Noble Intentions n-1

by Katie MacAlister

  Carlisle’s frown deepened. “That won’t be necessary. I told you I was meeting with Weston in the morning. I’ll take care of the murdering whoreson then.”

  “Yes, there is that. Ah…is that the time? Should you not be on your way?”

  Carlisle swore. “I don’t need you acting the mother hen. I will be there on time.”

  “You’re in a prickly mood today — I was simply trying to be helpful. I wouldn’t want you being late. I doubt if the lady will wait for you.”

  “I’ll be there,” Carlisle ground out, and deliberately turned his head away from the garish figure. Why was the little man so interested in helping Lady Weston?

  “Good lord, man, what happened to you?”

  “Nothing, Harry. What news do you have?”

  “Hmmm?” Rosse stared at Noble’s swollen nose that had all the earmarks of a break. “Oh, nothing other than the fact that Mariah is no longer with Sunderland. She’s disappeared again, it seems.”

  Noble rubbed his head wearily, taking care not to touch his nose. “Why do I feel as if I’m running in circles, Harry?”

  The marquis smiled. “Might be the result of the beating I suspect you took at Jackson’s. Come.” He stood up and clapped his old friend on the shoulder. “What you need is a bit of air to clear your head. Come along with me and we’ll take a ride through the park while we discuss the problem.”

  Nick scooted over to the window seat and peered out the window at the mews. Normally the yard would be busy, but it was teatime, and most of the servants were in having their tea. He watched idly as a gray stable cat sat in the dirt lane and washed his tail.

  “Nick…ah…Nick?”

  Nick ignored his tutor.

  “Come, my lad, just one word. Just a hello? My name? How about a greeting to that hound, there?”

  Nick watched the cat finish his bath, stretch, and saunter off past the stable.

  “Nick, I know you spoke. I heard you quite plainly. Now, if you could do it once, you can do it again. I’m thinking only of how happy your father will be, my boy.”

  Nick turned his head and gazed at his tutor with steely silver eyes. Rogerson blinked and rubbed his jaw. “I could have sworn you said…maybe I imagined it. Perhaps I just thought I heard you say it.”

  Nick looked back out into the yard and was surprised to see someone climbing down the water pipe that clung to the corner of the house. A strand of fiery red hair dangled down from the back of the dashing little hat with the long pheasant feather that complemented so charmingly Gillian’s green riding habit. Nick jumped up and tugged on his tutor’s sleeve, then pointed to the clock.

  “Eh? Oh, yes, yes. I did promise you a visit to the park. Capital idea. Just what we both need — a bit of air to clear away the cobwebs. Come along then; let us be on our way.”

  “I don’t understand your sudden desire to go for a stroll in the park, Charlotte, but I’m excessively pleased Mama said I might join you.”

  “ ’Tis a bit of a mystery, is it not, Caroline?”

  “A mystery?”

  “Yes, a mystery. You know — something mysterious. Something dark, and secret, and fabulously thrilling!”

  “And a mystery is a good thing?”

  “It is wonderfully good, Caro. Haven’t you read any novels with vengeful ghosts, mad men locked in towers, mysterious rooms with secret panels, poisoned wine, ghastly family curses, and frigid, sepulchral hands reaching through the bed curtains in the very dead of night?”

  Lady Caroline looked horrified and glanced behind her to where their maids were following. “No, certainly not. Mama would never countenance my reading something so very provocative!”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Your loss, Caro.”

  “But — but this mystery we are going to see in the park — it is nothing that has sepulchral hands?”

  “You’re a bit of a ninny, aren’t you, Caro?”

  “A ninny?”

  “Never mind. Just come with me. I promise you’ll enjoy yourself.”

  “With the mystery? Or with Hyde Park?”

  “Saints preserve me from ninnies!”

  Gillian sidled into the stables and looked around carefully. The stableboys and grooms were at tea. Excellent. It took her little time to get Ophelia saddled and slightly longer to convince her to stand still while she climbed up the mounting block, but all in all, she felt she was on schedule when she directed the mare toward Hyde Park. She sincerely hoped she could count on Charlotte’s overwhelming curiosity to witness the scene with her and Lord Carlisle. Ladies, she knew, did not go riding without grooms in attendance, and she was more than a bit nervous about meeting the Scottish speeler by herself. Although if what the note Charlotte had included said was true, she would have a few choice things to say to him, things better said in private.

  “Here, isn’t that Lady Weston?”

  “Wot? Where?”

  “There, riding off on that white mare.”

  “Bloody ’ell, it is! Get Johnson. ’Is bleedin’ lordship’ll skin us alive if’n we let ’er go out unprotected.”

  “Lord Carlisle!”

  “Ah, Lady Weston. I wasn’t sure you would answer my summons. No footmen? No Crotch? No hounds or cousins or any of the army of attendants you seem never to be without?”

  “No, my lord, it is just me today, but I will mention that I am here against my husband’s wishes, and so desire you to be as quick as possible with what you have to say.”

  The earl made a slight bow and offered his arm. “Perhaps we might walk that way, away from the crowds?”

  Gillian hesitated, and then took his arm. “Your letter was quite intriguing, my lord. You say you know the truth of what happened the night the late Lady Weston died, yet your brief narration of the events does not make sense.”

  “In what way does it not make sense?”

  “Quite simply, my lord, my husband was not responsible for the death of his first wife.”

  Carlisle snorted. “You are judging him by means of your tender woman’s heart, my dear. I assure you that were you to take an unbiased view of the events, you would come to a much different conclusion.”

  “An unbiased view? Such as yours?”

  “If you like, yes. My judgment is universally known to be trustworthy and free from any bias.”

  “Except where Lady Weston is concerned.”

  Carlisle glanced at her from the corner of his eye but said nothing. Gillian felt the sparring had gone on long enough. She stopped and faced the earl.

  “My lord, just what was your relationship with Lady Weston?”

  Carlisle squinted into the sky to watch two ravens fighting over a bit of food. “She was my friend.”

  “And lover?”

  “And lover.” He looked down into her green eyes and saw no censure, only curiosity and a bit of pity. A strand of hair blew over her cheek; he reached out and gently brushed it back. “So beautiful she was, like one of those Nordic ice maidens come to earth.”

  “You loved her?”

  Carlisle put his hand on Gillian’s back and gave her a little push. They resumed their walk. “He murdered her, my lady. He shot her in cold blood. She had begged and pleaded with him for a divorce — it was apparent from the first that they were not suited, that his foul habits would destroy everything good and kind in her. She came to me during a house party and begged for my help, pleaded with me on her knees to save her from the nightly tortures he exacted upon her.”

  Gillian said nothing. The Noble Carlisle was describing wasn’t her Noble; she felt that for certain.

  “I was there that night, you know. I came in answer to a desperate summons from Elizabeth — she had overheard Weston plotting to take her life that night, and she begged me to save her from him.”

  Gillian shook her head. “Not Noble.”

  “Noble, my lady. I saw him with my own eyes, swooned with blood lust, lying in a pool of his wife’s blood, the pistol that killed her still clutched in his han
d.”

  Gillian shook away the terrible picture Carlisle so vividly painted. “Not…Noble?” she whispered. “Perhaps…perhaps he just happened upon the scene and was struck down by…or perhaps he was defending her and accidentally…my lord, Noble would never hurt someone weaker than he, never!”

  “I can assure you that I speak the truth, Lady Weston. I saw the marks, you see. I saw the marks that fiend had left upon her body — bruises from beatings, stripes on her back where he had taken a lash to her, and…and worse. I won’t be specific about the other things he did to my fair Elizabeth, other than to say that they were the most unnatural of sexual practices.” The earl’s face darkened as he was again swept up by the remorse and helplessness he had felt that night. “If I had been a peer then, I might have had a chance to bring him to justice, but as it was, I could do nothing. Your husband escaped unpunished for that heinous crime.”

  Gillian looked at two children running along the graveled footpath, a small terrier at their heels, barking excitedly as he chased the pair. They were so young, so innocent, so new and untouched and clean. Was she just as young and innocent as they were? Had she allowed her feelings for Noble to override her common sense? Was she being blind, not seeing him for what he really was?

  Random images of him came to mind: Noble grinning at her the night he was shot, Noble ruffling Nick’s hair as the two walked together toward the garden at Nethercote, the exasperated patience in the wry twist to his lips when he saw her blue hands, the love shining out of his beautiful silver eyes when they joined together as one.

  “No.” She turned back to Carlisle. “No, my lord, you are wrong.”

  “I saw him with the pistol! I had seen the marks—”

  “Then they are from another, not Noble. If he had a pistol in his hand, there must be an explanation for it. An explanation other than the one you offer.”

  Carlisle shook his head. “You are allowing affection to blind you to the truth, my dear. Your husband is a consummate liar, a concealer of secrets of the most heinous sort, a vicious, cruel man who will think nothing of destroying you as he destroyed my Elizabeth. You are in danger, Lady Weston, grave danger, and I wish to help you before it is too late.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I could not…I could not help Elizabeth, but I will not fail you.”

  “Secrets and lies,” Gillian said softly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Secrets and lies. That’s what Palm…a gentleman told me.” She looked up into the earl’s face. “Secrets begetting lies. But what is the secret that started the lies?”

  The earl held her gaze. “The only way to find the answer to that, my lady, is to ask your husband, and that is not an action I would recommend, for surely it will mean the end for you just as it meant the end for my dear Elizabeth.”

  Gillian stared wordlessly at him, unable to resolve the image of Noble lying in his wife’s blood, the instrument of her death clutched in his hand, with what she knew of him. Which was the true Noble? Which were the lies? How was she to determine the truth?

  “Gillian! Lord Carlisle! What a surprise! How delightful to meet you…in this wholly unexpected…and unforeseen manner,” Charlotte panted as she galloped up to the pair. “Oh, my, it’s quite warm out today, is it not? Lord Carlisle, may I make you known to Lady Caroline Ambermere? Caroline? Well, that’s her back there. She’s a slow walker.”

  Gillian rolled her eyes. There were times when Charlotte’s manners fell far short of her own, rusticated and colonial though they were. She handed her cousin her handkerchief. Charlotte took it with a shy and demure smile at the earl, then turned to look back at Lady Caroline and deftly applied the cloth to her glowing face.

  “We were just about to walk to the Serpentine, Lady Charlotte. I assume since you and Lady Caroline just came from that direction that you are headed elsewhere, so if you will excuse us…”

  “Not at all,” Charlotte said gaily, and grabbed her cousin’s arm. “We love the Serpentine. Do let us walk there now.”

  Gillian gave the earl a rueful smile but was secretly relieved by Charlotte’s appearance.

  “Now, what were you discussing? The weather? The latest gossip? Whether Lord Weston killed his wife?”

  “Charlotte!”

  Charlotte gave her cousin a sidelong look. “There’s no use my pretending not to know anything about it, Gillian, Lord Carlisle did send me that note…”

  “Which was addressed to me and only meant to be forwarded by you, not read.”

  “No! I must have neglected to notice that,” Charlotte said, smiling shamelessly at the earl. He raised his eyes to heaven and, with a sigh, turned toward the Serpentine.

  “Impudent as my cousin is, she does have a point, my lord,” Gillian said as they walked toward the slip of water. “She is in my confidence, and you can speak freely before her.”

  “Absolutely,” Charlotte said. “You may speak with perfect impunity and trust my discretion and naturally shy and unassuming nature.”

  “Too brown,” Gillian whispered to her cousin.

  “Do you think so?” Charlotte whispered back. “I thought it was just right. See, Lord Carlisle looks as if he’s about to laugh.”

  The earl did laugh then, a bit ruefully, but still it was a laugh. “I have said my piece, Lady Charlotte. It is now up to your cousin to come to her senses and take the advice I so earnestly offer.”

  Gillian shook her head. “I’m afraid this discussion is at a standstill, my lord, so I will turn to another subject that I hold to be very important.”

  “The duel!” Charlotte said with satisfaction, and waved her hand toward the approaching figure of Lady Caroline and the two maids. “Caro, turn around, we’re heading back that way.”

  “We are? But we just came from there.”

  “Never mind. Lord Carlisle here is going to tell us about the duel he’s going to fight on the morrow with Lady Weston’s husband.”

  “Charlotte!”

  “Oh, pooh, everyone knows about it by now.” Charlotte made quick introductions. “Lord Carlisle was Lady Weston’s lover, and now he’s to fight Lord Weston because he had his hand on Gillian’s arm.”

  “Charlotte, cease speaking this instant or we shall leave you!”

  Charlotte looked hurt by the demand. “I’m simply trying to keep Caro abreast so she might appreciate the gravity of the moment when Lord Carlisle tells us his plans for murdering his rival.”

  Gillian spun around and grabbed her cousin by the wrist, her fingernails biting into her flesh. A bit of Charlotte’s color drained out of her face when she saw Gillian’s countenance. “If you ever again say anything so foul, I will never speak to you again.”

  “But—”

  “Never.”

  “You are—”

  “Not ever!”

  Charlotte had never seen her cousin’s eyes light up in such a manner before, and she decided it would be wise to humor her. After all, Gillian was in love with Lord Weston despite the fact that he had probably murdered his first wife.

  “I apologize, Gillian. That was unkind of me.”

  Gillian released her wrist and started walking again toward the water. A shout to the right brought her up short. “Oh, Nick, Mr. Rogerson. Are you out for a walk? How pleasant. That’s a lovely flower, Nick, thank you. I just hope the groundskeepers did not see you pick it.”

  Gillian felt her heart constrict under the influence of her son’s sunny smile. How on earth could Noble consider tearing such a wonderful boy from her? She put an arm around him, telling Rogerson they were going to the Serpentine to watch the ducks.

  “I see you have your army with you after all,” Lord Carlisle said softly. “As you are in such good hands, I will take my leave.”

  “Oh, Lord Carlisle — about the event…I know it will be unpleasant for you, but I would ask that you make your apologies to Noble and halt the plans for the morning. I’m sure you see no reason to ask his forgiveness—” she held up a hand before
he could interrupt—“and in truth, the fault for the situation lies with me, so it is true you are not to blame, but you must excuse Noble for being a bit overprotective.”

  “Lady Weston, I must beg you to discontinue your pleas. Alas, they are falling on deaf ears. This will not be the first time I’ve faced your husband over pistols, but I do fully intend that it will be the last.”

  Gillian’s eyes turned frosty. She leveled an icy green gaze at him, and in tones that left him in no doubt as to her feelings, snapped out, “I see. You leave me no choice, then, Lord Carlisle. The consequences will be on your head.”

  He bowed and, with a polite farewell, took his leave.

  “Er…Lady Weston, perhaps I should take Master Nicholas home.”

  “No, it’s quite all right, Rogerson. I believe the worst is over.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Charlotte said, looking over Gillian’s shoulder.

  “Why do you say that, Char?”

  “Because Lord Weston is headed this way, and he doesn’t look pleased.”

  Gillian spun around. It was true, her Lord of Fire was walking toward them in a manner that made her knees quake. She looked beyond him to where Lord Rosse was handing over the reins of his horse to a groom and preparing to leap over the small metal fence that lined the edge of Rotten Row.

  “Well, hell,” she muttered.

  Lady Caroline gasped. Charlotte looked worried and picked fretfully at Gillian’s handkerchief. Rogerson blanched at the sight of the earl’s face and prepared to spirit his charge away to safety. Gillian sighed and resigned herself to be yelled at yet again.

  This time, she knew, she had no excuse to offer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Lord and Lady Weston were given the sobriquet of the Battling Brittons that night by Lord Rosse. Gillian truly didn’t know how he came to crown them with that title, since it was impossible to battle someone with whom you weren’t speaking, and seeing as how Noble was positively icy to her, not saying a single, solitary word after he had escorted her home from the park, nor later while she was preparing for Lady Cowper’s soiree, she felt Lord Rosse had taken liberties with the nickname.