in and out of her mouth in a suggestive manner. She moaned into his mouth. He lifted his head and smiled smugly at her. She blinked several times, then touched a finger to his lips. “So soft, and yet so very demanding,” she whispered, and gave herself a little shake. “Just how Beverly described—”

“Madam!” Noble roared in mock fury, shaking Gillian slightly. “You will cease this unseemly conversation!”

She giggled, then slowly the happy glow faded from her face. She placed a hand on his chest. “Noble, we must talk. About this morning — I know you are angry with me, and I appreciate you not lecturing me about interfering with your plans, but you were acting so very foolish, and I simply had to take steps. I couldn’t allow you to face Lord Carlisle, not when there was the chance that he would harm you, or even kill you. You do understand that I did it for your own good, don’t you?”

Noble stared at her with increasing bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

Gillian blushed. “I can see you are being kindhearted by pretending it didn’t happen, but I assure you, my darling husband, I am ready to hear your lecture.”

Noble frowned. “What exactly did you do for my own good that had to do with Lord Carlisle? You haven’t had time to see him.” He looked around the library in mock suspicion. “I don’t see him lurking in the corner, so you couldn’t have invited him here as you are wont to do with people I’d rather not see. What is it you’ve done, wife?”

Gillian watched his expression closely. God’s knuckles, he honestly didn’t seem to be upset. Would she ever understand his moods? “I wasn’t planning on telling you, but now I think perhaps it wouldn’t upset you, as I had previously thought. I had him…that is to say, I ordered that Crouch and three of the Runner footmen…it was for your own good, you know, and solely to help you save face, so I don’t think you should commence scowling in that manner, husband.”

Noble counted to ten. “What did you do?”

“I had Lord Carlisle kidnapped.”

Noble sank down into the nearest available chair, closed his eyes, and rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Why?” Even thinking the word made his head hurt worse.

“So that you wouldn’t feel I was betraying you when I drugged you.”

He stopped rubbing his forehead. “You did what?”

Gillian frowned. “You needn’t act as if you didn’t notice, husband.”

“You drugged me? So I couldn’t attend the duel?” Gillian nodded. “You drugged me? Ah, the draught. You drugged me with my own brandy? And then you let me make love to you?”

Gillian took a step or two away from him. Her Lord of Outrage looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to laugh and kiss her silly, or to yell the hair right off her head, and if he settled on the latter, she wanted a little bit of distance. “It wasn’t what I had planned, Noble, ’tis the truth I hadn’t planned that you would…that you and I were going to…that we would…I just wanted you a little sleepy so that you would not wake in time for the duel, and…well…I must have given you a bit too much because you slept like the dead.”

His indignation of earlier returned. “Do I remember correctly you engaging in a discussion of my personal attributes with Crouch?”

Gillian’s face brightened and she stepped forward again. Here was safe ground. Surely he couldn’t find fault with her wifely devotion in defending him. “Oh, yes, I did wonder if you were awake or not. Crouch said some rather rude things about your lovely behind, and I corrected him. It’s not a good thing to let one’s pirate have too much leniency where that sort of thing is concerned. With comments about one’s behind, that is. Don’t you agree?”

Noble opened his mouth to speak, realized he didn’t know what the hell he was going to say to that, and closed it again. Tiny pinpricks of pain in his temples were dulling into a steady throb. If he concentrated, he could ignore them enough to continue the enlightening discussion of a moment ago.

“Let me see if I have this straight. You drugged me and kidnapped McGregor so that neither one of us could attend the duel, thereby making each think the other had absented himself from the duel?”

Gillian nodded. “I thought it only fair, you see. I didn’t want one of you being accused of cowardice by not being present.” She looked thoughtful. “It worked quite well, Crouch tells me. Lord Carlisle was most obliging and gave Crouch no trouble once he had a zoc. Crouch wouldn’t tell me exactly what a zoc was, but I’m sure it must have been nice if it persuaded Lord Carlisle to go along quietly with him.”

Noble considered telling her it was cant for a blow, then decided against it. She was picking up enough of the vulgar tongue from Crouch; she didn’t need additional words. “I trust he has been released?”

“Oh, yes, quite early this morning. Crouch said he was furious, but settled down once he gave him another zoc. I do hope they are not habit-forming.”

Noble closed his eyes and slumped back in his chair. He didn’t know whether to throttle her for interfering or kiss her and then tell her his own actions. Perhaps he should do both. Just a quick little throttle, and then the kissing. Lots of kissing. He opened his eyes and looked at her standing in front of him, her face worried. Maybe the throttling could wait and he should start in with the kissing first.

“Oh, yes, I agree with that.” Gillian nodded emphatically. Noble stared at her.

“You agree with what?”

“That the throttling can wait and you should start in with the kissing first. I like it when you kiss me. You make my knees turn to water.”

Oh, lord, now he had picked up her Unfortunate Habit! He steeled himself against her hopeful look and frowned. “Wife, I will not have you interfering—”

“Noble?” she interrupted him, looking worried again. “Is this lecture going to take long? Because if it is, I’d like to talk about something else—”

“I am quite sure you would, madam—”

“I’d like to talk about Nick,” she continued as if he had not spoken. “He told me about what happened that night when your Elizabeth died, and I do think he needs to be reassured that you do not blame him for anything. He was most distressed by the thought that he had failed you, or shamed you in some manner.”

Noble stared at her, unable to believe what she was saying. “He told you? In the same manner he told you he liked being in London?”

She frowned. “No, of course not, he told me. That is, he spoke—”

Noble was up and out of his chair before he knew what he was doing. “He told you? He spoke?” He had both hands on Gillian’s shoulders and glowered into her face. “He actually spoke to you and you didn’t bother to mention the fact to me?”

“I had to drug you,” she started to explain, then threw up her hands, muttered something about him not understanding, and, turning, bolted out of the library. Noble stared at the spot where she had been standing, trying to grasp this miracle she had worked; then her words sank in. Nick had spoken about that night?

He passed her on the first flight of stairs, racing up to the second floor, where Nick’s rooms were. If Nick was remembering the facts of that night, he needed more than just simple reassurance — he needed every ounce of love his father could give him. As Noble leaped up the last few stairs he sent a prayer of heartfelt gratitude that God had sent him Gillian. Without her, he wouldn’t have learned how to love again.

He paused in the doorway to Nick’s room, sick with the thought of what he would find. His son, his innocent little boy, exposed to horrors Noble fervently hoped he’d never understand, events so traumatic that it had stripped him of speech. He stood with his hand on the doorknob, willing himself to enter the room and face the boy who fought his devils just as fiercely as Noble fought his own.

“He needs you, Noble,” Gillian said softly behind him.

Noble nodded, still unable to open the door. Gillian leaned into him for a moment, then put her hand on his and waited. Noble took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Nick leaped up from the window seat and stared at his father. Noble’s silver-eyed gaze held that of his son for a brief minute, then the boy was flying across the room crying, “Papa!”

Gillian smiled even as she wiped discreetly at the tears that overflowed at the sight of Noble sitting with his son on his lap, the boy sobbing into his chest, reliving once again that horrible night. She met her husband’s eyes briefly, then slipped out of the room with Rogerson.

“He’ll be better now, ma’am,” the tutor reassured her.

“They both will,” Gillian responded, dabbing at the last few tears. “They’ve learned how to climb walls, I think.”

“Walls, my lady? I don’t understand.”

Gillian beamed at him as she started down the hall. “It doesn’t matter, Rogerson. They understand.”

“Good lord, man, you look like death warmed over. No man looks like that who’s spent the night worshipping at the feet of his lovely bride; therefore you must have drank yourself silly instead. Noble, my boy, we really must have a talk one of these days.”

“My lovely bride,” Noble said as he settled himself across from Lord Rosse, “drugged me last night so I couldn’t attend my dawn appointment.”

Rosse stared at him. “You didn’t tell her you’d apologized and called it off?”

Noble explained about Gillian’s plan to save both his and Carlisle’s honor. Rosse laughed over the tale until he realized that his friend was looking even more grim than before, if that was possible, which he would have doubted had he not been looking at proof.

“Well, that explains where Carlisle had disappeared to last night when I delivered your note. But don’t tell me you are angry with the charming Gillian for her attempts to save your worthless hide?”

Noble didn’t react to his gentle teasing. “Nick’s talking.”

Rosse looked at the Black Earl’s tight jaw and the eyes that glittered a hard, cold silver. “He remembers that night?”

Noble nodded. “There was a second man there, Harry. It…” Noble seemed to be having difficulty making his jaw work. “It wasn’t McGregor. Nick saw it all; he saw Elizabeth and this other man, and he saw their little games. So help me God, if I ever find the bastard, I’ll gut him alive. He was going to abuse Nick simply to strike at me.”

Rosse looked ill, but not as ill as Noble felt. That black thing that had once roiled around inside him was back, but this time it had a target, a reason for being, and its name was vengeance. “God damn her soul to eternal hell! How could she do that to him? He was just a little boy.”

“I’m sure she’s rotting there now,” Rosse said, thinking that if anyone deserved eternal damnation, the late Countess of Weston did. “Did he…did Nick understand everything?”

“No, thank God,” Noble said, suddenly exhausted. He felt drained, squeezed dry, as if he were an old limp washrag. “He doesn’t, and Gillian is doing her best to make him forget, but I doubt if he ever will. My God, Harry, the man was going to…” The thought was too foul, he couldn’t even put it into words.

Rosse noticed the tears in his friend’s eyes and felt a lump forming in his throat. “What can I do, Noble?”

“We’ve got to find out who this other man was. The one who played those foul games with Elizabeth.” Noble stared out the window for a moment. “She had so many lovers, Harry, where do I begin looking?”

“Did Nick give you a description of the man?”

“Just a brief one — an average-sized man with no outstanding features, brown hair, dark eyes — a description that could match more than half the men in the ton.”

“Perhaps if I were to question him—”

Noble shook his head adamantly. “No. I’ll not have him relive that night again. We’ll have to find the bastard without upsetting Nick. Gillian’s taken him out to the zoological garden to see the octupantses.”

Rosse looked startled. “To see the what?”

“Octopus.”

“I thought you said…never mind, it doesn’t matter. Is it safe for them to be out?”

“Gillian said it would be better for him to be out of the house for a bit. I didn’t send her out alone; she’s got all five Runners with her.” A smile flickered across Noble’s face as he remembered her outraged objection to taking all five with her. “Do you know that she hired two Runners to protect me? With your two, that makes seven all together. It’s a wonder the thieves and murderers aren’t running rampant in the city.”

Rosse grunted, and continued tugging on his lip as he considered and rejected paths of inquiry. “You’ll be safe enough at White’s. You may not like this, Noble — I know you want justice for your boy — but I think we should finish up with this first problem before starting on one five years old.”

Noble looked obstinate, and it took Harry until the pair had reached White’s to convince him that to divide their attention and forces would be foolish. “After all,” he pointed out as they handed over their hats and sticks, “you lose Carlisle as your main suspect if Nick is correct and there’s a second man involved. I’d be willing to wager it’s this man who is behind the attacks on you and the threats to your lady, rather than Carlisle.”

“He’s tried to convince Gillian I am an ogre,” Noble protested. He hated to give up the idea of McGregor as villain but had to admit it was looking less likely with each passing day.

“All he’s tried to do is warn her against what he believes is your vicious temper. Gillian told me last night that he believes you murdered Elizabeth most foully and are going to do the same to her.”

Noble looked startled. “By God, I’ll thrash the…she didn’t believe him, did she?”

Rosse nodded to an acquaintance, was pleased to see that no one cut his friend, and headed for his favorite quiet corner. “No, of course she didn’t, but she did point out that all he’s ever tried to do is to protect her from you.”

“So she thinks,” Noble said darkly, and glowered at his boots.

“About that night, Noble — I know you don’t want to talk about it, but have you told Gillian what happened? What really happened, not what Carlisle is sure to have told her what he saw?”

“There wasn’t time,” Noble answered. “After I spoke with Nick, Gillian thought it was best to fill his mind with happier thoughts and took him off to the Gardens.”

Rosse adjusted his spectacles. “I can imagine what Carlisle told her he saw — I had the devil of a time pulling him off you. I thought I was too late after I heard the pistol shots and found you in a pool of blood, with Carlisle’s hands digging into your throat.”

Noble grimaced and rubbed at his neck. “I couldn’t speak for weeks. Thank God you were staying with me then.”

“It wasn’t a pleasant time for you,” Rosse said easily. “You needed a friendly face around that dour ancestral pile. I never did find out why Carlisle was there that night — did you?”

“Yes. He showed me a note from Elizabeth, saying she’d overheard me plotting to kill her. He had come to play knight-in-shining-armor to her maiden-in-distress.”

Rosse blinked carefully, noting the anger in his friend’s voice. “Do you mean…she arranged to have him there?” His mind raced on, quickly leaping over false impressions and jumping to the logical conclusion. “Was she arranging for you to take the blame for something? Something to do with Carlisle?”

Noble shook his head and rubbed his hands together. Even thinking about that night made him feel cold. “No. I think now — now that I know about the second man — I think he and Elizabeth were planning to use Carlisle.”

“For what purpose?”

“As a scapegoat for my murder.”

Rosse’s jaw dropped.

“There you are! Lud, Weston, the news is all over the clubs — you called the duel off? You apologized? ’Pon my honor, I never thought the day would come when you backed down from a challenge!”

“I apologized,” Noble said evenly, sending the marquis a look that let him know their conversation was at an end.

“But…but why?” Sir Hugh stammered. “That is…it’s not like you, man, not like you a’tall. You feeling quite the thing? Not ill, perhaps? Sickening over something?”

“I’m quite all right, Tolly, there’s no need to hover over me like a giant mother hen.”

Sir Hugh flushed at the look of distaste Noble gave his plum waistcoat with its scarlet embroidery. “I couldn’t credit it, but if you say it’s true…” Sir Hugh shrugged and made himself comfortable in a nearby chair. “Why the long faces if you’ve settled this affair?”

Noble was about to explain when a shadow fell across them.

“I accept your apology,” Lord Carlisle said, standing before Noble and clutching a pair of soft leather gloves. “Consider that score settled. However, I inquired. It was your house. If you think you can disguise that Crotch of yours by tying a bit of black silk over his ugly face, you’re mistaken.”

Noble didn’t flinch as Carlisle laid the gloves across his cheek with a snap of his wrist. “Consider yourself challenged.”

Noble pursed his lips for a moment, then bent and retrieved the gloves from where Carlisle had thrown them at his feet. He handed them back. “No.”

Sir Hugh gasped. Carlisle stared. “No what?”

“No, I don’t accept your challenge. You are quite right to be outraged over my wife’s actions. I apologize on her behalf.”

Carlisle gawked at him. “You…apologize?”

Noble nodded. “I do. Her plan, motivated by her desire to see no blood shed between us, was carried out solely upon her orders. However, as she is my wife and I am responsible for her actions, I apologize.”

“You won’t face me over pistols?”

“No.”

Carlisle looked as if he wanted to pout. “Well, dammit, man, you have to give me satisfaction for this slight!”

“There’s always Jackson’s,” Rosse pointed out. “You could beat your frustrations out on each other.”

Noble looked at Carlisle, noting that although the Scot was shorter than he was, he had more bulk to his chest. Even dressed in a kilt, as he was now, Carlisle was the picture of masculine power. Carlisle, likewise engaged in an assessment of his would-be opponent, wasn’t fooled in the least by the elegant picture Noble displayed — after all didn’t his nose looked to have been recently broken? Carlisle knew that beneath that tastefully cut, skin-tight coat, Noble had the strength to match him.

“Done,” both men said at the same time, then agreed to meet in the early afternoon to settle the matter once and for all.

“I liked the elephant the best, didn’t you, Gillian? Didn’t you think the elephant was the best? I thought he looked very sad, though. Perhaps he misses his home. Do you think he misses his home? If I were an elephant, I’d miss my home.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s it. He did look homesick.”

Nick thought for a moment. “But I also liked the lions, didn’t you like the lions? And the camels. And the zebras. But I didn’t like the jackals. Did you like the jackals, Crouch?”

“Eh, well now, Master Nick, that’s a right good question—”

“I liked the giraffe, too. Did you see how long his neck was, Gillian? How does he drink with such a long neck? I wonder if Rogerson knows how a giraffe drinks. I bet if my neck was that long that I could figure out a way to drink.”

“You weren’t fast enough,” Gillian told Crouch as she handed him her hat and parasol.

“Aye, m’lady, that I weren’t,” he answered her with a cheeky grin. “But it’s nice to see the lad talkin’ again.”

“That it is, Crouch. Nick, why don’t you go upstairs and ask Rogerson about the drinking habits of the giraffe? Is that for me?” she asked as Charles the footman brought a note on a silver tray.

“It’s from Lady Charlotte,” Charles said helpfully.

“Yes, I can see that,” Gillian said, examining the note. She slid her finger under the wax as she started toward the library.

“Her ladyship’s maid brought it just a bit ago. Her ladyship’s maid said it was quite urgent, and that you were to send for her ladyship if you wanted her.”

“Thank you, Charles.” Gillian smiled at him as he held open the library door for her.

“If there’s anything you want, my lady, just let me know,” he added helpfully. “Anything at all. Say, for example, you wanted a message sent to Lady Charlotte. Well, then”—he puffed up his chest and thumped it importantly—“Bob’s your uncle!”

“No, my uncle’s name is Theodore,” she said absently as she read the note. Charles hovered hopefully around the door. His curiosity was rewarded when Gillian suddenly crumpled the note and said, “Bloody hell! Will someone please explain to me how that man’s mind works?”

Charles quickly stepped back into the room. “I would be happy to be of assistance, my lady, if you were to just tell me which man it is you seek information about.”

Gillian stifled the desire to roll her eyes and instead commanded that the carriage be brought around immediately. “I have a few letters to write, Crouch,” she said to the butler as she hurried out into the hall and toward the stairs. “I’ll want a footman…no, four footmen, ready to take them immediately. I’ll want the notes delivered as quickly as possible, so have them ride.”

“Four footmen, m’lady?”

“Yes, four,” Gillian replied as she leaped up the stairs. “I shall go to Lady Charlotte myself, and the four footmen can deliver the notes to his lordship’s ladybats.”

“Ladybirds,” Crouch corrected her softly as he watched her fly up the stairs; then he turned his attention to the louts standing about watching with nothing better to do but scratch their arses. “ ’Ere, you, Dickon, you ’eard the mistress. Go tell Tremayne to ’ave the carriage and four ’orses brought ’round. Coo lummey, what ’is lordship’ll ’ave to say about this, I don’t want to think.”

“I thought that bit of news would bring you at a gallop,” Charlotte said as she entered the small sitting room. “Good afternoon, Nick. You look well.”

Nick bowed. “Thank you, Lady Charlotte.”

Charlotte stared openmouthed at him for a moment, then raised a brow as she looked at Gillian.

“Nick has decided he likes talking,” she answered the unasked question. “Now, tell me where you heard this news.”

“Papa told Mama when he came home from his morning at the club. He said the books are filled with wagers on whether Lord Weston will trump Lord Carlisle, or vice versa. Papa didn’t know who to bet on — he felt as if he should back Lord Weston, since he’s his nephew-in-law, but he thinks Lord Carlisle has the advantage and so…well…he’s wagered on both.”

Gillian couldn’t keep the smile back. “That sounds like Uncle Theo. He doesn’t like to be on the losing side of any venture, least of all those concerning a few groats.”

Charlotte snorted. “A few groats — after what Lord Weston settled on you, I should think he would cast his lot with your husband.”

“Char, you make it sound as if Noble purchased me!”

Charlotte shrugged and daintily picked at a cuticle. “He did, more or less. Oh, don’t get your feathers in a hackle, cousin; I assume you are not here to debate the hows and whys of your marriage. What are you going to do about this terrible fisticuffs duel the men have planned?”

“I shall stop it, of course! I have no intention of allowing Lord Carlisle to beat the tar out of my husband.”

“What makes you think Lord Carlisle’s tar won’t take a pounding?”

Gillian made a face. “Normally, I’d back Noble’s tar against Lord Carlisle’s, but in the last few days Noble has been kidnapped, shot, received a black eye, broken his nose, and been drugged. The last, I’m annoyed to say, was completely without need, since Noble informed me this morning that he had actually apologized to Lord Carlisle and canceled the duel the night before.”

Charlotte nodded. “Papa told Mama about that, as well. But how do you intend to stop them?”

Gillian smiled. “I have a wonderful plan.”

Charlotte dimpled at her in return. Nick looked worried.

Lord Carlisle sauntered over to where the smaller man was sitting. He glared at his companion’s arrogant posture for a moment, then allowed himself to be waved into an adjoining chair. “You wanted to see me?”

The smaller man nodded his head. “It’s about this silly challenge you’ve issued Weston…you don’t intend to go through with it, do you? The man is known for his abilities in the boxing ring.”

“As am I,” Carlisle said with a scowl. Impudent upstart. Who did he think he was, cautioning him against Weston?

“I have no doubt, but you seem to be forgetting the goal of the exercise — to protect Lady Weston from his inhuman rages. How do you think she’ll fare once he takes out his anger on her?”

“Anger at my beating him in the ring? She won’t be responsible for that.”

“No, but she is responsible for having you detained, and forcing Weston into a public apology. No man in his right mind would let his wife get away with such brazen actions, especially a man of Weston’s pride. She’ll pay for her little plan and pay dearly, unless I miss my guess.”

Carlisle digested this unpalatable news. “She was trying to protect him; surely you don’t think he’d—”

“He has every right to beat her for interfering, and when his humiliation at your hands is added to his rage, well…” The smaller man spread his hands and shrugged. “It will be all over for her. Perhaps you can save the next bride.”

“No, dammit, I’ll save this one!” Carlisle snarled, his face twisted with pain. “I couldn’t save Elizabeth from that monster’s wrath, but I’ll save this Lady Weston.”

The small man sat back with a satisfied grin, his fingers steepled together. “I have an idea about how you might just do that. I’ve taken a house in the country. If we move up the plan to tonight, I will place my house at your disposal. There’s no safer location for her — Weston’d never think of seeking her there.”

Carlisle waved away a man offering libations and watched the smaller man fidget with his watch fobs, wondering if he should chance speaking bluntly.

“I thought you were on your uppers? The word around town is that you can’t meet your vowels, yet you’ve taken a house?”

The man flushed angrily. “My finances are no concern of yours. Now, do you want to save Lady Weston or not? Be quick, man, her life is at stake! You should know that more than anyone!”

Carlisle narrowed his eyes at the impudent manner in which he was addressed. He was tempted to walk away from the plan, but the memory of his failure to save Elizabeth haunted him still. He couldn’t allow that history to repeat itself.

He nodded his agreement.

“Ladies, we have an emergency!” Gillian declared as she strode into her sitting room, Nick on her heels. “Lord Weston and Lord Carlisle are going to—”

“—have a duel by fisticuffs, yes, we know,” Beverly interrupted her.

Gillian frowned. “How do you know? I just learned of it from my cousin!”

Beverly shrugged.

“We tend to hear things of import in the ton, my lady,” Madelyn said. “We have to be current with the latest on-dits if we are to be successful.”

“Sort of an occupational necessity, you mean?”

The ladies nodded.

“I see. Well, be that as it may, the fact remains that we shall need to take immediate action to bring this unendurable situation to a close.”

“What can we do?” Laura asked hesitantly. “Do you wish us to disguise ourselves in men’s clothing and descend upon Mr. Jackson’s rooms?”

Gillian eyed the women’s lush figures. Disguising them as men was clearly not an option.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” gasped Anne as she burst into the room ahead of an unhappy-looking Tremayne. “The White Dove was telling me the most amazing bit of news about Lord Weston—”

“We’ve heard it,” Madelyn said, scooting over to make room on the love seat.

“Oh,” Anne said, pouting a little at this turn of events.

“White Dove?” Gillian asked.

“The Duke of Marlborough’s mistress,” Laura explained. “She’s the undisputed leader of the demimonde. Anne, Lady Weston needs our help to stop this silly duel.”

Anne’s pout disappeared as her eyes began to sparkle. “Shall we nobble them? I’ve always wanted to try my hand at a bit of honest nobbling.”

“Anne!” Beverly said with a frown. “I’m sure Lady Weston has a plan that does not involve something so very crude.”

“Yes, indeed, I do,” Gillian said with a smile for her mistress friends. “It’s much nicer than nobbling, and really very simple.”

Five faces turned to her expectantly.

“I want you to seduce the men at Gentlemen Jackson’s.”

Three hours later Gillian alighted from the carriage. She looked at number 13, Bond Street, and gave a little sigh. “It doesn’t look like much, does it?”

“Mmmm, no,” Charlotte said, watching a handsome young blood enter the next-door establishment. “Let’s go there instead. Fencing. Gilly, you know how you love swords!”

“Oooh, Henry Angelo’s school,” Anne trilled as she stepped out of the second carriage. “I’ve been there. You’d like it, Lady Charlotte. There are ever so many young gentleman who learn to fence there.”

“No,” Gillian said firmly, tugging her cousin toward the proper door. “Later. Perhaps. If you behave.”

“Pooh, who wants to behave? You don’t have any fun that way.” Charlotte shot longing glances toward the second door.

“You do, or you shan’t come with us and watch the mistresses seduce the gentlemen. Honestly, Charlotte, it’s a full day’s work trying to keep you proper!”

Crouch, standing next to them, blanched at her words. “You want to go inside the boxing saloon, m’lady? Am I ’earin’ you correctly? You want to go in?”

“Yes, Crouch, that’s correct. I plan to—”

Crouch shook his head and raised his hook. “No, m’lady. I can’t allow it. ’Is lordship would be stringin’ my gut out thinner’n a blue-eyed cat’s smellers. Ye’ll not be wantin’ to see me with my guts like that, now would you, m’lady?”

“That pitiful tone in your voice is very effective, Crouch,” Charlotte said in a stage whisper. “If you like, I can show you an expression that would highly complement it. You might have better luck that way.”

“Charlotte, I forbid you to subvert my pirate!”

“My lady.” Madelyn put her hand on Gillian’s arm and inserted herself between the two cousins. “Do you not think we should be about your plan? Even now, Lord Weston could be—”

“Dear God, yes, of course! Off you go, the four of you. We shall follow once you’ve had suitable time to seduce the men.” Gillian pulled a watch from her reticule. “About how long do you anticipate that will take? Three minutes? Four?”

Beverly shot her a look of patent disbelief. “To seduce someone? My lady, that could take upwards of an hour—”

“Oh, no,” Gillian argued. “We don’t have that sort of time. I want the quick version.” She looked at the blank faces gawking at her. “You know, the quick seduction. Heavens, I can’t believe I need to tell you four how to do your job. The quick one, the one that makes a man’s eyes bulge out and his breathing stop and his hands clench and unclench spasmodically. It only takes a few minutes for Noble to reach that state, and surely you are ever so much more effective at seduction than I am.”

Madelyn opened and closed her mouth a few times before she got the words out. “We’ll do our best, my lady.”

Gillian beamed at her. “Excellent. We’ll follow you in a few minutes.” She smiled a reassuring smile at Crouch as he shook his head at the sight of the mistresses disappearing through Gentleman Jackson’s door.

Gillian took a firm grip on her cousin’s arm to keep her from wandering. “Crouch, when we go upstairs, you and the footmen may stay out here.”

“Nay, m’lady, yer won’t be doing that. Remember my gut! ’Ere Charles, Dickon, ’Enry — ye three guard ’er ladyship. Frank, ’Arrison, ye take the ’ounds. Thomas, Jim, the two of ye stay with the ’orses, and make sure no one does anythin’ funny like to either carriage. I’ll stay by Master Nick’s side. And we’ll all be stayin’ out ’ere where it’s safe!”

This last was said directly to Gillian. Charlotte looked over the line of footmen as they leaped down from the two carriages necessary to carry them all, then turned back to Gillian. “If you could get them all on top of horses, you could join Astley’s!”

Gillian rolled her eyes. “Really, Crouch, I appreciate your concern, but my plan is quite sound, I assure you. We’ll be perfectly safe; his lordship will be there, after all.

Crouch crossed his arms over his chest. “Aye, m’lady, but who’ll keep ye safe from ’im once ’e discovers ye there?”

“Testicle!” Charles shouted suddenly, tugging at the pirate’s sleeve. “Testicle, Mr. Crouch. Look, over there, testicle!”

“Why the devil are ye yammerin’ on about yer cods?”

Charles danced up and down before Crouch’s unbelieving eyes. Was the man actually wringing his hands?

“Testicle! Look, coming down the street — testicle!”

Crouch suddenly remembered the watchword and spun around, his eyes narrowed, looking for any threat to his mistress’s safety. A carriage was speedily bearing down on them, the horses lathered and wild-eyed. Immediately footmen began running to and fro, stumbling over each other, over the dogs, and over their own feet. Crouch shouted orders to form a circle around Gillian, but the orders were lost in all the noise and confusion.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Gillian said, shaking her head as she stepped over a prone footmen. She grabbed Nick and pushed him up the stairs. “Quickly, Charlotte, before they regroup. Oh, I do hope the mistresses have seduced all the men by now.”

Charlotte panted behind her as they dashed up the steps. “I’m sure it takes more than two minutes to seduce a man, let alone a whole room full of them. Even Lord Weston must take longer than two minutes to be seduced.”

Gilian recalled several occasions when Noble had proved that statement false but kept that bit of news to herself, concentrating instead on how they would stop the ridiculous boxing match. They paused at the top of the second flight of stairs to catch their breath.

“I still don’t understand why you want the mistresses to seduce every man present, cousin. Other than for the sheer pleasure of watching their expertise in action, of course.”

“Charlotte!” Gillian scolded, and tucked several strands of hair back into her chignon. “They are there for distraction. You don’t think we’re just going to be allowed to stroll into Mr. Jackson’s rooms without being questioned, do you?”

Charlotte tugged at her gown and pinched her cheeks. “Certainly I thought so. Why shouldn’t we?”

“Because ladies are not allowed in. Hence the mistresses. Nick, darling, you have a bit of dirt smudged on your chin…yes, thank you, that’s got it. Are you ready?”

Nick squeezed her hand. “I’m ready.”

“Excellent. Char, ready? Oh, blast, that would be Crouch and his reinforcements. Shoulders back, everyone. This is a glorious cause we fight for!”

“Lord Weston?” Charlotte asked as Gillian pushed open the door. “Glorious? Good-looking, I’ll admit, but glorious? I — oh, my! Will you look at that gentleman! He is bare-chested! What a magnificent figure of a man! Beverly, you cannot possibly want that gentleman, he’s much too young for you. I’ll take care of him for you, shall I?”

Gentleman Jackson’s rooms were in an uproar. Several gentlemen of the ton had arrived to watch the battle royal, and they had made themselves quite comfortable as they strolled around the outer room, carrying out loud conversations with each other over the deafening noise of the other gentlemen gossiping, arguing, and wagering over the outcome of the duel. Into that sea of masculinity the mistresses had sallied, flags flying and sails unfurled. The result was utter pandemonium.

“Excellent!” Gillian cried upon viewing the chaos, her hand tight on the back of Nick’s jacket. It wouldn’t do at all to lose him in this crowd of hot bloods. “Look, Char, the mistresses are a smashing success!”

“I’m looking, I’m looking,” Charlotte muttered, quickly donning an expression that pronounced her a shy, frightened, innocent young maiden who suddenly found herself in an unsuitably masculine environment. “Why, Lord Beckman, what a surprise to find you here!”

Lord Beckman looked equally surprised to see two ladies push their way through the crowd. He stuttered an excuse and slunk away.

“Hrmph. What a weakling Beckman is. Never did have any backbone. Oooh, look, Gilly, Anne is sitting on the Duke of Firth’s lap! How very clever of her. I wonder how she did it?”

“Excuse me,” Gillian said politely as she slipped past two men. “Char, come along. Stay with me lest you be confused with one of the ladybuns.”

Charlotte’s eyes glittered as she followed reluctantly behind. “Do you think there’s a chance of that?”

“Here’s a door. Nick, stay behind me. Charlotte, you’re responsible for keeping him safe.”

Charlotte saluted and put a protective arm about the lad.

Gillian threw the door open without preamble and stood staring at the sight within. There were several men inside, one of whom was a tall, burly fellow who could only be the famous Gentleman Jackson himself. He was talking with Noble, while Lord Rosse and Sir Hugh stood nearby.

Noble was in the act of removing his upper layers of clothing, his back to the door. Directly in front of Gillian was Lord Carlisle, handsomely garbed in a colorful kilt. She spent no time in admiring the attractive ensemble, for he was in the act of removing his hand from his hose and looking toward Noble. In his hand he held a small dagger, which he hefted in a manner that clearly indicated he was going to throw it.

At Noble.

In his back.

The result of such a heinous act being that her beloved husband would surely die.

Not if she had anything to say about it! Gillian thought as she leaped toward the Scot. Just as she did so, he stepped forward, her hand just missing his arm but ending up with a handful of woolen kilt. She didn’t hesitate even a fraction of a second — Noble’s very life was at stake, and only her actions could keep him from coming to harm. She took a firm grip on the material with both hands and yanked as hard as she could.

“I would say that answers the question of what a Scotsman wears beneath his kilt,” Charlotte said over her shoulder, her eyes wide and sparkling.

Nick pushed his way into the room. “He’s not wearing anything,” he said, puzzled, looking up at Gillian.

“Exactly,” she answered, distracted by the scene before her. It wasn’t the horrified look on Lord Carlisle’s face that worried her. It was the steel-blistering scowl on her husband’s handsome countenance that suddenly made her wish she were miles away.

“Good afternoon, Noble,” she said with a weak smile. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“It won’t happen again, Jackson, I can assure you of that. If I have to lock my wife away, I will make sure she never comes here again.”

Gentleman Jackson was adamant. No matter how important Lord Weston’s patronage was, he couldn’t be having a repeat of the day’s chaos. “I’m sorry, my lord. It would be best if you found another of the boxing schools to patronize.”

Noble glanced around at the debacle. While most of the bloods had left after it had been made clear the duel was off, they had not left peaceably. Chairs had been smashed against the floor, cups of wine and other libations had been dashed against the walls, occasional tables were thrown through the windows, and the famed gold curtains had been ripped down and thrown out to the crowd gathering below the windows. In the midst of this destruction, what looked to be a full phalanx of his footmen were milling around the remains of the crowd. Gillian’s two dogs were running from man to man conducting their own investigation, while his ex-mistresses — he didn’t want to even begin to ponder what they were doing here, although he knew Gillian had a hand in it — were busily chatting up the remaining gentlemen present. He wished them well. Perhaps if they all found the protectors they sought, they would be out of his life once and for all.

“Papa?” His son tugged at his hand. Noble put the hand on the boy’s head, surprised at his lack of surprise at seeing him. Why should he be surprised? Hadn’t Gillian included Nick in every other of her harebrained schemes?

“Not all of them, Papa,” Nick answered solemnly. “She didn’t let me meet your ladybuds.”

“Ladybirds,” Noble said without thinking. “Er…that is…oh, hell, never mind. It doesn’t matter. Where is your mother? I don’t see her anywhere.”

“She went out the door with that man who didn’t have anything on underneath his skirt.”

“Kilt,” he replied absently, then suddenly grabbed Nick by both shoulders. “She what?” he bellowed at the boy. “When did she leave?”

Nick’s face turned pale. “Just a few minutes ago, but Papa, I want to tell you about—”

Noble was off before Nick could finish his sentence.

“—the man who hurt you,” he said softly.

“McGregor!” Noble roared as he pushed his way through the remaining gawkers, his heart feeling as if it was going to burst out of his chest. “McGregor!”

He’d done it; the bastard had done it. He’d taken Noble’s soul and crushed it to a lifeless pulp. If he’d done anything to harm her…Noble choked on the thought. He rounded up his men and, after giving them a brief tongue-lashing for letting Gillian out of their sight, raced down the stairs and out onto the street, the entire population of Jackson’s following swiftly on his heels.

Noble paced back and forth in front of a house in Cheapside, muttering to himself just what he’d do to that murdering bastard McGregor when he caught up with him. He wanted nothing more than to be on the back of the nearest horse, hunting for his Gillian, hunting for the man who had spirited her away directly under his nose, doing something — anything — to find her.

“If he’s harmed a single hair on her head,” he threatened, shaking his fist at the sky, “by God, I’ll—”

“Tear his head off and spit down his neck, yes, Noble, we’ve heard that already,” Lord Rosse said as he strode down the front steps and toward his friend.

Noble spun around and took the marquis by the neck cloth. “What have you found out? Where did the devil take her? What did the murdering bastard’s man have to say?”

“Noble, calm yourself, you’re upsetting your son.”

Rosse waited until Noble released him before continuing. “Carlisle’s man doesn’t know where he’s gone, but he did verify that he had ordered a small case packed earlier, so evidently he’d planned this all along.”

“No, not this,” Noble said, resuming his pacing as his mind wheeled and turned frantically, trying to make sense of it. “He couldn’t have known Gillian would appear at Jackson’s. No, what he planned was something else, a plan he decided to abandon once he realized he could take advantage of Jackson’s madhouse to kidnap her.”

He combed an agitated hand through his hair as he stopped in front of his friend. “Where, Harry, where has he gone to earth?”

“I don’t know, Noble. I wish to God I did. I never thought — I was sure Carlisle was innocent — but I suppose you were right. My nose has gotten cold.”

Noble clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, then resumed his pacing. “It’s not your fault, old friend. She was my responsibility — what is it, Crouch?”

“M’lord, one of the Runners ’as returned.”

Noble raced over to where the Runner, still dressed in his livery, was jumping off a horse. “They’ve gone toward Colfax,” he said breathlessly. “We followed them to the east road. Davey’s on their heels, but I’d wager a year’s worth of blue ruin that they’ve gone to the Nag’s Head Inn at Colfax.”

Noble was in the carriage before the man had finished, ordering the coachman to spring the horses.

“Papa! Don’t leave without me!”

Noble swore and threw the door open, grabbing the small figure of his son and hauling him into the carriage just as the horses leapt off.

“We’ll be right behind you,” he heard Rosse shout as the carriage barreled down the road, the coachman bellowing oaths at the people who were foolish enough to block his path. Noble closed his eyes briefly against the pain that threatened to overwhelm him, pain at the thought of losing Gillian. She was his very soul, hers entwined so tightly with his that he didn’t think he could survive the separation. His mind repeated a litany in time to the horses’ hoofbeats, “Please God, let her be all right.”

A small, cold hand slipped into his. Noble opened his eyes and looked down at his son.

“She’ll be fine,” he said, wiping off a lone tear streaking down the boy’s cheek. “Don’t worry, son, we’ll rescue her.”

“Just like she rescued you?” Nick asked, squeezing his father’s hand tight.

A small smile flashed over Noble’s face. “Yes, just like that. We’ll save her and take her home and keep her safe for the rest of her life.”

Nick burrowed his head into his father’s side. “That man will hurt her like he did Mama,” he said into Noble’s coat.

“What man?” Noble asked, the idea of locking his wife away in a tall tower beginning to look very attractive.

“The man who hurt Mama. The man who hit you on your head when you came in to help me.”

Noble felt his blood turn to ice. Gently he pushed the boy back until he could see his face. Nick’s eyes — those eyes that made him feel he was looking into a mirror — gazed back at him filled with pain and worry.

“The man you saw who…” God, he hated to do this to him, but it was Gillian’s life at stake. “The man you saw shoot your mama?”

Nick nodded, a tear spilling over his brimming eyes.

“Where did you see this man?”

“At Gentleman Jackson’s. He was watching Gillian.”

The ice turned to fire deep inside him. “Was the man still there after Gillian left?”

Nick nodded again, looking even more worried. He twisted the material in his short pants between nervous fingers. “Did I do something wrong, Papa? I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”

Noble hugged his son fiercely. “No, son, you didn’t do anything wrong. Now, I want you to tell me from the very beginning when you first noticed that man at Gentleman Jackson’s.”

Lord Rosse, riding one of the Black Earl’s horses, was surprised to see Noble’s carriage suddenly stop. He rode up and leaned down to ask if everything was all right.

Noble stepped out and handed Nick up to John Coachman. “You can ride up there with John for a bit, son. If you’re good, he’ll let you handle the whip.”

Noble turned back to his friend. “Tie him off.” He nodded at the horse as he climbed back into the carriage. “We have to talk.”

“What’s all this about?” Rosse asked a minute later as the coach once again started off at a fast clip. “You’ll have to change horses at Rowley at the rate you’re pushing them.”

Noble ignored the comment, his face hard and bitter. “It’s Tolly.”

Rosse stared at him, not understanding his cryptic comment.

A spasm of pain swept across Noble’s face. “God help me, I thought the man was my friend, but it’s been Tolly all along. He’s been behind McGregor’s attacks on me, I’m sure of it. Tolly was the man who killed Elizabeth.”

“Tolly?” Rosse asked, disbelieving. “Our Tolly? Are you sure? He’s the one who told us to look at Carlisle’s house…oh.”

“Exactly. Nick identified him, right down to those blasted seals and fobs he always decks himself out with. He told me…” Noble’s voice choked to a stop. It took him a few moments before he could continue. “He told me how Tolly would visit Elizabeth and they’d play their little games in front of Nick. My God, Harry, how could she do that to him? How could she hate him so much that she’d want to see him suffer like that?”

Rosse swallowed back his own lump. “She never liked him, Noble, you knew that.”

“I knew it, and I thought I’d protected him from her wrath at not being able to have children…but I didn’t. I failed him, Harry, and that thought will haunt me till the day I die. And now—” Noble stared blindly out the window. “What if I fail Gillian, too?” he whispered.

“You won’t,” Rosse said in a hearty voice. “We’ll stop at Rowley and change horses, and see if the Runner left any message about their direction. We’ll find them.”

“You know what he did to Elizabeth,” Noble said hoarsely. “He beat her. He cut her. He abused her in ways no man should abuse a woman. He must be mad — mad with jealousy or hate or — God knows what. What’s to stop him from taking out his rage at me on Gillian? What’s to stop him from doing the same inhuman things to her that he did to Elizabeth?”

His last words were almost a sob. Rosse put out a hand and grasped his friend by the arm. “Noble, stop torturing yourself. It won’t do you any good, or Nick, or Gillian. Now get hold of yourself, man, and let’s consider all the places Tolly might have gone.”

Gillian was not amused. When she had spied a familiar wizened figure beckoning her, she’d followed without hesitation, leaving her apology to Lord Carlisle half-finished. Noble was busy raging at an ill-looking Crouch, and Charlotte still had Nick in her grasp, so she left Lord Carlisle and Sir Hugh and slipped out through the door to a small anteroom.

“Palmerston, I’m surprised to see you here. I wouldn’t have believed that you would be interested in such goings-on.”

The old man slowly lowered himself onto a bench with the aid of his stick. He wheezed a chuckle at her. “Now, gel, you don’t expect me to let my godson do battle for his honor without being present, do you?”

“Your godson?” Gillian exclaimed, seating herself next to him. “I didn’t know he was your godson.”

“Aye, godson and great-grandson-by-law.”

Gillian raised her eyebrows. “You’re Elizabeth’s greatgrandfather?”

“Aye.” A look of distaste crossed his face. Gillian was reminded of an ancient wrinkled and brittle parchment that she had once seen. Like it, Palmerston’s face seemed to have survived more than its fair share of years.

“Elizabeth, now there was an evil gel. Truly evil.”

Gillian stared in surprise. “Your own great-granddaughter? Evil?”

“Aye, that she was. She’d liked to hurt things, ever since she was a little gel. Cruelty was a sport to her. Caught her more’n once tormenting my dogs. Took a switch to her for it once, but she just moaned and squirmed and begged me to thrash her again.”

Palmerston’s brilliant blue eyes peered out from twin bushy white eyebrows. “You know what I’m talking about, gel?”

“I — no, I guess I don’t,” admitted Gillian.

“Some people — sick people, people sick in their minds — find pleasure in inflicting pain on others. Other people gain pleasure from their own pain.”

Gillian wrinkled her nose in disbelief.

Palmerston nodded. “Elizabeth was like that. She took enjoyment from pain, and she took great delight in hurting others.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “She particularly liked to hurt your husband. And his son.”

“But why?”

Palmerston shook his head. “No reasoning with their kind. They’re not sane. Mind yourself, gel. There’s others like Elizabeth who would hurt you if they could.”

“Me? Who?” Gillian asked.

Palmerston didn’t reply; he just closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.

“Is it the same person who has tried to harm Noble?” She gave the old man a gentle shake, but he refused to say any more. She sat back next to him, ignoring the sudden crashes and harsh voices from the room beyond. Elizabeth had hated Noble? If that was the case, perhaps he hadn’t been mourning her death; perhaps she had misinterpreted his dislike of his first wife for grief. Perhaps there was hope for her after all.

The noise swelled into the room as the door opened and a figure slipped through.

“There you are, Lady Weston. I thought you might have come here.”

Gillian glanced at Palmerston, but he was still sleeping despite the noise. “Yes, but I should return,” she said, standing. “Noble will be wanting to leave…”

“He asked me to escort you downstairs,” Lord Carlisle said, grasping her arm and pushing her toward a back door.

“Noble asked you?”

“Yes. He’s taking his son to his carriage and asked if I would see you safely down. You don’t want to go out into the main rooms — they aren’t safe for a gentle lady.”

“But my cousin—”

“Has been taken outside already,” Lord Carlisle said with a worried smile. He pushed her gently toward the servants’ stairs. “We’ll go down the back way, then meet up with Weston outside.”

Ha, Gillian thought to herself some time later. What a fool she had been to trust Lord Carlisle. She hoped Palmerston would be sure to tell Noble who had urged her away. She struggled briefly against her bonds and wished she had the common sense God gave to slugs.

He had kidnapped her! Face down on the floor of his carriage, her arms bound at her sides, a foul taste in her mouth from the horribly musty black cloth that encased her, Gillian came to terms with the fact that the man she had thought was a friend was, in fact, a villain. Noble had been right all along.

“Just because I tried to stop the duel,” she muttered, spitting out a mouthful of the cloth and trying to work a foot out of the bottom of the canvas bag, “he decided to pay me back in kind. Well, he’ll soon see what a mistake he made in underestimating me!”

The carriage lurched over a hole in the paving stones, sending her flying into the side wall. She saw stars for a few minutes, then managed to curl herself up so her head didn’t pound against the wall interior of the carriage with each bump and jolt. Once she was satisfied she had enough air, she concentrated on trying to work her arms free of the ropes, but it would be hopeless until she could remove herself from the bag. She struggled for what seemed to be days until she had one foot free.

“Excellent,” she said to herself, and spent the next two years working her second foot free. Just as she emerged from her chrysalis, exhausted and sweaty but triumphant, the carriage swayed and jounced to a halt. She cautiously peeked out the window. They were in the yard of a posting inn, and it looked as if the horses were being changed. “More than excellent,” she said as she tried the handle of the carriage door. It was unlocked. She sent up a little prayer and threw the door open, leaping out of her prison.

And straight into Lord Carlisle’s arms. Or what would have been his arms if he had known she was going to come bursting out of the carriage just as he was opening the door to check on her. Instead she hit him head-on, knocking him backwards. Together they hit the ground with a resounding smack.

Gillian scrambled off the earl and stared at him for a moment. There was a pool of blood growing from beneath his head. She prodded him. He didn’t move. She put a hand to his mouth but felt no breath stirring.

“Bloody hell! I’ve killed him!”

“Aye, that you’ve done,” a raspy voice said from behind her. Gillian turned around to see a coachman backing away from her warily.

“But I didn’t mean to…he kidnapped me, you see…and then this…he was opening the door as I was coming out…it was an accident. You can see that, can’t you?”

The coachman looked at her with wide, nervous eyes, which widened even more when he looked around her again. “Here, I’m fetching the landlord. If you’ve gone and murdered my lord, it’ll be the three-legged mare for you, lady or no!”

“But, wait—” Gillian started toward the coachman, but he turned and fled before she could get near him.

“Well, now what do I do?” she wailed to the still figure of the earl. “I can’t just leave you here — good lord, Sir Hugh! Whatever are you doing here?”

A small yellow curricle raced into the yard and pulled up directly before her. The baronet leaped from the seat, took one look at the scene before him, and ordered his tiger to tend his horse. “I shall assist Lady Weston home in this carriage.”

Gillian felt like kissing him for saying such a nice word. Home. “That would be excessively kind of you, Sir Hugh, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to stay. You see, the magistrate will be sure to want to know how I came to kill an earl…”

Sir Hugh peered down at the recumbent figure. “Dead, is he? Shame, but still, I’m sure it was an accident. He did kidnap you, after all.”

“Kidnapping or not, I don’t believe I should leave until I’ve spoken with the authorities,” she said with a reluctant look toward the inn. She had no desire to see the gallows, let alone make use of them.

Sir Hugh pulled his lip in thought. “I have an idea. I have a house not far from here — an hour’s drive at most — I’ll leave word inside as to your whereabouts, and you can come along and have a rest until Weston arrives.”

“Noble is coming?” Suddenly the situation didn’t seem to be quite so terrible. Surely he would be able to help her out of this horrible mess. “Is he right behind you?”

“No, he had to tend to some business first. I’ll just go inside and leave Noble a message where we’re going, and then we can be on our way.”

Looking back on the day, Gillian realized she should have been suspicious about Sir Hugh’s antics when he insisted on leaving the body of Lord Carlisle lying in the courtyard, but she had wanted to be away just as badly as Sir Hugh seemed to, so she accepted his explanation that the innkeeper was sending for a doctor before Carlisle was moved.

She also felt she should have seen signs of Sir Hugh’s madness before it became disastrously evident, but she hadn’t. She rode along with him, pleased with her savior up until he escorted her into a darkened bedchamber.

“Thank you, Sir Hugh,” she said politely, wishing he would leave her so she could tidy herself up. “I’m sure this will be most…oh, my. What…er…what exactly is that?”

“What?” Sir Hugh asked politely as he slid the bolt home in the door and began to light candles.

Gillian pointed at the raised circular platform. “That. That large thing, just there, taking up most of the room.”

She began to feel something was very, very wrong.

“Ah, that.” Sir Hugh came up behind her and put a hand to her back. “That is a little something I devised myself. A modified Catherine wheel. Notice that it spins.”

Gillian noticed that, just as she also noticed the four leather straps and what looked suspiciously like dried bloodstains. She tried not to sound scared to death when she spoke. “Ah. It’s…most ingenious, Sir Hugh.”

He smiled. Gillian’s stomach dropped into her boots. She was looking at a madman; she knew that just as well as she knew her own self.

Sir Hugh laughed. “Mad? I don’t believe so, my dear, although I should by rights be after suffering what your husband has done to me.”

Gillian took a step backwards. “Noble is your friend, Sir Hugh. He’s been your friend for many years.”

“Friend,” he snarled, stepping toward her. “Enemy, my dear, my bitterest enemy. Did you know he stole the fair Elizabeth from me? She had been promised to me, you see, by my papa. But then Noble came along, and suddenly he had to have her and no one else.”

Gillian stepped back again, but the madman followed. “If she was in love with him…”

He snorted. “She didn’t know how to love anyone but herself, the coldhearted bitch. No, first he took my Elizabeth, then he took my land.”

“Your land?”

A tic started beneath the baronet’s left eye. He rubbed at it absently as he spoke. “The solicitor blamed the gaming debts, but I know the truth. Weston bought him out, forced him to sell my land, my inheritance, forced me from my birthright!”

Gillian gasped as Sir Hugh screamed the last word. He was staring past her, his fists working, his face livid and twisted with hate. “He had everything. He had it all, handed to him by his dear papa, but still he had to take what was mine. Everything, he took everything.”

Suddenly his hand lashed out and he grabbed her by her arm, tugging her forward until she could feel his heated breath on her face. She tried to turn away from the horrible sight of his face tortured and knotted with madness, but he pulled her even closer.

“I showed him, though, didn’t I? Poor Hugh, nothing but a wastrel’s son, they all said, but I proved them wrong, didn’t I? Didn’t I?”

He shook her with the last words.

“I—”

“I did, I did and you know it! I even did away with that grasping, greedy bitch Mariah when he came close to tracking her down.”

Gillian stared at him with blank horror. He killed Mariah? Simply to keep her from speaking to Noble? She swayed for a moment, feeling as if she was going to be sick with the realization of just how mad Sir Hugh was.

“You cold bitch, you never did want me to succeed at anything either!” he snarled in her face. “I knew what you had planned, you know. I knew how you plotted with McGregor to have me shot in place of Weston.” Sir Hugh barked a short laugh. “I thought you’d learned your lesson the last time, but I see I shall have to punish you yet again, my dear Elizabeth.”

Gillian tried yanking her arm away from the baronet but wasn’t prepared when his fist shot into her face. Her knees buckled and she fought to catch her breath as mind-numbing pain radiated out from her jaw. She shook her head and tried to keep her heaving stomach contained but ended up retching onto the carpet. When she was finished, Sir Hugh yanked her to her feet and threw her onto the wooden platform. She was too dazed and stunned by the pain to do more than struggle feebly.

“What do you think?” Lord Rosse asked, watching through the window as their carriage raced down the drive toward the house. “Are you sure Carlisle was telling the truth? That Tolly’s brought her here? He wasn’t in any shape to know what he was about, what with that big dent in the back of his head.”

“He knew what he was saying,” Noble said grimly. He flexed his fingers. If what Carlisle said was accurate, Gillian was utterly without resources, believing the baronet to be her friend, not a deadly enemy. He just hoped he got to her in time. If not — he couldn’t face that thought. “Tolly fooled him just as he fooled me.”

Rosse shook his head. “Carlisle believed everything Elizabeth told him?”

“Yes,” Noble said, leaning forward in an effort to urge the carriage faster. “He believed every last damned lie that fell from her treacherous lips. She had to have something to explain to her lovers about the marks made by her sick games with Tolly — who better to blame than her own dear husband?”

Before Rosse could speak, the carriage rolled to a stop, and both men were out and leaping up the stone steps to the door. Noble pounded on it, demanding entrance. Rosse reached around him, tried the doorknob, and threw the door open.

“You’re such a gentleman,” he told the Black Earl as Noble shot him a surprised look. They pushed their way into the small hall. A scared-looking footman was just scurrying off into another room, but Noble was on him in two steps.

“Where is she?” he roared, almost deafening the poor witless man. “Where has he taken her?”

The man’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Noble shook the smaller man and demanded to be told where his wife was.

“Here, let me have him, you’re doing more damage than good,” Rosse said, pulling the man out of his enraged friend’s hands.

“Where has your master gone? Is he upstairs? Is he in the house? Where is he?”

The man blanched and shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know where the master is.”

“Liar!” Noble snarled. Picking the man up, he threw him out one of the windows next to the door. “You!” He pointed at the slight figure of an obviously terrified footman. “If you don’t want to join your friend there, tell me where to find your master.”

The footman stared with an open mouth at the broken window, swallowed hard, and pointed upward. “Second floor, my lord. Last room on the left.”

Noble and Rosse were up the stairs before John Coachman and Nick even entered the house.

Noble’s mind was empty of all thoughts but of saving his Gillian. As his foot hit the top stair, a scream ripped through the air, rending Noble’s heart in two. He snarled vicious threats as he charged down the corridor, Rosse hard on his heels.

“Here,” he bellowed and, trying the doorknob, began to throw himself against the door.

“Noble, stop a moment,” Rosse pleaded. “Stop a moment before you knock yourself silly.”

“Gillian…scream…in there…” Noble panted as he threw himself again and again at the door.

“Look at the door, man, it must be at least five inches thick. You can’t break it down.” He grabbed Noble and shook him until his eyes lost the panicked look. “You can’t break it down, but there has to be another way into the room.”

Noble stared at his friend, his chest heaving, his eyes clouded with tears. “He’s hurting her, Harry.”

“I know. We’ll get her out, but you have to use your head.”

Noble froze for a moment, anguish written into every line of his face; then suddenly he spun around and raced down the darkened hallway.

Rosse watched him for a moment before turning his attention to the lock. He fiddled with it to no avail. Perhaps they would have to break down the door after all. If so, they would certainly need something stronger than brute strength.

Gillian had discovered quite early on that her screams gave great pleasure to Sir Hugh, and a pleased Sir Hugh was a Sir Hugh who did not hover over her with that wicked-looking knife, threatening to do all sorts of unspeakable things to her. He had already carefully sliced off her gown and was now taking enormous pleasure out of cutting great chunks of her shift off as well. She knew Noble would save her, but she hoped he’d hurry. She was quickly running out of shift, and her attempt to delay the baronet with talk was not meeting with great success.

“Sir Hugh, won’t you tell me, please, why you are doing this? I understand you think Noble has done you a wrong…”

“Noble,” Sir Hugh growled, and waved the knife uncomfortably close to her face. “Your dear husband. Ah, Elizabeth, if only you’d chosen me, but I was a mere baronet and not worthy of you, was I?”

Elizabeth? This was the second time he’d referred to her as Elizabeth. Perhaps if she humored him…“Certainly you were worthy of me, Sir Hugh, but I fell in love with Noble—”

“Love! Love? Don’t make me ill, my dear. You no more know what love is than you know what makes up the moon. No, my dear, I shall first punish you for your naughty ways, then we shall continue with our original plan. You will use that lush body of yours to bring McGregor to bay, and then we’ll arrange for your dear husband’s demise.”

Gillian felt sick, but not as sick as when the baronet began to describe what sorts of “games” he wanted to play with her. Did people really do those sorts of things to one another? And he made it sound as if Elizabeth enjoyed it — how could she have been so wrong about Elizabeth? Did Noble know about his first wife’s plot against him? Did he know what Elizabeth had really been like? Did he know that Sir Hugh had killed Elizabeth that night so many years ago? Did Noble know that his first wife had taken Sir Hugh as her lover?

And Lord Carlisle; there was no forgetting him. He had admitted to being Elizabeth’s lover, and it was evident from Sir Hugh that he and Elizabeth had planned to use Carlisle as a scapegoat for Noble’s murder. Gillian’s head began to spin with pain and confusion.

Secrets and lies, lies and secrets, Palmerston had said. The lies — those were Elizabeth’s words to Lord Carlisle. The secrets — Sir Hugh and Elizabeth and their secret plan to do away with Noble.

“It’s time, my dear. I haven’t heard your fair voice raised in terror in far, far too long.” Sir Hugh ran a thumb down the knife and stepped toward Gillian’s outspread legs. He had cut the shift off, leaving her exposed almost to her torso. She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer, jumping at the sudden cold feeling of the blade as Sir Hugh ran its flat side up the length of her thighs.

“Now, Noble, now is a good time,” she whispered, trying to brace herself against any pain. “Please, Noble, I need you now.”

“Praying, my dear? You know how futile that is — I shall have to flog the blasphemy out of your soul once we are through with this little game.”

“Noble!” Gillian’s voice raised to a shriek as Sir Hugh grabbed the edge of her torn shift and ripped it open wide. A sudden explosion of light and sound burst into the hellish darkness of the room as a figure crashed through the window, and then Noble was there, his hands around Sir Hugh’s throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, lifting the madman off the ground, his hands never loosening their grip. Gillian closed her eyes again, but she still heard the sickening crack as Noble twisted the baronet’s head, snapping his neck.

“Thank god,” she whispered, and he was there, looking her over for signs of injury, then slicing the leather restraints and carrying her to a chair.

“It’s all right, sweetheart, I have you now,” he crooned, rocking her as he held her tight. “I have you my darling, you’re safe now.”

“Don’t let me go,” she whispered into his neck, trying to stop the shaking that wracked her body. “I knew you’d come, Noble. I knew you would find me, my darling, adorable, beloved husband. But don’t you think you could have found me a little bit sooner?”

Noble let out a shaky laugh and squeezed the breath out of her. “Wife, you are the only woman I know who could suffer what you just suffered and still have enough breath to lecture me.”

Gillian pulled out of his embrace just far enough to see those dear, lovely silver-gray eyes with the marvelous black flecks. “I do not lecture, my lord. You lecture. I just listen. Oh, Noble! You are bleeding! Your poor legs are cut! You must let me attend them before you become ill.”

Noble laughed again, stronger this time, and released her only long enough to drape a bedsheet around her before opening the door. “Nothing can harm me now, love, especially not a few scratches.”

Rosse stood outside the door with a hatchet, panting with the effort of trying to break it down. “She’s all right?” he asked as Noble pushed past him, Gillian settled comfortably in his arms.

“Unhurt, just frightened.”

“And…?” He nodded toward the room.

“He’s in there. You’re welcome to him. What’s left.”

Rosse smiled. “I will take great pleasure in cleaning up after you.”

Gillian took one look at that smile and burrowed her head under Noble’s chin. She didn’t want to think how Lord Rosse intended to “clean up.”

“Papa?” Nick squirmed out of John Coachman’s grasp and ran up the stairs as Noble carried Gillian down. “Is Mama all right?”

Gillian untucked her head and beamed at her son. “I’m fine, Nick, just a little embarrassed in the clothing department.” She tipped her head back to look at Noble. “Did you hear, husband? He called me ‘Mama.’ ”

He stopped in the middle of the staircase and kissed her as he had wanted to kiss her ever since he laid eyes on her walking across the ballroom with Charlotte.

“Papa? Papa, you did rescue Mama just like we did you.”

Noble tore himself from Gillian’s mouth and gathered his wits enough to smile down at his son as he started down the rest of the stairs. “Did we, indeed?”

“Yes.” Nick jumped down the stairs and pranced around Noble as he headed toward his carriage. “You see? Mama is wearing a bedsheet just like you wore when we rescued you. We did it right, Papa, just like you said.”

Noble looked down at his wife, so warm and soft in his arms, her curves melting into him, her breath gently splaying across his neck. Her scent surrounded him, filling him with warmth from his crown to his very toes. “Yes, we did it right, Nick. This time we did it right.”