Noble Intentions

by Katie MacAlister

  He had left her behind on his journey to heaven, but still he felt her lips on his face, on his cheeks and eyes. Odd how comforting such a simple gesture was. He felt consumed by a strange lethargy that soon melted into something more elemental when Gillian shifted on top of him.

  He opened his eyes and gazed into the bright, shining green eyes of the woman seated astride him. “My dear, let me tell you about a list I made earlier this evening. I believe it will go a long way in making up for my…er…appalling lack of manners of a moment ago.”

  Gillian smiled back at him and wriggled slightly. A streak of fire shot from his groin out to all points of his body.

  “I will need your Oils of Araby.”

  A sudden line appeared between her eyes.

  He smiled at her frown. “You look tired, my dear. I believe your blood could use purifying as well.”

  Ten

  “M’lady?”

  Gillian moaned slightly and buried her head deeper into the pillow.

  “My lady?”

  There was that pesky voice again, trying to draw her away from the sated, relaxed feeling that had held her in its embrace ever since her Lord of Araby bestowed his own ethereal essences upon her. Repeatedly. With much vigor and manliness.

  “My lady, you have guests.”

  As mind-numbingly enjoyable as those Imperial Exercises turned out to be, what filled Gillian with happiness were the words Noble had spoken. Among the words of pleasure and passion, he had admitted that he loved her. She hugged those words to herself, cherishing them, holding them close in her heart. He loved her.

  “The guests are in your sitting room, my lady.”

  Oh, it was true he probably didn’t even realize he had spoken the words, but he had spoken them, and that meant that deep inside of him, probably in some small corner of his heart, she held sway over his beloved Elizabeth. If she could just nurture that love, it would grow, and he would come to love her as he did the former Lady Weston.

  “They’ve been waiting for half an hour now, my lady, and Mr. Crouch asked me to tell you that he’d prefer you not meet with the women.”

  Women? Guests? What on earth was Annie babbling about? “What time is it?” Gillian asked sleepily, burrowing her head deeper into Noble’s pillow. She loved his scent.

  “Almost noon, my lady.”

  “Mmmm.” He smelled so…so…Noble-ish!

  “Gillian!”

  Gillian groaned. She knew that voice.

  “Gillian, you lazy slugabed, get up! I’ve been waiting for you for almost an hour, and here you are lolling around in bed.”

  “Go ’way, Char. Sleepy.”

  “I don’t care if you are sleepy, you’ve got to get up. Noble’s mistresses are here!”

  The mistresses! Gillian sat up in bed. God’s shinbones, how had she come to sleep so late?

  “The mistresses came? All of them? They all came? No one sent back a response; I didn’t think they were coming!”

  “Here, you, open a window. Gillian, you must instruct the servants to see to the airing of these rooms. This room is quite”—she sniffed and wrinkled her nose—“stuffy.”

  Gillian blushed and pulled up the sheet.

  “Yes, they all came, and they’re all downstairs waiting for you.”

  “Water, Annie; I need water quickly. Have tea served to my guests, and tell them I will be along shortly. And tell Crouch not to worry, his lordship is out for the day.”

  “Good lord!”

  Gillian paused in the act of reaching for the dressing gown her maid had laid across her feet as she left. “What?”

  “Are you ill? Have you some sort of pox? You’re covered in little red marks.”

  Gillian looked down at her arms. “Where?”

  “There, on your bosom and neck.”

  Her blush deepened as she tried to pull the bedding up to her chin.

  “It’s nothing, Char.”

  “It’s not nothing, it’s an epidemic!” Charlotte leaned closer, her eyes narrowed in concentration. “Lord, are those bite marks?”

  Gillian thought her cheeks would burst into flames. “Charlotte, it’s nothing. Please hand me my dressing gown so I may dress and welcome my husband’s mistresses.”

  “They are! They are bite marks. Did Lord Weston do that to you?”

  “Charlotte!” Gillian hissed. “Please, you are embarrassing me.”

  “Do they hurt?”

  “No, they’re just little…love bites.”

  “Do you have them everywhere?”

  “Charlotte—”

  Her cousin tugged at the bed linens. “You do! Look, there’s one there, on your stomach.”

  “Charlotte if you do not cease this unseemly examination of my person, I shall ban you from the mistresses conference.”

  “I can’t believe you’d let him bite you. I should never let anyone bite me. Do you have them on your legs?”

  “Charlotte, remove your hand from my leg this instant or I shall do something drastic!”

  Charlotte dimpled at her. “What?”

  Gillian thought for a moment. “I shan’t introduce you to Noble’s cousin.”

  “Faugh!” Charlotte said, and started to fumble with the bedding.

  “He’s a duke, and he’s not married.”

  Charlotte stopped. “Age?”

  “I believe he’s in his forties.”

  “Children?”

  “Two daughters. He needs an heir.”

  “Country seat?”

  “Sussex.”

  “Very well, but I think you’re being awfully mean about this. I shall go down and amuse Lord Weston’s ladybirds until you get dressed, but for heaven’s sake, wear something with a high neck. We don’t want you to shock them!”

  Half an hour later Gillian stepped through the doorway to her sitting room.

  “…say, I can’t imagine there can be any pleasure found in someone biting you. And my cousin was covered—oh, there you are.”

  Gillian looked at the women gathered. All four were crammed together on the pale blue sofa, each with a cup of tea held carefully in a gloved hand. Charlotte was seated in an armchair, one leg negligently crossed over the other, swinging her foot in an annoying and unladylike manner.

  Gillian raised her chin as four pairs of eyes turned in her direction.

  “Good morning. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am that you could all take time out of your busy day to call on me. That is, I assume it’s your days that are busy, not your evenings, although I cannot say for certain. When are your busy times, mistress-wise?”

  The four women looked at one another, then back at Gillian. One, a dark-haired woman with porcelain skin, coughed gently. “You are Lady Weston, are you not?”

  Gillian smiled at her. The woman seemed a genteel sort for a lightskirt. Perhaps she had been misinformed about the character of such women. It made sense that Noble would consort only with a better class of women, not common doxies.

  “Yes, I’m Lady Weston. Oh dear, I suppose it would be best if we started with names first, so that I might know who you are.”

  The dark-haired woman in the middle set down her teacup and rose. The other ladies rid themselves of their teacups as well. “I am Madelyn de la Clare, Lady Weston, and I must admit that I’m a bit confused about why you’ve called us here. I can assure you that I have not seen your husband for several years. If you have something to say to me, I’d appreciate it if you could say it now, and I’ll be on my way. My sister is watching my daughter, and I’d like to fetch her home again.”

  “You have a daughter?”

  “I have three children, my lady.”

  “Are any of them Lord Weston’s?” Charlotte asked.

  “Charlotte! Don’t be impertinent. Noble would surely have
acknowledged any of his children.”

  “Oh, yes, Nick. Beg pardon, I’m sure.”

  Madelyn looked from Gillian to Charlotte, her mien dignified. “No, my lady, none of my children belong to Lord Weston. I am married now.”

  “How delightful for you.” Gillian beamed. “I will be happy to tell you why I’ve called you all together, but perhaps I could meet the other ladies first?”

  A pert, chestnut-haired beauty next to Madelyn bounced up and gave her a sketchy curtsy. “I am Beverly Grant, my lady, and I have not seen Lord Weston in six years.”

  “How nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Laura Horn, m’lady,” a shy blonde said, nervously twisting her gloves and keeping her soft brown eyes lowered demurely. “I met Lord Weston eight years ago. He was very kind to me.”

  “I’m sure he was. And you are?”

  The last of the four raised her chin and gave Gillian a long, level look. Her hair was the color of spun flax, and she had expressive hazel eyes that were thick with dark lashes. “Anne Miller, ma’am. Lord Weston was my protector five years ago.”

  Gillian was pleased; the women seemed quite civil and accommodating. Then again, given their occupation, they probably had practice in accommodation.

  The dark-haired Madelyn coughed again. “Yes, my lady, we have all had practice.”

  Gillian felt a blush creep up her throat. Charlotte rocked forward, clutching her sides with silent laughter. “Char, behave yourself, you’re embarrassing me.”

  “I don’t believe you need my help with that, cousin,” Charlotte said, wiping back a tear.

  Gillian ignored her and explained to the mistresses about the two attacks on Noble. The women all expressed surprise but seemed wary and uncomfortable, and Gillian sensed their hesitation.

  “So you see, I have called you here to ask for your help.”

  “Our help?” Madelyn said. “You want our help? For what, exactly?”

  Gillian explained her and Charlotte’s plan. “In order to help Noble, I must first investigate his past. I intend to solve both mysteries, you see—how his beloved wife died, and who is attacking him now.”

  “Do you think they are related?” Laura asked quietly.

  “That’s a very perceptive question,” Gillian answered thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, I don’t know for certain, but I suspect they are. What other reason would someone have to suddenly plan a campaign against Noble? No, the source of the problem has to have its roots in his past, and that’s where you ladies can help me.”

  “I’m sure we’d all like to help, madam, but it isn’t possible at this time,” Beverly said.

  The other women voiced their regrets as well.

  “Oh dear, I had so hoped you could help me,” Gillian said with genuine regret. It seemed the closer she got to Noble, the farther back she was pushed in her attempt to find the answers. “I realize you are all busy with your…protectors…but I—”

  “It’s not that, my lady,” Beverly interrupted her. “I have no protector at this time. It’s a matter of finances, you see. We”—she looked to the other women, who all nodded at her—“we are at the mercy of the men we…accommodate, and once we lose that protection, we must rely on our own resources.”

  “Oh, well, that,” Charlotte said with an airy wave of her hand. “Simply get another protector!”

  “If it were only that easy, my lady,” Anne said tartly, “we would all be more than happy to help Lady Weston. But as it is, we must first find a gentleman who is willing to give us carte blanche, all the while hoping that he is not prone to abuse—”

  “—or unnatural practices,” said Beverly.

  “—or has the pox,” added Laura.

  “—or gambles away his fortune,” nodded Madelyn.

  “Or a man who will find someone new and discard us as if we were nothing but rubbish,” finished Anne.

  Gillian was shocked at this side of the ladybird trade. “But surely there is something you can do to prepare for those eventualities? Save your funds earned…ah…in the course of your service?”

  The women all laughed identical hard, bitter laughs. “We do save when possible, my lady, and sell any baubles given us, but that only goes so far, and then the time comes when we must again look for a protector or be forced into less desirable circumstances,” Madelyn said.

  “What could be less desirable than being a mistress?” Charlotte asked.

  “Charlotte, if you cannot behave, you will have to leave. Ladies—” Gillian spread her hands wide in a helpless gesture. “I wish there was something I could do for you. I can, of course, pay you a modest sum for your time helping me.”

  “A modest sum?” Anne asked. “How modest a sum?”

  Gillian calculated her next quarter’s pin money and divided it into four. “Ten pounds?”

  The women all looked at one another again; then Madelyn spoke. “Since all the others are currently seeking protectors, and as my husband is…well, he’s in gaol, we accept your offer. What is it in particular you want us to do?”

  Gillian told them.

  Charlotte offered her advice. “You should not forget this last mistress, the one who sent Lord Weston the letter.”

  “Oh, yes, thank you, Charlotte. Noble’s latest mistress was someone named Mariah. I don’t know her surname, but I would imagine it would not be too difficult to find out.”

  The ladies agreed that it would not be difficult, and promised to find the whereabouts of the mysterious Mariah.

  “As for the other thing,” Gillian said slowly, nibbling on her lower lip. “Have you thought of organizing yourselves—mistresses, I mean—into a group? A guild, if you will, that would help members in times of need?”

  The women, Charlotte included, stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted wings. “A…mistresses guild?” Laura asked.

  “Yes, a mistresses guild. For the…” Gillian gnawed on her lip for a moment. “For the welfare and betterment of the demimonde. You could arrange to have dues from those members who are currently…ah…employed, which go into a general fund to help those who find themselves unemployed and in need of assistance.”

  The women all blinked at her.

  “Do you know,” Madelyn said slowly, “that might be a thought. If we encourage enough women to join and subscribe for a set amount while they have carte blanche, we could set aside money for those women who are in between gentlemen.”

  “It’s something to think about,” Gillian said.

  The ladies discussed it with increasing enthusiasm.

  “We’d need someone to manage the fund,” Beverly said loudly over the excited chatter. “Someone who could invest it for us, so that we could benefit from our subscriptions.”

  “That’s our Beverly,” Laura said proudly. “She was with Lord Cardwell, you know. The banker.”

  “Yes, she’s right,” Anne said, narrowing her eyes and giving Gillian a close look. “We’d need someone with connections to invest our money for us. No man would touch the money if he knew it was from us, but if it was from someone of the noble class, someone who might wish to invest her pin money, someone who had access to her husband’s man of affairs…”

  All five of the women’s heads swiveled to look at Gillian.

  “I’d be delighted,” Gillian said graciously. “We can talk about the details at a later date, but first, I simply must ask you something that’s been uppermost on my mind.” Four brows rose in inquiry. “It’s about you and Noble…”

  The ladies smiled.

  ***

  Noble was smiling as well. A silly, sated, smug sort of smile. He sat in a quiet corner of his club, his body blissfully at rest in the deep armchair. He had, he thought with amusement, all the strength of a newborn pup. His mind, the only thing that had the energy to function, wandered the merry paths of the memory of the p
ast night’s—and the morning’s—activities. His smile turned into a cheeky grin.

  “Will you look at that, Tolly?” Rosse said, prodding at Noble’s outstretched legs with the toe of his boot. “It looks as if our friend here is suffering from a newly wed man’s complaint.”

  Sir Hugh watched as Noble lifted a limp hand to wave the two men into nearby seats. “’Pon my honor, Weston, I don’t know when I’ve seen you look so wasted. Are you ill? Ought to see a physician. Your color’s not good at all.”

  “He’s not suffering from anything other than paying tribute to the altar of Hymen.” Rosse snickered, and waved for an attendant.

  “Harry, if I had the strength I would thrash you soundly for that,” Noble said and instead demanded a whiskey.

  “Ah, but you haven’t, so I will take the opportunity to wish you a long and happy life with your lady, my friend.” Rosse lifted his glass in a toast. Noble acknowledged the toast and sighed with deep appreciation as the water of life spread warmth throughout his limbs.

  “About last night, Weston—” Sir Hugh began. “It’s a damned shame that had to happen.”

  Noble, thinking of his and Gillian’s activities against Lady Gayfield’s wall, murmured something unintelligible.

  “But you’ll take care of that blighter Carlisle tomorrow morning, eh? Noticed the wagers are laid evenly across you both in the books.”

  Rosse shot the baronet a questioning look. “Having a little flutter yourself, Tolly?”

  Sir Hugh flushed and busied himself with arranging his fobs.

  “What news do you have, Harry?” Noble asked, taking pity on the younger man’s discomfort. Nothing could sour his present mood.

  “Ah, well, a bit of information there, as it turns out. Mariah, your Mariah, or rather, formerly your Mariah, has been seen in the company of Sunderland.”

  One of Noble’s sable brows arched. “Really? I hadn’t imagined he would be interested in her.”

  Rosse nodded. “It surprised me too. Rumors are that he prefers his women a bit more…masculine.”