Noble Intentions

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Good evening, Lady Weston.”

“Oh, Lord Rosse, good evening.” Gillian peered around the marquis, looking for Noble. “How nice to see you again. That’s a lovely waistcoat. Are those dragons?”

“Yes. It is a gift from my betrothed.”

Gillian looked at him, startled. “You are betrothed? I didn’t know. Noble never mentioned it.”

Rosse smiled. “I’ve been betrothed since I was sixteen. Our fathers arranged it.”

Gillian’s brow furrowed. “Is that legal?”

Rosse shrugged. “It matters not, I’ve pledged myself to the girl, and I’ll marry her. Some day,” he added with an irresistible grin. Gillian couldn’t help but grin in response. She liked Rosse the best of all Noble’s friends. He reminded her of a friendly puppy, all eagerness and enthusiasm.

“Noble had an important appointment, I’m afraid, but I managed to convince him to allow me to have the honor of escorting you to the Countess of Gayfield’s rout, where your estimable husband will join us later.”

Gillian was disappointed that Noble had not remained home to escort her. She not only wanted to discuss the note she had received from Lord Carlisle, she wanted to find out why he had been weeping. Nick was in good health — that had been her first concern. Try as she might, she just could not understand why her Lord of Tempers ran hot one moment, then cold another. Perhaps it would be better if she stopped trying to understand him and just accepted his volatile emotions.

“Er…quite so, my lady,” Lord Rosse said, and held the door open for her.

Gillian blushed, thought about explaining about her Unfortunate Habit, then decided it wasn’t important.

“My lord,” she said once she was seated in Lord Rosse’s elegant carriage, “perhaps you would tell me—”

“Where your husband is this evening? I’m afraid I cannot, my lady.”

Gillian looked annoyed. “I shouldn’t dream of asking you such a thing,” she said. “I have every faith in my Noble, and if he said he had an important matter of business to attend to, then I’m sure that is what he is doing.”

Rosse thought back to the earlier conversation he had had with Noble.

“Just look at this, Harry,” the Black Earl had demanded, waving a letter in front of the marquis’s face. “How dare the blackguard impugn Gillian’s virtue in such a manner? You’ll act as my second, of course.”

“Your second? You’ve called him out, then?”

“Yes, earlier, when I caught the murdering bastard with his hands all over my wife.”

Rosse stared at him in surprise.

“Oh, not in that manner; it was all perfectly innocent on her part,” Noble stormed, continuing to wear a path in the carpet before his friend. “She was suitably escorted by Crouch and three footmen, not to mention Nick, her cousin, and those blasted beasts. No, that was an innocent bit of folly on her part; her cousin wanted an introduction, and you know how Gillian thinks — in a manner so convoluted it’s almost straightforward, she took Lady Charlotte to call on the man with some feeble excuse of seeking a referral from him. But the bastard’s gone too far now. Just look at this!”

“I will if you stand still long enough for me to snatch it from your hand.”

Noble tossed him the letter as he passed his friend.

“Hmmm. So she’s to meet him tonight at the Gayfields’ rout, eh?”

“So he says. Gillian won’t meet him, of course. We had a discussion about that earlier.”

Rosse could just imagine what form the discussion had taken. “It appears to be an anonymous letter. Are you sure it’s from Carlisle?”

Noble snorted as he completed his circuit of the room and turned to begin it again. “Of course I’m sure; who else would send me a note gloating over the fact that Gillian had made an assignation to meet with him right under my nose? He’s baiting me, Harry, and I refuse to be baited.”

Rosse wasn’t sure, but something didn’t smell right about the entire situation. So far the added men he’d put on the investigation had found nothing to justify his intuition that there was more to the matter than just McGregor. He told Noble his suspicions, anyway.

“You’ve been out of the spy game too long. Your nose has lost its sharpness,” Noble opined.

Rosse shrugged and took a sip of his friend’s excellent brandy. “Possibly. But I don’t believe so.”

Noble thought about that for a moment; then his eye caught sight of the blasted note again and his attention was fixed wholly and completely on gaining satisfaction.

“Take Gillian to the Gayfields’ tonight. I’ll meet her there later.”

Rosse looked into the hooded gray eyes of his friend, his mind quickly assimilating facts and trying to figure out Noble’s scheme. “Where will you be until then?”

“In your shadow,” Noble said grimly.

Rosse’s pale eyes blinked behind the glass in his spectacles; then enlightenment darkened them. “Ah. I believe I see. You will pretend to be away this evening, leaving the avenue open for McGregor—”

“—to attempt to seduce my wife, whereupon I’ll burst onto the scene and strangle the bastard on the spot.”

A slow smile stole over Rosse’s face. “And your wife?”

“Will believe I am still angry with her over this afternoon’s debacle.”

“A little hard on her, isn’t it?”

Noble tugged at his lower lip, then sighed. “It can’t be helped, and it will only be for a short duration. It is important that McGregor believe we are at odds, the better for him to succeed with Gillian.”

The marquis warmed his brandy between his palms and inhaled the aroma. “Do you trust her?”

Noble paused in his circuit around the desk. “To not betray me with McGregor? Yes, I do. I’ve—” He picked up the paintbrush on his desk, his fingers running over the softness of the sable brush. As soft as that was, Gillian’s hair was a thousand times silkier. “I’ve treated her poorly, Harry, and I intend to make up for that, but first I must deal with these incessant threats and attempts to drive us apart.”

“I wondered if you had seen that,” Rosse commented mildly.

“Seen what?”

“That the nature of the threats had changed from blackmailing you to promising harm to your wife and now to a blatant attempt to instill distrust and discord in your marriage.”

Noble sat down suddenly. “McGregor’s mad.”

“Possibly. But I think it goes further than just McGregor’s attempts at obtaining justice for Elizabeth. This strikes me as an attempt to destroy you personally as well as socially.”

“Personally?”

“I think, my friend,” Rosse said as he stood and strolled to the window to look at the street beyond, “I think it is a good idea that you have sought additional protection. I fear you are going to need it.”

What Rosse hadn’t told his friend was that he himself had hired two more men with the sole purpose of following the earl and his countess. One of the men was even now in attendance at Lady Gayfield’s, in the guise of a hired footman. The other had been given an invitation to the rout, procured at no small social cost to Rosse, and was in attendance at the party. Rosse went over his plans again, satisfied he had done all he could to protect his friend and his lovely lady.

“Lord Rosse?” That lady was now sitting across from him in his carriage and frowning in a most annoyed fashion.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Weston, I was pondering a problem. What was your question?”

“About Noble and this silly duel…”

Rosse blinked at her in surprise. “You know about the duel?”

“Of course I know about the duel; I was there when Noble challenged poor Lord Carlisle.”

“Ah. Well…ah…I don’t believe it’s customary to acquaint the wife of the duelist with the facts, my lady.”

“Regardless, you will. You are Noble’s second, are you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“Excellent. Then you must help me stop it.”

“I understood that most ladies find it pleasing for their honor to be the subject of a duel.”

“I am not most ladies, my lord.”

No, she certainly was not. Rosse couldn’t help but grin at her as she continued.

“I do not find the idea of my husband allowing another man to aim a pistol at him and fire a pleasant one, my lord, and I intend to move heaven and earth to make sure that he will not be in that position. Where and when is the duel to be held?”

Rosse shook his head. “I have not yet met with Lord Carlisle, my lady.”

“But it will be you who suggests a meeting time and place, will it not?”

“As Noble’s second, my first duty is to attempt to resolve the situation by means other than dueling.”

Gillian snorted a most unladylike snort. “You know Noble, and I assume you know Lord Carlisle — two more pigheaded, obstinate, proud men I’ve never seen. Neither will back down.”

“I am in agreement with you there, my lady. Assuming negotiations for a peaceable end to the challenge fails, then yes, I will suggest a meeting time and place.”

Gillian chewed on her lower lip as she pondered the situation, her brow furrowed in thought, her fingers absently twisting the beads on her midnight blue overdress. Suddenly her brow cleared, her eyes sparkled, and her mouth formed a charming smile.

Rosse was struck once again with a sense of rightness that she and Noble should have found each other. If only they could see how much love they had to offer each other, he thought, and voiced the question that rose to his tongue. “You have thought of something to put an end to the duel, my lady?”

“Yes, my lord, I do believe I have.”

“And that is…?”

“Better left unsaid to you, Lord Rosse, lest at a later time my lord accuse you of having a hand in it.”

Rosse spent the better part of the journey to Berkeley Square trying to convince her of the folly of whatever plan she had dreamed up, but it was to no avail.

Gillian needed desperately to see Charlotte. As the only person who knew she was investigating Noble’s past, Charlotte’s advice and help was invaluable, especially now when she had two immediate problems facing her — to find out what Lord Carlisle wanted, and to ensure that the duel did not take place. Since both items revolved around the same man, and threatened the health and happiness of her beloved husband, she felt herself perfectly within her rights to go against that husband’s wishes and meet with the very man he had ordered her to avoid. She wasn’t a fool, however, and knew that any meeting with Carlisle must take place in the presence of a witness to protect her reputation with both society and her husband. To be truthful, she didn’t care a fig about the former, but the latter concerned her greatly.

Gillian greeted Lady Gayfield, who was delighted to have her present and asked whether the earl would be joining her soon. Lady Gayfield was newly married, and nervous about this, her second ton party. She was thrilled, however, that the two most talked-about members of society were going to be present.

“Lord Weston will be here,” Gillian told the viscountess. “He had an important engagement, but he promised he’d be along later.”

Lady Gayfield, feeling one Weston was good, but two would be better, especially if they could be counted on to do something scandalous like embrace publicly, was perfectly happy to wait until all hours for the arrival of the earl.

“May I be allowed to say how much I admired your actions the past evening?”

“My actions?” Gillian looked down at her faintly blue palms.

“Your…your affectionate embrace. It was so very romantic, so full of passion and l’amour! If the mood were to overtake you again this evening, and you wished to embrace your husband in such a manner, I want you to feel free to do so. You are among friends, Lady Weston, friends who would not censure you for feeling what is right and natural for your husband.”

Gillian tried not to let the corners of her mouth twitch. “Thank you, Lady Gayfield. Should I be overcome with emotion and find it necessary to kiss my husband, I will do so secure in the knowledge that I have your full approval.”

“Indeed,” Lady Gayfield smiled delightedly and pressed Gillian’s hand, grand visions of the gossip that would fly from her party the following day should the Westones behave with suitably improper behavior, “indeed, I would not mind at all were you to give free rein to your emotions.”

Gillian found the idea of the ton holding its collective breath waiting for her and Noble to display their affection very amusing.

“You are, after all, newly wed.”

“Very true, and while I appreciate the offer to heed the call of our passions and desires, I believe Lord Weston will draw the line at actually bedding me in front of your guests.”

There were gasps behind her as others overheard her outrageous statement.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Lady Gayfield gasped also, in mingled horror and delight. Who knew what Lady Weston would say next? She almost hoped it would be something just as shocking. If only the Westons would see fit to conduct themselves in a scandalous fashion, her reputation as a hostess of the most interesting ton parties would be made.

Gillian made her excuses and escaped both Lady Gayfield and Lord Rosse and went in search of her cousin. She had passed from a reception room to the supper room but couldn’t find her, and was just about to peer into the card room when she spied a familiar figure seated in a corner next to an enormous palm.

“Sir,” she said, making a formal curtsy.

“Eh? Oh, it’s you, gel. Thought I’d see you here this evening.”

Gillian seated herself on the love seat next to the wizened figure and prepared to interrogate the old man about his connection with Noble.

His brilliant blue eyes sparkled at her from beneath his bushy white eyebrows, almost as if he could guess her thoughts.

“You look as if you’d just met with a highwayman.”

“I believe I did. An honorable one at that.”

“Eh? Oh, Carlisle.”

Gillian stared openmouthed at the frail old man. “Yes, how did you know?”

“Bound to happen if you were looking in the proper place to uncover the secrets. Secrets and lies, I told you, and secrets and lies are what you’ve found.”

Gillian reflected on that for a moment. “But which are the lies and which are the truths?”

“ ’Tis for you to tell.” The old man clasped his rheumy hands together and leaned back against the red cushions. “Your heart knows what’s true and what’s false. A smart woman would listen to what her heart tells her.”

Gillian sighed. “That’s just the problem. When I listen to my heart and try to act on its advice, I end up in trouble. Now Noble has challenged Lord Carlisle to a duel all because of my heart, and I have to save him. It’s not easy being a woman, you know.”

Palmerston snorted and closed his eyes. “No one said this journey would be easy, gel. If it’s a life of ease you want, it’s within your grasp. All you have to do is take it.”

“But at what cost?” Gillian asked softly. “Noble’s happiness? I’d rather struggle on with the journey if that’s the price. He needs me, Palmerston, and I’m not about to give up on him when he needs me.”

The old man didn’t answer. Gillian wasn’t sure if this was his way of dismissing her, or if he had actually fallen asleep. He was very old; it was probably the latter. She gave him a gentle pat on his knobby hand and slipped away quietly.

She found her cousin a few minutes later.

“Good evening, Aunt, Uncle.”

Her aunt greeted her in a flustered, hesitant manner but didn’t seem to have forbidden Charlotte to be in her niece’s presence. Gillian curtsyed to her uncle, received a frosty look in return, and hurried over to claim Charlotte.

“Char, I must speak with you.”

“Later, Gilly. Mama is fishing for an introduction to the most divine viscount, and I believe Lady Weatherby is going to finally admit defeat with her poor plain-faced Anne and introduce me to him.”

“This is more important than your divine viscount.”

Charlotte looked disbelieving. “I doubt if anything could be more important than a divine viscount.” She snapped open her fan. “Unless, of course, it’s a divine earl, marquis, or duke.”

“This concerns an earl, and one whom you were, a few hours ago, making the most obvious sheep’s eyes over.”

“Lord Carlisle?” Charlotte asked.

“The very same.”

Charlotte whispered a few words to her mother and then followed after her cousin to a secluded corner.

“I had assumed that Lord Weston would have forbidden you to see Lord Carlisle again after that delicious scene this afternoon.”

“It’s hardly delicious when one’s husband’s life is in danger, Charlotte. And he did forbid me, but that’s of no matter now, because I simply must save him. Look, this came a few hours ago.”

She handed Charlotte the letter she had received.

“Oh, my,” Charlotte said, a worried frown wrinkling her brow as she took in the few lines. “You’re not going to do it, are you? Meet with him secretly? Tonight?”

“It says he has important information vital to our quest, Charlotte.”

“Well, as to that, you weren’t very forthcoming with him about your quest, you know.”

“That’s because Noble believes him to be behind the attack. I had to throw him off the scent by implying we believed it was someone else who planned such a heinous crime.”

“But I thought you believed that.”

“I do, but Noble doesn’t, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, dear cousin, it’s the importance of keeping an open mind. No, my duty is quite clear. I must meet with Lord Carlisle, and not only ascertain what vital information he has, but also — not that it will do any good — beg him to consider apologizing to Noble and thus halting the duel.”

“And if he won’t?”

Gillian sighed. “I shall take steps to ensure they won’t meet tomorrow. I don’t wish to — they’re rather drastic steps — but I have Noble to think about.”

“Why do I have a feeling your Noble won’t be happy with you thinking about him in such a manner?”

Gillian waved off the question. “You must come with me once the meeting spot is named and be my witness.”

“Have you been contacted yet?”

“No, but the note didn’t say when I would be contacted, just that someone would let me know when and where I was to meet him.”

“I will come with you, Gilly, but I think you should reconsider your actions. Lord Weston — oh, Gilly, there he is!”

“Noble?”

“No, the divine viscount. Isn’t he delicious?”

“Quite fashionable,” Gillian said, viewing the dandified viscount with a giggle. “Those curls must have taken him forever to achieve.”

“Mmm, but it’s worth the effort.” Charlotte started to move off toward her mother and the viscount.

“Don’t forget, you promised you’d come with me!”

Charlotte waved a hand in acknowledgment and went to meet the sprig of fashion.

Gillian mingled, chatted, and even danced a few country dances before she received the instructions she awaited. A footman approached, bowed, and handed her a slip of paper. She read it quickly; then, with a glance through the rooms to make sure Noble had not yet shown up, she went to find Charlotte.

“Well, blast,” she muttered when she found her. Charlotte was involved in a lengthy looking dance and was sure to be busy for some time. Gillian glanced at the note again.

Third room on the left, second floor. I’ll wait ten minutes, then leave. Come alone. Well, she certainly wasn’t enough of a ninny to go alone to a stranger’s bedchamber with a man who was not her husband, but she did not wish to miss this chance to learn what Lord Carlisle knew, and to beg him to apologize to Noble. She waited until Charlotte was standing during a quiet moment in the set, and passed the note to her. Charlotte read it, nodded, and slipped the paper into her glove.

Gillian waited as long as she could, watching a gilt ormolu clock nervously, but there was nothing for it but to go upstairs by herself. Charlotte was still engaged in the dance with her divine viscount, and nothing was going to pull her from that sort of an opportunity.

Gillian toyed with the idea of asking a footman to accompany her but had a much better idea. She looked around for a servant, noticed a short, burly footman just behind her, and signaled to him.

“Madam?”

“I am feeling unwell, and Lady Gayfield has suggested I rest quietly for a few moments in a bedchamber upstairs. The third one on the left, second floor. I would like a maid sent to attend me.”

The footman looked startled but murmured his compliance and left to carry out her instructions. She uncrossed her fingers and, feeling pleased with her cleverness, hurried toward the staircase.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor, popped her head around the corner to make sure there was no one in the hallway, and scurried down, counting doors. “One, two, ah, here it is.”

She slipped into the room and was surprised to find it empty, although several tapers had been lit. There was a large bed with blue and gold bed curtains, several pieces of mahogany furniture, a love seat against a far wall, a screen with embroidered peacocks, and a large painting reminiscent of Botticelli’s Venus. Gillian looked at the painting closely. Was that cherub doing what she thought he was doing?

“I believe that’s by Smollett,” a voice from the other side of the room said. Gillian spun around and clutched her throat, then relaxed when she saw Lord Carlisle leaning negligently against the wall next to a wardrobe.

“You gave me quite a start, my lord, but I am pleased you are still here. I was detained and feared you would leave before I could meet with you.”

“And deny myself the pleasure of a few stolen moments in your exquisite company, madam?” Lord Carlisle strolled into the room and grasped Gillian’s hand in both of his, and brought it to his mouth. “I could not leave without gazing just once more into those deep, entrancing pools of emerald.”

He kept his gaze locked on Gillian’s as he turned her hand over and kissed her palm.

Gillian leaned closer. “You’re very good, my lord, but not nearly as good as my husband.”

The smile that had been playing around the earl’s manly lips suddenly evaporated. He dropped her hand with a sigh.

“Well, it cannot be said that I did not try.”

“No,” Gillian laughed, “you did try. I’m sorry, my lord, but I do not wish to have an affair with you; I merely wish to know what it is you wanted to tell me about Noble, and to discuss this silly duel.”

Carlisle said nothing for a moment, his black eyes somber. “Madam, will you accept advice from one who has known you but a short while?”

“Advice? What sort of advice?” Gillian glanced toward the door. Shouldn’t the maid she asked for be arriving by now?

“As I said earlier, I have every reason to believe Lord Weston murdered his wife.”

“Oh, that,” Gillian interrupted dismissively. “My lord, we’ve been through that. No matter what Lady Weston told you, I refuse to believe that Noble acted as you have implied. He is simply not capable of such behavior.”

Carlisle took her hand in his again but this time his eyes were serious and full of concern. “My dear, I know it is hard for you to admit, but your husband was responsible for his wife’s death, and for her suffering before that untimely event. I cannot help but worry that should his substantial temper turn on you, you might suffer the same fate as my dear Elizabeth.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Gillian told him, giving his hand a slight squeeze. “But I am in no danger from Noble, nor will you ever convince me he had anything to do with his wife’s death. Now, if you could tell me the information about the attack on Noble you wish to impart, I would be most grateful.”

Carlisle closed his eyes for a moment and was just about to speak when someone knocked on the door.

“Oh, good, that will be the maid,” Gillian said as she started for the door.

“Lady Weston?”

It was a man’s voice at the door.

“Oh, my,” she said with a guilty glance toward the earl.

He held a finger to his lips and slipped into the wardrobe.

“Yes?” Gillian opened the door. It was the short footman. He looked nervously to either side, then pushed the door back slightly and squeezed through the opening.

“My lady, your husband has arrived and is seeking you. I would suggest you have your…rest…later.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Um…” Gillian sent a concerned look toward the wardrobe. She hated to leave the earl without finding out what information he had about Noble’s attacker. “Can you be discreet…uh…”

“Jones,” the man replied, nodding. “Quite discreet, madam.”

“Excellent,” Gillian said with a relieved smile, and opened the door to the wardrobe. “Lord Carlisle, you may come out. Jones here will be discreet, so you may tell me what it is you know about the foul attack against Noble in front of him.”

Carlisle rolled his eyes as he started to step out of the wardrobe, but a sudden knock at the door forced him to pause.

Gillian gave him an apologetic smile and, pushing him back inside the wardrobe, closed the door again. She waved the footman behind the screen and went to open the door.

“Am I too late?” Charlotte asked as she stepped in.

“Not too late, no, although I believe the problem has been taken care of,” Gillian replied as she went to release Lord Carlisle. “Jones, you might as well come out too.”

Charlotte looked with surprise as an earl popped out of the wardrobe, while a liveried footman emerged from behind the screen. “Gillian, I never would have thought you’d have it in you!” she teased.

Gillian ignored her and turned back to the earl. “Now, Lord Carlisle, if you wouldn’t mind telling me what it is you wanted to tell me…oh, blast, now who’s that?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll be damned if I go back into that wardrobe again.”

“Yes, you will. I won’t have Noble’s reputation suffer because of you,” Gillian said firmly and shoved him back into the tall enclosure, closing the door on his protests.

“Oooh, we get to hide?” Charlotte squealed, biting her lip for a moment as she glanced around the room. She gave a happy little cry and leaped onto the bed, pulling a bed curtain partially closed. Jones disappeared back behind the screen.

“Lord Rosse, good heavens, whatever are you doing here?”

“I…ah…heard you were here and wanted to arrive before Noble found you. Carlisle is here, isn’t he?”

“Yes, in the wardrobe,” Gillian said. Rosse nodded and opened the wardrobe. He was about to speak when Jones and Charlotte delurked.

“This is quite exciting,” Charlotte said with a wicked giggle, then slapped an innocent and demure look on her face for the marquis’s benefit. Rosse stared for a moment at the two additional occupants, then shook his head and turned back to the earl.

“Lady Weston? Lady Weston? You must let me in!”

“This is becoming ridiculous,” Gillian muttered, marching over to the door. Rosse shoved Carlisle back into the wardrobe, while the footman and Charlotte reassumed their hiding places. Rosse looked around wildly for a moment and then threw himself under the tall bed.

“Yes? Who is it?” Gillian asked at the door.

“Sir Hugh. Please let me in, Lady Weston. I have something of import to tell you.”

Gillian opened the door to the baronet. “Something concerning Noble, no doubt?”

Tolliver pushed her back and closed the door loudly behind him. “The rumor is all over that you’re up here with Carlisle. Where is he?” He looked around the room and settled on the tall mahogany wardrobe. “He’s in there, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is,” Gillian said, resigning herself to the fact that she was not going to be allowed to hear what it was Lord Carlisle wanted to tell her.

Sir Hugh gave her a sharp look. “In the future, madam, I would suggest you conduct your affairs with a bit more discretion. Noble is, after all, my dearest friend, and I hate to see him cuckolded in this manner. He knows what you’re about and is on his way here now.”

“It’s a little difficult for her to cuckold him with all of us here, Tolly,” Rosse said as he pulled himself out from under the bed. Sir Hugh exclaimed in surprise at the sight of him.

“A bit too crowded,” Charlotte agreed, pushing aside the bed curtains and smiling fetchingly. “Oh footman, you can come out as well.”

Sir Hugh stared with an open mouth as Jones emerged from behind the screen.

Rosse opened the wardrobe and faced the furious earl within.

“I’ll be thanking you all to stop shutting me in that bloody thing! There’s no air in there!”

“Quite,” Rosse said succinctly, and turned to speak with Gillian.

“Gillian!” Her name echoed down the hallway.

“Oh lord, that’s Noble,” she said, wringing her hands. “He doesn’t sound pleased, does he?”

“Gillian? Wife, where are you? Come out at once!”

Charlotte squeaked and ran back for the bed. The footman grinned and disappeared behind the screen but was immediately pushed out from behind it by Sir Hugh. He started toward the bed, but the earl beat it to him. “You can take the bloody Iron Maiden, I’ll go beneath the bed.”

Rosse and the footman looked at one another and around the room. Rosse was faster on his feet and made it to the area behind the love seat just ahead of the footman. Gillian stood by the wardrobe door as the footman, with a muttered oath, entered it.

She had just taken a step toward the door when Noble burst into the room.

“Hello, my love. Was that you I heard bellowing?”

Noble glanced quickly around the room and focused on the wardrobe. “Bloody hell, you’re hiding him?” he exclaimed as he strode into the room, straight for the massive piece of furniture. “Did we not just have a discussion about McGregor, madam?”

“No,” Gillian said as Noble threw open the wardrobe door and reaching in, pulled out the footman. He stared with a look of surprise at the short man who was dangling at the end of his fist. “We didn’t have a discussion, you had a discussion. I just listened.”

“Who the devil is this? And what is he doing hiding in Lady Gayfield’s wardrobe?”

“It’s her footman, Jones,” Gillian answered.

“Er…actually, he works for me,” Rosse said, pushing back the love seat and straightening up to his full height.

“Harry? What are you doing here? I thought we…ah…I thought you were to wait downstairs?”

“I felt it best to be on hand in case you decided to make good your threat to Carlisle,” Rosse replied. “Do you mind setting Jones down? I don’t think he can breathe with you holding his throat like that.”

“Oh…er…my apologies.” Noble set the man down and gave his rumpled livery a quick straightening. “So Carlisle isn’t here?”

“No, he’s here, somewhere,” Rosse said, adjusting his spectacles. “Let’s see, I believe that’s Tolly behind the screen.”

Sir Hugh stepped out with a red face. “Noble, I just came to warn your wife that you had heard the ghastly rumors about her and Carlisle—”

“That’s enough, Tolly. I’m sure Noble knows you were here to protect him.”

Sir Hugh nodded his head vehemently.

“And I believe Lady Weston’s cousin is in the bed…ah, yes, there she is.”

“Good evening, Lord Weston,” Charlotte said, simultaneously dropping him a curtsy and fluttering her eyelashes at the marquis.

“And, of course, that’s Carlisle poking out from under the bed.”

Noble, who had been watching with an expression of sheer and utter confusion as people emerged from all sorts of furniture, narrowed his eyes and growled when the earl hauled himself out from under the bed.

“It’s quite all right, old friend. Your wife has been amply chaperoned the entire time, as you can see.”

“All’s well that ends happily,” Charlotte said as she dimpled at Rosse.

“I would like to have a word with Carlisle alone,” Noble said in a gravelly voice.

Carlisle brushed himself off. “I don’t believe I care for the odds of this situation. We have an appointment to meet at dawn two days hence, Weston? Excellent. I shall arrange for seconds and see you then. Ladies, if you will excuse me.” Carlisle bowed and left the room.

Gillian, who had taken hold of her husband’s arm when Carlisle emerged from the bed, breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned to one of worry when Noble, casting her a glance filled with portent, said, “If you would all excuse us, I believe my wife and I need to talk.”

“Certainly,” Charlotte said brightly, and instantly attached herself to the marquis. “Lord Rosse, would you escort me downstairs? I have no head for directions and am sure I would get lost without you to guide me.”

Rosse waved the footman out before him and did his duty with a minimum of eye rolling and just the merest grin to Noble.

“Weston, I feel compelled to plead Lady Weston’s case to you,” Sir Hugh said, fidgeting with his quizzing glass. “She is young and quite impressionable, and I’m sure she had no intention that news of her assignation be spread among everyone—”

“That’s enough, Tolly,” Noble growled and, removing Gillian from his arm, he marched over and held the door open. “Gillian does not need you to plead her case.”

“But Carlisle was here—”

“Good evening, Tolly,” Noble said in a tone that even Sir Hugh did not dare challenge. Gillian wished she could escape the room with him. She knew Noble would have several things to say to her about meeting with Carlisle, and none of them would be pleasant or reasonable.

“Go ahead, Noble. I’m braced. You may proceed.”

“I may, may I? And what do you expect me to proceed with, madam?” he asked, stalking toward her.

Gillian couldn’t help herself — she backed up as he continued toward her. “Why, your lecture to me about meeting with Lord Carlisle when you specifically forbade any such meeting,” she said, then gasped when she ran up against the wall.

“Ah, so you were paying attention,” Noble said, his gray eyes dark with emotion. Her Lord of Lectures stood toe-to-toe with her, then placed a hand on either side of the wall next to her head and leaned in until their noses were almost touching. “I was beginning to wonder if indeed you pay attention when I speak to you.”

“Oh, my, yes,” Gillian said breathlessly, affected by his nearness despite his irritation with her. She breathed in deeply, reveling in his scent. “Almost all of the time.”

“ ‘Almost all of the time’?” Noble growled, brushing her lips carelessly with his. Gillian’s heart raced. What was he doing? Was he not going to yell at her? Or was this some new punishment? A groan slipped past her lips as Noble leaned his hard body against hers, pushing her back against the wall. Oh, God, if it was a punishment, she’d be sure to encourage it every day!

“What?” she asked, unable to keep from licking the corners of his mouth.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing. Oh, Noble! Do you think you ought to? Here? Now? Oh, my, yes!”

“Yes,” Noble agreed, and with one hand holding her head where he wanted it, he plundered her sweet, honeyed mouth.

“Are you sure, my dear?” Lord Gayfield, a pleasant, round-faced young man asked his wife as they came up the last of the stairs. “In your bedchamber?”

“Yes, yes, it’s all anyone can speak of. Lord Carlisle and Lady Weston were to meet in my bedchamber, and Lord Weston has just left the card room to catch them in the act. Surely there will be a duel out of this, which is just what we need to put the right cachet to our parties.” Lady Gayfield, almost beside herself with joy, paused for a moment and waved at fifteen or so of her closest friends, following her up the stairs. “We couldn’t ask for anything better, Charles! It’s almost as if Lady Weston had heard my thoughts and was doing this just to please me.”

Lord Gayfield looked doubtful, but obediently pushed open the door to his wife’s bedchamber. They both peered in.

“Good lord!” Lady Gayfield said, one hand to her cheek.

Lord Gayfield spun his wife around and slammed the door behind them.

“There’s nothing to see,” he told the expectant crowd. “It’s just Lord and Lady Weston…uh…having a discussion.”

It took a few minutes to dispersed the crowd, but at last the Gayfields were alone in the hallway.

Lady Gayfield put a restraining hand on her husband’s arm as he started to follow his guests. “Charles,” she whispered.

“Eh? What is it, Lydia?”

“Charles, did you see? How is that possible? Standing up? Against the wall?”

Lord Gayfield looked mildly embarrassed. “Er…yes. Against the wall. We’ll discuss it later, Lydia.”

“Well, I should hope so. And to think that Lady Weston assured me her husband wouldn’t bed her in front of the guests.”

“Er…yes. Best let it go, Lydia.”

“Well, I shall do so, but I will need to have the wallpaper redone in my room, Charles.”

“Quite, my dear.”

“Against the wall…Lord Weston must be incredibly strong!”

Lord Gayfield put a supportive arm around his wife’s shoulders and said nothing for a moment.

“Did you see Lady Weston’s stockings, Lydia? Quite charming embroidery. Eh…what say you get yourself a pair like them and we’ll discuss the wall issue?”

Lady Gayfield giggled.