“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’d have 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.
“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 wo
uld 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.
“Hmm?”
“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 dispersed 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.”
“Quite, my dear.”
“Against the wall…Lord Weston must be incredibly strong!”
Lord Gayfield put a supportive arm around his wife’s shoulders and said nothing for a moment.
“Did you see Lady Weston’s stockings, Lydia? Quite charming embroidery. Eh…what say you get yourself a pair like them and we’ll discuss the wall issue?”
Lady Gayfield giggled.
CHAPTER NINE
The Black Earl, that coldhearted, callous man who was rumored to have strangled, shot, and stabbed his wife to death (depending on with whom you spoke), the man who was well known to have a temper of astronomical proportions, the man who had, over the course of just a few years, challenged four men to duels (and subsequently put a lead ball into the arm of all but one), the man whose name was used by wise mamas to scare their silly daughters into looking at more appropriate suitors, sat back against the cushions of his well-sprung carriage and chuckled.
He felt light-headed, giddy almost. His arm tightened around his wife, snuggled up against his side, her head resting against his shoulder, her warmth wrapping him in a cocoon of happiness. She hadn’t betrayed him, he gloated to himself as he breathed in the perfume that was Gillian. He had been right in judging her a suitable mate. She was everything he could possibly want in a woman — intelligent, loving, kindhearted, spirited — and she was his and his alone. She’d never give herself to any other man.
Noble felt a wellspring of happiness bubble up from the light that glowed strongly within him and rejoiced at its appearance. Gone were the layers of ice that had held him in their frigid grip for so many years. Gone were the dark corners of his soul that harbored doubts and suspicion and distrust — her light had vanquished them. Gone was the crippling pain of loneliness that he had not known held him tight in its misanthropic embrace until she had destroyed that too.
Noble felt freer than he had since he was a young man. He was free to glory in all the emotions other men had: love, happiness, and joy. For the first time since he had achieved manhood, Noble purposely let the reins of control slip from his fingers and wallowed in the delightful feeling such an action brought with it. He kissed the top of Gillian’s head while he mused that no more would he live by the mandates of order and rigid structure. He and Gillian and Nick would live in happy, glorious chaos, and he’d enjoy every damned minute of it.
He looked down at the cause of all his joy. She was sleeping, her face buried in his neck, her sweet, gentle breath feathering his skin with the softness of down. Good. She’d need her sleep. He had plans to honor this new happiness, and she’d need her strength to celebrate fully with him. He would have rubbed his hands together with glee but for his armful of wife. He contented himself with planning his celebration.
He would introduce her to all the ways of loving, all of the positions he knew, and probably a few he made up on the spot. He was feeling very inventive at the moment.
He would begin by loving her from the tip of her elegant toes to the top of that fiery crown, paying tribute to all the parts in between. He would kiss his way up those long legs, pause for a moment at the gates of heaven, then continue up over her gently rounded belly to those delicious twin peaks of pleasure. After paying his respects there, he would pause only long enough to make sure each graceful arm received its due attention, then move up to plunder that sweet mouth until she moaned and arched up against him.
Yes, yes, it was a good plan. F
irst he’d start with mapping her terrain, then he’d be the stallion to her mare, and then, once she had caught her breath again, he’d let her ride him. He had planned on saving the activities they’d shared earlier in Lady Gayfield’s bedchamber for another time, but that couldn’t be helped. No, there was still much he could show her, but slowly, so as not to shock her. He reminded himself that she was new to the intimacies of the bedchamber, and with reluctance scratched off the list some of the more athletic variations. Simple was best. First the homage to her sweet, lush body, then stallion and mare, then he’d let her ride him, and then a long, long episode with them both on their sides, legs twined together, bodies moving in that delicious rhythm…perhaps that ought to move up on the list. First homage, then stallion and mare, then a sweet loving facing each other on their sides, followed by…
“My lord?”
Noble shook the images from his head with difficulty.
“What is it?”
A footman stood at the opened door of the carriage.
“My lord, do you wish to exit the carriage?”
Noble looked closer. It was Dickon, his footman. They were home.
“Ah, yes, indeed.” Home. What a sweet word. Home and Gillian. Gillian at home. Gillian at home, in his bed.
“My lord?”
“One moment. Her ladyship is resting.”
He waited until Dickon stepped away from the door, then kissed Gillian awake.
“Come, my dear, you are tired and need your rest.”
“I’m not really that tired.” Gillian yawned. Noble smiled to himself. She would be tired, oh yes, very, very tired indeed by the time he was through celebrating with her.
He helped her down the steps of the carriage and, giving into a carefree, wild impulse, swept her up into his arms.
“Noble! What on earth are you doing? I’m quite capable of walking, I assure you,” Gillian protested, blushing at his actions in front of the servants and a passing carriage.
He smiled down at her and started for the three steps leading up to the front door when a loud noise shattered the calm of the evening. A sharp explosion echoed off the side of the house, followed immediately by the wild clatter of hooves as a small passing carriage suddenly raced away from them, the horses whipped to a gallop.
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