Noble Intentions n-1 Read online

  “In order for your life to become the calm, enjoyable existence that I know you long for,” he continued in a gritty voice, his jaw tense and tight, “you must abide by my rules and not question them. Through me, you will gain control over your life and will no longer be subject to such unpleasant experiences as you have encountered since I have known you. You are undisciplined, wife, but not beyond hope of redemption.”

  Nick went to stand beside Gillian. She turned and put an arm around his shoulders, pulling the jacket up even higher. The breeches did nothing to hide the sweet outline of her derriere. In fact, Noble thought with a rising sense of panic, they enhanced it. Not even the vision of his son clutched to her side could stop the memory of just how warm that backside had felt nestled against him intimately when he had woken that morning, nor how he had been possessed to waken his bride by means that would guarantee to keep a smile on her face all day. Two pairs of eyes leveled seriously upon him suddenly drove home the point that he was lecturing his wife while stretched out nude, manacled to a bed. “Gillian, the key.”

  Gillian took the key from her stepson. “I have one or two questions, if you please, Noble.”

  “Release me and I will be happy to answer all of them.” Gillian nodded and reached toward his feet, but instead of unlocking the shackle, she idly stroked the top of his foot instead.

  “It’s about this concept of order you have.” Her brow wrinkled as she puzzled it out. “I do not think I understand it fully. When you say chaos, do you refer to those little surprises that make life so very interesting?”

  Her fingers ran from the top of his ankle down the slope to his toes. He doubted that she even knew she was touching him. Noble had never before thought of the foot as anything but a useful appendage, but a thousand nerves he did not know he possessed jumped to life and pulsated under Gillian’s magic fingers. He laid his head back and groaned. He heard his wife gasp as she suddenly clutched his foot.

  “Noble — that part of you. The broken part. It’s moving!” It took every bit of willpower, but he didn’t look, nor did he meet his son’s eyes. Instead he kept his voice calm and level and thought of the affects of the bubonic plague on the human body.

  “Gillian, unlock the blasted shackles.” His voice sounded thick with strain.

  “But — are you sure all is well? I believe the damage to your…part…is causing a delayed reaction. One moment you’re swelling, and the next you’re deflating. You cannot tell me that is right.”

  He kept his eyes closed. He didn’t have the energy to explain the whys and wherefores of male anatomy to her. Not now, when his head was throbbing, his arms were aching, and his foot was on fire.

  “The key, Gillian?”

  She gave his nether regions one last wary look, as if she wouldn’t be surprised to see that part of him stand up and dance. “I am trying to understand you, Noble, truly I am. If you could just answer my question about what you mean by chaos…”

  His head snapped up as he shot her a blistering look. “Will you release me if I do?”

  Her eyes widened in innocence. “Of course, my dearest.”

  “Then the answer is yes, wife, those little surprises, as you erroneously call them, are what make your life so hectic and chaotic. No other lady of my acquaintance would leap off a moving phaeton in order to comfort a thieving street urchin.”

  “But—”

  “Nor do I know anyone who has set fire to a house while they attended a ball.”

  “That was the merest of accidents—”

  “You startled my horses, injuring my tiger.”

  “One of them was limping! I was just trying to show you that the horse must have had a rock in its shoe.”

  Noble grunted in disbelief. “And the day we become betrothed?”

  Gillian’s expression took on a pouting appearance. “That was yet another accident.”

  “You wanted me to kiss you. If you had acted with control and indicated such in a discreet manner, I would have been happy to oblige you. The trouble with you, Gillian, is that you indulge yourself in every ludicrous scheme and thought that passes through your head.”

  “Noble.”

  “If you would learn to deal with things in a calm, organized manner, you would be well rewarded, wife, with serenity and tranquillity.”

  “Noble—”

  “You are young yet, despite your years, so I will not make a point of your headstrong nature and heedless manner of flinging yourself through life. You do not know better. Your upbringing is to blame, of course. It will be my pleasure to instruct you in the joys of a well-ordered, temperate life.”

  “Noble!”

  “What?” He was annoyed at her interruption. Didn’t she understand that he was trying to help her organize her life into something satisfactory?

  “I am not the one chained naked to my mistress’s bed with a broken man part.”

  “It’s not broken!” he bellowed, glaring at her. She returned his look with one of utter disbelief as she stared pointedly at the part of his body in question. Noble felt her heated gaze as if she was touching him.

  “There, you see, that part of you is swelling again. I’m going to find some cold water. A compress is what you need now.” She started for the door, but his bellow of outrage drew her back. As she unlocked the manacles he tried to reassure her that nothing was broken, and with a frown at his son, promised to explain the situation at a more appropriate time.

  Five minutes later Noble rubbed the feeling back into his wrists as Gillian and Nick examined the tall wardrobe. It was empty, as were the bureau drawers.

  Ten minutes later he stormed naked up and down the long, darkened hallway with one branch of candles in his hand, scattering orders and expletives behind him as Gillian and Nick scurried from room to room in search of clothing.

  Fifteen minutes later the hack driver got the surprise of his life when a furious man emerged from the house clad in nothing but a bedsheet draped around his massive frame, followed by the woman dressed in boy’s clothing and the dark lad who looked as if he was trying hard not to laugh.

  “You! Take us home! Now!” the sheet-clad man ordered in a plummy voice that brooked no opposition. The driver considered voicing his admiration of the bedsheet knotted into a bow on the man’s left shoulder, but one glare from the man’s piercing gray eyes killed that idea. Despite his unusual apparel, the tight, grim line of the man’s mouth, not to mention the muscles that bulged and rippled across the bared portion of his broad chest, bespoke unwillingness on the gentleman’s part to engage in a little friendly ragging.

  “Bloody queer toffs,” the driver huffed to himself and, touching the horse with his whip, set off through the warm night.

  Noble continued to mutter rude things under his breath during the ride to his town house. Every lurch of the poorly sprung hack made his head throb worse. It felt as if someone were sitting on his shoulders, using his head for an anvil. He wanted nothing more than to lie down with his head in Gillian’s lap and let her trail her long, cool fingers over his aching head. How had he come to this? he wondered idly as he watched his wife through narrowed eyes. Wanting — no, needing—a woman’s touch. He shied away from the blossoming suspicion, but honesty compelled that he recognize the existence of the uncomfortably restricting feeling that banded about his chest for what it was.

  His desire for his wife went beyond the purely physical.

  Nobel was disgusted with himself. He had never sought anything but physical relief from a woman. Had he not learned from Elizabeth that to allow anything more led only to deep, bone-searing pain? God knew, the lessons learned at her feet were enough to turn a man away from women altogether. Women were not to be trusted, no matter how demure they looked, no matter how innocent and naïve and wholesome they appeared even when wearing the clothes of a servant. No, he might be weak enough to secretly yearn for more than he ought, but he would not let that weakness control his life. There was comfort in an ordered and structure
d life. He had learned years ago how to beat down those feelings of need, the desire for succor, the best-forgotten longing to be cherished and loved. He would not let those unwelcome emotions flare to life again, no matter how tempting he found his wife.

  “Does your head hurt, Noble?”

  The words were softly spoken, but they seemed to hang in the evening air for a moment, before melting and blanketing Noble in a warm glow. His jaw worked, but he could not get the words of denial past his lips.

  Gillian slid across from the opposite seat and gently drew him toward her puny woman’s shoulder. Noble thought briefly of pushing her away. He knew it was the sheerest folly to allow himself into a situation where a woman offered more than mere physical release, but her touch was as gentle as her words. With one small hand she pulled him down until he was lying back drunkenly across the seat, his head cradled against her breasts. God’s knees, but she smelled good, even wearing his boots’ clothes.

  Gillian murmured tenderly to him as she stroked his head. Odd, but her touch seemed to make the pounding in his temples lessen. Noble knew he should be lecturing his unruly wife on the dangerous nature of London at night. He knew he should forbid her to ever leave his house again without several footmen in attendance. He knew he should interrogate her as to her reasons for following him to town when he had purposely left her at Nethercote. He knew all of this, but for the first time since he had been so brutally betrayed by Elizabeth, he told the righteous side of his conscience to get nobbled.

  Gillian knew the moment Noble stopped fighting his inner demons. His head lay heavy on her bosom, but she reveled in its weight, in their closeness, and in his trust. Lightly she stroked her husband’s dark hair and marveled that such a man — such a domineering, overpowering, large man — should have hair that felt like silk slipping through her fingers. The finest rich brown silk, shot through with threads of walnut and occasional silver. Noble sighed as she delicately traced the contours of his brow and let her fingers trail down to the angular plane of his cheek. His skin was rough with stubble, a strangely pleasing texture that seemed to set her fingers afire. She stroked past the indentation in his chin that never failed to thrill her and followed his jaw line up to the sensitive spot behind the back of his ear. The black crescents of eyelashes — surely there must be a law against a man possessing such long, thick eyelashes — fluttered briefly but remained resting on the tanned skin of his cheek. Her fingers followed the path of his cheekbone to a swelling near his temple. Prodding the area with a gentle touch, Gillian breathed a sigh of relief when it became apparent the wound was not a serious one.

  Taking advantage of the Lord of Bliss’s unexpected acquiescence, Gillian explored her husband’s face to her satisfaction. She looked up once, when the hack bumped across a hole in the road, to find her stepson’s bright eyes watching her.

  What had Nick thought when he saw his father powerless, his vulnerability — among other things — exposed? It had to be a felling blow to a boy who worshipped his father, but he didn’t express any emotion or misbehave in an attempt to garner attention, as Gillian’s brothers always had. He simply watched them with an uncanny silence and an expressionless face. Gillian suddenly felt a chilling sense of sadness for her two men — Noble was trying so hard to deny his need for affection, and his son was following his path to self-control and denial. If she didn’t step in and put an end to the intolerable situation, soon it would be too late and both would be lost to her. Gillian’s fingers tightened around a fistful of Noble’s hair. She had no intention of letting that happen.

  A soft snore drew her attention down to the smooth lines of her husband’s face. An unaccountable pricking behind her eyes surprised her; Noble looked so young, so untroubled as he slept resting against her. A fierce wave of possessiveness washed over her as she watched him sleep. Mine, she thought. He’s mine and I won’t let anyone hurt him again — either of them, she amended, glancing across the carriage to where Nick leaned in the corner, his eyes closed. A fire burned in her breast as she made a vow on the happiness of those most dear to her. If Noble wanted an uncomplicated, structured life, he would have one. From that moment on, Gillian was going to ensure that her lord was going to be happier than he thought possible. Their life was going to be one of peace and serenity, or by God, she’d know the reason why.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Their life was pandemonium and turmoil. Gillian’s determination for a quiescent life flew out the window with a rare Chinese vase. Unfortunately, the window was closed at the time the vase was sent on its way; even more unfortunately, the hired hack had just pulled up before Noble’s town house when the delicate china hit the cobblestones before them and exploded with a noise that startled the horse into rearing and almost tipping the carriage.

  Gillian and Nick clutched the squabs as the driver calmed the horse and the hack settled back onto its wheels. Gillian said a little prayer that Noble did not wake up when, just as the driver was climbing down from his perch, the door to the house opened and several men spilled out onto the sidewalk, screaming and pummeling one another. Gillian shifted Noble’s head slightly to get a better look at the sight of the two butlers trying to throttle each other. As Crouch was a good foot and a half taller and several stone heavier than him, Tremayne Two wasn’t having much luck getting a firm grip on his associate’s neck.

  Dancing around the pair was the small round form of Devereaux, who was evidently championing Crouch as he urged the pirate on to further violence. Gillian made a mental note to have a word with Devereaux about his proclivity to brutality, and pulled Nick back from where he was in danger of falling out of the hack’s window.

  Behind Tremayne Two was another Tremayne, attempting to pull his brother from the giant by means of what appeared to be a fire iron. But Two stuck to the man like a burr to a particularly hairy Shetland pony. A roar ripped through the night, and the third Tremayne — One or Three, Gillian wasn’t sure which — suddenly leaped from the top of the steps and flung himself onto the grappling men. The mate to the shattered window opened and two housemaids leaned out to yell advice as the clutch of four men swayed, then fell to the ground and rolled around like a pack of demented hedgehogs, arms and legs bristling everywhere as the foursome tried to tear each other apart.

  Things quickly deteriorated after that.

  The three Tremaynes stopped trying to kill one another only after Noble leaped from the hack, roaring his displeasure at the foursome. Gillian wasn’t sure if it was the volume and impressive string of invectives that sprang from Noble’s lips or whether it was the sight of their huge, scowling employer clad in a white bedsheet that affected the men. She suspected from the stunned looks and open mouths that it was the latter but had no chance to verify her suspicion before Noble, with a powerful flick of his wrists, tossed a few of his employees aside, then stalked stiffly into the house.

  “I do believe it was the bedsheet after all,” she mused some two hours later as she sat propped up in her husband’s bed, watching him pace the floor before the fireplace. “Crouch commented on how lovely the bow at your shoulder was, while Tremaynes Two and Three just stared at you as if you had suddenly sprouted toadstools on your head.”

  Her words had an immediate effect. He stopped in mid-pace, spun around to face her, and gave her a look that would do Medusa proud. Gillian cautiously moved her legs to make sure they hadn’t been turned to stone. “On the other hand, both Tremayne One — at least I think it was One, it is so difficult to tell them apart, perhaps we can affix upon them some sort of identifying mark — both Tremayne One and Mr. Devereaux seemed to take your unconventional apparel in the best of spirits.”

  Noble’s admirable body stiffened. The pulse beating wildly in the side of his neck was clearly visible from across his bedchamber. It was shameful, Gillian chastised herself. The poor man had been through a terrible evening, and she was clearly not doing her duty by offering solace and comfort. It was, after all, her job to help him relax so he coul
d forget his troubles and enjoy his tranquil and serene home. Gillian blinked back a tender tear at the thought of his travails, and proceeded to buoy his foul mood.

  “When I say good spirits, my dear, I do not mean they were laughing at you,” she reassured him. If possible, his silence and accompanying scowl grew even stonier. “Although I must admit they were laughing, but I’m sure it was not at you, but rather with you, if you see what I mean.”

  It was obvious he didn’t share her perceptions. It was also evident that at that moment he was hard put to keep from strangling her. Since she wanted to have more than just one night of wedded bliss, Gillian decided not to press the point further. She would ask him in the morning, once he possessed a less belligerent attitude, who wished him ill. He would no doubt be happy she was so interested in his well-being and would, despite his earlier statement, be forthcoming with the whos and whys that so consumed her with curiosity. She smiled sweetly at the choked, guttural noises Noble was making in response to her buoying attempt. He was obviously overcome with gratitude for her tender solicitation.

  “Madam.” Noble finally got his jaw unclenched long enough to speak. “You will have the decency to never mention the blasted bedsheet within my hearing! For that matter, you will not, under any provocation, refer to this evening again. You will forget about the entire day. Cast it from your thoughts. Wipe it from your memory. I do not wish to ever again be reminded of the humiliating events that have made up one of the most miserable days of my blighted existence.”

  Visions of the well-muscled, masculine, shackled form of her very naked husband danced before her eyes. She had serious doubts as to her ability to obliterate such a fascinating image. She had doubts as to whether she ever wanted to. Weighing his command to forget the image against a lifetime without that particular entry in her mental picture library offered little difficulty. The infuriated male before her in battle stance, however, his legs braced apart, his hands fisted on his hips, clearly indicated that outright refusal of obedience was not an option.