At one point she thought he was finished and stood up to excuse herself. Noble, pacing by the window, spun around and pinned her with one silver-eyed glare. She felt her knees buckle beneath her and sank back down in her chair.
“Do not think I am through with you yet, madam,” he said, breathing heavily and perspiring slightly about the forehead.
“Oh, aren’t you? I thought perhaps you might be. It’s getting late, Noble, and Cook is waiting to speak with me about the dinners.”
“Damn the dinners!” Noble rubbed a hand over his eyes, and instantly Gillian’s heart went out to him. The poor man; she was such a trial to him.
“Trial?” he snapped, his eyes wild. “Trial? Madam, you are a plague! You are a tribulation! You are an ordeal by fire!”
“Well, really, Noble,” Gillian said crossly, her patience running thin, “I might be a trial, but I certainly am not an ordeal by fire.”
“You’ve set two fires that I know of in less than a fortnight. That, my dear wife, qualifies you as an ordeal by fire.”
Gillian compressed her lips into a thin line that said more than words ever could. Noble narrowed his eyes at her. “Do not don that obstinate look with me, my lady.”
He stormed around to the front of his desk and leaned over her. “Hear me and hear me well, Gillian. I forbid you to meet with the four women you brought to my house today. I forbid you to investigate the unfortunate incidents. I forbid you to leave the house unless you are in my company. And I forbid you to have anything further to do with my son!”
Gillian gasped, horrified by his mandates. She could live with the first two and tolerate the third, but not to have contact with Nick? Her son? A fury unlike any other she’d known welled up deep inside her and threatened to spill over. She pushed Noble back until she could stand up, and faced him with her hands fisted on her hips and her eyes blazing.
“Why?”
Noble stared at her neck, his hands twitching as if with the effort to keep from throttling her. “Why? Have you not been listening to me for the last forty minutes?”
“Why may I not see Nick?”
“Because you are an unsuitable influence. He is a lad of tender years, and I will not have him exposed to the seedier side of life before he is ready to see it.”
“The mistresses? He was not present, Noble!”
“It matters not. You took him with you when you had the harebrained idea to rescue me. You took him with you when you visited the man who was responsible for his stepmother’s death. You ran the risk of exposing him this afternoon to women of a lower class. Clearly you cannot be trusted with the responsibility of seeing to his upbringing, so I shall remove him from your sphere of influence.”
Gillian felt as if he’d struck her. He could rail at her all he liked, but to accuse her of being negligent where Nick was concerned — that was the outside of enough!
“I will not let you do this to me,” she shouted, and punched him in the chest in an attempt to drive home the point. “You can lock me away, you can forbid me to see my friends, but you cannot take my son from me.”
“He is not your son,” Noble roared at her.
“He became my son the minute you married me,” she yelled back, furious that despite all their intimacies, despite the fact that they loved one another, he still did not see them as a family. “You cannot take him away from me. I won’t let you.”
“You have no choice in the matter,” he snapped. “The decision is made. I will send Nick back to Nethercote in the morning. As you made a particular point about staying in town to be at my side, you will remain with me.”
“You will not destroy this family!” She pounded on his chest again until he held her hands still; then, with a wordless cry of protest, she ripped them from his grasp and stalked toward the door.
“Gillian, I did not give you permission to leave. I have not yet finished with you.”
“Oh, no, my lord,” she said as she threw open the door, ignoring the startled faces of the staff gathered immediately outside. “You very nearly are finished, but you have not yet destroyed us completely. If you do not want to annihilate what was beginning to be a family, I strongly urge you to take back your words. I shall wait in my sitting room for your apology.”
“Then you will wait for hell to freeze over,” Noble thundered. “Gillian, come back here!”
Gillian turned and pushed her way blindly past the servants and ran up the stairs. At the top of the flight she paused when she saw Nick hiding in the shadows and clutched him to her with a sob.
“I won’t let him take you away from me,” she whispered, hugging him as tightly as she could. “You won’t be alone again, I promise.”
Nick looked up into his stepmother’s eyes, and what he saw there warmed him down to the tips of his toes. He reached up to touch a tear streaking down her cheek and frowned at the wetness on his finger.
“My mother used to tell me a saying,” Gillian said, bending down and kissing him on the forehead. “She said nothing worthwhile is easy. You, my darling son, are very worthwhile. I will do whatever it takes to make us a family, whatever it takes to make your father realize that he can’t separate us. He’s hurt and angry right now, Nick, and when people are hurt and angry they very often lash out at those people near to them. Do you understand?”
An urge bubbled up deep in Nick. He tried to ignore it, but it pressed up and up, higher and more insistent, until he almost gave in to the urge. Instead he nodded his head.
“Good.” She pulled him into a hug again, and he let her warmth seep into him, comforting him. “I love you, my son,” she whispered in his ear, and with a final kiss she was off, running up the next flight of stairs.
The urge inside Nick pushed higher until he thought it would burst right out of his mouth. He watched the hem of her gown flap briefly as she turned the corner on the stairs, and then he gave in to the urge. “I won’t let Papa take you away,” he whispered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nick sat at the top of the stairs, a small huddled form hidden in the shadow cast by the wall. He picked at a scab on his knee from an injury he’d received when he tried to ride his pony up the steps to the veranda at Nethercote. The trouble with adults, he decided, was that they didn’t come right out and say what was wrong, and how it could be fixed. He knew from the raised voices of his father and Gillian, audible even to him on the first floor, that they were arguing about something, and he had seen for himself that Gillian was crying again. But she didn’t tell him what was the matter; she just talked about his father being hurt and angry.
Before he had much time to dwell on the subject, he saw his father storm out of the library, snatch up his hat and walking stick, and, with a growl, stomp out to his waiting carriage. The servants were standing in a group in the hall. He wondered if they knew what the problem was between Gillian and his father, and how it could be fixed. He was about to ask when Rogerson, his tutor, separated himself from the others and, spying Nick, came to herd him back upstairs to the room used for his studies.
Rogerson put an arm around his shoulders. “It’ll be all right, lad.” Nick thought of Gillian and how nice she made him feel, and he fervently hoped his tutor was right.
“Lord Weston! I’m surprised to see you again so soon.”
“I’m in the mood for a little exercise, Jackson. Can you accommodate me?”
Gentleman Jackson grinned. “There’s an arrogant young blood in there just looking for someone to take him down a peg or two. Shall I tell him you’ll oblige?”
Noble allowed the attendant to peel off his coat and reached for the buttons on his waistcoat. “By all means. I’d be very happy to beat the arrogance out of him,” he said grimly.
“Well this is baffling!”
Crouch, Gillian noticed, had been hovering outside the not-quite-closed door of her sitting room. She smiled a little smile to herself. His interest and concern was really quite endearing, if a little stifling. She knew he was consume
d with curiosity about the missive he’d just delivered to her.
“Did yer say somethin’, m’lady?” he asked as he popped through the door.
“Why, Crouch, how opportune that you should be just there as I was speaking aloud to myself. As you have asked, yes, I did say something. This letter you brought me — it’s quite baffling.”
Crouch adopted a pose that indicated unadulterated interest. “Bafflin’, m’lady? ’Twas sent to ye at Nethercote, but since yer ’ere, the steward ’ad it sent up by ’and.”
“Yes, I understand how it came to be forwarded to me, but what I’m baffled about is the letter’s contents. It tells me that if I should ride to London and call at a specific address in Kensington, I shall learn something of interest regarding my husband.”
Crouch frowned. “Someone wanted ye to ride from Nethercote to town? Why would someone be wantin’ that?”
Gillian tapped the edge of the note to her lips as she thought. “This letter must have been sent to me in order to draw me into finding Noble shackled to his mistress’s bed.”
Crouch frowned. “Well if that ain’t dicked in the nob.”
“Um…yes, possibly, depending, of course, on whose nob it is that has been dicked. The question is, who sent this? The person who waylaid his lordship, or someone else?”
Crouch blew out his cheeks and scratched his belly with his hook as he considered the question. “Don’t see ’ow anyone else could be knowin’ what ’appened to ’is lordship unless they was the cull what smushed ’im.”
Gillian blinked. “Ah, yes. I see your point. Only the smushing cull would have known where Noble could be found. But how would this cull know I was at Nethercote and not in town? Our removal to Nethercote wasn’t in the papers.”
Crouch sucked his lip. “That be a right good question, m’lady. A right good ’un.”
Gilliam beamed at him for a moment. “Well, we shall put our minds to the problem. In the mean time, I have a task for you, but you mustn’t tell Lord Weston about it.”
“Crikey, m’lady, ’is lordship’ll be ’avin’ my ’ead if I was to do somethin’ against ’is wishes.”
Gillian smiled. “It’s not against his wishes. That is, it would be if he knew about it, but he doesn’t, so that makes it all right. Do you see?”
Crouch groaned and rubbed his eyes with his good hand. “I’m afraid I do, m’lady. What is it yer wantin’ me to do, then?”
Gillian removed a slip of paper from beneath a letter she had been writing and handed it to him. “I want you to go to Bow Street and hire some of those Runner persons. A half dozen should do, I’d think. They should be armed, and if they aren’t, you should see that they are equipped with pistols. Or muskets — whichever you think best. Then you are to take the men to be fitted for livery, and bring them home. We’ll disguise them as footmen.”
“What are you wantin’ with a ’alf dozen armed Runner footmen?”
She gave the pirate butler a disgruntled look. “They’re not for me, Crouch, they are for his lordship. For protection. Noble is in danger, and since I have been forbidden to leave the house, you must be my legs and see to all the arrangements.”
Crouch thought briefly of telling her about the three Runners already in place in the house but decided against it. Lord Weston was angry enough with her at the moment — if he were to find out she had subverted his Runners into protecting him, there was no telling what he would do.
“Aye, m’lady, I’ll do my best, but I can make no promises that I’ll be able to ’ire any Runners.”
Gillian smiled a smile of pure sunshine that sent warmth clear down to Crouch’s toes. “All I ask is that you do your best, Crouch,” she said, turning back to her letter.
Charlotte sat in her bedchamber, staring into the mirror of her dressing table, her eyes unfocused and thoughtful.
“Very mysterious,” she murmured to herself in a thrilled voice.
“Lady Charlotte?” Her maid’s voice jolted her out of a reverie. “Lady Collins is asking for you. Shall I tell her you’re indisposed?”
“No, tell her I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
She glanced at the letter in her hand. “Oh, Penny, one moment — tell Will or one of the other footman I will have a letter for him to take to my cousin.”
She rose and went to a small writing desk, pulling out ink and quill, and while searching for a clean sheet of paper, she mused over the wording of her letter.
Dearest Cousin,
The enclosed was sent to me because the writer feared it would not make it to your hand. I do hope you meet him at the appointed time and place — I believe it would be to your benefit to hear what he has to say, Gillian. Do let me know if you need my assistance. Your loving cousin, Charlotte.
Her smooth brow furrowed for a moment as she called the maid back. “This is simply too good to miss. I wonder who I could cozen into going for a stroll with me…ah, Caroline! Just the person. Penny, I’ll have another note for the footman to deliver.”
“Charles, I have a letter I’d like you to deliver for me.”
“Certainly, Lady Weston.”
“The direction is on the front. You need not wait for a reply.”
Charles looked at the front of the paper and blanched.
“Charles? You aren’t going to faint again, are you? Are you well?”
“Oh, my lady, please don’t make me deliver this letter.”
“Whyever should you not?”
“Lord Weston’ll string me up by my nether bits, my lady. He surely will!”
“Nonsense. Your nether bits are perfectly safe in my hands. Lord Weston need not know anything about this unless you tell him. And you aren’t about to tell him, are you, Charles?”
Charles felt a cold, painful grip on his nether bits as he shook his head that no, he would not be telling Lord Weston anything. He was powerless against her ladyship’s smile and he knew it, but he hoped for the sake of his unborn children that the Black Earl would not discover what role he had played in the countess’s plan.
“Nick, you are not attending me. What is it you are finding so fascinating outside the window? Come, my boy, another hour and we shall take a stroll in the park and look at the flora and fauna.”
Nick sighed and, patting Piddle’s head, turned back to look at the book in front of him.
“Now as you can see, an equilateral triangle is one in which the length of all sides are equal. I shall draw one here for you, and assign a numerical value to one side. If we know the length of this side, what does it tell us about the lengths of the other two sides?”
Nick frowned at the triangle and muttered an expletive he’d heard his father use. Rogerson dropped the slate and stared.
“Where are you off to then, Crouch?”
“ ’Er ladyship’s off on one of ’er wild ’ares. She wants me to employ a couple of Runners for ’is nibs’s protection.”
“Does she really, now?” Deveraux rubbed his chin. “That’s most interesting. Does she know about his lordship’s newest footmen?” He nodded toward one of the Runners, currently engaged in chatting up one of the under parlor maids.
“No, I didn’t tell ’er. I figure if ’is lordship wants ’er to know about them, ’e’ll tell ’er.”
“You’re not actually going to go along with this wild scheme of hers, are you?”
“Aye,” Crouch said, slapping a powered wig onto his head, adjusting it so it sat at a rakish, dashing angle. “I’m thinkin’ it might not be a bad idea for ’is lordship to ’ave a bit of comp’ny when ’e’s out and about.”
“But, but—” the round little man sputtered. Crouch gave him a cheeky grin, saluted him with his hook, and sauntered down the back steps toward the mews.
“My lord, if you would allow me to call for my physician…”
“No need, Jackson. The swelling will go down in time. I believe your man set the bone correctly.”
John “Gentleman” Jackson, that renowned pugilist and
famed instructor of the science of boxing to half the men in the ton, the man who won the championship when he beat the infamous Mendoza senseless, watched with worried eyes as the Black Earl tipped his head back to allow his neck cloth to be tied.
“I’d never have suggested you go against young MacDonald, my lord, if I’d thought he would give you a pasting.”
Weston flinched, but Jackson wasn’t sure if it was due to the injury or the reference to having been bested in the ring by a much younger, and less skilled, man. “You’d best put something cold on that until the swelling goes down.”
Lord Weston nodded stiffly, muttered something, and left the establishment, Jackson sighed with relief as the earl departed.
“Did you ever think you’d see the day?” his man asked, peering out the window to watch Weston get into his carriage. Jackson shook his head. He never wanted to see such a day again.
“The Black Earl taken down by a mere pup,” the man said in an awestruck tone, loudly sucking his tooth. “What was it he said to you as he was leaving?”
Jackson’s lips twitched. “He asked how the hell he was going to explain to his wife that he’d broken his nose.”
“Do you think she’ll come?”
Lord Carlisle looked at the smaller man standing so arrogantly before him and wondered for the hundredth time what his motive was for involving himself in the affair. He shrugged. “I have no idea. He might be keeping her prisoner in the house. I heard they had a terrible row, and Weston threatened to send her away.”
“If she comes, you know what to do.”
“I shall do what I think best,” the earl said with a frown. Upstart; who did he think he was to order his betters around?
“Yes, yes, certainly, I don’t question that it will be for the best, but if you really wish to keep him from harming her, it might be better to move up our plans.”
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