“What was it about?” Charlotte asked following her to the veranda railing.
“That’s the problem, I don’t know!” Gillian slapped her hand down on the stone railing. “One moment he was all warm and loving, and the next moment he was as cold as marble. And now this! Noble leaves me to attend our first ball on my own!”
“You’ve been in England long enough to know how these fashionable marriages work. Your husband goes his way and you are free to go yours. As long as you’re discreet, of course.”
“I’m always discreet,” Gillian muttered, turning around and peering through the crowd, then back across the lawn. “Noble hates crowds; perhaps he’s gone to see the garden. Blast the man, he said he’d be here tonight. Where is he?”
“Don’t be in such a dither, Gilly.” Charlotte took a deep breath, looked toward the doors to the ballroom and, with a muttered prayer that her mother wouldn’t discover her antics, followed her cousin out into the garden. “Oh, look at the lovely cascade! Did you ever see such a sight?”
“Never,” Gillian muttered, giving short shrift to the countess’s fantastic display of colored lights set up to illuminated the water flowing along the mossy paths. She craned her head to catch sight of any tall, handsome earls who might be hiding out in the scented shrubs, trying to avoid their wives’ eyes.
“Look, a waterfall! Isn’t that lovely?”
“Lovely. Oh, blast! He doesn’t seem to be out here.”
“You know how men are — they have so many other important things to do. They visit their friends at their clubs, or they gamble, or they visit their mis—”
Gillian turned to face her cousin. “Visit their what?”
Charlotte peered around her in the softly lit darkness. There was a group of people at the foot of the stairs, near the waterfall, but no one close by. “Mistresses. Gillian, it’s time you face facts. I don’t want to see you hurt any more than you are, dear cousin, but you really must face the truth. Men like Weston simply are not the type to give up their freedom just because they are married. I know you believe Weston no longer has a mistress, but you are not being terribly realistic.”
“I agree,” Gillian said pleasantly after a moment’s thought, and started to move toward the stairs. Perhaps he had gone into the cardroom.
“You do? You agree? Just like that? No argument?”
“No argument.”
“But Gilly — wait, Gilly.” Charlotte hurried to catch up to her cousin’s long stride. “Did you not say you were certain Weston had disported of his mistress’s services?”
“Dispensed, and yes, I did, but I was wrong. He does have one.”
“Oh, Gilly, I am sorry. I had hoped for your sake that Weston was different—”
“I am his mistress.”
Charlotte stopped dead. “You? You think you’re his mistress?”
Gillian stopped and looked back at her. “I know I am.”
“You can’t be his mistress!”
“Whyever can’t I?”
Charlotte waved her hand around. “Because…because you’re his wife.”
“So?”
“You can’t be both.”
“Why not?”
“Well…just because! Wives and mistresses — Gillian, they’re just two separate people. Wives are…wives, and mistresses — well, you know what they are.”
Gillian tipped her head to one side. “Perhaps I don’t, Charlotte. What exactly is the difference between a wife and a mistress? Oh, don’t stare at me like I’m an idiot. Other than the obvious, what is the difference?”
Charlotte looked around helplessly, hoping for inspiration. “Well, for one thing, mistresses show affection in public. Did you hear about La Bella Dona and the Duke of Ainstey two nights past?”
Gillian shook her head.
“They were in the King’s Theater, you know, and it’s said that she sat right on his lap. In front of everyone. And kissed him!”
“That certainly is in poor taste, but hardly—”
“While the duchess was in her box directly across from La Bella Dona’s!”
“Oh. Well, yes, then I will agree that your example certainly does show a shocking lack of manners, but that hardly has anything to do with my situation.”
“Yes, it does. The point is that you can hardly behave in such a manner, even with your own husband.”
Gillian thought back to the morning’s activities in the library. “I’m not so sure of that—”
“Oh, look!” Charlotte squealed, and grabbed her cousin’s arm. “There he is.”
“Noble? Where?”
“No, not Weston. His friend. The handsome one. By the shrubs to your left.”
“Lord Rosse? I don’t see him either. All I see is that little man Sir Hugh—”
“Gillian! How can you be so cruel just because the gentleman isn’t a giant like you.”
Gillian stared at her cousin with a slight smile playing around her lips. “My apologies, Char. I had no idea you had a tendresse for him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I have nothing of the sort. Papa would never countenance a marriage between a poor baronet and me. I merely pointed out one of your husband’s friends.”
“Mmm, yes, thank you.” Gillian made a mental note to ask Noble about his friend, and continued to scan the crowd.
“There’s Weston.”
“Where?” Gillian spun around.
“Over there, just at the foot of the stairs. He’s being given the cut by Lord Monteith. Oh, my, Gillian, that isn’t good. I believe Lord Worcester just cut him as well. What are you going to do?”
Gillian looked across the mossy paths, meandering streams of water, manicured lawn, and Arcadian groups of shrubs lit from within by colored lamps to where a group of people had collected to watch her husband be ignored by the crème of the ton. Dressed entirely in black, with a brilliant snowy white shirtfront and cravat, Noble’s austere beauty took Gillian’s breath away. Instantly her anger refocused itself onto a new, and much more deserving, target.
“I’ll show you what I’m going to do,” she said grimly, her hands fisted as she walked quickly toward the group of people.
A hush settled over them as they watched her approach. Noble, standing alongside Lord Rosse, raised one glossy black brow as she walked swiftly toward him. Gillian suddenly hoisted up a handful of her gown, speeded up her approach, and launched herself into her husband’s arms, pressing her eager lips against his.
She kissed him with all the fire and passion that had been smoldering in her ever since she had first seen him. She kissed him with every last ounce of love and devotion she possessed. She kissed him with an intensity that was readily apparent to those who stood by in astounded silence, watching them. She kissed him with abandon and joy and the warmth that only Noble could generate in her. It wasn’t technically a perfect kiss as far as kisses went, but it was a monumental one in the eyes of the ton. It was a kiss that turned the tide of public opinion about the Black Earl.
And then she fell into the waterfall.
Two gentlemen strolled by as Noble tried to help her wring the worst of the water out of her gown. They both paused for a moment, watching the scene while drawing on their cigars, then proceeded on their promenade.
“Silly chits and their dampened muslins.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Mmmm.”
The Black Earl gritted his teeth and refused to lift his eyes from the latest threatening letter that had arrived in the morning’s post. He had no need to gaze at his wife. He knew just how fetching she looked in a hunter green and cream dress, her fiery hair twisted into a simple chignon that he knew would immediately begin to disassemble itself into tendrils that would soften the planes of her face. He knew about the sweet swell of her bosom that led upward to the soft, rounded line of her shoulders, which in turn swept into the graceful curves of her arms, leading down to…blue hands.