“The duel!” Charlotte said with satisfaction, and waved her hand toward the approaching figure of Lady Caroline and the two maids. “Caro, turn around, we’re heading back that way.”
“We are? But we just came from there.”
“Never mind. Lord Carlisle here is going to tell us about the duel he’s going to fight on the morrow with Lady Weston’s husband.”
“Charlotte!”
“Oh, pooh, everyone knows about it by now.” Charlotte made quick introductions. “Lord Carlisle was Lady Weston’s lover, and now he’s to fight Lord Weston because he had his hand on Gillian’s arm.”
“Charlotte, cease speaking this instant or we shall leave you!”
Charlotte looked hurt by the demand. “I’m simply trying to keep Caro abreast so she might appreciate the gravity of the moment when Lord Carlisle tells us his plans for murdering his rival.”
Gillian spun around and grabbed her cousin by the wrist, her fingernails biting into her flesh. A bit of Charlotte’s color drained out of her face when she saw Gillian’s countenance. “If you ever again say anything so foul, I will never speak to you again.”
“But—”
“Never.”
“You are—”
“Not ever!”
Charlotte had never seen her cousin’s eyes light up in such a manner before, and she decided it would be wise to humor her. After all, Gillian was in love with Lord Weston despite the fact that he had probably murdered his first wife.
“I apologize, Gillian. That was unkind of me.”
Gillian released her wrist and started walking again toward the water. A shout to the right brought her up short. “Oh, Nick, Mr. Rogerson. Are you out for a walk? How pleasant. That’s a lovely flower, Nick, thank you. I just hope the groundskeepers did not see you pick it.”
Gillian felt her heart constrict under the influence of her son’s sunny smile. How on earth could Noble consider tearing such a wonderful boy from her? She put an arm around him, telling Rogerson they were going to the Serpentine to watch the ducks.
“I see you have your army with you after all,” Lord Carlisle said softly. “As you are in such good hands, I will take my leave.”
“Oh, Lord Carlisle — about the event…I know it will be unpleasant for you, but I would ask that you make your apologies to Noble and halt the plans for the morning. I’m sure you see no reason to ask his forgiveness—” she held up a hand before he could interrupt—“and in truth, the fault for the situation lies with me, so it is true you are not to blame, but you must excuse Noble for being a bit overprotective.”
“Lady Weston, I must beg you to discontinue your pleas. Alas, they are falling on deaf ears. This will not be the first time I’ve faced your husband over pistols, but I do fully intend that it will be the last.”
Gillian’s eyes turned frosty. She leveled an icy green gaze at him, and in tones that left him in no doubt as to her feelings, snapped out, “I see. You leave me no choice, then, Lord Carlisle. The consequences will be on your head.”
He bowed and, with a polite farewell, took his leave.
“Er…Lady Weston, perhaps I should take Master Nicholas home.”
“No, it’s quite all right, Rogerson. I believe the worst is over.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Charlotte said, looking over Gillian’s shoulder.
“Why do you say that, Char?”
“Because Lord Weston is headed this way, and he doesn’t look pleased.”
Gillian spun around. It was true, her Lord of Fire was walking toward them in a manner that made her knees quake. She looked beyond him to where Lord Rosse was handing over the reins of his horse to a groom and preparing to leap over the small metal fence that lined the edge of Rotten Row.
“Well, hell,” she muttered.
Lady Caroline gasped. Charlotte looked worried and picked fretfully at Gillian’s handkerchief. Rogerson blanched at the sight of the earl’s face and prepared to spirit his charge away to safety. Gillian sighed and resigned herself to be yelled at yet again.
This time, she knew, she had no excuse to offer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lord and Lady Weston were given the sobriquet of the Battling Brittons that night by Lord Rosse. Gillian truly didn’t know how he came to crown them with that title, since it was impossible to battle someone with whom you weren’t speaking, and seeing as how Noble was positively icy to her, not saying a single, solitary word after he had escorted her home from the park, nor later while she was preparing for Lady Cowper’s soiree, she felt Lord Rosse had taken liberties with the nickname.
Sitting next to the marquis, Gillian was particularly aware of her husband’s eyes glittering dangerously whenever she caught his gaze as they rode to that evening’s entertainment. After the chill that swept her the first few times she encountered his eyes, she did her best to avoid them altogether, turning her attention to the man next to her.
“Lord Rosse,” she addressed him with a smile that was somewhat frayed around the edges, “as Noble is not speaking to me, perhaps you will tell me how he came by a broken nose.”
Rosse shot his friend a pleading look. Noble ignored both it and his wife and glared out the window of the carriage as it rolled through the night.
“I believe, madam, that he acquired it at Jackson’s rooms.”
“Ah. Thank you, my lord.”
“Not at all, my lady.”
“Harry?”
“Yes?”
“Since my wife is behaving in a childish manner by making a point of not speaking to me, would you ask her just what the blazes she thought she was doing by ignoring my wishes and not only leaving the house but meeting with the very man I specifically forbade her to meet?”
“Ah…”
“Lord Rosse,” Gillian said with an injured sniff and a frown across at Noble, “you might, since you are being so obliging as to act in a mature and intelligent manner, unlike some people I could mention, notably the irrational, emotional, and unjust man I married, would you be so kind as to tell him that I did not agree to abide by his dictates since they were silly, unreasonable, and unfair?”
“Silly? Unreasonable? Unfair?” Noble folded his arms across his chest and glared at her.
“Silly, unreasonable, and unfair. Noble you know full well that keeping me a prisoner in the house, forbidding me to see friends and family, and, worst of all, denying me my son, is simply intolerable. I will not stand for it!”
“Harry, please tell my wife that she will stand for whatever I tell her she will stand for.”
“Um…no, I don’t think I will tell her that, Noble.”
Noble added Harry to his list of people to be glared at.
“See,” Gillian said, tapping Rosse on his arm with her fan. “Irrational and emotional.”
“I’m nothing of the sort,” Noble snapped.
“You are, husband, just look at you! You’re sitting there scowling and growling at us, and over what? A simple stroll in the park with my cousin, son, and others.”
“You left the house by yourself, madam, without a footman or groom in attendance, and,” he said hurriedly, before Gillian could protest his statement, “you walked for some time alone with that murdering bastard.”
“If you had three Bow Street Runners following me, then I was not alone,” she said triumphantly, pleased with her logic. “So my going out to meet with Lord Carlisle was perfectly respectable.”
“That’s beside the point. You didn’t know the Runners were in attendance…”
“Yes, and I’d like to discuss that with you…”
Noble waved her objection away. “The point is, you deliberately disobeyed my commands.”
“Noble.”