He glared at her gentle smile. “What?”
“You’re speaking to me.”
He swore under his breath. “Gillian, you will not distract me by smiling at me in that manner. The issue at hand is one of obedience. Without any concern for your health or safety, you left the sanctuary of our home to meet with that—”
“—murdering bastard, yes, Noble, we all know who he is.” Gillian took a deep breath and reached out a hand toward him. He frowned at it.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake…” Gillian moved across to sit next to her husband and, by wriggling her fingers, managed to work her hand under her husband’s crossed arms. “Noble, I was perfectly safe. I knew Charlotte would be there, and I was in a public place.”
She reached up with her free hand and ran her finger around the cleft in his chin. “Can you not see your way clear to forgiving my transgressions, and I shall forgive yours?”
He reached up to grab her fingers, his scowl growing blacker. “My transgressions? You will forgive me my transgressions?”
“Yes”—she pulled her hand out of his and placed it on his chest—“I am quite willing to forgive if you are.”
Her hand slid up his chest and curled around the back of his neck, sliding into his hair. God’s eyebrows but his hair was sinfully soft. It was like silk slipping through her fingers. She closed her fist around it and tugged his head toward hers, tilting her head back and offering up her mouth.
Noble tried to remember why he was so angry and why he had decided that a policy of indifference seemed like such a good idea, but the sight of her parted lips drove all other thoughts from his mind but the desire to sip her sweet nectar. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her up against his chest as his mouth claimed hers, his tongue dipping in to revel in her taste. He stroked the roof of her mouth and saw stars when she suckled his tongue.
“I shouldn’t be seeing this, no I shouldn’t, so I’ll just look out the window at the passing scenery. Or I would if I could see anything, but since it’s nearly ten o’clock and black as sin out there, I can’t see anything. However, since I’m sure if I were to look back at you, I would see…oh, yes, that’s just what I thought I’d see, and I shouldn’t be seeing that either, so I’ll just keep my eyes looking elsewhere until you’re both finished. I hope you finish soon,” Rosse said wistfully. “It gets a bit tedious staring out into the dark when two people who are close enough to you to touch are engaged in an activity better suited to a private location.”
“Harry.”
“Yes, Noble?”
“Get shankered.”
“Crouch?” Several hours later, Gillian peered out from her sitting room and waved the pirate in. “Crouch, where have you been?”
“Sorry, m’lady, the Tremaynes was at it again, and I’ad to get my wager on Tremayne Three.”
Gillian listened for a moment. No sounds of a battle reached her ears, so the fight must be going on in the servants’ quarters. She knew she should intervene, but she hated to do so. The Tremaynes all pouted so when she insisted they behave. “Three? Is he so much better than his brothers?”
Crouch grinned. “Nay, m’lady, worse, but I likes an understrapper, I do.”
“Well, I am glad you managed to tear yourself away from the excitement, but we have an important task ahead of us, and you know you are vital to my plans. Should you not be leaving to meet Lord Carlisle?”
“Aye, m’lady, I’m just about to do that.” He yawned.
Gillian yawned back at him. “Don’t do that,” she snapped as soon as she could. “We both have work to do. Do you have the laudanum?”
He handed her a small brown bottle. “Ye know ’ow much to use?”
“Yes, just a few drops ought to do it. Do you have the Runners with you? All of them?”
“All five, m’lady. Yer two and ’is lordship’s three, and we’ve all got barkin’ irons with us.”
“Barking…irons?”
“Aye, just as ye ordered.”
Gillian tried to remember if she had asked specifically that the men be equipped with iron dogs that barked. She didn’t think she had.
“Oh, pistols you mean.”
“Aye.” Crouch nodded, his gold earring swinging. “Snappers, just as ye’ve asked.”
“Snappers, yes, excellent. You have the key to Noble’s house in Kensington?”
He patted his waistcoat pocket with his hook. “Aye, m’lady, all’s taken care of there, but I’m worryin’ what I’ll do if the murderin’ bastard doesn’t show up.”
Gillian’s smile brightened up the dark room. “He’ll show up. He’s been wanting to save me…well, now he’ll have his chance.”
“It’s a right devilish mind ye’ve got yerself there, mistress.” Crouch saluted her with his hook. “I’m thinkin’ ’is lordship, once ’e gets over being drugged, will thank ye.”
“I wish you were right,” Gillian said, her smile fading. “But I fear he’s simply going to be too angry to see much reason for a while. Oh, well, there’s just no helping it. If those two men intend on acting like stubborn little children and refuse to be reasonable, we’ll just treat them as children and do what’s best for them.”
The rumble of masculine voices made its way up the stairs.
“Must be Lord Rosse leavin’ ’is lordship,” Crouch said as Gillian pushed him toward the back stairs.
“Then go, and Godspeed, Crouch.”
“And to you, m’lady.”
The two conspirators grinned at one another, then separated — Crouch down the backstairs, and Gillian skimming up the staircase to her bedchamber. She hugged the bottle tightly to her chest, planning just exactly how she would slip the liquid into a bit of brandy. Crouch had warned her about putting too much in brandy, since the liquor would accelerate the effects of the drug, so she had to make certain Noble didn’t drink too much…just enough to guarantee he’d sleep through the dawn.
“That should take care of the Lord of Pigheadedness,” she muttered a few minutes later as she entered her room and looked around for a spot in which to hide the bottle. As she walked toward the wardrobe, a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye had her gasping and stumbling backward in surprise. A small, thin figure unfolded itself from the corner and stood hesitant in the candlelight.
“Nick? Is that you? Is something wrong?” Gillian started toward the slight figure but rocked backward when he threw himself against her.
“Oh, Nick, my darling, did you have a nightmare?” Gillian wrapped her arms around the boy and swayed gently with him while he heaved huge sobs into her chest. She murmured soothing words and brushed the dark locks back from his forehead until the weaping lessened in intensity. “It’s all right, my love. I’m right here, and nothing can hurt you now.”
“But…if Papa sends you away…”
Gillian stared down into the tearstained face and blinked in surprise. Nick was talking? Now? Why? His thin little body shook against her as she held him. First things first, she told herself, and with an arm around the lad, sat down with him on her bed. “Your papa’s not going to send me away, Nick. You’re worrying about nothing. Now tell me.” She handed him a handkerchief. “Did you have a nightmare?”
He nodded and blew his nose, then tried to hand the handkerchief back. “Er…no, you keep it,” she said as she smoothed a hand over his hair. “Do you want to tell me about the dream? Sometimes it helps make it seem less frightening if you can talk about it.”
He thought about that for a minute, then gave a minute shrug. “It was about that night.”
“What night?”
“The night my mother died. My other mother.”
Oh, lord. Had Nick been present when Elizabeth was killed? Gillian tried to remember what Noble had told her about the trauma that had sent Nick into self-imposed silence. He had said it had its roots in Elizabeth’s death, and she had assumed he was traumatized because his beloved stepmother had been taken away from him.