“I gather this laissez-faire attitude means either, or both, men have given you the cut?”
“You may gather whatever you like, Harry. Remind me to mention a little problem I need your advice on once we’ve taken a bit of exercise.”
Rosse smiled and followed his friend up the stairs. “I don’t recall you having a need to expend energy at Gentleman Jackson’s before, Noble. I used to have to beg you to come with me, despite the fact that you’re a great hulking brute perfectly made for dashing a fellow’s brains about the ring.” He shook his head in mock concern. “How comes a newly wedded man to have so much excess energy? It can’t be good, my friend. I sadly fear you are not doing right by your new countess and will have to take the issue up with you when you are finished expending all this energy you seem to possess.”
The two gentlemen were greeted and conveyed to the dressing room. “If I were another man, Harry, I should take offense at your comments.”
Rosse, secure in the knowledge that he had been practicing faithfully at Jackson’s for the last two years while his friend rusticated in the country, grinned. “Is that a challenge?”
“If you like.”
“My dear sir, I accept your challenge of a round of fisticuffs. Shall we set a boon upon the winner?”
“An excellent idea,” Noble said as he slid his arms out of his waistcoat and allowed one of the attendants to remove his neck cloth.
“Have you something in particular in mind?”
“I do.”
“And it is…?”
“To be named at the winner’s discretion.”
Rosse grinned again, carefully removed his spectacles, and handed them over to the man waiting, then swung his arms back and forth to limber them up.
“I should warn you, Noble, I’ve had several lessons while you’ve cloistered yourself away on your estate. I’m counted as quite handy with my fives. Even Jackson himself says I show considerable promise.”
Noble allowed himself a smile. “I’ll try not to hurt you too badly, old friend.”
“I believe I’ll stick to pistols from now on,” Lord Rosse said meditatively an hour later, rubbing his swollen jaw and fingering his torn lip. “Less dangerous. I think you loosened a tooth.”
“I did nothing of the sort,” Weston replied, wincing at the sunlight as they stepped from the building. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you too badly. However, I shall have a bit of explaining to do when Gillian sees my eye.”
Rosse smiled a lopsided smile. “That’s quite a mouse. As the satisfaction in landing a blow to you goes a long way in easing the sting of my defeat, I’ll ask you now what it is you want my help with.” He paused a moment to direct his driver. “St. James’s, John.” Then he turned toward his friend. “White’s or Boodle’s, Noble?”
“White’s, don’t you think?”
“White’s it is. Ah.” Lord Rosse sank back into the plushly upholstered seat and gingerly flexed his fingers. “Now tell me what sacrificing my good name and excellent reputation in favor of yours has cost me.”
Weston fingered the swollen tissue around his eye. A momentary distraction in the form of the sudden mental image of Gillian on the floor in his library, gown askew, hair tumbling down upon her golden shoulders and spilling onto those mouthwateringly lovely breasts had been all the opening Rosse had needed to land a powerful left.
“McGregor’s back in town.”
Rosse nodded. “I saw him a few days back at the theater. Didn’t acknowledge him, of course.”
“Of course. He paid me a visit.”
Rosse blinked behind his spectacles. “Why would he do that?”
“To threaten me.”
“Threaten you with what? Oh. Gillian?”
“Exactly. He muttered some deranged comments about wanting to warn her, but I know the truth. He’s never forgiven me for marrying Elizabeth and will do his best to steal Gillian away as he did her.”
Rosse relaxed. “I don’t blame you for being angry that the bastard called on you, but I wouldn’t worry that he can melt the heart of your Amazon. She’s made of sterner stuff.”
“She’s a woman, and thus is capable of whatever deceit is necessary to achieve her goals.”
Rosse watched the pain flit over his friend’s face with a sorrow that had its origins deep in a night five years past. “Any other woman, perhaps. I don’t claim to know everything about the species, but I know this — you’ve captured the heart of your Amazon.”
Weston grinned suddenly, then grimaced against the pain the action caused his swollen eye. “So she has informed me.”
“There you go, then. Nothing to worry about.”
“There’s everything to worry about. Harry, someone has been out to cause me trouble ever since I returned to town.”
Weston told him about the plea for help from his former mistress that had sent him out to the house she was to be vacating and ended with a description of how Gillian and Nick rescued him.
“If you are quite finished,” Noble said some time later, watching his friend wipe his eyes. “I wasn’t aware that it was an episode that would bring so much amusement to you.”
“Ah, Noble, if only I could have been there. In a bedsheet, you say? Yes, well—” Rosse saw he had pushed his friend to the limit of his tolerance and turned his attention to the matter at hand. “Has all the hallmarks of a jest of a grand nature.”
“I considered it but disregarded it as an explanation. No one I know would dare commit such a jest upon me, and—” He looked out of the window as the carriage rolled up St. James’s Street. “I do not believe the perpetrator knew Gillian was in town and prepared to go to outlandish lengths to rescue me from what she perceived as life-threatening danger.”
“You don’t think your life was in any danger?”
Weston studied the silver head of his walking stick. “I’m not sure, but I doubt it. If whoever arranged for the scene had wished me harm, he had ample opportunity to do so after knocking me out.”
Rosse thought this over for a minute. “I believe you are correct, Noble. That being the case, what is it you want me to do?”
Noble smiled as the door to the carriage was opened and the steps lowered. “I want you to use those talents you showed an aptitude for during the war,” he said and nimbly leaping out of the carriage, turned back to face his friend. “I want you to become a spy again, Harry.”
“Lady Weston, how delightful it is to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Countess Lieven. Please excuse my hand. I was admiring the colored lamps you have concealed in the flowers, and I wasn’t aware the paint was still wet. Are you acquainted with my uncle, Lord Collins, and his wife, Lady Collins?”
Countess Lieven, a small, dark, vivacious woman with a gracious manner and a lively eye, looked with surprise at Gillian’s blue palms, noted the blue hand print on the left side of her gold gown, and gave a mental shudder. She would never, ever understand the English. She turned with a smile to greet her guests, then placed a hand on Gillian’s arm and guided her away from the receiving line. “My maid, Clothilde, will attend to your hands…and gown, my dear Lady Weston. But before she does, allow me to express my utmost sympathy for your unpleasant situation. My heart, it bleeds for you in your time of trouble.”
Gillian blinked and stared into the dancing black eyes before her. She very much doubted that Lady Lieven felt anything but a burning desire to gather and exchange gossip. “I appreciate your sympathy, Countess, but I am sure the paint will come off.”
The countess’s famed smile slipped a little as she glanced down quickly at Gillian’s hands. “No, my dear, it was not that unpleasant situation of which I speak. It is the other situation that rends my heart in two on your behalf.”