“I have no objections at all, my lord; your plan is quite agreeable.”
Weston stared at her, surprised by her quick acquiescence. It was his experience that even the most eager of brides demanded declarations of love or assurances of undying devotion before they accepted a man. “Do you have any questions? Concerns? Comments?”
This last was said with an emphasis Gillian couldn’t help but notice. She gave in to a smile and shook her head. “No, none at all. Do you?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “No, I believe my questions have all been answered. Gillian—” He stepped forward and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. Gillian held her breath as the feather-light touch raised goosebumps on her arms. “You are easy in your mind about this match? I would not have you fear me. Despite what you may have heard, I am not a cruel man, nor am I given to mistreating anyone who depends upon me.”
While he spoke, he pulled her into an easy embrace. Gillian had to remind herself to breathe as the spicy essence that was the Lord of Miracles curled up and around her. She met his unblinking gaze with a steady look that she fervently hoped belied her racing heart and shaking knees. “I am quite easy in my mind, my lord. I believe we will suit very well indeed. You seem slightly concerned about my reaction, however. Are you having second thoughts?”
“No, Gillian, I am not. As we are now betrothed, do you think you could use my Christian name?”
“Certainly, my lord. What is it?”
“It’s Noble.”
Gillian smiled. “I am sure it is. Your parents would hardly bestow an unsuitable name on their firstborn son. What is your name?”
Weston closed his eyes briefly. “My name is Noble.”
“Yes, I know.” Gillian nodded encouragingly. “And it is…?”
“Noble,” he ground out, cursing his mother’s whimsy and his father’s lack of foresight. “My name is Noble.”
Another smile lit Gillian’s face. “Oh, your name is Noble. How interesting. Is there a story behind it?”
“No.”
“Ah.”
The pair stood looking at one another. Weston felt obliged to break the silence. He leaned in closer to her. “Gillian—”
At the sound of her name on those wonderful lips, the goosebumps trailed up her arms and down her back. She was willing to wager her entire year’s pin money that he was going to kiss her.
“I wouldn’t take that wager,” he said with a smile just before he leaned down and brushed his lips briefly against hers. The embarrassment she felt that she had once again spoken her thoughts was quickly drowned in the overwhelming surge of emotion generated by his touch. He stepped back, watching her carefully.
“Oh,” she said, words failing her. She wondered what he would do if she threw herself back into his arms and claimed the kisses she had been dreaming of the last few nights.
“Do you think it is possible, my lord, that one or both of us might die in the very near future?”
Lines appeared between the two lovely black wings that were his eyebrows. “Do you know something I do not?”
“No. I just think it is best to live one’s life to the fullest. I would hate to die leaving something undone.”
Weston stared at her for the count of seven. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he asked, “What is it you wish to do?”
“This,” she replied, and threw herself on him. Unfortunately, having his newly betrothed fiancée spring upon him was the last thing the Black Earl was expecting at that moment and, caught off balance, he fell backwards against an incidental table, knocking over both the table and a large vase of flowers. The vase struck him squarely on the head, rendering him unconscious.
Gillian Anne Honoria Leigh married Noble Edward Benjamin Nicholas Britton, twelfth Earl of Weston, two days later by special license. The groom, presenting a dramatic picture with his forehead swathed in bandages, was dignified and appeared his usual expressionless self. The bride, owing to a somewhat stupefying state of shock, managed to get through the ceremony without maiming or disabling anyone.
CHAPTER THREE
Gillian looked out the open window of the carriage at the figure of a large man riding a dappled gray horse, then back at the two large hounds residing on the seat across from her. She didn’t blame Noble, not really. Although she had arranged for Piddle and Erp to start a diet based mostly on rice, boiled chicken, and a variety of wholesome vegetables, there was no time to tell if the change was successful. They were still a bit much in confined quarters. One look at her traveling companions had prompted her husband of two hours to declare that he would ride his horse the distance to Nethercote. Although Gillian would have preferred getting to know him during the four-hour journey to his estate, she found it hard to fault his reticence.
Leaning across to open the other window, she returned to her corner of the carriage and continued watching her husband’s broad back.
“Husband,” she said to the dogs, rolling the word around on her tongue. It felt good. It felt right. It felt large and masculine and absolutely thrilling.
“I have a husband. An earl husband. Lord of Kisses.” It got better the more she said it, especially when she recalled the kiss of peace that had sealed her marriage vows.
“I think I took him by surprise,” she told the dogs. Erp thumped his tail, but Piddle just gave her his usual melancholy stare. “I do hope his lip heals quickly.” She thought for a moment. “And his head. And the toe that one of his bays crushed.”
She looked back out the window. He really was the most amazing man. She couldn’t wait until tonight, when he would finally answer all the questions that had arisen when Aunt Honoria sat her down to have a talk about wedded life. She knew her aunt had meant well, but surely Honoria must have had some of her facts confused. It wasn’t as if she, Gillian, were naïve, after all — she was five and twenty, not a girl fresh from the schoolroom. Ah, well, tonight it would be straight in her mind. She smiled at the thought of having Noble all to herself, alone, with no distractions, and mindful of her propensity for unfortunate events, she made a mental note to clear the room of all potentially lethal objects. It wouldn’t do to accidentally strike down her bridegroom while her curiosity was still piqued.
Three hours later the carriage turned between two massive wrought-iron gates and rolled up a smooth drive edged with tall oaks.
“Nethercote,” she breathed, her heart racing, and peered out the window for the first glimpse of her new home. Rounding one last curve, the house finally came into view. A large four-story structure with wings extending on either end, it was built of a warm gold-colored stone. Seemingly hundreds of windows glittered in the early evening sun, dazzling the eye.
“Turrets!” Gillian exclaimed as she grasped her husband’s hand and alighted from the carriage.
Noble looked at her bemused face and felt her pleasure warming him deep inside his chest. Her cheeks pink with excitement, her green eyes the color of emeralds in sunlight, Gillian was the picture of delight personified. She turned to Noble and gifted him with a blinding smile. The warmth in his chest spread as he placed her hand on his arm and took her forward to introduce her to the staff gathered on the front steps.
“This is Tremayne, my butler.”
Gillian shot the earl an amused look. “Your butler, indeed, my lord. Pull the other one, it has bells on it! Good afternoon, Tremayne. How did you get here from London so quickly?”