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 after Gillian with lagging steps 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.”
Gillian 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 laving 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. Did he know 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 ann
oyance. 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 with me your thoughts 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.”
Noble Intentions Page 12
