Noble Intentions

by Katie MacAlister

  Third room on the left, second floor. I’ll wait ten minutes, then leave. Come alone. Well, she certainly wasn’t enough of a ninny to go alone to a stranger’s bedchamber with a man who was not her husband, but she did not wish to miss this chance to learn what Lord Carlisle knew, and to beg him to apologize to Noble. She waited until Charlotte was standing during a quiet moment in the set, and passed the note to her. Charlotte read it, nodded, and slipped the paper into her glove.

  Gillian waited as long as she could, watching a gilt ormolu clock nervously, but there was nothing for it but to go upstairs by herself. Charlotte was still engaged in the dance with her divine viscount, and nothing was going to pull her from that sort of an opportunity.

  Gillian toyed with the idea of asking a footman to accompany her but had a much better idea. She looked around for a servant, noticed a short, burly footman just behind her, and signaled to him.

  “Madam?”

  “I am feeling unwell, and Lady Gayfield has suggested I rest quietly for a few moments in a bedchamber upstairs. The third one on the left, second floor. I would like a maid sent to attend me.”

  The footman looked startled but murmured his compliance and left to carry out her instructions. She uncrossed her fingers and, feeling pleased with her cleverness, hurried toward the staircase.

  She climbed the stairs to the second floor, popped her head around the corner to make sure there was no one in the hallway, and scurried down, counting doors. “One, two, ah, here it is.”

  She slipped into the room and was surprised to find it empty, although several tapers had been lit. There was a large bed with blue and gold bed-curtains, several pieces of mahogany furniture, a love seat against a far wall, a screen with embroidered peacocks, and a large painting reminiscent of Botticelli’s Venus. Gillian looked at the painting closely. Was that cherub doing what she thought he was doing?

  “I believe that’s by Smollett,” said a voice from the other side of the room. Gillian spun around and clutched her throat, then relaxed when she saw Lord Carlisle leaning negligently against the wall next to a wardrobe.

  “You gave me quite a start, my lord, but I am pleased you are still here. I was detained and feared you would leave before I could meet with you.”

  “And deny myself the pleasure of a few stolen moments in your exquisite company, madam?” Lord Carlisle strolled into the room and grasped Gillian’s hand in both of his, and brought it to his mouth. “I could not leave without gazing just once more into those deep, entrancing pools of emerald.”

  He kept his gaze locked on Gillian’s as he turned her hand over and kissed her palm.

  Gillian leaned closer. “You’re very good, my lord, but not nearly as good as my husband.”

  The smile that had been playing around the earl’s manly lips suddenly evaporated. He dropped her hand with a sigh.

  “Well, it cannot be said that I did not try.”

  “No,” Gillian laughed, “you did try. I’m sorry, my lord, but I do not wish to have an affair with you; I merely wish to know what it is you wanted to tell me about Noble, and to discuss this silly duel.”

  Carlisle said nothing for a moment, his black eyes somber. “Madam, will you accept advice from one who has known you but a short while?”

  “Advice? What sort of advice?” Gillian glanced toward the door. Shouldn’t the maid she asked for be arriving by now?

  “As I said earlier, I have every reason to believe Lord Weston murdered his wife.”

  “Oh, that,” Gillian interrupted dismissively. “My lord, we’ve been through that. No matter what Lady Weston told you, I refuse to believe that Noble acted as you have implied. He is simply not capable of such behavior.”

  Carlisle took her hand in his again, but this time his eyes were serious and full of concern. “My dear, I know it is hard for you to admit, but your husband was responsible for his wife’s death, and for her suffering before that untimely event. I cannot help but worry that should his substantial temper turn on you, you might suffer the same fate as my dear Elizabeth.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” Gillian told him, giving his hand a slight squeeze. “But I am in no danger from Noble, nor will you ever convince me he had anything to do with his wife’s death. Now, if you could tell me the information about the attack on Noble you wish to impart, I would be most grateful.”

  Carlisle closed his eyes for a moment and was just about to speak when someone knocked on the door.

  “Oh, good, that will be the maid,” Gillian said as she started for the door.

  “Lady Weston?”

  It was a man’s voice at the door.

  “Oh, my,” she said with a guilty glance toward the earl.

  He held a finger to his lips and slipped into the wardrobe.

  “Yes?” Gillian opened the door. It was the short footman. He looked nervously to either side, then pushed the door back slightly and squeezed through the opening.

  “My lady, your husband has arrived and is seeking you. I would suggest you have your…rest…later.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Um…” Gillian sent a concerned look toward the wardrobe. She hated to leave the earl without finding out what information he had about Noble’s attacker. “Can you be discreet…uh…”

  “Jones,” the man replied, nodding. “Quite discreet, madam.”

  “Excellent,” Gillian said with a relieved smile and opened the door to the wardrobe. “Lord Carlisle, you may come out. Jones here will be discreet, so you may tell me what it is you know about the foul attack against Noble in front of him.”

  Carlisle rolled his eyes as he started to step out of the wardrobe, but a sudden knock at the door forced him to pause.

  Gillian gave him an apologetic smile and, pushing him back inside the wardrobe, closed the door again. She waved the footman behind the screen and went to open the door.

  “Am I too late?” Charlotte asked as she stepped in.

  “Not too late, no, although I believe the problem has been taken care of,” Gillian replied as she went to release Lord Carlisle. “Jones, you might as well come out too.”

  Charlotte looked with surprise as an earl popped out of the wardrobe, while a liveried footman emerged from behind the screen. “Gillian, I never would have thought you had it in you!” she teased.

  Gillian ignored her and turned back to the earl. “Now, Lord Carlisle, if you wouldn’t mind telling me what it is you wanted to tell me…oh, blast, now who’s that?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll be damned if I go back into that wardrobe again.”

  “Yes, you will. I won’t have Noble’s reputation suffer because of you,” Gillian said firmly and shoved him back into the tall enclosure, closing the door on his protests.

  “Oooh, we get to hide?” Charlotte squealed, biting her lip for a moment as she glanced around the room. She gave a happy little cry and leaped onto the bed, pulling a bed-curtain partially closed. Jones disappeared back behind the screen.

  “Lord Rosse, good heavens, whatever are you doing here?”

  “I…ah…heard you were here and wanted to arrive before Noble found you. Carlisle is here, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, in the wardrobe,” Gillian said. Rosse nodded and opened the wardrobe. He was about to speak when Jones and Charlotte delurked.

  “This is quite exciting,” Charlotte said with a wicked giggle, then slapped an innocent and demure look on her face for the marquis’s benefit. Rosse stared for a moment at the two additional occupants, then shook his head and turned back to the earl.

  “Lady Weston? Lady Weston? You must let me in!”

  “This is becoming ridiculous,” Gillian muttered, marching over to the door. Rosse shoved Carlisle back into the wardrobe, while the footman and Charlotte reassumed their hiding places. Rosse looked around wildly for a moment and then threw himself under the tall bed.
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br />   “Yes? Who is it?” Gillian asked at the door.

  “Sir Hugh. Please let me in, Lady Weston. I have something of import to tell you.”

  Gillian opened the door to the baronet. “Something concerning Noble, no doubt?”

  Tolliver pushed her back and closed the door loudly behind him. “The rumor is all over that you’re up here with Carlisle. Where is he?” He looked around the room and settled on the tall mahogany wardrobe. “He’s in there, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is,” Gillian said, resigning herself to the fact that she was not going to be allowed to hear what it was Lord Carlisle wanted to tell her.

  Sir Hugh gave her a sharp look. “In the future, madam, I would suggest you conduct your affairs with a bit more discretion. Noble is, after all, my dearest friend, and I hate to see him cuckolded in this manner. He knows what you’re about and is on his way here now.”

  “It’s a little difficult for her to cuckold him with all of us here, Tolly,” Rosse said as he pulled himself out from under the bed. Sir Hugh exclaimed in surprise at the sight of him.

  “A bit too crowded,” Charlotte agreed, pushing aside the bed-curtains and smiling fetchingly. “Oh footman, you can come out as well.”

  Sir Hugh stared with an open mouth as Jones emerged from behind the screen.

  Rosse opened the wardrobe and faced the furious earl within.

  “I’ll be thanking you all to stop shutting me in that bloody thing! There’s no air in there!”

  “Quite,” Rosse said succinctly and turned to speak with Gillian.

  “Gillian!” Her name echoed down the hallway.

  “Oh lord, that’s Noble,” she said, wringing her hands. “He doesn’t sound pleased, does he?”

  “Gillian? Wife, where are you? Come out at once!”

  Charlotte squeaked and ran back for the bed. The footman grinned and disappeared behind the screen but was immediately pushed out from behind it by Sir Hugh. He started toward the bed, but the earl beat it to him. “You can take the bloody Iron Maiden, I’ll go beneath the bed.”

  Rosse and the footman looked at one another and around the room. Rosse was faster on his feet and made it to the area behind the love seat just ahead of the footman. Gillian stood by the wardrobe door as the footman, with a muttered oath, entered it.

  She had just taken a step toward the door when Noble burst into the room.

  “Hello, my love. Was that you I heard bellowing?”

  Noble glanced quickly around the room and focused on the wardrobe. “Bloody hell, you’re hiding him?” he exclaimed as he strode into the room, straight for the massive piece of furniture. “Did we not just have a discussion about McGregor, madam?”

  “No,” Gillian said as Noble threw open the wardrobe door and, reaching in, pulled out the footman. He stared with a look of surprise at the short man who was dangling at the end of his fist. “We didn’t have a discussion, you had a discussion. I just listened.”

  “Who the devil is this? And what is he doing hiding in Lady Gayfield’s wardrobe?”

  “It’s her footman, Jones,” Gillian answered.

  “Er…actually, he works for me,” Rosse said, pushing back the love seat and straightening up to his full height.

  “Harry? What are you doing here? I thought we…ah…I thought you were to wait downstairs?”

  “I felt it best to be on hand in case you decided to make good your threat to Carlisle,” Rosse replied. “Do you mind setting Jones down? I don’t think he can breathe with you holding his throat like that.”

  “Oh…er…my apologies.” Noble set the man down and gave his rumpled livery a quick straightening. “So Carlisle isn’t here?”

  “No, he’s here, somewhere,” Rosse said, adjusting his spectacles. “Let’s see, I believe that’s Tolly behind the screen.”

  Sir Hugh stepped out with a red face. “Noble, I just came to warn your wife that you had heard the ghastly rumors about her and Carlisle—”

  “That’s enough, Tolly. I’m sure Noble knows you were here to protect him.”

  Sir Hugh nodded his head vehemently.

  “And I believe Lady Weston’s cousin is in the bed…ah, yes, there she is.”

  “Good evening, Lord Weston,” Charlotte said, simultaneously dropping him a curtsy and fluttering her eyelashes at the marquis.

  “And, of course, that’s Carlisle poking out from under the bed.”

  Noble, who had been watching with an expression of sheer and utter confusion as people emerged from all sorts of furniture, narrowed his eyes and growled when the earl hauled himself out from under the bed.

  “It’s quite all right, old friend. Your wife has been amply chaperoned the entire time, as you can see.”

  “All’s well that ends happily,” Charlotte said as she dimpled at Rosse.

  “I would like to have a word with Carlisle alone,” Noble said in a gravelly voice.

  Carlisle brushed himself off. “I don’t believe I care for the odds of this situation. We have an appointment to meet at dawn two days hence, Weston? Excellent. I shall arrange for seconds and see you then. Ladies, if you will excuse me.” Carlisle bowed and left the room.

  Gillian, who had taken hold of her husband’s arm when Carlisle emerged from the bed, breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned to one of worry when Noble, casting her a glance filled with portent, said, “If you would all excuse us, I believe my wife and I need to talk.”

  “Certainly,” Charlotte said brightly and instantly attached herself to the marquis. “Lord Rosse, would you escort me downstairs? I have no head for directions and am sure I would get lost without you to guide me.”

  Rosse waved the footman out before him and did his duty with a minimum of eye rolling and just the merest grin to Noble.

  “Weston, I feel compelled to plead Lady Weston’s case to you,” Sir Hugh said, fidgeting with his quizzing glass. “She is young and quite impressionable, and I’m sure she had no intention that news of her assignation be spread among everyone—”

  “That’s enough, Tolly,” Noble growled and, removing Gillian from his arm, he marched over and held the door open. “Gillian does not need you to plead her case.”

  “But Carlisle was here—”

  “Good evening, Tolly,” Noble said in a tone that even Sir Hugh did not dare challenge. Gillian wished she could escape the room with him. She knew Noble would have several things to say to her about meeting with Carlisle, and none of them would be pleasant or reasonable.

  “Go ahead, Noble. I’m braced. You may proceed.”

  “I may, may I? And what do you expect me to proceed with, madam?” he asked, stalking toward her.

  Gillian couldn’t help herself—she backed up as he continued toward her. “Why, your lecture to me about meeting with Lord Carlisle when you specifically forbade any such meeting,” she said, then gasped when she ran up against the wall.

  “Ah, so you were paying attention,” Noble said, his gray eyes dark with emotion. Her Lord of Lectures stood toe-to-toe with her, then placed a hand on either side of the wall next to her head and leaned in until their noses were almost touching. “I was beginning to wonder if indeed you pay attention when I speak to you.”

  “Oh, my, yes,” Gillian said breathlessly, affected by his nearness despite his irritation with her. She breathed in deeply, reveling in his scent. “Almost all of the time.”

  “‘Almost all of the time’?” Noble growled, brushing her lips carelessly with his. Gillian’s heart raced. What was he doing? Was he not going to yell at her? Or was this some new punishment? A groan slipped past her lips as Noble leaned his hard body against hers, pushing her back against the wall. Oh, God, if it was a punishment, she’d be sure to encourage it every day!

  “What?” she asked, unable to keep from licking the corners of his mouth.

  “Hm
m?”

  “Nothing. Oh, Noble! Do you think you ought to? Here? Now? Oh, my, yes!”

  “Yes,” Noble agreed and, with one hand holding her head where he wanted it, he plundered her sweet, honeyed mouth.

  ***

  “Are you sure, my dear?” Lord Gayfield, a pleasant, round-faced young man, asked his wife as they came up the last of the stairs. “In your bedchamber?”

  “Yes, yes, it’s all anyone can speak of. Lord Carlisle and Lady Weston were to meet in my bedchamber, and Lord Weston has just left the card room to catch them in the act. Surely there will be a duel out of this, which is just what we need to put the right cachet to our parties.” Lady Gayfield, almost beside herself with joy, paused for a moment and waved at fifteen or so of her closest friends, following her up the stairs. “We couldn’t ask for anything better, Charles! It’s almost as if Lady Weston had heard my thoughts and was doing this just to please me.”

  Lord Gayfield looked doubtful, but obediently pushed open the door to his wife’s bedchamber. They both peered in.

  “Good lord!” Lady Gayfield said, one hand to her cheek.

  Lord Gayfield spun his wife around and slammed the door behind them.

  “There’s nothing to see,” he told the expectant crowd. “It’s just Lord and Lady Weston…uh…having a discussion.”

  It took a few minutes to disperse the crowd, but at last the Gayfields were alone in the hallway.

  Lady Gayfield put a restraining hand on her husband’s arm as he started to follow his guests. “Charles,” she whispered.

  “Eh? What is it, Lydia?”

  “Charles, did you see? How is that possible? Standing up? Against the wall?”

  Lord Gayfield looked mildly embarrassed. “Er…yes. Against the wall. We’ll discuss it later, Lydia.”

  “Well, I should hope so. And to think that Lady Weston assured me her husband wouldn’t bed her in front of the guests.”

  “Er…yes. Best let it go, Lydia.”

  “Well, I shall do so, but I will need to have the wallpaper redone in my room, Charles.”