“My what?” The earl’s voice rose as Erp decided to investigate again. “Down, sir! Down!”
“Erp! Bad dog! Nick, darling, grab Erp and keep him from doing that. I do apologize again, Lord Carlisle,” Gillian said, holding on to Piddle’s collar. “But as we’ve settled the question of your crotch, might we go inside?”
The earl stared for a moment, then closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them up again, she was still standing there, still smiling that charming, lovely, completely misleading smile. He began to feel sorry for the wife-killer Weston. He had a suspicion that this time the Black Earl had met his match.
The Black Earl was beginning to believe the very same thing. He emerged from his consultation with John Stafford, the chief clerk for the Bow Street Runners, and was assured of help gathering proof that the bastard McGregor was behind the threats to himself and Gillian, and the attack of a few evenings past.
“Are you sure it’s Lord Carlisle who is behind these letters?” Stafford asked.
“As sure as I can be without having his admission of the fact,” Noble replied. “The man is a heartless devil who preys on women. He is responsible for the death of my late wife, and holds great animosity for me.”
“I’m sure that is the case, my lord, but I must investigate the situation fully. Are you certain there are no other individuals who would wish to see you come to harm?”
“Any number, I’m certain,” Noble replied with a wry twist to his mouth. “Half the ton believes I murdered my wife, the other half believes I’m a notorious rake. None of them, however, are privy to the information that is contained within the threatening letters.”
“You will, of course, refuse to pay the blackmail sum demanded?”
“That goes without saying.”
Stafford nodded his head and glanced down at the most recent letter Noble had received. “I can give you three men, my lord.”
Noble stretched out his arm and retrieved his letter. “I had hoped for more.”
“I’m afraid three is the best I can do at the moment. They will be round your house in the morning.”
Noble wrote a few lines on the back of a calling card. “Have them present this to my butler, Crouch. Or Tremayne. Either of them; they’re both my butlers.”
Stafford raised his brows. “You have two butlers in one house, my lord?”
“Yes,” he replied, pocketing the letter and standing. “It was my wife’s idea.”
His words echoed in his head a short time later as his carriage rolled toward a certain address near Russell Square. Was it really Gillian’s idea to have the second Tremayne brother follow her up to his town house? She had said something about him helping Crouch learn to be less a pirate, which made no sense at all. Despite his hook, Crouch was not a pirate. Lord knew, the man got seasick just walking on a bridge over a river.
“Gillian,” he said softly, gazing out the window, blind to all but the image of the tall, redheaded Amazon who had moved into his heart. How had she done it? He’d never expected to feel anything beyond mild affection for a woman again, and yet she was consuming his every thought.
Gillian. Just the sound of her name sent tendrils of heat through him; many of them, it was true, pooling in his groin, but he was also conscious of a gentle, soothing glow radiating out from the bright light she cast, warming him and making him believe he was human again.
Gillian. His wife, the woman who bore his name and would bear his children. He thought of her plump and round with his babe, and a spurt of base masculine pleasure added to the warmth already heating him.
Gillian. The woman who was walking down the front steps of his most hated enemy’s house, her arm linked through his, laughing up at that bastard murderer McGregor with a smile that should be reserved solely for him.
Gillian!
“What the bloody hell is this?” he roared, jumping out of the carriage before his coachman could bring the horses to a stop. “By God’s ten toes, woman, what the hell do you think you are doing with that man?”
Gillian stopped on the last step, astonishment writ clearly on her face at the sight of her husband charging down the pavement toward her. “Noble?”
“Yes, Noble,” he snarled, and lunged toward the Scot.
“Noble! How wonderful you could join us! Nick, my dear, your papa has come to join us, isn’t that wonderful?”
Noble stopped, his hands a mere fraction of an inch from Carlisle’s throat. “Nick?” His voice was thick as he flexed his fingers. She had brought Nick with her? She had brought Nick with her while she kept an assignation with the man who was responsible for the death of his wife? She had brought his son with her while she tore out his heart and killed any last vestiges of human kindness left within him?
“Good afternoon, Lord Weston.”
Noble blinked at the sight of a lovely blond woman, a familiar blond woman, a woman who, if the maidenly blush and shy eyes were anything to go by, had just been released from a convent.
“You remember my cousin Charlotte, don’t you, Noble?”
“Ah…”
“ ’Ere ye are then, yer lordship. I was tellin’ the mistress that it weren’t right ’er payin’ this call without yer, but ye know ’ow the ladies is.”
“Er…”
“Charles, Dickon, ’elp Tremayne up there with those ’orses. They don’t like the looks of Piddle and Herp.”
“Uh…” Piddle? Erp? Noble peered between his wife and his enemy. Was there anyone from his home not present? As the heat from the suspicions of a moment before faded, a new fire roared to life when his eyes narrowed at the sight of that murdering bastard McGregor’s hand resting possessively on Gillian’s.
“Mine!” he roared, and scooped Gillian up and deposited her on the pavement behind him.
“I beg your pardon?” Gillian asked, poking him in the back. “Did you just shout mine in a voice loud enough to be heard in Canterbury?”
“Be still, woman, while I deal with this bastard,” Noble bellowed.
“Bastard, eh? That’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black,” Carlisle roared back.
“Mine? As in I belong to you, husband?”
“What the devil were you doing with my wife and son?” Noble yelled.
“As if I were your possession?”
“That’s none of your business,” Carlisle answered, his voice echoing off the houses across the street.
“I cannot believe you actually stood there and bellowed the word mine as if I were a toy and you a four-year-old child, Noble!”
“Like hell it’s not! I demand to know what they were doing here!” Noble thundered.
“Then why don’t you ask the lady?” Carlisle barked.
“I am not a possession!” Gillian raised her voice to match those of the two men.
“You keep my wife out of this! You’ll answer my question, or by God I’ll have my satisfaction over pistols!” Noble stormed.
“Name your seconds,” Carlisle retorted, his black eyes dancing with enjoyment.
“They’ll call on you this evening,” Noble fired back, his hair standing on end. “Wife! Come with me!”
Gillian recognized that Noble was in a bit of a temper, and with a wisdom that had hitherto been unknown to her, bit back her angry protests at his arrogant display of possessiveness and took the hand he held out. He stalked back to his carriage and would have made a grand exit it if had not been for the others.
“Charles, Dickon, get those ’ounds loaded into the carriage.”
Noble paused in the act of stuffing Gillian into his carriage and looked back. His gaze fell on that of his son, standing next to Charlotte, gray eyes shining brightly in the afternoon sun. “Nicholas, you will come with us.”