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He kept his eyes closed. He didn’t have the energy to explain the whys and wherefores of male anatomy to her. Not now, when his head was throbbing, his arms were aching, and his foot was on fire.

“The key, Gillian?”

She gave his nether regions one last wary look, as if she wouldn’t be surprised to see that part of him stand up and dance. “I am trying to understand you, Noble, truly I am. If you could just answer my question about what you mean by chaos…”

His head snapped up as he shot her a blistering look. “Will you release me if I do?”

Her eyes widened in innocence. “Of course, my dearest.”

“Then the answer is yes, wife, those little surprises, as you erroneously call them, are what make your life so hectic and chaotic. No other lady of my acquaintance would leap off a moving phaeton in order to comfort a thieving street urchin.”

“But—”

“Nor do I know anyone who has set fire to a house while they attended a ball.”

“That was the merest of accidents—”

“You startled my horses, injuring my tiger.”

“One of them was limping! I was just trying to show you that the horse must have had a rock in its shoe.”

Noble grunted in disbelief. “And the day we become betrothed?”

Gillian’s expression took on a pouting appearance. “That was yet another accident.”

“You wanted me to kiss you. If you had acted with control and indicated such in a discreet manner, I would have been happy to oblige you. The trouble with you, Gillian, is that you indulge yourself in every ludicrous scheme and thought that passes through your head.”

“Noble.”

“If you would learn to deal with things in a calm, organized manner, you would be well rewarded, wife, with serenity and tranquillity.”

“Noble—”

“You are young yet, despite your years, so I will not make a point of your headstrong nature and heedless manner of flinging yourself through life. You do not know better. Your upbringing is to blame, of course. It will be my pleasure to instruct you in the joys of a well-ordered, temperate life.”

“Noble!”

“What?” He was annoyed at her interruption. Didn’t she understand that he was trying to help her organize her life into something satisfactory?

“I am not the one chained naked to my mistress’s bed with a broken man part.”

“It’s not broken!” he bellowed, glaring at her. She returned his look with one of utter disbelief as she stared pointedly at the part of his body in question. Noble felt her heated gaze as if she was touching him.

“There, you see, that part of you is swelling again. I’m going to find some cold water. A compress is what you need now.” She started for the door, but his bellow of outrage drew her back. As she unlocked the manacles he tried to reassure her that nothing was broken, and with a frown at his son, promised to explain the situation at a more appropriate time.

Five minutes later Noble rubbed the feeling back into his wrists as Gillian and Nick examined the tall wardrobe. It was empty, as were the bureau drawers.

Ten minutes later he stormed naked up and down the long, darkened hallway with one branch of candles in his hand, scattering orders and expletives behind him as Gillian and Nick scurried from room to room in search of clothing.

Fifteen minutes later the hack driver got the surprise of his life when a furious man emerged from the house clad in nothing but a bedsheet draped around his massive frame, followed by the woman dressed in boy’s clothing and the dark lad who looked as if he was trying hard not to laugh.

“You! Take us home! Now!” the sheet-clad man ordered in a plummy voice that brooked no opposition. The driver considered voicing his admiration of the bedsheet knotted into a bow on the man’s left shoulder, but one glare from the man’s piercing gray eyes killed that idea. Despite his unusual apparel, the tight, grim line of the man’s mouth, not to mention the muscles that bulged and rippled across the bared portion of his broad chest, bespoke unwillingness on the gentleman’s part to engage in a little friendly ragging.

“Bloody queer toffs,” the driver huffed to himself and, touching the horse with his whip, set off through the warm night.

Noble continued to mutter rude things under his breath during the ride to his town house. Every lurch of the poorly sprung hack made his head throb worse. It felt as if someone were sitting on his shoulders, using his head for an anvil. He wanted nothing more than to lie down with his head in Gillian’s lap and let her trail her long, cool fingers over his aching head. How had he come to this? he wondered idly as he watched his wife through narrowed eyes. Wanting — no, needing—a woman’s touch. He shied away from the blossoming suspicion, but honesty compelled that he recognize the existence of the uncomfortably restricting feeling that banded about his chest for what it was.

His desire for his wife went beyond the purely physical.

Nobel was disgusted with himself. He had never sought anything but physical relief from a woman. Had he not learned from Elizabeth that to allow anything more led only to deep, bone-searing pain? God knew, the lessons learned at her feet were enough to turn a man away from women altogether. Women were not to be trusted, no matter how demure they looked, no matter how innocent and naïve and wholesome they appeared even when wearing the clothes of a servant. No, he might be weak enough to secretly yearn for more than he ought, but he would not let that weakness control his life. There was comfort in an ordered and structured life. He had learned years ago how to beat down those feelings of need, the desire for succor, the best-forgotten longing to be cherished and loved. He would not let those unwelcome emotions flare to life again, no matter how tempting he found his wife.

“Does your head hurt, Noble?”

The words were softly spoken, but they seemed to hang in the evening air for a moment, before melting and blanketing Noble in a warm glow. His jaw worked, but he could not get the words of denial past his lips.

Gillian slid across from the opposite seat and gently drew him toward her puny woman’s shoulder. Noble thought briefly of pushing her away. He knew it was the sheerest folly to allow himself into a situation where a woman offered more than mere physical release, but her touch was as gentle as her words. With one small hand she pulled him down until he was lying back drunkenly across the seat, his head cradled against her breasts. God’s knees, but she smelled good, even wearing his boots’ clothes.

Gillian murmured tenderly to him as she stroked his head. Odd, but her touch seemed to make the pounding in his temples lessen. Noble knew he should be lecturing his unruly wife on the dangerous nature of London at night. He knew he should forbid her to ever leave his house again without several footmen in attendance. He knew he should interrogate her as to her reasons for following him to town when he had purposely left her at Nethercote. He knew all of this, but for the first time since he had been so brutally betrayed by Elizabeth, he told the righteous side of his conscience to get nobbled.

Gillian knew the moment Noble stopped fighting his inner demons. His head lay heavy on her bosom, but she reveled in its weight, in their closeness, and in his trust. Lightly she stroked her husband’s dark hair and marveled that such a man — such a domineering, overpowering, large man — should have hair that felt like silk slipping through her fingers. The finest rich brown silk, shot through with threads of walnut and occasional silver. Noble sighed as she delicately traced the contours of his brow and let her fingers trail down to the angular plane of his cheek. His skin was rough with stubble, a strangely pleasing texture that seemed to set her fingers afire. She stroked past the indentation in his chin that never failed to thrill her and followed his jaw line up to the sensitive spot behind the back of his ear. The black crescents of eyelashes — surely there must be a law against a man possessing such long, thick eyelashes — fluttered briefly but remained resting on the tanned skin of his cheek. Her fingers followed the path of his cheekbone to a swelling near his temple. Prodding the area with a gentle touch, Gillian breathed a sigh of relief when it became apparent the wound was not a serious one.