“Madam?”
“I am feeling unwell, and Lady Gayfield has suggested I rest quietly for a few moments in a bedchamber upstairs. The third one on the left, second floor. I would like a maid sent to attend me.”
The footman looked startled but murmured his compliance and left to carry out her instructions. She uncrossed her fingers and, feeling pleased with her cleverness, hurried toward the staircase.
She climbed the stairs to the second floor, popped her head around the corner to make sure there was no one in the hallway, and scurried down, counting doors. “One, two, ah, here it is.”
She slipped into the room and was surprised to find it empty, although several tapers had been lit. There was a large bed with blue and gold bed curtains, several pieces of mahogany furniture, a love seat against a far wall, a screen with embroidered peacocks, and a large painting reminiscent of Botticelli’s Venus. Gillian looked at the painting closely. Was that cherub doing what she thought he was doing?
“I believe that’s by Smollett,” a voice from the other side of the room said. Gillian spun around and clutched her throat, then relaxed when she saw Lord Carlisle leaning negligently against the wall next to a wardrobe.
“You gave me quite a start, my lord, but I am pleased you are still here. I was detained and feared you would leave before I could meet with you.”
“And deny myself the pleasure of a few stolen moments in your exquisite company, madam?” Lord Carlisle strolled into the room and grasped Gillian’s hand in both of his, and brought it to his mouth. “I could not leave without gazing just once more into those deep, entrancing pools of emerald.”
He kept his gaze locked on Gillian’s as he turned her hand over and kissed her palm.
Gillian leaned closer. “You’re very good, my lord, but not nearly as good as my husband.”
The smile that had been playing around the earl’s manly lips suddenly evaporated. He dropped her hand with a sigh.
“Well, it cannot be said that I did not try.”
“No,” Gillian laughed, “you did try. I’m sorry, my lord, but I do not wish to have an affair with you; I merely wish to know what it is you wanted to tell me about Noble, and to discuss this silly duel.”
Carlisle said nothing for a moment, his black eyes somber. “Madam, will you accept advice from one who has known you but a short while?”
“Advice? What sort of advice?” Gillian glanced toward the door. Shouldn’t the maid she asked for be arriving by now?
“As I said earlier, I have every reason to believe Lord Weston murdered his wife.”
“Oh, that,” Gillian interrupted dismissively. “My lord, we’ve been through that. No matter what Lady Weston told you, I refuse to believe that Noble acted as you have implied. He is simply not capable of such behavior.”
Carlisle took her hand in his again but this time his eyes were serious and full of concern. “My dear, I know it is hard for you to admit, but your husband was responsible for his wife’s death, and for her suffering before that untimely event. I cannot help but worry that should his substantial temper turn on you, you might suffer the same fate as my dear Elizabeth.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Gillian told him, giving his hand a slight squeeze. “But I am in no danger from Noble, nor will you ever convince me he had anything to do with his wife’s death. Now, if you could tell me the information about the attack on Noble you wish to impart, I would be most grateful.”
Carlisle closed his eyes for a moment and was just about to speak when someone knocked on the door.
“Oh, good, that will be the maid,” Gillian said as she started for the door.
“Lady Weston?”
It was a man’s voice at the door.
“Oh, my,” she said with a guilty glance toward the earl.
He held a finger to his lips and slipped into the wardrobe.
“Yes?” Gillian opened the door. It was the short footman. He looked nervously to either side, then pushed the door back slightly and squeezed through the opening.
“My lady, your husband has arrived and is seeking you. I would suggest you have your…rest…later.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Um…” Gillian sent a concerned look toward the wardrobe. She hated to leave the earl without finding out what information he had about Noble’s attacker. “Can you be discreet…uh…”
“Jones,” the man replied, nodding. “Quite discreet, madam.”
“Excellent,” Gillian said with a relieved smile, and opened the door to the wardrobe. “Lord Carlisle, you may come out. Jones here will be discreet, so you may tell me what it is you know about the foul attack against Noble in front of him.”
Carlisle rolled his eyes as he started to step out of the wardrobe, but a sudden knock at the door forced him to pause.
Gillian gave him an apologetic smile and, pushing him back inside the wardrobe, closed the door again. She waved the footman behind the screen and went to open the door.
“Am I too late?” Charlotte asked as she stepped in.
“Not too late, no, although I believe the problem has been taken care of,” Gillian replied as she went to release Lord Carlisle. “Jones, you might as well come out too.”
Charlotte looked with surprise as an earl popped out of the wardrobe, while a liveried footman emerged from behind the screen. “Gillian, I never would have thought you’d have it in you!” she teased.
Gillian ignored her and turned back to the earl. “Now, Lord Carlisle, if you wouldn’t mind telling me what it is you wanted to tell me…oh, blast, now who’s that?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll be damned if I go back into that wardrobe again.”
“Yes, you will. I won’t have Noble’s reputation suffer because of you,” Gillian said firmly and shoved him back into the tall enclosure, closing the door on his protests.
“Oooh, we get to hide?” Charlotte squealed, biting her lip for a moment as she glanced around the room. She gave a happy little cry and leaped onto the bed, pulling a bed curtain partially closed. Jones disappeared back behind the screen.
“Lord Rosse, good heavens, whatever are you doing here?”
“I…ah…heard you were here and wanted to arrive before Noble found you. Carlisle is here, isn’t he?”
“Yes, in the wardrobe,” Gillian said. Rosse nodded and opened the wardrobe. He was about to speak when Jones and Charlotte delurked.
“This is quite exciting,” Charlotte said with a wicked giggle, then slapped an innocent and demure look on her face for the marquis’s benefit. Rosse stared for a moment at the two additional occupants, then shook his head and turned back to the earl.
“Lady Weston? Lady Weston? You must let me in!”
“This is becoming ridiculous,” Gillian muttered, marching over to the door. Rosse shoved Carlisle back into the wardrobe, while the footman and Charlotte reassumed their hiding places. Rosse looked around wildly for a moment and then threw himself under the tall bed.
“Yes? Who is it?” Gillian asked at the door.
“Sir Hugh. Please let me in, Lady Weston. I have something of import to tell you.”
Gillian opened the door to the baronet. “Something concerning Noble, no doubt?”
Tolliver pushed her back and closed the door loudly behind him. “The rumor is all over that you’re up here with Carlisle. Where is he?” He looked around the room and settled on the tall mahogany wardrobe. “He’s in there, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is,” Gillian said, resigning herself to the fact that she was not going to be allowed to hear what it was Lord Carlisle wanted to tell her.
Sir Hugh gave her a sharp look. “In the future, madam, I would suggest you conduct your affairs with a bit more discretion. Noble is, after all, my dearest friend, and I hate to see him cuckolded in this manner. He knows what you’re about and is on his way here now.”