Noble Intentions

CHAPTER FOUR

Gillian swung her leg over the perch of the sidesaddle and slipped down to the ground in a manner reminiscent of a sack of bulldogs plunging the same distance. She stifled the groan that threatened to escape as she hobbled over to help Nick from his horse. The lad leaped down without assistance and looked about him with interest, as fresh as a daisy despite the grueling four-hour ride.

“Children,” she grumbled under her breath, and handed the reins to the groom who had accompanied them on the journey.

“Nick, please use the knocker,” she instructed and, hobbling to the front steps, attempted to straighten her appearance into something resembling that of a countess. A perspiring, dusty, unkempt countess whose riding habit had an unfortunate tendency to rick up on one side, but still, Gillian reminded herself as she raised her chin and tried to summon a haughty look, a genuine countess.

“ ’Ere, what’s that noise yer makin’? Can’t you see the knocker’s off the ’ouse? Don’t that mean nothin’ to ye? We don’t want ye hereabouts!”

Nick, faced with a door without a knocker, had affected entrance by simply pounding on the door with his fists. He was as startled as Gillian when the door suddenly swung open and a monstrous figure appeared, one huge hand on his hip as he glowered at the three people standing before him.

God’s ten toes, the man was huge — even bigger than Noble. He was as dark as sin, with a frown that could scorch the sun, but what really worried Gillian was the strange apparatus that lay glinting against his hip.

In place of his left hand was a highly polished bright brass hook.

“Good lord, pirates have taken over your father’s house!” Gillian yelled, snatching her son back and pushing him behind her in a protective gesture. “What have you done with my husband, you reprehensible, dastardly brute? By all that’s holy, if you’ve harmed him, I’ll do you bodily injury!”

The giant’s scowl deepened. A gold hoop hanging from his ear swung gently as he shook his head at her. “I ’aven’t done nuthin’ to ’is lordship, lady, I works for ’im. Ain’t much ye could do to me, either, ’cept maybe to rabbit an’ pork me to death.”

He took a step toward her and waved the menacing hook in her face. Rabbit and pork? Why was the huge, behooked pirate meandering on about supper at a time like this?

The giant gave Gillian a look that could only be described as disgruntled. “Ain’t no one mentioned supper, missis, nor meanderin’ fer that matter, whatever that might be. If’n ye don’t want to feel the flat of me ’and on yer bottle and glass, ye’d best be quick with tellin’ me who ye is, and what ye want with ’is lordship. I don’t ’ave all day to natter with ye, no matter how fetchin’ ye are.”

Gillian’s stomach contracted into a ball roughly the size of a runtish walnut. The barbarian was threatening to do some physical harm to her, of that much she was sure, even if she was confused by his sudden reference to bottles and such. Well, he certainly was due for a stern lecture about his manners with guests. She was convinced Noble had no idea his pirate was answering the door in such a surly manner.

“I am Lady Weston. Please stand aside and allow my son and me to enter our house.”

The pirate looked taken aback for a moment or two. His massive black brows actually retreated to either side of his forehead as he carefully studied Gillian, absently rubbing his jaw with the wickedly sharp end of his hook. She watched the tip of it, mesmerized. “Well, I’ll be blowed! The Duchess of Fife!”

Gillian frowned at him. Although she didn’t, as a rule, approve of employing pirates to answer one’s door, he was now a member of her staff and, as such, she was responsible for his well-being, both physical and moral. It was obvious to her that worry over his unfortunate infirmity had caused some damage to his mental state. Keeping this fact in mind, she corrected him in a gentle voice. “No, the Countess of Weston. I’m Lord Weston’s wife. Gillian, Lady Weston, to be precise.”

“That’s what I said. Yer ’is lordship’s trouble and strife.”

Gillian forgot to be mindful of his defective mental humors and bristled at the uncalled for accusation. “We’ve only been married one day, sir; I hardly feel that gives me time to be of any trouble to Lord Weston, let alone cause him strife. And whether or not I am, that is certainly none of your affair. You will cease making such ridiculous and completely unjustified judgments and allow me to pass by your large and, I regret to say, uncouth person.”

The giant looked confused. “Don’t get yerself riled up now, m’lady. I wasn’t makin’ no judgments against ye.”

“You said I was nothing but trouble and strife!”

“Aye, and ye are. Trouble and strife. Gooseberry puddin’.”

“Pudding! Did you just call me a pudding?”

“Aye, gooseberry puddin’!” The scowl was back on the pirate’s face as he shook his hook at Gillian. “Are ye daft, woman?”

Gillian took exception to his manner of debate on the front steps. This was not how she had envisioned making her entrance in her new home, in front of her new staff. “I am not the daft one here, Mr. Pirate. Will you please stop waving that thing in my face? Didn’t your mother ever teach you it was impolite to point your hook at others?”

The giant gawked at her, a dull red washing over his cheeks.

“That’s better. You should be more careful with that — that — apparatus. You could put someone’s eye out with it. Now please move aside, and then you may explain your propensity to speak in riddles.”

“Er…if I might intercede, my lady. He means you’re his lordship’s wife. Trouble and strife, gooseberry pudding, and Duchess of Fife are all popular cant used to mean wife.” A short, round man pushed the behemoth aside and bowed at what would be his waist if he weren’t shaped like an orange. “I’m Devereaux, Lady Weston, your husband’s man of affairs. Welcome to Britton House. I wasn’t aware that Lord Weston was expecting you, however I’m sure the news merely slipped his mind.”

As he spoke, the dapper little man waved her and Nick around the now mute gargantuan, politely escorting them into an oak-paneled hallway. Gillian gave the pirate a good glare to let him know she was not happy with him, then peeled off her gloves and looked around her. The hall was tastefully paneled in a warm honey oak, and had the loveliest parquet floor she’d ever seen.

“You must forgive Crouch, my lady. He meant no harm; he was as taken aback as I was by your unexpected, albeit welcome, arrival.”

Nick was standing next to the looming colossus, admiration clearly evident in his eyes as he watched the man nonchalantly pull out a cloth and, spitting on the hook, polish it with a grand gesture. Gillian was aware of her stepson’s approving eyes and made a mental note to discuss the impropriety of expectorating in public, let alone doing so upon one’s personal apparatus.

“Indeed. Well, Mr. Devereaux, would you please take me to Lord Weston? I shall discuss Crouch’s behavior with the butler at a later time.”

The giant smiled. It made the jagged scar running across the bridge of his nose pucker, pulling the corner of one eye down slightly. The result was not one to inspire hilarity.

“Crouch is the butler, my lady,” the round man said softly, wringing his hands in apparent distress over this news.

“Aye, m’lady. I’ve been with ’is lordship nigh on five years now.”

He nodded so forcibly that his earring swung madly back and forth. Gillian smiled broadly, gave a little mental shrug over the eccentricity of her husband’s staff, and turned back to the soft-spoken round man. “My husband?”

“Is not here, my lady.”

“Will he be back soon?”

“I’m afraid I do not know, my lady.”

“Where has he gone?”

“I cannot say, my lady.”

“Cannot or will not?”

“Alas, cannot, my lady. His lordship is on the reticent side when it comes to sharing information.”

“I see. When exactly did he leave?”

Devereaux shot her a pitying glance. “I am unsure of the exact time of his departure, my lady, as he left instructions for me and did not meet with me in person.”

Gillian felt oddly disappointed at the news, although she had prepared herself for Noble’s absence, knowing he had returned to town for the sole purpose of conducting business. Still, she would have liked to see her bridegroom again, especially when she had spent most of the agonizing ride into town reliving just how she came to be so uncomfortable in the saddle. It was worth every twang and ache, she reflected idly as she allowed the pirate butler to introduce her to the house staff and show her around the ground-floor rooms. She was very much looking forward to seeing whether another intimate encounter would prod her husband into bellowing at her about being only human. She hoped it would. She felt certain it was good for him to lose his vaunted control now and again, especially if she was on the receiving end of his magnificent display.

“My lady?”

She blinked and looked around as the butler twitched dustcloths off delicate rose-colored furniture.

“What display would that be?”

Oh lord, would she never learn to think without involving her mouth in the process?

“ ’Tis nothing. You were saying?”

“This is yer sittin’ room, m’lady.”

She looked around and flinched visibly. “It is pink, Crouch?”

The pirate surveyed the room, hand and hook resting on his hips.

“Aye, that it is. A right nasty shade of pink too, I’m thinkin’.”

“I am agreeing with you, Crouch.”

“ ’Twas ’er ladyship’s favorite color. ’Er late ladyship, that is, yer being ’er new ladyship an’ all.”

Gillian took a deep breath and smiled at her stepson, who was staring with openmouthed fascination at a rather indecent painting involving an enthusiastic group of satyrs, nymphs, and cherubs. She took him firmly by the shoulders, then pushed him out the door after the butler, ordering him to wash up from the dusty ride before going downstairs.

Twenty minutes later the silent boy stepped into a small room lit by several stands of candles and a cheerful fire.

“Hungry, Nick?” Gillian waved a hunk of yellow cheese at him and pointed toward the end of the mahogany desk, where a light repast had been placed. She sat behind the desk, sorting through the post that had arrived that day, looking for a clue as to Noble’s whereabouts. “I’m hoping your father returns for dinner, but until then, I thought we might refresh ourselves. What have we here?” From beneath a stack of account papers peeped an edge of expensive-looking lilac paper. Gillian pulled it out and examined it, wrinkling her nose as she did so.

“Hmmm. Perfumed.”

Nick looked up from his bread and cheese at the disgusted tone in her voice. Gillian examined the direction on the front of the letter closely, sighed, then waved the letter back and forth gently as she nibbled on her lower lip.

“It is unethical to read a letter that is not addressed to you, Nick.”

Nick shrugged noncommittally and stuffed a large piece of cheese in his mouth.

“Close your mouth when you chew, dear, you’re spewing bits of cheese on your father’s desk. No, it is unethical and quite probably illegal as well.”

Gillian considered the two purple seals on the back of the letter. They had clearly been slit, indicating that Noble had read this letter. She glanced over at her stepson.

“You would not want your private correspondence being available to just anyone, now would you?”

Nick thought for a moment, then shook his head and washed down a big hunk of bread with a swallow of milky tea. Gillian watched the fascinating process, momentarily reminded of a large South American snake she had seen the year before.

Shaking away the image, she tapped her finger on the letter. “However, there are times when one has to breach protocol, such as in the case of an emergency. For instance, what if someone near to you — oh, let us just pull a person out of thin air and use your father for this example — if you knew that your father was in peril, and that you could save him if only you knew his whereabouts, and that those whereabouts might be ascertained if you were to read a letter addressed to him in a very definitely feminine hand on paper so scented with lilac that it could drop a horse at thirty paces; why then, you would be fully justified in reading that letter, wouldn’t you? Even though you would not consider such an action under normal circumstances?”

Nick tipped his head to one side as he watched his stepmother, then nodded again. He wondered why she didn’t just read the letter, instead of making a fuss about it. He shrugged again and popped a whole apple tart into his mouth.

“I am so glad you agree with me, Nick. We shall get along just famously, I can tell. Now, since we are in agreement about when it is appropriate to throw the niceties out the window, I believe I can say without hesitation that the situation of your missing father clearly falls under the heading of an emergency.”

Nick looked up from the apple tart crumbs and raised an eyebrow in perfect imitation of Noble at his most quizzical.

“You do not agree that the letter should be read?”

Nick blinked at her.

“Or you do not agree that your father is missing?”

He nodded.

Gillian waved the letter gently back and forth as she thought about this. She considered explaining to him just what a fragile state of emotion his father was in. She contemplated telling him her plan to breach the walls Noble had built around his heart. She thought long about informing him that there were things that she, as an adult, saw that he did not.

She considered whether or not she wanted to make up any more excuses, decided against it, and read the letter.

Two minutes later, Nick, his hunger abated, watched Gillian as she paced the room and muttered expletives under her breath. He had been prepared to dislike the woman his father brought home as his new mother, but something about Gillian had put him immediately at ease. She was unlike anyone he had ever met. He didn’t understand why she had immediately accepted him as her son, for despite his father’s attempt at shielding him from the worst, he understood the harsh words the villagers used toward him. He knew that for some reason he was defective and wasn’t the heir his father needed, but he didn’t dwell on that shortcoming. It brought back too many painful memories of another mother and a terrifying night that had seemed to last for years.

He watched Gillian now as she paced and mumbled to herself. Was she talking about his father? He assumed she was, but her attitude didn’t make sense. One minute she was saying things about a poor, deluded man who had suffered so much he didn’t know how to love, the next minute she was threatening to emasculate him if he thought to play her false, especially after the most satisfying wedding night in the history of the world. Nick wondered just what exactly emasculating consisted of, decided by the expression on Gillian’s face it wasn’t pleasant, and settled back in the chair, content to watch her.

She seemed to struggle with a thought for a moment as she stood before the window gazing out at the darkening sky, tapping a finger on her lips; then she nodded twice and turned to face him.

“I have decided to save your father.”

He looked at her in surprise. Was his father in need of saving? Nick couldn’t imagine anyone as big and powerful as his father in need of help. He frowned. Despite her height, Gillian was thin and didn’t have much bulk. He doubted she would be of much assistance.

“He needs saving, Nicholas, and I am just the woman to save him. He’s too pigheaded to admit that, and ’tis the truth part of that fault could lie with the fact that we are not very well acquainted yet. Still, he is my husband now, and I owe him my help as well as my loyalty. You can stop shaking your head at me, Nick. I have made up my mind. Do you wish to come with me?”

His father’s obsession with order and control had seen to it that life at Nethercote, while pleasant, was dull and unexciting. Gillian’s arrival had brought a swirl of adventure that struck a deep chord in the boy. Nick yearned to ask his stepmother where they were going, but the visions of that black night long ago were too strong. He nodded instead.

She nodded back, and then started out the door, calling over her shoulder, “I will be back shortly. We don’t want any gossip, so I must change my clothing. The boots, I think, will suit. He is about my size.”

Some forty minutes later, Gillian scratched at the rough neckcloth as she sat back against the uncomfortable squabs of the hired hack and peered out the grimy, flyspecked window at the darkened house beyond. It was a modest-sized house of red brick, situated in a conservative, pleasant neighborhood. She frowned at the staid front of the house and nibbled on her lip. This wasn’t the sort of domicile in which she had expected Noble to keep his mistress. She took another look down the gently curved street. God’s knuckles, it was all wrong — this was not the sort of neighborhood she expected would tolerate a member of the demimonde. Did all mistresses live so well?

“Well, there’s nothing for it but to knock,” she muttered and, pulling at the boots’ waistcoat, she straightened her shoulders and allowed Nick to help her out of the hack before turning back to the driver.

“Please remain here, sir. I will have need of you again in a few minutes.”

The driver nodded. Holding tight to what remained of her quickly evaporating confidence, Gillian strode up the stairs with her son in tow and wielded the knocker briskly.

“Perhaps they are all abed,” she commented to Nick two minutes later. As he was wont to do, he raised one eyebrow in a youthful imitation of his father. Gillian bit back a smile and used the knocker again, rapping loudly against the white door.

The sound echoed through the house.

“No one appears to be home,” she said thoughtfully and, with a quick glance at her stepson, put her hand on the latch.

The door swung open. Gillian and Nick peered into the darkened hallway and listened. There was no sound but a muffled thumping from somewhere upstairs.

“Good evening?” Gillian was ashamed of the brief quaver in her voice. It was ridiculous to be afraid. This was her husband’s house, after all, and no matter whom he chose to install in it, she had a right to be here. A movement by her side made her realize she had taken Nick’s hand and was clutching it tightly. She made herself relax the grip, and with a smile she felt far from meaning, stepped over the threshold.

“Is anyone at home?”

Her voice echoed eerily around the small hallway illuminated faintly by the streetlights. To her right was a white staircase that presumably led upstairs, although all she could make out was a ghostly parade of steps dissolving into complete and utter blackness. She fought back a shiver, then froze as Nick suddenly dropped her hand and disappeared into the inky darkness.

“Nick, return to me this instant! You have no idea what sort of…oh, thank you!” The scrape of flint brought relief to Gillian as her brilliant and resourceful son lit a rack of candles found on a small ornate table at the foot of the stairs. The hall didn’t look nearly so menacing once it was lit by the soft glow of candles. Nick lit the tapers in another rack; then, taking it in hand, he tipped his head toward the stairs and looked an obvious question to Gillian.

“I suppose,” she said softly, stepping into the hall, “that you would like us to investigate those mysterious noises coming from somewhere upstairs?”

Nick nodded and held out his hand. Gillian was touched by the gesture. She took a step forward and captured his warm hand in hers.

“You are very brave, do you know that? Much braver than I, for ’tis the truth that although I am just as curious as you, my knees feel as if they are made of water. Well, come my valiant knight, shall we see what is making those thumping noises?”

Nick graced her with another of his rare smiles and the two mounted the stairs with much stealth.

“Bloody…ow…hell!” A cat’s outraged yowl curled up and around Gillian as she trod an intricate dance trying to avoid stepping on the small black animal as it wound around her ankle. Nick clutched her by the lapels of her coat and tugged her away from the stairs as she detached the cat’s claws from her ankle.

“I’m sorry, puss, I did not see your tail there, although I must say the landing is not the best place to keep it.” The cat shot Gillian a belligerent look, and with a haughty flick of its abused tail, marched down the stairs, voicing its opinion of people who didn’t watch where they were stepping.

Gillian and Nick smiled at one another, but their smiles faded as the thumping seemed to gain a new energy.

“The second floor, I believe,” Gillian said thoughtfully after listening to the rhythmic noise for a moment. It was not, as she had hoped, a loose shutter banging in the wind. There was clearly someone or something upstairs making the noise.

“Perhaps it is only another cat, trapped in a closet,” she said hopefully, trying to calm her jangled nerves as they climbed the next flight of stairs. Nick didn’t look as if he believed her suggestion. ’Twas the truth, she didn’t either. “Stay behind me, Nick.”

The pair looked down a dark hallway. The noise was definitely coming from a room to their right, a bedchamber, she assumed. Gillian patted the pocket of the boots’ jacket nervously, then pushing Nick behind her, took a deep breath and started down the hallway.

“If there’s any trouble, I want you to fetch the hack driver,” she whispered over her shoulder to him. “Tell him to bring the watch.”

Nick nodded abruptly, then pointed to the closed door before them. The muffled thumping sounds were louder, clearly originating in the room beyond the door.

Gillian’s mouth went dry as she reached out to open the door. What was making the horrible thudding noise? A corpse, hanging from the rafters and swaying against the wall? A huge, unchained beast throwing itself around the room as it bit with slavering jaws at anything it sighted? A deformed and mutilated person too hideous to be let out of the room, forced to drag his legless torso around his chamber prison by walking on his twisted and grotesque arms?

Almost swooning at the thought of the horror to be found within the room, Gillian patted her pocket again, sent a quick glance at Nick standing several paces back, and, holding the candle rack high, threw open the door.

“Oh my God!” Gillian screamed and stared at the atrocity before her. It was terrible! It was heinous! It made her skin crawl with the sheer, unadulterated abomination of it all!

It was her husband. Naked. Spread-eagled. Shackled to the bedposts. And if the expression on his face was anything to go by, ready to kill the first person who came within reach.

“Noble! What on earth are you doing? Is this some sort of strange game you are playing? My aunt told me that some men enjoy such rough bed sport, but really husband, I had not thought it of you.”

He was also gagged, a fact for which she was briefly grateful since the look he gave her was enough to peel paint.

Nick peered in the doorway, astonishment clearly writ on his young face. Gillian sidled up to the bed and tried to avoid her husband’s infuriated, icy gaze.

“I take it by your silence that your participation in this…uh…pose is not voluntary?”

Noble banged his head back against the headboard.

“I assume one thump means no, husband?”

His eyes narrowed at her. She let her gaze wander over his bared form, looking for signs of injury. There were none, except…

“Dear God! Noble, you’re…you’re broken! What happened? Oh, those villains! How could they do this to you? You poor, poor man, how you must have suffered!”

She reached out a hand to touch that portion of his anatomy that lay limp along his thigh, intending to cradle the beloved injured part, but Noble’s sudden agitated movements and head bangings stopped her. Of course, how cruel, how unthinking she was. He was obviously embarrassed and didn’t want her sympathy in this, his time of need — not when his son was standing by watching with bright, intelligent eyes. She fought back a tear and gave her husband a reassuring nod, then turned her attention to the shackles around his ankles.

God’s truth, although it looked to be an uncomfortable position, and her husband was clearly spitting mad, it did display his masculine attributes to advantage. If only the dastards hadn’t broken one of his more interesting bits. Gillian gave herself a moment or two to grieve the damage to that item, then turned her attention to admire his heavily muscled thighs and calves before another muffled protestation had her prodding the manacles.

“They are locked,” she said, looking up. Truly, she hadn’t realized the Lord of Masculinity’s chest was quite so broad, although perhaps having his arms stretched out had a broadening affect on it. She considered the manner, eyes narrowing with concentration as she let her gaze wander over his torso, imagining his arms to his side. No, ’twas the truth his chest was really that broad and not just an optical illusion. She wondered briefly how many hand spans wide his chest was, and was just reaching out with the intention of satisfying that curiosity when another gargled and furious noise stopped her in midstretch. Noble banged his head against the headboard twice and rolled his eyes at her.

“Oh, of course, the gag. Why didn’t you say you wanted it off first? Here, lift your head and I will reach behind…”

The knot was tied tightly, and it took Gillian, draped across Noble’s heaving chest as she wrestled with the obstinate cloth, several minutes before she could pull the obnoxious item from his mouth.

The spate of profanities that followed confirmed her earlier thoughts. He was very angry. Casting periodic nervous glances at Nick, who gazed at his father with a placid expression that didn’t fool her for one moment, she finally interrupted what appeared to be a lengthy discussion of the tortures Noble was going to inflict upon whoever had placed him in this position.

“I think your plan with the iron maiden and saltpeter is a good one, my dearest, but first I would have you released from this bondage.”

Several minutes later, when Noble could speak without incorporating further plans for revenge in his comments, he replied hoarsely to Gillian’s earlier statement.

“The key is on the dressing table. I’ve been staring at it all bloody evening.”

Nick headed for the table while Gillian sat down on the bed next to her confined husband and absently laid a hand on his bare chest. He was warm. Very warm. “Who did this horrible thing to you, Noble?”

The Black Earl closed his eyes. “I don’t know, although I have a suspicion.”

“You didn’t see who stripped you naked and chained you to a bed in your mistress’s house?”

“No. I was struck on the head when I entered the house.” Noble groaned slightly as Gillian’s hand gently stroked his chest in a reassuring manner. Rather, Noble corrected grimly, it might have been meant to reassure him, but unfortunately his wife’s presence was having another effect that would be all too evident if she continued her present attentions.

His wife’s presence?

“What the devil are you doing here?” Noble roared, startling Gillian out of her reverie. She jumped, her fingers still entwined in the soft hairs on his chest. Noble gave another roar, this time of outraged pain. “You’re supposed to be at Nethercote! I do not recall giving you permission to leave!”

Gillian glanced over toward the dressing table. Nick held up a key and cocked a brow. Gillian shook her head slightly.

“I was not aware that I was a prisoner, to be held captive until you decided to set me free.”

“You’re not a prisoner, damn it, but I expect you to stay where you’re put. When I give an order, it is to be carried out without question.” Noble took a deep breath. Lord but she was pretty, even dressed in the ratty clothes of a boy. As a disguise, it was hopeless. Long tendrils of red hair fell out of a blue knit cap, and no man with eyes in his head could mistake the rounded feminine curves displayed by a tightly fitted black waistcoat and breeches. A movement beyond her recalled his son’s presence to mind. The wave of heat centered on his groin was immediately cooled, as if he had been dowsed with a bucket of snow.

“I see,” Gillian replied to his statement stiffly and, disentangling her hand, stood and moved to the foot of the bed. “I was unaware that you had give me an order, my lord.”

“I did. And you have disobeyed that order.”

Gillian said nothing, but her expression told Noble she wasn’t pleased with that comment. Obviously, she needed instruction on how to order her own life so that she wasn’t always finding herself in situations out of her control. There was no time like the present to begin her training.

“Without order, wife, there is chaos, and chaos in our lives is not to be tolerated — it wastes our time, drains us of energies better spent at other endeavors, and creates worry and concern when the mind should be calm and peaceful. Would you agree with that statement?”

Gillian’s eyes widened and her lips trembled at his words. Clearly she was overcome by his masterful use of imagery. Still silent, she nodded her head abruptly, then crossed her arms over her chest, pulling the short jacket up and throwing the gentle curve of her hips into relief against the wall behind her. Noble cleared his throat and continued.

“I’m doing my best to make order out of the chaos that seems to follow you everywhere, but God knows it isn’t easy.” Had her legs been this long the night before? The breeches seemed to go on forever, stretching over lush, long thighs. Noble thought briefly of the way her legs had wrapped around his hips and decided they were the same length, then dragged his mind back to the task at hand. He wouldn’t think of her legs while his son was present. He wouldn’t think of how long they were, or how the shapely contour of her calf made his mouth go dry, or the silken feeling of her leg as it rubbed down his own…God’s teeth, he’d be shaming himself in a minute. Grimly, Noble envisioned scenes of war, pestilence, and mutilation.

“In order for your life to become the calm, enjoyable existence that I know you long for,” he continued in a gritty voice, his jaw tense and tight, “you must abide by my rules and not question them. Through me, you will gain control over your life and will no longer be subject to such unpleasant experiences as you have encountered since I have known you. You are undisciplined, wife, but not beyond hope of redemption.”

Nick went to stand beside Gillian. She turned and put an arm around his shoulders, pulling the jacket up even higher. The breeches did nothing to hide the sweet outline of her derriere. In fact, Noble thought with a rising sense of panic, they enhanced it. Not even the vision of his son clutched to her side could stop the memory of just how warm that backside had felt nestled against him intimately when he had woken that morning, nor how he had been possessed to waken his bride by means that would guarantee to keep a smile on her face all day. Two pairs of eyes leveled seriously upon him suddenly drove home the point that he was lecturing his wife while stretched out nude, manacled to a bed. “Gillian, the key.”

Gillian took the key from her stepson. “I have one or two questions, if you please, Noble.”

“Release me and I will be happy to answer all of them.” Gillian nodded and reached toward his feet, but instead of unlocking the shackle, she idly stroked the top of his foot instead.

“It’s about this concept of order you have.” Her brow wrinkled as she puzzled it out. “I do not think I understand it fully. When you say chaos, do you refer to those little surprises that make life so very interesting?”

Her fingers ran from the top of his ankle down the slope to his toes. He doubted that she even knew she was touching him. Noble had never before thought of the foot as anything but a useful appendage, but a thousand nerves he did not know he possessed jumped to life and pulsated under Gillian’s magic fingers. He laid his head back and groaned. He heard his wife gasp as she suddenly clutched his foot.

“Noble — that part of you. The broken part. It’s moving!” It took every bit of willpower, but he didn’t look, nor did he meet his son’s eyes. Instead he kept his voice calm and level and thought of the affects of the bubonic plague on the human body.

“Gillian, unlock the blasted shackles.” His voice sounded thick with strain.

“But — are you sure all is well? I believe the damage to your…part…is causing a delayed reaction. One moment you’re swelling, and the next you’re deflating. You cannot tell me that is right.”

He kept his eyes closed. He didn’t have the energy to explain the whys and wherefores of male anatomy to her. Not now, when his head was throbbing, his arms were aching, and his foot was on fire.

“The key, Gillian?”

She gave his nether regions one last wary look, as if she wouldn’t be surprised to see that part of him stand up and dance. “I am trying to understand you, Noble, truly I am. If you could just answer my question about what you mean by chaos…”

His head snapped up as he shot her a blistering look. “Will you release me if I do?”

Her eyes widened in innocence. “Of course, my dearest.”

“Then the answer is yes, wife, those little surprises, as you erroneously call them, are what make your life so hectic and chaotic. No other lady of my acquaintance would leap off a moving phaeton in order to comfort a thieving street urchin.”

“But—”

“Nor do I know anyone who has set fire to a house while they attended a ball.”

“That was the merest of accidents—”

“You startled my horses, injuring my tiger.”

“One of them was limping! I was just trying to show you that the horse must have had a rock in its shoe.”

Noble grunted in disbelief. “And the day we become betrothed?”

Gillian’s expression took on a pouting appearance. “That was yet another accident.”

“You wanted me to kiss you. If you had acted with control and indicated such in a discreet manner, I would have been happy to oblige you. The trouble with you, Gillian, is that you indulge yourself in every ludicrous scheme and thought that passes through your head.”

“Noble.”

“If you would learn to deal with things in a calm, organized manner, you would be well rewarded, wife, with serenity and tranquillity.”

“Noble—”

“You are young yet, despite your years, so I will not make a point of your headstrong nature and heedless manner of flinging yourself through life. You do not know better. Your upbringing is to blame, of course. It will be my pleasure to instruct you in the joys of a well-ordered, temperate life.”

“Noble!”

“What?” He was annoyed at her interruption. Didn’t she understand that he was trying to help her organize her life into something satisfactory?

“I am not the one chained naked to my mistress’s bed with a broken man part.”

“It’s not broken!” he bellowed, glaring at her. She returned his look with one of utter disbelief as she stared pointedly at the part of his body in question. Noble felt her heated gaze as if she was touching him.

“There, you see, that part of you is swelling again. I’m going to find some cold water. A compress is what you need now.” She started for the door, but his bellow of outrage drew her back. As she unlocked the manacles he tried to reassure her that nothing was broken, and with a frown at his son, promised to explain the situation at a more appropriate time.

Five minutes later Noble rubbed the feeling back into his wrists as Gillian and Nick examined the tall wardrobe. It was empty, as were the bureau drawers.

Ten minutes later he stormed naked up and down the long, darkened hallway with one branch of candles in his hand, scattering orders and expletives behind him as Gillian and Nick scurried from room to room in search of clothing.

Fifteen minutes later the hack driver got the surprise of his life when a furious man emerged from the house clad in nothing but a bedsheet draped around his massive frame, followed by the woman dressed in boy’s clothing and the dark lad who looked as if he was trying hard not to laugh.

“You! Take us home! Now!” the sheet-clad man ordered in a plummy voice that brooked no opposition. The driver considered voicing his admiration of the bedsheet knotted into a bow on the man’s left shoulder, but one glare from the man’s piercing gray eyes killed that idea. Despite his unusual apparel, the tight, grim line of the man’s mouth, not to mention the muscles that bulged and rippled across the bared portion of his broad chest, bespoke unwillingness on the gentleman’s part to engage in a little friendly ragging.

“Bloody queer toffs,” the driver huffed to himself and, touching the horse with his whip, set off through the warm night.

Noble continued to mutter rude things under his breath during the ride to his town house. Every lurch of the poorly sprung hack made his head throb worse. It felt as if someone were sitting on his shoulders, using his head for an anvil. He wanted nothing more than to lie down with his head in Gillian’s lap and let her trail her long, cool fingers over his aching head. How had he come to this? he wondered idly as he watched his wife through narrowed eyes. Wanting — no, needing—a woman’s touch. He shied away from the blossoming suspicion, but honesty compelled that he recognize the existence of the uncomfortably restricting feeling that banded about his chest for what it was.

His desire for his wife went beyond the purely physical.

Nobel was disgusted with himself. He had never sought anything but physical relief from a woman. Had he not learned from Elizabeth that to allow anything more led only to deep, bone-searing pain? God knew, the lessons learned at her feet were enough to turn a man away from women altogether. Women were not to be trusted, no matter how demure they looked, no matter how innocent and naïve and wholesome they appeared even when wearing the clothes of a servant. No, he might be weak enough to secretly yearn for more than he ought, but he would not let that weakness control his life. There was comfort in an ordered and structured life. He had learned years ago how to beat down those feelings of need, the desire for succor, the best-forgotten longing to be cherished and loved. He would not let those unwelcome emotions flare to life again, no matter how tempting he found his wife.

“Does your head hurt, Noble?”

The words were softly spoken, but they seemed to hang in the evening air for a moment, before melting and blanketing Noble in a warm glow. His jaw worked, but he could not get the words of denial past his lips.

Gillian slid across from the opposite seat and gently drew him toward her puny woman’s shoulder. Noble thought briefly of pushing her away. He knew it was the sheerest folly to allow himself into a situation where a woman offered more than mere physical release, but her touch was as gentle as her words. With one small hand she pulled him down until he was lying back drunkenly across the seat, his head cradled against her breasts. God’s knees, but she smelled good, even wearing his boots’ clothes.

Gillian murmured tenderly to him as she stroked his head. Odd, but her touch seemed to make the pounding in his temples lessen. Noble knew he should be lecturing his unruly wife on the dangerous nature of London at night. He knew he should forbid her to ever leave his house again without several footmen in attendance. He knew he should interrogate her as to her reasons for following him to town when he had purposely left her at Nethercote. He knew all of this, but for the first time since he had been so brutally betrayed by Elizabeth, he told the righteous side of his conscience to get nobbled.

Gillian knew the moment Noble stopped fighting his inner demons. His head lay heavy on her bosom, but she reveled in its weight, in their closeness, and in his trust. Lightly she stroked her husband’s dark hair and marveled that such a man — such a domineering, overpowering, large man — should have hair that felt like silk slipping through her fingers. The finest rich brown silk, shot through with threads of walnut and occasional silver. Noble sighed as she delicately traced the contours of his brow and let her fingers trail down to the angular plane of his cheek. His skin was rough with stubble, a strangely pleasing texture that seemed to set her fingers afire. She stroked past the indentation in his chin that never failed to thrill her and followed his jaw line up to the sensitive spot behind the back of his ear. The black crescents of eyelashes — surely there must be a law against a man possessing such long, thick eyelashes — fluttered briefly but remained resting on the tanned skin of his cheek. Her fingers followed the path of his cheekbone to a swelling near his temple. Prodding the area with a gentle touch, Gillian breathed a sigh of relief when it became apparent the wound was not a serious one.

Taking advantage of the Lord of Bliss’s unexpected acquiescence, Gillian explored her husband’s face to her satisfaction. She looked up once, when the hack bumped across a hole in the road, to find her stepson’s bright eyes watching her.

What had Nick thought when he saw his father powerless, his vulnerability — among other things — exposed? It had to be a felling blow to a boy who worshipped his father, but he didn’t express any emotion or misbehave in an attempt to garner attention, as Gillian’s brothers always had. He simply watched them with an uncanny silence and an expressionless face. Gillian suddenly felt a chilling sense of sadness for her two men — Noble was trying so hard to deny his need for affection, and his son was following his path to self-control and denial. If she didn’t step in and put an end to the intolerable situation, soon it would be too late and both would be lost to her. Gillian’s fingers tightened around a fistful of Noble’s hair. She had no intention of letting that happen.

A soft snore drew her attention down to the smooth lines of her husband’s face. An unaccountable pricking behind her eyes surprised her; Noble looked so young, so untroubled as he slept resting against her. A fierce wave of possessiveness washed over her as she watched him sleep. Mine, she thought. He’s mine and I won’t let anyone hurt him again — either of them, she amended, glancing across the carriage to where Nick leaned in the corner, his eyes closed. A fire burned in her breast as she made a vow on the happiness of those most dear to her. If Noble wanted an uncomplicated, structured life, he would have one. From that moment on, Gillian was going to ensure that her lord was going to be happier than he thought possible. Their life was going to be one of peace and serenity, or by God, she’d know the reason why.