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.
Six
“Honestly, Gilly, I thought Mama would never leave us!” Charlotte said, slumping back against a watered-silk rose settee and kicking off her slippers.
“I think she just wanted to gossip a little, Char,” Gillian said with a smile, watching as Nick sat on the floor, his knees to his chin as he contemplated Roget, Charlotte’s bad-tempered cat. “You forget that I am now a countess, and therefore someone worth gossiping with.”
Charlotte snorted and threw a fat pillow at her cousin. “Stop your gloating and tell me how you are.”
Gillian tossed the pillow in the air and caught it with a little laugh. “You heard me tell your mama I was fine. What is it you really want to know?”
“Perceptive as ever.” Charlotte giggled, then tipped her head meaningfully toward Nick.
“Nick darling, why don’t you go down to the kitchen and see if Mrs. Tennyson has any of her delicious fruit tarts left? I’m sure Cousin Charlotte would let you take that four-legged curmudgeon with you.”
Nick gave her a long glance that let her know he was aware he was being sent out of the way, but scooped up Roget and left without delay.
“There, I have sent my son away for you, now what did you want to discuss that we couldn’t in front of him?”
Charlotte leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “That.”
“That what?”
Charlotte prodded her with her foot. “You know. That.”
Gillian narrowed her eyes. “You don’t mean…that?”
“Yes, I do. That.”
“No, truly, that?”
“That!”
“Oh.” Gillian thought for a moment. “You know, it really is strange. I don’t feel changed, but now that I am married, things are different. For instance, it wouldn’t be at all proper for me to discuss that with you.”
“Fudge about what’s proper. Did you enjoy it? Was it as pleasurable as Penny says, or horrid like Mama told you?”
Gillian blushed. “Honestly, Charlotte, you shouldn’t believe everything your maid tells you. And I don’t believe I’m supposed to discuss that with you—I’m sure it’s breaking some sort of married women’s rule or possibly a law or some such thing.”
Charlotte scooted over to the edge of the love seat and took a firm grip on her cousin’s arm. “If you do not tell me about that, I shall tell Mama about the time I saw you kissing that scrumptious stableboy.”
Gillian raised her chin. “Do your worst, cousin. I am beyond your mama’s reprimands now.”
“But not your husband’s.”
Gillian blanched at the thought of that. “What in particular did you wish to know about that?”
Charlotte told her.
A half hour later Nick returned to the sitting room to find both Charlotte and Gillian doubled over in laughter. “…but it wasn’t really broken at all, I just thought it was! It worked quite well later—oh, hello, Nick. Did you have a nice time in the kitchen? Did Cook give you a tart?”
Nick nodded and looked shyly at Charlotte. Gillian hel
d out her hand for him and, scooting over, pulled him onto the seat alongside her. “I was just telling my cousin about last night. Now you’re up-to-date, Charlotte.”
Charlotte appeared thoughtful and watched absently as Gillian ruffled her stepson’s hair and gave him a little hug. “Whose house was it that Lord Weston was found in?”
“His own! It is the house he keeps for his mis…uh…his lady friends.”
“Gillian! How can you be so blasé about that?”
“I’m not in the least. But you see, I happen to know that Noble has dispensed with his latest friend’s services.”
“Oh. Do you think she had something to do with his abduction?”
“I’m not sure,” Gillian said thoughtfully, her hand resting on Nick’s shoulder. “But I mean to find out. Which is where I need your help—to uncover this dastardly plot against Noble and bring the miscreants to justice. Then I will have his full attention and can begin to lay the ghost of his beloved Elizabeth to rest. Once I’ve done that…well, things will be better.”
Charlotte patted her free hand sympathetically. “I’m sure he loves you, Gilly; he wouldn’t have married you if he didn’t. And after such a short courtship—only a gentleman very much in love would marry someone after just a few meetings.”
Gillian smiled at her cousin and flicked the fat cushion back at her. “You need not look so cautious, Char. I promise I won’t fill your ear with lengthy does-he-love-me-doesn’t-he-love-me dialogues. Now, you have far more experience than I in this—how do you think I ought to begin the investigation?”
Charlotte toyed with the cushion’s gold tassels. “I have experience? What are you talking about?”
“The novels, cousin, the novels! You have read so many more than I have, and I know you pay closer attention to them than I do, for you are forever anticipating a crime, or you know who the villain is before I do. Thus you are better equipped to deal with this situation. As I see it, we have two mysteries to solve—first and foremost, who is behind the attack on my dear Noble, and second, who killed the late Lady Weston?”
Charlotte stopped spinning the cushion on her fingertip and stared at her cousin. “But I thought—surely I mentioned—didn’t Mama tell you—Gillian, don’t you remember that I told you Lord Weston was responsible for his wife’s demise?”
“Oh, of course I’ve heard that bit of cruel hearsay,” Gillian responded, waving a hand airily. “But it’s all false. Completely false. Noble would never harm anyone.” She paused and remembered his actions that morning. “Well, no one of the female gender, that is. No, someone else is responsible for her death and is quite happy blaming Noble for it. I intend to get to the bottom of that, too. Perhaps then I can persuade Noble to give our marriage the same chance he gave his first.”
Charlotte frowned at the wistful note in her cousin’s voice, tossed the cushion to Nick, then turned her mind to the task at hand. “Well, it seems to me that if you wish to find out who abducted Lord Weston, you must first find out who his enemies are. Then you may question them and eliminate the ones who do not seem to be the type to kidnap him and shackle him to his ex-mistr…uh…friend’s bed.”
“I see your point,” Gillian said thoughtfully, eyeing Nick as he made the tassels dance a little tassel dance on his bony knees. “It is not an everyday sort of enemy who would do that; more a special enemy with a particular goal in mind?”
“Exactly. Someone who wanted to embarrass Lord Weston as well as endanger him.”
Gillian thought about that for a moment, watching Nick balance the cushion on his head. She said slowly, “Oddly enough, Char, I do not believe Noble was in any danger. He was confined, but there were no signs of occupation in the house, no signs that someone might have wished to harm him physically. It seems to me that whoever did this wanted…well, just wanted him found shackled naked to that bed.”
“You mean it was a jest? Someone did that to him as a lark?”
“Nooo,” Gillian said, chewing on her lower lip, being careful to hold her head still since Nick had transferred the cushion to her fiery crown of braids. “No, I don’t believe it was a prank. I believe it was a warning of some sort.”
“How are we to find out what that warning was? And whom it was from?”
“We shall have to do as you say—find out who Noble’s enemies are and interview them.” The tassels bobbed rakishly over one eye as she nodded her head emphatically.
Charlotte looked doubtful. “How are you going to find his enemies?”
“Well…” Gillian balanced the cushion on the toes of one foot as she thought. A slow smile spread over her face as she kicked the cushion high in the air. Nick leaped up and caught it. “I shall ask the people who knew him best.”
She patted her cousin on the shoulder and stood. “Who knows a man better than anyone else, Char?”
“His friends? His family? His valet?”
Gillian shook her head at each. “Put the cushion back, Nick, and make your good-bye bow to your cousin. No, Charlotte, I want someone who will know all of the on-dits, someone who is familiar with all of the ton gossip, and who is willing to share it with me. I shall meet with”—she smiled a triumphant little smile—“his ladybugs.”
“Ladybugs?” Charlotte snorted and clutched the cushion to her chest as she fell over backward laughing. “Ladybugs? I think you mean ladybirds!”
“Oh.” Gillian made a face. “Whatever they’re called, I shall ask them. They will surely be able to tell me what I want to know.”
“Do you know, cousin,” Charlotte said, still laughing, “I believe that if anyone can do it, you can. No one else would have the gumption, let alone the desire, to interview her husband’s former mistresses. Leave it to you unschooled Colonials to simply ignore the precepts of good breeding and gentle manners when it suits you. Oh, I do wish I could be there when you question them. I would give an entire year’s pin money to see the looks on their faces when you ask them about Lord Weston.”
Gillian pushed her son gently toward the door. “Shall I see you tomorrow to help me plan my strategy?”
Charlotte nodded and twirled the cushion. Gillian bid her good-bye and started out the door.
“Oh, Char?” Her cousin looked up, a slight frown of puzzlement wrinkling her brow. Gillian smiled. “Don’t be spending any of your pin money. You will be helping me interview the ladybirds. I couldn’t possibly interview them myself, being as unschooled and ignorant of the precepts of good breeding as I am. I’m sure your gently bred, noble touch is just the one needed to get them to unbend and tell us everything we want to know.”
Gillian escaped out the door just a few seconds before the cushion hit it. She chuckled at the undignified and unladylike language coming from behind the door and hurried down the hall after her son.
***
“Crouch, I wish to go to Lord Carlisle’s house. Do you have the direction?”
“Ye be wantin’ to do what, m’lady?”
“I wish to go to Lord Carlisle’s house. Tomorrow.”
Crouch stared at Gillian as he handed her into the carriage. “Lord Carlisle, m’lady?”
“Yes, Lord Carlisle, Crouch. Is there a problem?”
Crouch’s eyes glazed over at the thought of all the problems his mistress’s unusual request would generate. The number alone staggered the mind. “Aye, m’lady, ye could be sayin’ there’s a problem. A right big problem it be, too.”
“You don’t know his direction?”
“Eh…well, as to that, m’lady, as ye’ve asked me outright…”
“Excellent. Then I shall assume that you will be able to accompany Lady Charlotte and me tomorrow to pay a call upon Lord Carlisle.”
A stunned Crouch climbed onto the seat next to John Coachman. “I’m all-a-mort, Johnny. What do ye think of that, then?”
“She fair bewattles me.” John Coachma
n shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, Crouch, having to tell his lordship that.”
Crouch, known to inspire terror in men with just one sneer of his scarred face, blanched with horror at the thought of what his employer would have to say.
“It’s not so much what ’e’ll say as what ’e’ll do,” he corrected himself.
“Aye, you’re right there. He’ll have your head if you let the mistress go calling on his hated enemy.”
Crouch cupped a protective hand around his most prized possessions and stared ahead through the leader’s ears. “I could live without me ’ead. It’s what else ’e might take off that turns me blood pale!”
***
At the very time Gillian was on her way home, explaining to her son that she and Noble were going to be out that evening, Noble stepped down from his friend Rosse’s carriage and glanced down Bond Street. Lord Rosse squinted against the afternoon sun and followed his friend’s gaze. “I see Poodle Byng is back in town, stouter than ever. Who’s that with him?”
“Sefton.”
“Oh, yes, should know that nose anywhere. Shall we stay a moment and greet them?” Rosse looked speculatively at his friend. “Or is there a need to?”
“My dear friend, you may pass your time as you like, but I intend on expelling a bit of energy on whoever might be willing to oblige me.” Weston started up the steps to Gentleman Jackson’s rooms.
“I gather this laissez-faire attitude means either, or both, men have given you the cut?”