The fog seeped into his mind, slowing and focusing his brain until there was just one thought that filled him.
He looked through blurred eyes at the woman writhing beneath him, twisting and turning, matching her thrusts to his, her green eyes blazing almost as bright as the fiery hair spread out above her.
“I…” He thrust his entire length into her, and then pulled back slightly.
“…love…” Her hips lunged upward to meet his. He blinked, but the fog was too thick. He couldn’t see her fire anymore.
“…you…” His back arched as he lifted her up to him, plunging deeper than he’d ever been before. He heard her sob out his name just before he cried out hers, a light bursting from behind his eyes, blinding him to everything but the beauty and wonder and love that was his Gillian.
“Four,” he sighed, collapsing on her as he slowly sank into a black pool of oblivion.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“M’lady? Pssst. M’lady, are ye awake?”
Gillian gently pushed Noble’s arm aside and peered over his biceps. “Crouch? Is that you, Crouch?”
“Aye, m’lady, yer needed.”
Gillian brushed her hair from her eyes, stole a quick glance at Noble to make sure he was still sleeping, sent another glance downward to verify that she was covered as decently as possible, discovered that the bed linens must have been kicked off sometime during the night, and blushed when she realized the only thing covering her womanly parts was her husband.
“Crouch, this really is the outside of enough! I don’t believe it’s proper for a butler, even a pirate butler, to come marching into one’s bedchamber.”
“I’ave m’eyes covered, m’lady.”
“I can see that, Crouch, but I can also see that you are peeking, and if you think I won’t tell Lord Weston that, you are sadly mistaken.”
Crouch’s fingers slammed into tight formation. “ ’Tis those bits o’ ’is lordship’s muslins. They’re back and they won’t leave.”
“The mistresses? His mistresses, or rather ex-mistresses, since they are no longer in his employ, and even if they were, he wouldn’t employ all of them at the same time, although if last night was anything to go by…” She gazed at her sleeping husband’s face thoughtfully. “…but no, my mind is wandering. Crouch, please tell the ladies I will be down shortly.”
“Aye, m’lady.”
“Oh, Crouch?”
The butler tipped his head in question.
“You didn’t really see anything you shouldn’t have, did you?”
“No, m’lady, just ’is lordship’s arse, and the sight o’ that’s nothin’ that fills me with joy.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Gillian said, reaching a fond hand over and stroking Noble’s lovely behind. “The sight of it fills me with joy. I think it’s quite a nice behind, as behinds go.”
“Mmmm?” Noble murmured, and tightened his arm around Gillian.
“Nothing, my love,” Gillian cooed into his ear. “Crouch and I were just discussing your arse.”
“Aye, m’lord. ’Er ladyship is of the opinion it’s a sight to bring joy to the eye, but I’ve been debatin’ the point with ’er.” He eyed Noble with pursed lips, scratching at his chin with the sharp point of his hook. “Not that it ain’t attractive on its own, I reckon. If you like that sort of thing.”
“Crouch?” Noble breathed sleepily.
“Which I do, Crouch, and I’ll thank you to keep your disparaging comments to yourself and be about your business. I will tend to his lordship’s behind. And stop that peeking.”
Crouch grinned and, feeling the way toward the door with his hook, made his exit.
Gillian slid out from under the arm and leg Noble had tossed over her and stood for a moment, admiring his derriere. It was a very nice one. She put out a hand and pressed gently.
“I don’t know what Crouch is nattering on about. It’s very fit. I bet I could bounce a shilling off it if I were so inclined.”
With that happy thought she went to prepare to greet the mistresses.
Noble rolled onto his back and stretched carefully. His head felt like someone had been pounding on it with an anvil while his mouth tasted worse than something extremely nasty that he didn’t want to go to the trouble to think of lest it make his headache worse and his tongue feel even thicker.
He rolled out of bed and, pulling the bell cord, staggered into his dressing room to attend to his morning ablutions.
It was while he was sitting in the armchair as Tremayne was shaving him that a faint thought wended its way through the fogged labyrinth of his mind and suddenly stood up and caught his attention.
“My arse?” he roared, startling Tremayne into dumping the basin of warm water down the earl’s front. “She had Crouch in admiring my arse?”
“I really couldn’t say, m’lord. I wasn’t present. Would you like me to consult Crouch about this grave question?”
“Don’t be smart, Tremayne,” Noble snapped, and allowed his shirt to be removed, the water mopped up, and a fresh garment reapplied.
“My arse,” he said later as he strode down the hallway and leaped down the stairs. Midway to the breakfast room he passed his son.
“Good morning, Papa,” Nick said.
“Morning, Nick. My arse!” Noble fumed, and stormed into the breakfast room. He would have a thing or two to say to his wife about conducting tours of his person when he was asleep. “Wife, I have a few — oh, hell. Where is she…uh…which one are you?”
“Forsythe, m’lord. I’m one of the Runners her ladyship hired.”
“Oh, yes, well, have you seen Lady Weston this morning?”
The slight little man in livery too large for him shook his head and endeavored to look like a footman. “I haven’t seen her, no, my lord, although I did hear Mr. Crouch say something about a group of lightskirts calling for her.”
The pounding in his head increased. She wouldn’t dare. Not after he had made his feelings clear on the subject and given her a direct order. No, he shook his aching head; it must be some other group of lightskirts she was entertaining. Perhaps she had plans of reforming the entire demimonde. He wouldn’t put it past her to try.
He took the stairs two at a time as he headed toward her sitting room.
Nick was still standing where he had passed him earlier. “Papa, could I talk to you?”
“Later, son. I have to go throttle your mother.” Just see if he wouldn’t. How dare she bring those women back to his house, exposing himself to ridicule and his son to…Noble paused a moment, then shook his head again. He must have imagined it.
He threw open the door of her sitting room, glared at the assembled women therein, and opened his mouth to deliver a scathing lecture that he would make sure Gillian never forgot. She turned to look at him, and the acrimonious words shriveled and died on his lips.
“What is it?” he asked instead, going down on one knee and taking her hand in his. It was cold.
Gillian squeezed his hand and tried to look a little less like the scared rabbit she knew she resembled. “Noble, Mariah is dead.”
“Mariah?”
“Mistress Mariah. Your mistress, that is. Ex-mistress. The ladies here came to tell me that her body was found this morning, bobbing up against a pier. She had been…” Gillian looked as if she would be sick. Noble pulled her into a protective embrace.
“She’d been tortured, my lord, and then garroted,” Anne said with a solemn face.