Noble Intentions

CHAPTER FIVE

Their life was pandemonium and turmoil. Gillian’s determination for a quiescent life flew out the window with a rare Chinese vase. Unfortunately, the window was closed at the time the vase was sent on its way; even more unfortunately, the hired hack had just pulled up before Noble’s town house when the delicate china hit the cobblestones before them and exploded with a noise that startled the horse into rearing and almost tipping the carriage.

Gillian and Nick clutched the squabs as the driver calmed the horse and the hack settled back onto its wheels. Gillian said a little prayer that Noble did not wake up when, just as the driver was climbing down from his perch, the door to the house opened and several men spilled out onto the sidewalk, screaming and pummeling one another. Gillian shifted Noble’s head slightly to get a better look at the sight of the two butlers trying to throttle each other. As Crouch was a good foot and a half taller and several stone heavier than him, Tremayne Two wasn’t having much luck getting a firm grip on his associate’s neck.

Dancing around the pair was the small round form of Devereaux, who was evidently championing Crouch as he urged the pirate on to further violence. Gillian made a mental note to have a word with Devereaux about his proclivity to brutality, and pulled Nick back from where he was in danger of falling out of the hack’s window.

Behind Tremayne Two was another Tremayne, attempting to pull his brother from the giant by means of what appeared to be a fire iron. But Two stuck to the man like a burr to a particularly hairy Shetland pony. A roar ripped through the night, and the third Tremayne — One or Three, Gillian wasn’t sure which — suddenly leaped from the top of the steps and flung himself onto the grappling men. The mate to the shattered window opened and two housemaids leaned out to yell advice as the clutch of four men swayed, then fell to the ground and rolled around like a pack of demented hedgehogs, arms and legs bristling everywhere as the foursome tried to tear each other apart.

Things quickly deteriorated after that.

The three Tremaynes stopped trying to kill one another only after Noble leaped from the hack, roaring his displeasure at the foursome. Gillian wasn’t sure if it was the volume and impressive string of invectives that sprang from Noble’s lips or whether it was the sight of their huge, scowling employer clad in a white bedsheet that affected the men. She suspected from the stunned looks and open mouths that it was the latter but had no chance to verify her suspicion before Noble, with a powerful flick of his wrists, tossed a few of his employees aside, then stalked stiffly into the house.

“I do believe it was the bedsheet after all,” she mused some two hours later as she sat propped up in her husband’s bed, watching him pace the floor before the fireplace. “Crouch commented on how lovely the bow at your shoulder was, while Tremaynes Two and Three just stared at you as if you had suddenly sprouted toadstools on your head.”

Her words had an immediate effect. He stopped in mid-pace, spun around to face her, and gave her a look that would do Medusa proud. Gillian cautiously moved her legs to make sure they hadn’t been turned to stone. “On the other hand, both Tremayne One — at least I think it was One, it is so difficult to tell them apart, perhaps we can affix upon them some sort of identifying mark — both Tremayne One and Mr. Devereaux seemed to take your unconventional apparel in the best of spirits.”

Noble’s admirable body stiffened. The pulse beating wildly in the side of his neck was clearly visible from across his bedchamber. It was shameful, Gillian chastised herself. The poor man had been through a terrible evening, and she was clearly not doing her duty by offering solace and comfort. It was, after all, her job to help him relax so he could forget his troubles and enjoy his tranquil and serene home. Gillian blinked back a tender tear at the thought of his travails, and proceeded to buoy his foul mood.

“When I say good spirits, my dear, I do not mean they were laughing at you,” she reassured him. If possible, his silence and accompanying scowl grew even stonier. “Although I must admit they were laughing, but I’m sure it was not at you, but rather with you, if you see what I mean.”

It was obvious he didn’t share her perceptions. It was also evident that at that moment he was hard put to keep from strangling her. Since she wanted to have more than just one night of wedded bliss, Gillian decided not to press the point further. She would ask him in the morning, once he possessed a less belligerent attitude, who wished him ill. He would no doubt be happy she was so interested in his well-being and would, despite his earlier statement, be forthcoming with the whos and whys that so consumed her with curiosity. She smiled sweetly at the choked, guttural noises Noble was making in response to her buoying attempt. He was obviously overcome with gratitude for her tender solicitation.

“Madam.” Noble finally got his jaw unclenched long enough to speak. “You will have the decency to never mention the blasted bedsheet within my hearing! For that matter, you will not, under any provocation, refer to this evening again. You will forget about the entire day. Cast it from your thoughts. Wipe it from your memory. I do not wish to ever again be reminded of the humiliating events that have made up one of the most miserable days of my blighted existence.”

Visions of the well-muscled, masculine, shackled form of her very naked husband danced before her eyes. She had serious doubts as to her ability to obliterate such a fascinating image. She had doubts as to whether she ever wanted to. Weighing his command to forget the image against a lifetime without that particular entry in her mental picture library offered little difficulty. The infuriated male before her in battle stance, however, his legs braced apart, his hands fisted on his hips, clearly indicated that outright refusal of obedience was not an option.

“Well, my lady? I’m waiting for your agreement.” He looked mad enough to kill, but she wasn’t going to start her marriage by courting distrust with falsehoods.

Unable to agree to his demand, Gillian shrugged. The edge of her faded blue dressing gown slipped off her shoulder. Noble’s gaze pounced on the exposed flesh, the pulse in his throat suddenly accelerating as his silver-eyed gaze caressed her skin in a manner that raised goosebumps of excitement on her arms.

A warm kernel of womanly knowledge blossomed and spread inside her. Could it be this easy? Noble was an intelligent man; surely he wouldn’t be susceptible to something so mundane as a bit of exposed flesh. Slowly, with deliberate movements, she shrugged her other shoulder and let the dressing gown slide down her arms. She was wearing nothing underneath.

Noble stopped breathing.

She felt her skin prickle even though he had yet to touch her. With great purpose, Gillian rose to her knees, allowing her dressing gown to fall to her hips.

Noble made an inarticulate, choking sort of sound.

It couldn’t be so easy, but it evidently was. Her Lord of Eyes, who moments ago had looked as if he’d like nothing better than to wrap his hands around her throat, had stopped speaking and was staring at her, his gaze devouring her torso. A flush of a hitherto unknown emotion washed over her — this must be the power of seduction. God’s nightgown, it was a heady thing indeed! Gillian was light-headed with this newly discovered knowledge, and filled with great design, she slid out of bed, leaving the dressing gown behind as she stood before her husband.

She curled one hand around the back of his neck and combed her fingers into his silky hair. “Breathe, Noble,” she murmured as she traced the corner of his mouth with the very tip of her tongue.

His eyes crossed.

She trailed kisses over to his ear and sucked on his earlobe before whispering, “Are you breathing, my love?”

“I doubt it.” His voice sounded like cracked rocks, but she smiled as she felt his ragged breath on her neck. He stood rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his side as she mumbled against his ear.

“It must be all these clothes you have on. Too constricting.” She licked a path down his stubbled cheek to his jaw, nipped his chin, then continued down to lave his Adam’s apple. Although he hadn’t donned his normal evening wear upon returning home, he had clad himself in trousers, shirt, and waistcoat. Gillian was thankful he didn’t have a cravat to interfere with her exploration. With one hand still curled in his hair, she unbuttoned the buttons on his waistcoat, pushing it off his shoulders as she kissed the hollow of his throat.

He moaned.

A little disturbed to find that her own breathing was on the rough side, Gillian welcomed the warmth that seemed to flow out of Noble, warmth that sparked a slow burn that started somewhere in her stomach and spread out to her limbs. She was consumed by fire, but she craved his heat to make the fire burn even hotter. One by one she unbuttoned the mother-of-pearl buttons on his shirt, following each with scattered kisses on the exposed area of chest. His soft curls tickled her nose, but she was fascinated by the ripple of muscles that tightened beneath her trail of kisses. She moved lower, pulling his shirt off as she sank to her knees before him.

Noble’s mind stopped working at the sight of his wife kneeling before him, her hand on his waistband.

Gillian sucked her bottom lip nervously. She wasn’t sure if he was pleased with her boldness, but the fire his nearness had ignited was burning too strongly to let her back off. Eyes darkened with passion, she looked up at him for direction. A muscle in his jaw twitched. Twice. She took that as permission to proceed.

With both hands she unbuttoned the twin row of buttons on his trousers, then pushed them down over the sleek, muscled line of his hips, down his steely thighs, and after removing his slippers, over his long, narrow feet.

She lifted her head to find herself staring at his genitals. Joy filled her at the sight.

“You were right, Noble. You are not broken. You look just fine now. More than fine.” She reached out a hand to hold his silky hardness and delighted at his gasp of pleasure. “Look, you bounce when I do this.”

A shudder ran through him.

She held him with both hands, one tugging gently on the softness lower down, the other curled around the length of his arousal. “So hot. You’re as hot as the fire you have started inside me.”

With great delicacy she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on the tip of him.

Noble was convinced he had died and gone to heaven. He just hoped St. Peter wouldn’t notice the long list of his transgressions until his wonderfully uninhibited wife had finished her exploration. Idly he wondered how long it would be before his control snapped. He took into account his history with women, his vaunted control, the fact that he was a sophisticated man and not a base animal driven by primitive urges, as well as the earlier anger he’d held toward his wife, and reckoned he had less than ten minutes.

“I hope you will not be offended…I hope you will not mind if I…that is, if I…” She rasped her tongue on the sensitive underside of the head and felt his body shake in response.

Noble quickly recalculated. He would be lucky if he lasted four seconds.

The look of ecstasy on his face astonished her — she had hoped she would give him pleasure, but evidently her touch was more powerful than she had presumed. She didn’t have a chance to dwell on this thought, however. Three seconds after she took him into her mouth, he yanked her up, and with a move too swift for her to follow, tossed her on the bed, covering her immediately with his own hard body.

“Now it’s my turn,” he said hoarsely just before his mouth took possession of hers. She reveled in the heat of his mouth, wondering if she’d ever get enough of him. It was her last cognizant thought for a very long time.

Noble rolled off his wife and lay on his back, exhausted. He would have expressed the immense, overwhelming pleasure she had given him, but he didn’t have the energy to move his lips, let alone prod his brain into stringing together more than two words that made sense. That thought scurried around his mind, nibbling at the edge of his awareness until it attracted his full attention. Why was making love to Gillian so soul-deep satisfying? Why did her warmth seem to penetrate even the iciest corner of his being? It wasn’t right that a man should be so consumed with thoughts of his wife, his control so easily cast over. If she could do that to him now, just a scant two days after they had been wed, what sort of power would she wield after a week of marriage? A month? A year?

Gillian nudged his arm. He knew what she wanted but was too shaken by the turn his thoughts had taken. For it had come — although he had tried to tamp down on it, he had known that it would eventually emerge. That horrible knowledge, that black truth, that darkness slithering around inside him with insidious slowness, gathering before it a familiar feeling of coldness and dread. He closed his eyes and reluctantly acknowledged it.

If he gave her power over his heart, she would betray him.

Gillian nudged him again, then rose up on one elbow when she noticed his frown. “You did not enjoy yourself? That part of you is not bounceable any more. I assumed that meant you enjoyed yourself. Have I got it wrong?”

He couldn’t give in to this attraction. He couldn’t give her the chance to tear his heart out as Elizabeth had. He couldn’t go through that pain again — as bad as it was with his first wife, he knew instinctively that it would be unbearable with Gillian. Elizabeth’s betrayal had crushed his heart; Gillian’s betrayal would destroy him completely.

“Noble?” She placed a hand on his chest where his heart still beat wildly. “Have I done something to displease you?”

She sounded hurt and confused at the same time. Noble gritted his teeth against the urge to pull her to him and murmur words of reassurance, to bury his head in her sweetly scented neck, to hold her until the cold, dark thing that roiled inside him was banished by her light, but he held back. He could not give her what she wanted. He could not allow himself to be vulnerable again.

A burning pain pierced his chest, searing through ice and tissue and bone with unerring accuracy straight to his heart. He reached up to rub the spot and felt the wetness of a single tear. Guilt washed over him, making his breath catch as he roughly pulled her into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin, knowing he was damned but aware there wasn’t anything he could do about it. “Hush, sweetheart. Go to sleep. You haven’t done anything to displease me.”

She murmured something against his throat, but he couldn’t hear it over the blood pounding loudly in his ears.

Gillian felt his body tense, then slowly relax as she lay in his arms, her lips pressed against a pulse point on his neck. His inner demons had returned with a vengeance, driving him away from her again. It was the intimacy of their lovemaking that brought them out, she knew — such overwhelming oneness, such an expression of love no doubt forced to the surface all the pain he still felt over the death of his first wife. Gillian listened to his pounding heart slow and settle into a strong, steady beat as she considered a future that suddenly seemed bleak and endless. How was she to combat a ghost that Noble would not admit existed? How could she make him love her when it was obvious he still mourned his beloved first wife? She wondered for the thousandth time what had happened the night Elizabeth died, and why Noble was blamed for her death. How could any man who still grieved so be thought a cold, heartless murderer?

The only way to rid their marriage bed of the specter of Elizabeth was to lay her spirit to rest. Noble snored softly above her, then grunted and rolled to his side, taking her with him. He pulled her back against his chest, spooned his legs up behind hers, and draped a heavy arm over her waist. Gillian smiled drowsily to herself as she let his warmth wrap around her. She would see to it that Elizabeth’s ghost no longer haunted their marriage. The faint outline of a plan formed in the hazy, sleep-muddled corners of her mind. She would take a leaf from Charlotte’s beloved novels and investigate both Elizabeth’s untimely death and the mystery of who wanted harm to befall Noble. Once she knew the truth, she could help Noble overcome his fears and teach him to open his heart again. She snuggled back against his warm chest and gave herself up to sleep. Tomorrow she would begin her investigations. Tomorrow she would see that their life was one of order and serenity.

“I won’t have my orders defied, wife. You would have us live in the most disordered, disorganized, turbulent lifestyle, and I won’t have it! We will have order and structure in our lives. You will obey my dictates.”

“I’m not defying them, husband, I’m asking you to reconsider.”

Noble pointed the knife he had been using to spread marmalade on a piece of toast at the two dogs sitting at his side, their dark eyes hopeful as cascades of saliva issued from their flews.

“You ask too much, Gillian. Charles! Make yourself useful and escort these dogs outside to the stable. Piddle is puddling on the carpet.”

“That’s Erp who is drooling so. Piddle is the one tending to his personal equipment. Truly Noble, if you would just see that my presence here—”

“At least they are no longer offensive by other means,” he sniffed, giving the hounds a black look as they followed after the footman before turning back to his wife. Gillian felt her stomach wrap into knots around her breakfast. It was for his own good. Someday he would go down on his knees before her and thank her for her intervention. She just had to be strong until that time. She straightened her shoulders and looked him firmly in his lovely silver eyes.

“If you send me back, I shall simply return.”

His eyes darkened as a muscle twitched in his jaw. It was odd she had never noticed twitching muscles on him before. “Do you threaten me, madam?”

Her words had to be considered carefully, lest he feel she was challenging him. Men, she had found, hated to be challenged. “No, I do not threaten you. I am asking you, Noble, to reconsider. We have been married but three days, and I simply do not wish to be separated from you.”

His frown deepened. She ignored the presence of the remaining footman standing at attention behind her and placed her hand over his. “If you send me back, I will miss you.”

Noble recoiled as if she had struck him. He waved the footman out before, eyes narrowed, he confronted her. “Again you threaten me! What steps would you take to end your loneliness? Would you seek comfort in the arms of another?”

Gillian felt as if she were the one who had been struck. “Threaten you? Noble, I’m not threatening you, ’tis the truth I’m not. I can’t believe you would think I am so faithless that I would seek the attentions of another man.”

Noble’s jaw tightened at her words.

“Do you believe it is possible for me to engage in those…in the wonderful and thrilling things we did last night with someone else? How can you imagine that I would want to? Do you not value my lo—” She caught herself before she let the word slip out. He wasn’t ready to hear about that yet, that was quite evident.

“Do I not value what, madam?” Really, if those brows arched any higher, they’d fly off his face.

“Do you not value my…my…longings for your touch?” Yes, that was good. Longings. It would make him feel that she was pining for him. That she was, was neither here nor there.

“Er…yes, of course, but that is not what I—”

“Indeed, I was not threatening you, my lord. As for the other—’tis the truth I would be lonely, but I would never seek the arms of another man. I wish only to be with my husband.”

She hoped he hadn’t heard the tremble in her voice as she spoke. The urge to throw herself on him and smother him with kisses until she eased the pain evident in his eyes was almost overwhelming. Although admittedly such an inclination was tempered with a healthy dose of self-pity. She hurt too. The fact that he loved Elizabeth so deeply that he could not welcome her into his life pierced her deeply, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that he needed a bit of time before he would realize just what a lucky man he was to have married her. She’d be patient. A week or two ought to be enough to bring him around.

“I doubt that a week or two will be sufficient for anything concerning you, my dear, but I am not an unreasonable man. You may stay for a fortnight,” he said grudgingly, reclaiming his hand and turning his attention to his breakfast. “The Season will be over by then, and at that time you will return to Nethercote.”

She blushed over her Unfortunate Habit but had other things to worry about than her tendency to speak every thought. It was on her lips to ask about his plans in a fortnight, but she bit the words back and muttered a soft statement of appreciation instead.

“About last night, Noble…”

A dull red flush washed over her husband’s face at her words.

“I wish to discuss what happened last night, if I might. I am not sure I understand…”

“Dickon, you may leave that,” Noble ordered, a frown playing across his manly brow. Gillian watched as the footman placed a fresh platter of sirloin before the earl, then left them alone again.

“I would rather you did not discuss our…er…evening activities in front of the servants, my dear. Now, as to your questions, I’m sure you have several about what we did last evening, it being…uh…new to you. I’m sure you were as surprised by your actions as I was, stimulating and enjoyable though they were.”

“Well, I’m not as new to it as you might think,” she interrupted, and heaped a spoon of marmalade on her toasted bread. “I have done it before, you know.”

Noble felt as if someone had slapped him in the face with a wet fish. A salmon, perhaps. Or a very large flounder. He gaped at her. “I beg your pardon? Did you just say you had done it before?”

“Oh yes, once or twice. My uncle used to say I was a particularly wicked girl to do so, but I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes I just had to, you know. It feels so different, so…so…oh, I don’t know how to describe it. I suppose I didn’t have to, as you well know the feeling.”

Noble’s face grew as black as a thundercloud and he seemed to be having difficulty swallowing. “I do indeed know, although I had not thought that my wife would come to our marriage bed in possession of such knowledge!”

What on earth had gotten into the Lord of Fury? “Well, really, Noble, I know it’s not proper, but I wasn’t aware that it would be something that so upset you. I shan’t do it again, of course, since you are so unhappy about it.”

“I should hope not!” Noble thundered, ignoring the memory of the utter bliss her mouth had given him. “I will have names, Gillian, names of the men with whom you have disported yourself in such a fashion.”

Gillian looked at him in surprise. “Names of men? I never did it with men, Noble.”

He dropped his fork and shook his head. He wasn’t hearing her correctly, that was the problem. Perhaps he had water in his ears. Perhaps he was having a hallucination. Perhaps he was having the most realistic nightmare of his life. The thought that his wife, his lovely innocent Gillian, had engaged in oral acts with another man was enough to make his blood boil. To think that she had done so with a woman — it was inconceivable. He shook his head again and took a deep, deep breath.

“Gillian—”

“In truth, husband, I wasn’t with anyone in particular when I did it. I just wanted to see how it felt, you see, and, well…” She shrugged. “Since they were available, I took the opportunity.”

“They? They were available? As in more than one?”

“Well, yes, Noble. You don’t think I’d go about with just one, now do you?”

Madness. This was sheer madness. That must be the explanation. He’d gone mad and he just hadn’t noticed that fact.

“You don’t think I would have wanted to appear indecent?”

He tried to formulate words, but his brain failed him. He just sat and stared as his wife calmly ate her breakfast and informed him that she’d had relations of a sexual nature with more than one woman in order not to appear indecent. Madness. Or hell. He could be dead and this could be hell. Either explanation would suffice.

“So when the opportunity came up to do it again last night, I couldn’t resist. But I did do it properly, I hope you noticed.”

Noble’s mind ceased to function. He blinked a few times. Oh, he had noticed. She had done it more than properly; she had driven him past the point of his control within a few seconds of touching him. The fire she had started with her lips and tongue was still burning deep within him, melting layers of ice he hadn’t known existed.

“And, of course, I had Nick with me, so that was all right.”

His mind snapped back to attention. “What?”

“I had Nick with me.”

A suspicion slowly began to materialize. “Gillian, of what, exactly, are you speaking?”

She frowned at him as she reached for another slice of sirloin. “Of going out to rescue you last night. In the boots’ clothes.”

The boots’ clothes. She was talking about wearing the boy’s clothes, and he had thought she had meant…a wave of relief washed over him, making him chuckle at his own foolish thoughts. Foolish, silly, couldn’t happen, wouldn’t happen sorts of thoughts.

“You’re not angry with me still, are you?”

He was, but his relief was so great that he decided to be magnanimous. He spent a little time lecturing her on the magnitude of his generosity in forgiving her transgressions.

Gillian tolerated the lecture with as much good grace as she could muster, then decided to take advantage of the sudden change in mood of the Lord of Chuckles and ask him what was uppermost on her mind.

“Who would want to do you harm, Noble?”

He pushed back his plate and frowned at her. “That is no concern of yours, my dear, except insomuch as you can be assured I will see to your protection.”

“Me?” Gillian looked in surprise at her frowning husband. Why was he concerned about her when he was clearly the victim of a nefarious plot? “It wasn’t me who was struck on the head and stripped—”

“Yes, yes, we both know what happened. Regardless, it should not concern you. I will see to it that it won’t happen again. For your own safety, I will ask Crouch to accompany you when you go out. What are your plans for today?”

“But, Noble, if you’d just let me help you, I’m sure that together we can determine who—”

“Your help is appreciated but not needed,” he said firmly, then cocked an insolent eyebrow at her. Really, he was so maddening. If he would just see that she could help him, that he needed her…she sighed and answered his earlier question. “I had planned to call on Charlotte, my lord, and perhaps visit Lackington’s bookshop. I trust that meets with your approval?”

He nodded. “As long as you take Crouch with you.” He stood, then tapped on the table for a moment as he pondered something. “Yes, Crouch and one of the footmen; they ought to be sufficient. Regarding this evening, I have accepted an invitation to the Countess Lieven’s ball. Do you plan on attending as well?”

Gillian blinked at him. He couldn’t mean that he had no plans to see her throughout the day, could he? And worse yet, that he would go to a ball, their first ball since they had been married, without her? And an important ball, one held by the infamous Countess Lieven! No, he couldn’t mean that, surely he wasn’t that cold and unfeeling. Not the man who had, just a few hours before, swept her up in his warmth and sent her spirit flying in one of the most sensual experiences of her life. No. Not her Noble.

She smiled. “I would be happy to attend the ball with you, Noble.”

“Excellent. I shall see you there later, then.” He started for the door, pausing when he reached it. “I will be out this evening, my dear. I’m sure your aunt and uncle will be attending the ball and would be happy to escort you there. I will, of course, accompany you home should you desire it.”

Should she desire it? Should she desire the company home of her very own husband of three days? From her first public appearance as his countess? Gillian stared at him, stunned and hurt by his coldness. Tears pricked her eyes. How could he be this way? How could he be so unfeeling toward her when he had been so warm and wonderful that morning?

Noble nodded as if she had answered and left the sunny breakfast room. Gillian, her high spirits suddenly channeled into fury, threw her fork across the room and watched as it bounced off the cheerful yellow-and-white-striped wallpaper and onto the floor. “If I would desire him to accompany me home! Ooooh! I’ll…I’ll…oh!” She slapped her hand on the table, unable to think of anything horrible enough to satisfy her anger, then picked up her plate and threw it at Noble’s chair. Eggs, sirloin, marmalade, and the remnants of kippers dripped down the front of the ornately embroidered yellow material. Her spirits rose at the sight of it. Noble thought he could cut her out of his life, did he? She eyed a dish of oatmeal speculatively.

“I have finished,” she said a few minutes later to the startled footman who had been lurking outside the breakfast room, staring at the door with a worried expression on his face. “You may want to alert the housekeeper to a little problem with the upholstery on his lordship’s chair. And there seems to be a spot or two on the wallpaper. Well, it looks to be a lovely day outside. I feel quite energized. I believe a little stroll around the square is in order. Piddle! Erp! Come along, no dawdling now.”

She marched out with the two dogs, a hastily scrambling footman in attendance, while both Crouch and Tremayne Two stood gazing in horror through the doorway into the breakfast room.

Upon her return Gillian sent word to the nursery that she would like Nick to pay a call with her, and went upstairs to change her gown. As she was making a list of things she wanted to discuss with Charlotte, sounds of an altercation in the front hall drew her attention. Eerily counterpointing the noise of shouting and loud thumping were two mournful notes that twisted around and around as they raised in both volume and pitch.

“Blast! What are they up to now?” Gillian muttered as she raised her skirts and dashed down the stairs toward the hall. That was all she needed, for her two dogs to be causing trouble when she was on tenuous ground with Noble.

Leaping down the last few stairs like a gazelle, she skidded to an astonished stop at the sight before her. The three Tremaynes were locked in battle, pummeling and lashing at each other with an energy that surprised Gillian. Heretofore, the Tremaynes, with the notable exception of the disagreement the past evening in front of the town house, had always maintained a dignified bearing that reminded Gillian of an elderly penguin she had seen at a zoological gardens. And yet here the brothers were, arms flailing, the air rent with hurled accusations while grunts and muffled groans indicated when a blow was landed.

Crouch the pirate butler danced around the edges, yelling advice and generally getting in the way. The two dogs sat in a corner and howled. It was when one of the Tremaynes landed a particularly unsporting blow to one of his brothers’ kidneys that Gillian noticed there was an extra person in the melee.

“Who is that gentleman?” she asked Deveraux, who stood with a phalanx of footmen, watching the battle with an unhealthy gleam in his eye.

“Beg pardon, my lady? Ah, that gentleman? The one just there?”

“Yes, Deveraux, the one who is currently lying flat on the floor. The one who is being sat upon by two of the Tremayne triplets, evidently having been knocked unconscious. The very same one who appears to be bleeding profusely from the nose.”

Deveraux scratched his bald little head. “Ah, that gentleman. Well, madam, I’d be hard put to say just who he is. Perhaps Crouch knows. Crouch! Attend her ladyship for a moment.”

“Aye, mistress? Ye be needin’ me?”

Crouch jumped over the thrashing leg of a Tremayne and raised his voice to be heard over their din.

“Yes.” Gillian likewise raised her voice. Really, the noise the three men were making was prodigious. How Noble put up with them was beyond her reasoning. “Piddle! Erp! Cease that howling immediately! Crouch, do you happen to know who that gentleman is?”

Crouch looked around himself in surprise, his earring bobbing wildly. “Gen’leman, m’lady? What gen’leman would that be?”

“That one. There. On the floor. Bleeding on the parquet.”

“ ’E’s bleedin’ on me bloody parquet?” The roar Crouch gave startled the three Tremaynes into quietude for a moment, but soon one shoved another and a third laughed, and all three were back on the floor, rolling around on each other and the poor unfortunate bleeding man.

“ ’Ere now! That bloody swine is spillin’ ’is claret all over me floor! Charles! Dickon! Remove the ruddy trasseno!”

“Trasseno?” Gillian spoke Italian, but had not run into that word before. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with that occupation. What exactly is a trasseno?”

“ ’E is, m’lady. ’E’s a right speeler for all ’e’s a swell.” Crouch watched with satisfaction as two of the footmen picked the gentleman up.

“Oh, I see.” Gillian didn’t see but wasn’t about to let her staff know that she wasn’t current with the latest cant. “Has he speeled on the floor then?”

Crouch’s eyebrows telegraphed wildly as he considered her. “Ye shouldn’t be usin’ such words, m’lady. It ain’t right ye should know about such things. ’Is lordship wouldn’t like it.”

Gillian turned to Deveraux as two of the Tremaynes, having knocked out the third sibling, stood and glared at one another.

“Is speeling an unfortunate occupation, Mr. Deveraux?” she asked.

“Yes, it is, madam. A speeler is an undesirable.”

Gillian was about to inquire after trasseno when Noble appeared from a back room where he had been attending to matters of a personal nature. “What the devil is going on here?”

“The Tremaynes have caught a speeler, my lord. Isn’t that excellent of them?”

Noble shot Gillian a quick glance of disbelief, then strolled forward to have a look at the bleeding man held by his two footmen. With one hand he grabbed the gentleman’s hair and yanked upwards, peering into the bloodied face. “Bloody…it’s McGregor!” he roared and waved his hand at the footmen. They released their burden. The poor Scottish speeler hit the ground like a sack of marble. He groaned and muttered quietly as he tried to move his arms and legs.

“Charles! Dickon! You dropped the speeler! Pick him up this instant,” Gillian demanded. A right speeler the gentleman might be, but he was a gentleman, anyone could see that by his elegant clothing. The two footmen bent and picked him up again.

“Not in my house you won’t. Drop him,” Noble ordered. They grinned and let go of McGregor again. He groaned even louder and lifted his head. One eye was swollen shut and a cut on his forehead was responsible for the blood covering the left side of his face.

“Oh, you poor man,” Gillian started, kneeling next to him, dabbing at the cut with her handkerchief. “Pick him up, Charles, Dickon. He’s injured.”

Alasdair McGregor, Lord Carlisle, groaned again and pushed himself into a shaky sitting position. “If you don’t mind, madam, I believe I’ll take my chances with my own two legs.”

“Wife, you will cease attending that blackguard and remove yourself from this hall,” Noble demanded, marching over and prodding the Scot with the tip of his boot. “I shall see to it this refuse is removed promptly.”

“That’s right, my lady, you just step back and let Crouch and me take care of the gentleman,” one of the Tremaynes said as he stepped forward, cracking his knuckles in a menacing manner. Tremayne One, Gillian thought.

“Aye, mistress, we’ll take care of the bloke. We’ll tuck him away in lavender, we will.”

Gillian smiled at Crouch, who had assisted the gentleman to his feet by one powerful tug to the back of his waistcoat. “That’s very sweet of you, Crouch, but I doubt lavender is the scent the gentleman prefers. Do you need further assistance, sir? Might I offer you a restorative strong beverage?”

Carlisle squirmed out of Crouch’s hold, stepped over the body of the prone Tremayne, and made an effort to tug down his waistcoat. “Indeed, madam, I do not require either your assistance or a strong beverage. I thank you for your kind concern, however, as it is certainly a welcome oasis in what has otherwise been a vast desert of hospitality.”

Gillian tsked over his cut and offered her handkerchief.

“Out!” Noble thundered, stepping protectively in front of Gillian.

“My lord, your manners!” Gillian prodded him to move. Noble stayed where he was. Gillian prodded again. “We have a guest who has suffered an unfortunate accident.”

Crouch snickered. Charles and Dickon snickered. Tremayne One and Two snickered, looked at each other in surprise, and immediately frowned at the floor when Tremayne Three snored.

Noble growled. “Out, damn you. Now!”

“Noble!” Gillian pushed to her husband’s side and tried to make her apologies. “Sir, I do apolo—”

“You do not. My wife does not apologize to the murdering bastard McGregor.”

The Scot dabbed at his split upper lip and grimaced in what Gillian thought was a smile. “It’s no concern of yours, my lady. I’ve received enough apologies for your husband’s behavior from the prior Lady Weston to last me a lifetime.”

With a snarled oath, Noble’s right fist shot out and caught the Scot on the chin. His head snapped back, and he would have fallen over backward but Crouch, standing behind him, grabbed him and held him up in case the earl wished to thrash him soundly.

“If you ever come near my wife again”—Noble grabbed the poor man’s cravat and hauled him over until he was just inches from his face—“I will cut out what passes for your black heart and dance the Highland fling on it.”

“You can try,” the man croaked in response, not seeming to be intimidated by Noble’s threatening countenance. Gillian gave him full marks for bravery, although she was forced to subtract a few for lack of common sense. One didn’t beard the Black Earl in this sort of a mood unless one had a death wish. “You can try, but we both know what will happen. You’ve tried to best me before, Weston, and failed. What makes you think you can do it now?”

Noble’s fingers tightened on the cravat. McGregor’s face turned red beneath the blood, and he struggled to free his arms from Crouch’s grasp.

“Now I have something worth fighting for. I warn you, McGregor, stay out of my life or prepare to forfeit your own.”

Noble released him so suddenly that the Scotsman would have hit the floor if Crouch hadn’t been holding him.

“Get rid of this rubbish, Crouch,” Noble said, and turned on his heel for the library.

“Did you think I would forget so easily, Weston? Do you think I will allow you to murder another innocent woman the way you did Elizabeth? Do you think I’ll let you torture this woman the way you did your first—”

Gillian flinched when one of the Tremaynes, who was assisting Crouch help the gentleman speeler out the door, accidentally shoved his elbow in the poor man’s mouth. She made a mental note to have a talk with the staff about the manner in which they helped wounded guests down the front steps, then turned to face the library. If Noble thought he was going to let that scene pass without comment, he could just think again!

She poked her head around the door. Noble had his back to her. She was about to speak when he slammed his fist down on the desk.

Oh, dear. He didn’t even flinch, and she was sure that had to hurt. She closed the door softly and eyed the members of the staff, engaged in cleaning up the mess on the hall floor. They suddenly refused to meet her gaze and attempted, with the exception of the Tremayne sleeping on the floor, to escape her presence.

“Tremayne Two.” She pointed at the butler. “I should like to speak with you.”

“Certainly, my lady,” he replied, tugging down his sleeves and straightening his neck cloth. “I shall be with you as soon as I have assisted Mr. Crouch.”

“Now, Tremayne.” Gillian frowned and tried to imitate Noble at his most haughty. It wasn’t a very successful imitation, but it did the job. Tremayne made one or two more attempts to escape but followed with lagging steps after Gillian as she went upstairs to her small sitting room.

“You’ve been with Lord Weston the longest.” She attempted to keep her voice stern, but the butler’s long face was making her feel like the meanest sort of ogre. “You may tell me what that scene in the hallway was about.”

“Actually, Hippy has been with his lordship the longest,” Tremayne said, shuffling his feet.

“Hippy?”

“Hippocratus. My eldest brother, his lordship’s head coachman. Mother was of a classical bend of mind.”

“I see. And…ah…I cannot help but asking, but Tremayne the valet…?”

“Plutarch, my lady.”

“No, truly? Well, that is different. And you?”

Tremayne lifted his chin and stared down his nose at her. “Odysseus, my lady.”

Gillian considered this new bit of information and tried very hard not to allow the slightest peep of laughter to escape her. She swallowed hard several times and eventually was able to speak without her lips twitching.

“I cannot help but notice, Tremayne, that there appears to be an argument between you and your two brothers. Would you care to tell me why that is?”

Tremayne shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “It’s a bit of a long story, madam.”

Gillian cast a glance at the carriage clock on the mantel. “I don’t have time for a long story, Tremayne Two, so if you could abridge it, I would be most grateful.”

The butler cleared his throat again and clasped his hands before him, much in the manner of a small boy about to recite his lesson. Gillian sat back with a sigh. Evidently she was not to have the abridged version.

“It began many years ago, madam, when we lived in Oxfordshire. There lived in the house next to ours a sweet girl by the name of Clara…”

“Ah, a woman is involved!” Gillian said with satisfaction. “I do love a story with plenty of romance. How old was this sweet Clara?”

“At the time of the Misunderstanding she was eight, my lady.”

Gillan stared. “Eight? Not eighteen, but eight?”

“Yes, my lady. It was a very long time ago, as I said.”

“What on earth could have happened to cause such a rift between three brothers that you must battle with them to this very day?”

Tremayne looked pained. “She — that is, Clara — promised to attend the fair with me, my lady.”

“And I take it she did not keep that engagement?”

“No, my lady.”

“Did she attend with One?”

“No, my lady.”

“Three?”

“No, my lady. She attended the fair in the company of one Jabez Willson.”

Gillian felt a little dizzy. “Then why,” she asked carefully, “are you still fighting if she slighted you all evenly?”

“That is a good question, my lady.”

Gillian waited for him to say more, but nothing else was forthcoming. “And?” she prompted.

“I’m afraid we can no longer remember.”

Gillian fought the urge to throttle him, decided not to pursue the origin of the feud, and turned back to her original question. “The gentleman speeler in the hall, Tremayne, who was he?”

“That would be Alasdair McGregor, my lady. He has recently become Lord Carlisle.”

“Yes, well, that tells me who he is, but not who he is, if you understand.”

Tremayne looked confused.

“What is his history with Lord Weston?”

Tremayne looked stubborn.

“Why is Lord Weston so angry with him?”

Tremayne looked unsure.

Gillian frowned at him and was about to speak quite harshly when he gave a little shrug and sighed. “Lord Carlisle is an old acquaintance of Lord Weston, my lady.”

“And?”

“They had a falling out five years ago.”

“Oh. A friendship gone sour?”

Tremayne grimaced. “Something along those lines, my lady. If you’ll permit me, madam, I have taken it upon myself to instruct Mr. Crouch as to the proper method of polishing a fish knife. His idea of polished would shock the feathers off a parrot.”

“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.” Gillian gnawed at her lip as Tremayne left. The Black Earl had certainly displayed a temper worthy of his name. She was quite prepared to believe he fully meant every threat he had uttered. If she had thought him cold in his manner to her earlier, she had now corrected that impression. Noble’s anger was fueled by a fire hotter than that of hell itself. Still, McGregor’s involvement with the earl was just one more thing to add to her list of items to investigate. Gillian heaved a sigh and went off to find the Lord of the Underworld.

“Noble?” She stuck her head around the library door and spoke softly. “Are you busy?”

Noble looked up from the blackmail letter that had come in the morning’s post. “I am.”

“Ah. Well, I can see you are, since you are holding a letter and what appears to be a paintbrush if I am not mistaken, but I had thought to ask you — do you paint, husband?”

Noble blinked at her. “You interrupted me to ask me if I paint?”

“Well, no, actually I interrupted you to tell you that I am off to see my cousin Charlotte, but I couldn’t help but notice the paintbrush in your hand.” Gillian stepped into the room and closed the door carefully behind her. Noble looked puzzled rather than furious, which greatly relieved her mind. “It’s rather a curious thing to have in a library, I believe. A paintbrush. Unless, of course, you paint, but as I see no easel, nor any canvas or paints, I would have to assume that if you do paint, you paint elsewhere, which, as I believe I’ve mentioned, makes it curious that you are, in fact, holding a paintbrush. Here, that is. In the library.”

She paused for breath and hoped Noble wouldn’t notice that she was babbling incoherently about a paintbrush.

A slight frown pushed down Noble’s eyebrows as he carefully placed both letter and paintbrush on the desk, then rose and started toward her. “Why the devil are you babbling incoherently about a paintbrush, woman?”

“I — well, you have that paintbrush—”

Noble stopped scant inches away and frowned down at her. Gillian felt a flush sweep up from her chest. Really, it wasn’t at all fair that he could so disconcert her with just a look. What on earth had she been thinking, marrying the Lord of Manliness and Virility? How could she expect to live a peaceful life with him constantly around, sending goose bumps up her arms, making her knees go weak with his nearness, causing her breath to catch when he looked at her as he was looking at her at that very moment, making her stomach ball up with the heady scent of his shaving soap, which lingered on his neck and cheeks.

“Oh, Noble,” she gasped as she suddenly lunged at him. He rocked backward for a moment, surprised by her leap forward, but quickly regained his balance and returned the caresses she was unable to withhold any longer. The poor man, he needed her so much; she just couldn’t help but show him how much he needed her. She nibbled on his earlobe, pulling it gently with her teeth as he grasped her behind and pulled her up closer to him. “I apologize for interrupting you, my lord,” she said breathlessly, turning her head slightly so her lips met his.

“No apology is necessary,” he groaned, then claimed her lips, stroking the roof of her mouth and the sides of her tongue with his own. She moaned and felt her knees buckle. Wonder of wonders, Noble buckled with her, and they both fell to the floor. Gillian was mindless of anything but the sudden desire that burst into flame between them.

“ ’Tis the truth I should apologize,” she murmured as he kissed a hot, wet trail down to her breastbone. How the devil had he tied his cravat? In knots? She bit back a sob as her hands, frantic to untie it, tugged and pulled until the cloth loosened and she could bare his neck.

Noble continued his path of kisses down to the top of her gown. He looked at the neckline with calculating eyes, wondering if he could just push it down, or if he’d have to tear it off her. Either way, he’d have her lovely breasts bared. “I’ve told you, sweetheart, no apology is necessary. I’m quite willing for you to interrupt me whenever you feel the need.”

“That is indeed most gracious of you, my looooorrr—” Gillian’s voice rose as Noble’s mouth closed around her breast, suckling her with a passion that started fires all over her body.

He pushed her gown off her shoulders and tugged it down to her waist, exposing all of her chest. “Not at all,” he breathed, his mind happily frolicking in a land made up solely of Gillian’s breasts. “Was there something in particular you nippled?”

“Something I what?”

“What?” Why was she bothering him with talk? Couldn’t she see he was busy?

“Did you just ask me if there was something in particular I nippled?”

“Yes, lovely, aren’t they?” he murmured, turning his attention to the quivering twin of the first. Lovely, adorable, tasty little pink nipples.

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter,” Gillian said, unable to hold a thought any longer than she could catch her breath, not with the Lord of Tongues lathing her breasts like that. “I, ah…uh…Nick. I wanted to…oh, lord, Noble, do that just once again.”

He took her rosy little bud of a nipple gently between his teeth and tugged ever so slightly. She arched her back and thrashed her head. He gave in to a smug, masculine thought of how easy it was to arouse her but lost that thought when her hands slipped beneath his shirt. To be honest, he lost all thoughts, especially when she pushed him onto his back, straddling him, her breasts bobbing in a merry little taunting fashion as she worked to unbutton his shirt. Then she bent down and took his nipple in her mouth. Dear God, why had he never noticed his nipples before, and when had they caught on fire?

“Did you want to speak with me about Nick?” he gasped, sliding his hands up the outside of her silken thighs, pushing her gown upward. Lord above, her legs were longer than he remembered. And smooth, so very smooth. If only his nipples weren’t on fire, distracting him just when he wanted all of his concentration for mapping out the contours of Gillian’s endless legs.

Gillian squirmed under the onslaught of his fingers, relentless as she nibbled and sucked on first one nipple, then the other. Surely by now the fire must have consumed them, he thought wildly, his fingers sliding around to the fronts of her thighs. Surely he must have nothing left but charred little nipple nubs.

“I wanted to tell you how much he’s enjoying…oh my God, yes, enjoying…enjoying…ah…London! Yes, London!” Gillian shrieked. She scooted down and plunged her tongue into Noble’s navel while her hand reached for the buttons on his buckskins. He held his breath, waiting, feeling her light touch as she slowly released the tension of the material restraining his arousal.

“Oh,” she squealed when the last button popped off and flew across the room. She was delighted to see that he was as excited as she was, and reached out with both hands to clasp that dear, dear unbroken man part of his. She smiled fondly at it, and would have bestowed a kiss upon its happy little head, but suddenly she was flat on her back, with Noble’s tongue counting her teeth. At least that was what she thought he was doing. She let him check a few, then sucked on his tongue and pressed up against him as his fingers found that lovely secret spot that only he knew how to warm.

“Good,” he groaned once he had retrieved his tongue, and gave a moment of attention to the twin breasts clamoring for his notice.

“Oh, my, yes, very good, my lord,” Gillian squirmed, wanting to close her legs around his probing fingers and pull him in closer. “Very, very good.”

Noble chuckled as he shucked his breeches, then slid both hands along Gillian’s legs, spreading her for him. “I meant it was good Nick is enjoying London.”

“Oh, yes, that.” Gillian watched as Noble began kissing her thighs, her thoughts as scattered as dandelion seed in a storm. Was he going to…would he do what he did last night? That thing with his tongue? Oh, lord, he was going to. She grabbed onto the carpet beneath her and felt her back arch as Noble’s hot breath steamed over her most private area. “He told me he was happy here, and I wanted you to know…to know…oh dear heaven, Noble, don’t stop!”

He didn’t. Not until she bucked beneath him, clutching his hair as she called his name over and over again when he lifted her to a height she hadn’t known possible. He rose up over her, settling between her thighs, gazing at her flushed face and passion-filled emerald eyes.

Noble’s last coherent thought just before he plunged into his wife’s sweet depths was that he hoped to God none of the servants would choose that moment to open the door. He didn’t think he could stop, not even if the entire staff trooped in to watch.

“What did you mean he told you he was happy here?”

Gillian, squashed up against her husband’s chest, sated, drowsy, happier than she’d ever been, lifted her head from where it lay on his biceps. Noble was on his side facing her, his arms wrapped around her, their breathing in perfect synchronicity, as, she was sure, were their heartbeats. She raised a languid finger to trace the length of his nose. How was it possible that each time Noble made love to her, she felt less and less an entity made up of herself, and more one made up of the both of them?

Did he feel that he was part of her, too? She hoped so. She wanted him to give his heart into her keeping just as she had given him hers. She sighed, wondering if he knew she had relinquished to him her most prized possession.

“I know,” he said with a dark, unfathomable look, and pulled her closer so that his chin rested on her head. “I’ll keep it safe, sweetheart.”

She would have blushed at the reappearance of her Unfortunate Habit, but then, she reasoned, she was lying naked on the carpet in the library in the middle of the day, after having engaged in activities that were not usually conducted in such a place. Surely there were many other worthy things to blush about!

“How do you know that Nick is happy to be in London?”

“Hmm? Nick? He told me.” Her Lord of Loins was certainly a man who explored a subject thoroughly before letting go of it. Her lips curved into a smile as she recalled just how thoroughly he had explored her. Thoroughness was not necessarily a bad quality in a man.

“He told you he is enjoying it here?”

“Yes.” She tipped her head back and met his gaze. He looked puzzled.

“He told you?”

She made a little moue of annoyance. Didn’t she just say that? “How else did you expect him to let me know he’s enjoying his stay in London?”

Noble frowned. “You are aware, are you not, madam, that my son does not speak?”

“Well of course I’m aware he doesn’t speak. It’s rather obvious, Noble.” Gillian pushed back from his chest and looked mildly insulted.

“And yet you tell me he has spoken to you. You will understand how I find this difficult to believe.”

“There are more ways of speaking than by tongue, husband. I’m a mother. A mother understands her children.”

“You have been a mother exactly”—he looked at the clock on the mantel—“forty hours. Hardly the experience I would imagine that was needed to read my son’s mind.”

“Regardless, I know Nick is having a wonderful time, and I would like him to accompany me on my visit to Charlotte.”

Noble was about to refuse when it struck him that he might be defeating his own purpose if he interfered too much. He had promised to give her a fair chance with Nick, and since she obviously wanted to include him in her plans, he thought it best to let her proceed. With a few precautions set in place, of course. He wasn’t about to expose his son to a nightmare like the one the lad had barely survived with Elizabeth.

Noble was about to suggest they reclaim their clothing when Gillian placed a hand on his chest and stroked him. “Noble, I will happily take as many footmen as you like with me, but I worry about you.”

He was having a hard time thinking about anything but the fire she was starting deep inside his belly. “About me?”

“Yes. This attack on you, Noble, was clearly carried out by someone who wants to harm you. If you would just share your thoughts with me about it, I believe I may be of some help to you. You said last night that you had a suspicion of someone who might have abducted you?”

Noble had a suspicion, all right, but it wasn’t about the person who had lured him to his small house in Kensington and left him naked on his mistress’s bed. It was a suspicion that Gillian had just used him, turned his desire for her against him, and used him physically in a manner much like Elizabeth had used him so long ago. Elizabeth, who viewed lovemaking as a means to an end, as a way to force him into acquiescing to whatever it was she wanted. With Elizabeth it was jewels or baubles; with Gillian, it was his soul. His muscles stiffened beneath the gentle caress of her hand. Elizabeth and Gillian — this turn of events was surely proof that they were both the same after all, both only after whatever they could get from him, by whatever means necessary. He struggled to keep his voice emotionless. “I have told you that is no concern of yours, my dear. Now perhaps you should get dressed if you wish to visit your cousin.”

Gillian continued to stroke his chest, heedless of the icy grip of torment that was creeping over her husband. It was true she could melt the ice encasing his soul with her passion, Noble thought as the pain from her betrayal seared a bloodless wound deep into his heart, but she could also be a thousand times colder than Elizabeth ever had been.

“If you would just tell me, Noble. Who is it you suspect? Who would do such a thing to you? Who knew where your mistress lived? Why would someone target you in such a way?”

“If you are quite through, madam…” The words fell from his lips with chilly formality. Briskly he pushed her away and fumbled with his breech buttons, his fingers numb with cold and fury. “I have work I wish to do. Your attentions, although welcome, are unnecessary to procure my permission for Nicholas to accompany you. The next time you seek such permission you might just ask me first.”

Gillian paused in the act of righting her gown, feeling as if she had just been slapped. She stared at Noble, stunned and shocked by the frigid tone of her husband’s voice. What had happened? Just a few minutes ago he had been whispering the most erotic, passionate words in her ear, praising her, thanking her, shouting out her name when their souls twined together in one blinding moment of ecstasy. What had happened to take that warm, lovely, loving man and change him into this cold automaton? She fought back the tears that threatened to choke her and finished arranging her gown, wondering all the while if she could explain to him the effect he had on her. Perhaps if she could, he would understand.

“Noble,” she said a moment later, and reached out to touch him. Her hand froze in midair as he flinched away from her. She couldn’t keep the tears back then. They welled up and spilled over as she choked out an apology, then ran from the room. What had she to do to banish the ghost of Elizabeth? Why couldn’t Noble give her a chance? Wasn’t there room in his heart for them both? Was she doomed to receive only the adoration of his body, but not his soul? She rushed blindly for the sanctuary of her bedchamber.

Nick watched his stepmother race past him on the stairs. She was crying and hadn’t even noticed him. His shoulders slumped a little lower as he sat down on the step. Had it already begun, then? Had she started to hate him the way his other mother had? He went over a list of his actions in his head — no, there was nothing there that would upset her, nothing that would give her cause to hate him as the other one had. He had been very careful ever since she had come into his life a few days before — he liked her and wanted her to like him. He had made a mental promise to be good, but maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe she would turn away from him as his other mother had. He didn’t think he could bear that.

“Nick.” He looked up. His father was standing in the hall, Crouch helping him on with his coat. “Nick, come with me a moment; I wish to speak with you.”

Nick watched as father took his hat, gloves, and stick, then waved him toward the library. He sighed. There would be no help from that quarter. He had failed his father just as he had failed his mother.

“Your stepmother wishes you to accompany her on her calls this morning. I am sure that you would much rather be attending your lessons, but I have given my permission for you to go with her. It goes without saying that I expect you to act in a manner befitting my son.”

Nick closed his ears to the rest of the lecture. He’d heard it before. Sometimes the words changed, but the meaning was always the same. He was to behave in a manner befitting his father’s station. That was of the utmost importance, just as Nanny Williams had said it was. “Your papa’s an earl, and that’s a very important man,” she had told him. “Someday he’ll have a son to follow in his footsteps and be an earl after him, but until then, he’s got you, so you’d best do him as proud as you can. Not that it matters, in the end, since you can’t be the son he needs, but still, you’re here, so you’d best be showing your papa how grateful you are that he recognizes you.”

“Nick.” He looked up to find his father squatting before him, the big hands warm on his knees. “Nick, you do like Gillian, do you not?”

He nodded.

“Good. I like her too. I think—” His father stopped, looking toward the library doors, a wistful expression on his face. Nick had never seen it before, but the sight of it made something deep inside him want to hug his father, and be hugged in return. “I think she likes us too.”

Two pairs of almost identical gray eyes surveyed one another for a moment, exchanging thoughts and emotions without words. Nick blinked back the wetness in his eyes when his father suddenly took him in his arms and squeezed him tight. He buried his face against the stiff neck cloth and wrapped his arms around his father’s neck.

Maybe things would turn out all right after all. Clasped firmly in his papa’s arms, Nick did something he hadn’t done in almost five years. He began to hope.