“You won’t face me over pistols?”
“No.”
Carlisle looked as if he wanted to pout. “Well, dammit, man, you have to give me satisfaction for this slight!”
“There’s always Jackson’s,” Rosse pointed out. “You could beat your frustrations out on each other.”
Noble looked at Carlisle, noting that although the Scot was shorter than he was, he had more bulk to his chest. Even dressed in a kilt, as he was now, Carlisle was the picture of masculine power. Carlisle, likewise engaged in an assessment of his would-be opponent, wasn’t fooled in the least by the elegant picture Noble displayed — after all didn’t his nose looked to have been recently broken? Carlisle knew that beneath that tastefully cut, skin-tight coat, Noble had the strength to match him.
“Done,” both men said at the same time, then agreed to meet in the early afternoon to settle the matter once and for all.
“I liked the elephant the best, didn’t you, Gillian? Didn’t you think the elephant was the best? I thought he looked very sad, though. Perhaps he misses his home. Do you think he misses his home? If I were an elephant, I’d miss my home.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s it. He did look homesick.”
Nick thought for a moment. “But I also liked the lions, didn’t you like the lions? And the camels. And the zebras. But I didn’t like the jackals. Did you like the jackals, Crouch?”
“Eh, well now, Master Nick, that’s a right good question—”
“I liked the giraffe, too. Did you see how long his neck was, Gillian? How does he drink with such a long neck? I wonder if Rogerson knows how a giraffe drinks. I bet if my neck was that long that I could figure out a way to drink.”
“You weren’t fast enough,” Gillian told Crouch as she handed him her hat and parasol.
“Aye, m’lady, that I weren’t,” he answered her with a cheeky grin. “But it’s nice to see the lad talkin’ again.”
“That it is, Crouch. Nick, why don’t you go upstairs and ask Rogerson about the drinking habits of the giraffe? Is that for me?” she asked as Charles the footman brought a note on a silver tray.
“It’s from Lady Charlotte,” Charles said helpfully.
“Yes, I can see that,” Gillian said, examining the note. She slid her finger under the wax as she started toward the library.
“Her ladyship’s maid brought it just a bit ago. Her ladyship’s maid said it was quite urgent, and that you were to send for her ladyship if you wanted her.”
“Thank you, Charles.” Gillian smiled at him as he held open the library door for her.
“If there’s anything you want, my lady, just let me know,” he added helpfully. “Anything at all. Say, for example, you wanted a message sent to Lady Charlotte. Well, then”—he puffed up his chest and thumped it importantly—“Bob’s your uncle!”
“No, my uncle’s name is Theodore,” she said absently as she read the note. Charles hovered hopefully around the door. His curiosity was rewarded when Gillian suddenly crumpled the note and said, “Bloody hell! Will someone please explain to me how that man’s mind works?”
Charles quickly stepped back into the room. “I would be happy to be of assistance, my lady, if you were to just tell me which man it is you seek information about.”
Gillian stifled the desire to roll her eyes and instead commanded that the carriage be brought around immediately. “I have a few letters to write, Crouch,” she said to the butler as she hurried out into the hall and toward the stairs. “I’ll want a footman…no, four footmen, ready to take them immediately. I’ll want the notes delivered as quickly as possible, so have them ride.”
“Four footmen, m’lady?”
“Yes, four,” Gillian replied as she leaped up the stairs. “I shall go to Lady Charlotte myself, and the four footmen can deliver the notes to his lordship’s ladybats.”
“Ladybirds,” Crouch corrected her softly as he watched her fly up the stairs; then he turned his attention to the louts standing about watching with nothing better to do but scratch their arses. “ ’Ere, you, Dickon, you ’eard the mistress. Go tell Tremayne to ’ave the carriage and four ’orses brought ’round. Coo lummey, what ’is lordship’ll ’ave to say about this, I don’t want to think.”
“I thought that bit of news would bring you at a gallop,” Charlotte said as she entered the small sitting room. “Good afternoon, Nick. You look well.”
Nick bowed. “Thank you, Lady Charlotte.”
Charlotte stared openmouthed at him for a moment, then raised a brow as she looked at Gillian.
“Nick has decided he likes talking,” she answered the unasked question. “Now, tell me where you heard this news.”
“Papa told Mama when he came home from his morning at the club. He said the books are filled with wagers on whether Lord Weston will trump Lord Carlisle, or vice versa. Papa didn’t know who to bet on — he felt as if he should back Lord Weston, since he’s his nephew-in-law, but he thinks Lord Carlisle has the advantage and so…well…he’s wagered on both.”
Gillian couldn’t keep the smile back. “That sounds like Uncle Theo. He doesn’t like to be on the losing side of any venture, least of all those concerning a few groats.”
Charlotte snorted. “A few groats — after what Lord Weston settled on you, I should think he would cast his lot with your husband.”
“Char, you make it sound as if Noble purchased me!”
Charlotte shrugged and daintily picked at a cuticle. “He did, more or less. Oh, don’t get your feathers in a hackle, cousin; I assume you are not here to debate the hows and whys of your marriage. What are you going to do about this terrible fisticuffs duel the men have planned?”
“I shall stop it, of course! I have no intention of allowing Lord Carlisle to beat the tar out of my husband.”
“What makes you think Lord Carlisle’s tar won’t take a pounding?”
Gillian made a face. “Normally, I’d back Noble’s tar against Lord Carlisle’s, but in the last few days Noble has been kidnapped, shot, received a black eye, broken his nose, and been drugged. The last, I’m annoyed to say, was completely without need, since Noble informed me this morning that he had actually apologized to Lord Carlisle and canceled the duel the night before.”
Charlotte nodded. “Papa told Mama about that, as well. But how do you intend to stop them?”
Gillian smiled. “I have a wonderful plan.”
Charlotte dimpled at her in return. Nick looked worried.
Lord Carlisle sauntered over to where the smaller man was sitting. He glared at his companion’s arrogant posture for a moment, then allowed himself to be waved into an adjoining chair. “You wanted to see me?”
The smaller man nodded his head. “It’s about this silly challenge you’ve issued Weston…you don’t intend to go through with it, do you? The man is known for his abilities in the boxing ring.”
“As am I,” Carlisle said with a scowl. Impudent upstart. Who did he think he was, cautioning him against Weston?
“I have no doubt, but you seem to be forgetting the goal of the exercise — to protect Lady Weston from his inhuman rages. How do you think she’ll fare once he takes out his anger on her?”
“Anger at my beating him in the ring? She won’t be responsible for that.”
“No, but she is responsible for having you detained, and forcing Weston into a public apology. No man in his right mind would let his wife get away with such brazen actions, especially a man of Weston’s pride. She’ll pay for her little plan and pay dearly, unless I miss my guess.”
Carlisle digested this unpalatable news. “She was trying to protect him; surely you don’t think he’d—”
“He has every right to beat her for interfering, and when his humiliation at your hands is added to his rage, well…” The smaller man spread his hands and shrugged. “It will be all over for her. Perhaps you can save the next bride.”