The earl held her gaze. “The only way to find the answer to that, my lady, is to ask your husband, and that is not an action I would recommend, for surely it will mean the end for you just as it meant the end for my dear Elizabeth.”
Gillian stared wordlessly at him, unable to resolve the image of Noble lying in his wife’s blood, the instrument of her death clutched in his hand, with what she knew of him. Which was the true Noble? Which were the lies? How was she to determine the truth?
“Gillian! Lord Carlisle! What a surprise! How delightful to meet you…in this wholly unexpected…and unforeseen manner,” Charlotte panted as she galloped up to the pair. “Oh, my, it’s quite warm out today, is it not? Lord Carlisle, may I make you known to Lady Caroline Ambermere? Caroline? Well, that’s her back there. She’s a slow walker.”
Gillian rolled her eyes. There were times when Charlotte’s manners fell far short of her own, rusticated and Colonial though they were. She handed her cousin her handkerchief. Charlotte took it with a shy and demure smile at the earl, then turned to look back at Lady Caroline and deftly applied the cloth to her glowing face.
“We were just about to walk to the Serpentine, Lady Charlotte. I assume since you and Lady Caroline just came from that direction that you are headed elsewhere, so if you will excuse us…”
“Not at all,” Charlotte said gaily and grabbed her cousin’s arm. “We love the Serpentine. Do let us walk there now.”
Gillian gave the earl a rueful smile but was secretly relieved by Charlotte’s appearance.
“Now, what were you discussing? The weather? The latest gossip? Whether Lord Weston killed his wife?”
“Charlotte!”
Charlotte gave her cousin a sidelong look. “There’s no use my pretending not to know anything about it, Gillian, Lord Carlisle did send me that note…”
“Which was addressed to me and only meant to be forwarded by you, not read.”
“No! I must have neglected to notice that,” Charlotte said, smiling shamelessly at the earl. He raised his eyes to heaven and, with a sigh, turned toward the Serpentine.
“Impudent as my cousin is, she does have a point, my lord,” Gillian said as they walked toward the slip of water. “She is in my confidence, and you can speak freely before her.”
“Absolutely,” Charlotte said. “You may speak with perfect impunity and trust my discretion and naturally shy and unassuming nature.”
“Too brown,” Gillian whispered to her cousin.
“Do you think so?” Charlotte whispered back. “I thought it was just right. See, Lord Carlisle looks as if he’s about to laugh.”
The earl did laugh then, a bit ruefully, but still it was a laugh. “I have said my piece, Lady Charlotte. It is now up to your cousin to come to her senses and take the advice I so earnestly offer.”
Gillian shook her head. “I’m afraid this discussion is at a standstill, my lord, so I will turn to another subject that I hold to be very important.”
“The duel!” Charlotte said with satisfaction, and waved her hand toward the approaching figure of Lady Caroline and the two maids. “Caro, turn around, we’re heading back that way.”
“We are? But we just came from there.”
“Never mind. Lord Carlisle here is going to tell us about the duel he’s going to fight on the morrow with Lady Weston’s husband.”
“Charlotte!”
“Oh, pooh, everyone knows about it by now.” Charlotte made quick introductions. “Lord Carlisle was Lady Weston’s lover, and now he’s to fight Lord Weston because he had his hand on Gillian’s arm.”
“Charlotte, cease speaking this instant or we shall leave you!”
Charlotte looked hurt by the demand. “I’m simply trying to keep Caro abreast so she might appreciate the gravity of the moment when Lord Carlisle tells us his plans for murdering his rival.”
Gillian spun around and grabbed her cousin by the wrist, her fingernails biting into her flesh. A bit of Charlotte’s color drained out of her face when she saw Gillian’s countenance. “If you ever again say anything so foul, I will never speak to you again.”
“But—”
“Never.”
“You are—”
“Not ever!”
Charlotte had never seen her cousin’s eyes light up in such a manner before, and she decided it would be wise to humor her. After all, Gillian was in love with Lord Weston despite the fact that he had probably murdered his first wife.
“I apologize, Gillian. That was unkind of me.”
Gillian released her wrist and started walking again toward the water. A shout to the right brought her up short. “Oh, Nick, Mr. Rogerson. Are you out for a walk? How pleasant. That’s a lovely flower, Nick, thank you. I just hope the groundskeepers did not see you pick it.”
Gillian felt her heart constrict under the influence of her son’s sunny smile. How on earth could Noble consider tearing such a wonderful boy from her? She put an arm around him, telling Rogerson they were going to the Serpentine to watch the ducks.
“I see you have your army with you after all,” Lord Carlisle said softly. “As you are in such good hands, I will take my leave.”
“Oh, Lord Carlisle—about the event…I know it will be unpleasant for you, but I would ask that you make your apologies to Noble and halt the plans for the morning. I’m sure you see no reason to ask his forgiveness”—she held up a hand before he could interrupt—“and in truth, the fault for the situation lies with me, so it is true you are not to blame, but you must excuse Noble for being a bit overprotective.”
“Lady Weston, I must beg you to discontinue your pleas. Alas, they are falling on deaf ears. This will not be the first time I’ve faced your husband over pistols, but I do fully intend that it will be the last.”
Gillian’s eyes turned frosty. She leveled an icy green gaze at him, and in tones that left him in no doubt as to her feelings, snapped out, “I see. You leave me no choice, then, Lord Carlisle. The consequences will be on your head.”
He bowed and, with a polite farewell, took his leave.
“Er…Lady Weston, perhaps I should take Master Nicholas home.”
“No, it’s quite all right, Rogerson. I believe the worst is over.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Charlotte said, looking over Gillian’s shoulder.
“Why do you say that, Char?”
“Because Lord Weston is headed this way, and he doesn’t look pleased.”
Gillian spun around. It was true, her Lord of Fire was walking toward them in a manner that made her knees quake. She looked beyond him to where Lord Rosse was handing over the reins of his horse to a groom and preparing to leap over the small metal fence that lined the edge of Rotten Row.
“Well, hell,” she muttered.
Lady Caroline gasped. Charlotte looked worried and picked fretfully at Gillian’s handkerchief. Rogerson blanched at the sight of the earl’s face and prepared to spirit his charge away to safety. Gillian sighed and resigned herself to being yelled at yet again.
This time, she knew, she had no excuse to offer.
Twelve
Lord and Lady Weston were given the sobriquet of the Battling Brittons that night by Lord Rosse. Gillian truly didn’t know how he came to crown them with that title, since it was impossible to battle someone with whom you weren’t speaking. And seeing as how Noble was positively icy to her, not saying a single, solitary word after he had escorted her home from the park, nor later while she was preparing for Lady Cowper’s soiree, she felt Lord Rosse had taken liberties with the nickname.
Sitting next to the marquis, Gillian was particularly aware of her husband’s eyes glittering dangerously whenever she caught his gaze as they rode to that evening’s entertainment. After the chill that swept her the first few times she encountered his eyes, she did her best to avoid them altogether
, turning her attention to the man next to her.
“Lord Rosse,” she addressed him with a smile that was somewhat frayed around the edges, “as Noble is not speaking to me, perhaps you will tell me how he came by a broken nose.”
Rosse shot his friend a pleading look. Noble ignored both it and his wife and glared out the window of the carriage as it rolled through the night.
“I believe, madam, that he acquired it at Jackson’s rooms.”
“Ah. Thank you, my lord.”
“Not at all, my lady.”
“Harry?”
“Yes?”
“Since my wife is behaving in a childish manner by making a point of not speaking to me, would you ask her just what the blazes she thought she was doing by ignoring my wishes and not only leaving the house but meeting with the very man I specifically forbade her to meet?”
“Ah…”
“Lord Rosse,” Gillian said with an injured sniff and a frown across at Noble, “you might, since you are being so obliging as to act in a mature and intelligent manner, unlike some people I could mention, notably the irrational, emotional, and unjust man I married, would you be so kind as to tell him that I did not agree to abide by his dictates since they were silly, unreasonable, and unfair?”
“Silly? Unreasonable? Unfair?” Noble folded his arms across his chest and glared at her.
“Silly, unreasonable, and unfair. Noble, you know full well that keeping me a prisoner in the house, forbidding me to see friends and family, and, worst of all, denying me my son, is simply intolerable. I will not stand for it!”
“Harry, please tell my wife that she will stand for whatever I tell her she will stand for.”
“Um…no, I don’t think I will tell her that, Noble.”
Noble added Harry to his list of people to be glared at.
“See,” Gillian said, tapping Rosse on his arm with her fan. “Irrational and emotional.”
“I’m nothing of the sort,” Noble snapped.
“You are, husband, just look at you! You’re sitting there scowling and growling at us, and over what? A simple stroll in the park with my cousin, son, and others.”
“You left the house by yourself, madam, without a footman or groom in attendance, and,” he said hurriedly, before Gillian could protest his statement, “you walked for some time alone with that murdering bastard.”
“If you had three Bow Street Runners following me, then I was not alone,” she said triumphantly, pleased with her logic. “So my going out to meet with Lord Carlisle was perfectly respectable.”
“That’s beside the point. You didn’t know the Runners were in attendance…”
“Yes, and I’d like to discuss that with you…”
Noble waved her objection away. “The point is, you deliberately disobeyed my commands.”
“Noble.”
He glared at her gentle smile. “What?”
“You’re speaking to me.”
He swore under his breath. “Gillian, you will not distract me by smiling at me in that manner. The issue at hand is one of obedience. Without any concern for your health or safety, you left the sanctuary of our home to meet with that—”
“—murdering bastard, yes, Noble, we all know who he is.” Gillian took a deep breath and reached out a hand toward him. He frowned at it.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake…” Gillian moved across to sit next to her husband and, by wriggling her fingers, managed to work her hand under her husband’s crossed arms. “Noble, I was perfectly safe. I knew Charlotte would be there, and I was in a public place.”
She reached up with her free hand and ran her finger around the cleft in his chin. “Can you not see your way clear to forgiving my transgressions, and I shall forgive yours?”
He reached up to grab her fingers, his scowl growing blacker. “My transgressions? You will forgive me my transgressions?”
“Yes”—she pulled her hand out of his and placed it on his chest—“I am quite willing to forgive if you are.”
Her hand slid up his chest and curled around the back of his neck, sliding into his hair. God’s eyebrows but his hair was sinfully soft. It was like silk slipping through her fingers. She closed her fist around it and tugged his head toward hers, tilting her head back and offering up her mouth.
Noble tried to remember why he was so angry and why he had decided that a policy of indifference seemed like such a good idea, but the sight of her parted lips drove all other thoughts from his mind but the desire to sip her sweet nectar. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her up against his chest as his mouth claimed hers, his tongue dipping in to revel in her taste. He stroked the roof of her mouth and saw stars when she suckled his tongue.
“I shouldn’t be seeing this, no I shouldn’t, so I’ll just look out the window at the passing scenery. Or I would if I could see anything, but since it’s nearly ten o’clock and black as sin out there, I can’t see anything. However, since I’m sure if I were to look back at you, I would see…oh, yes, that’s just what I thought I’d see, and I shouldn’t be seeing that either, so I’ll just keep my eyes looking elsewhere until you’re both finished. I hope you finish soon,” Rosse said wistfully. “It gets a bit tedious staring out into the dark when two people who are close enough to you to touch are engaged in an activity better suited to a private location.”
“Harry.”
“Yes, Noble?”
“Get shankered.”
***
“Crouch?” Several hours later, Gillian peered out from her sitting room and waved the pirate in. “Crouch, where have you been?”
“Sorry, m’lady, the Tremaynes was at it again, and I ’ad to get my wager on Tremayne Three.”
Gillian listened for a moment. No sounds of a battle reached her ears, so the fight must be going on in the servants’ quarters. She knew she should intervene, but she hated to do so. The Tremaynes all pouted so when she insisted they behave. “Three? Is he so much better than his brothers?”
Crouch grinned. “Nay, m’lady, worse, but I likes an understrapper, I do.”
“Well, I am glad you managed to tear yourself away from the excitement, but we have an important task ahead of us, and you know you are vital to my plans. Should you not be leaving to meet Lord Carlisle?”
“Aye, m’lady, I’m just about to do that.” He yawned.
Gillian yawned back at him. “Don’t do that,” she snapped as soon as she could. “We both have work to do. Do you have the laudanum?”
He handed her a small brown bottle. “Ye know ’ow much to use?”
“Yes, just a few drops ought to do it. Do you have the Runners with you? All of them?”
“All five, m’lady. Yer two and ’is lordship’s three, and we’ve all got barkin’ irons with us.”
“Barking…irons?”
“Aye, just as ye ordered.”
Gillian tried to remember if she had asked specifically that the men be equipped with iron dogs that barked. She didn’t think she had.
“Oh, pistols, you mean.”
“Aye.” Crouch nodded, his gold earring swinging. “Snappers, just as ye’ve asked.”
“Snappers, yes, excellent. You have the key to Noble’s house in Kensington?”
He patted his waistcoat pocket with his hook. “Aye, m’lady, all’s taken care of there, but I’m worryin’ what I’ll do if the murderin’ bastard doesn’t show up.”
Gillian’s smile brightened up the dark room. “He’ll show up. He’s been wanting to save me…well, now he’ll have his chance.”
“It’s a right devilish mind ye’ve got yerself there, mistress.” Crouch saluted her with his hook. “I’m thinkin’ ’is lordship, once ’e gets over being drugged, will thank ye.”
“I wish you were right,” Gillian said, her smile fading. “But I fear he’s simply going to be too
angry to see much reason for a while. Oh, well, there’s just no helping it. If those two men intend on acting like stubborn little children and refuse to be reasonable, we’ll just treat them as children and do what’s best for them.”
The rumble of masculine voices made its way up the stairs.
“Must be Lord Rosse leavin’ ’is lordship,” Crouch said as Gillian pushed him toward the back stairs.
“Then go, and Godspeed, Crouch.”
“And to you, m’lady.”
The two conspirators grinned at one another, then separated—Crouch down the backstairs, and Gillian skimming up the staircase to her bedchamber. She hugged the bottle tightly to her chest, planning just exactly how she would slip the liquid into a bit of brandy. Crouch had warned her about putting too much in brandy, since the liquor would accelerate the effects of the drug, so she had to make certain Noble didn’t drink too much…just enough to guarantee he’d sleep through the dawn.
“That should take care of the Lord of Pigheadedness,” she muttered a few minutes later as she entered her room and looked around for a spot in which to hide the bottle. As she walked toward the wardrobe, a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye had her gasping and stumbling backward in surprise. A small, thin figure unfolded itself from the corner and stood hesitant in the candlelight.
“Nick? Is that you? Is something wrong?” Gillian started toward the slight figure but rocked backward when he threw himself against her.
“Oh, Nick, my darling, did you have a nightmare?” Gillian wrapped her arms around the boy and swayed gently with him while he heaved huge sobs into her chest. She murmured soothing words and brushed the dark locks back from his forehead until the weeping lessened in intensity. “It’s all right, my love. I’m right here, and nothing can hurt you now.”
“But…if Papa sends you away…”
Gillian stared down into the tearstained face and blinked in surprise. Nick was talking? Now? Why? His thin little body shook against her as she held him. First things first, she told herself, and with an arm around the lad, sat down with him on her bed. “Your papa’s not going to send me away, Nick. You’re worrying about nothing. Now tell me.” She handed him a handkerchief. “Did you have a nightmare?”