“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 star
tled 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 Devereaux, 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, Devereaux, 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.”
Devereaux 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 Devereaux as two of the Tremaynes, having knocked out the third sibling, stood and glared at one another.
“Is speeling an unfortunate occupation, Mr. Devereaux?” 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—”
Noble Intentions Page 11
