Katie MacAlister - Noble Intentions

Her nails bit hard into his shoulders and raked long lines down his back. He felt the sting of sweat on the scratches, driving him on harder and faster. A fog started to settle over his eyes, a fog of lust. He shook the fog away and focused his eyes on Gillian’s green, endlessly deep pools of emerald. She cried his name again.

“Three times,” he grunted as the fog thickened. He was panting now, panting in time to the rhythm their bodies had set, groaning with each plunge deep into Gillian’s body, gasping for air with each withdrawal. The world ceased to exist beyond the confines of their bodies. There was just Noble and Gillian and nothing else. He stretched and reached for the moment when even the two of them would no longer exist, replaced instead by the glorious being made up of their souls merged together.

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.

“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.

Gillian shivered in his arms.

Noble rallied his troops, explaining briefly to the staff that the danger to Gillian and possibly Nick had increased, and until further notice they were to maintain the utmost caution.

“No visitors, unless known to Lady Weston or myself, are to be allowed in,” he ordered as he paced before the line of servants. “No tradespeople will be allowed in the house for any reason. Likewise, servants from other houses, your personal friends and acquaintances, will be banned. Until we have the bastard responsible for the threats against Lady Weston locked away in gaol, your sole responsibility will be to see to her safety, and that of my son. Are there any questions?”

The line of footmen, butlers, and other male staff members shook their heads. Crouch raised his hook.

“Yes?”

“Eh, m’lord, what should we do if’er ladyship is desirin’ to leave the ’ouse?”

“I have informed Lady Weston that she will not leave the house except in my presence, or the presence of Lord Rosse.”

Crouch rubbed his chin with the curved part of his hook. “Beggin’ pardon, m’lord, but that didn’t stop ’er last time.”

Noble’s face was grim. “It will not happen again. Are there any other questions? No? Excellent. Is everyone armed?”

The row of men nodded. One of the footmen coughed and stepped forward.

“Yes, Dickon?”

“My lord, shouldn’t we have a watchword? Like in The Mysteries of Limehouse, where the watch captured an infamous band of pirates when they were spiriting away a group of young ladies for a sultan from a distant land, where they would be made slaves to his desire and forced to—”

“Yes, yes, I see your point, Dickon. Very well. We shall have a watchword. Any suggestions as to what it might be?”

“Testicle!” piped up Charles.

Noble frowned at him.

“ ’E means tentacle, m’lord. ’Ad ’is ’alf day yesterday and saw one of them octopantses at the zoological gardens.”

“No, I mean testicle,” argued Charles.

Noble considered his footman. “Is there any reason why you wish the watchword to be testicle, Charles?”

The young man sucked in his cheeks and bounced on the balls of his feet. “No, my lord.”

“Just like the word, do you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Noble stopped pacing in front of the footman and narrowed his eyes at him. “There’s nothing you should have told me that you haven’t, is there, Charles?”

Charles’s eyes widened. “Me, my lord?” he squeaked.

“Mmm,” Noble said, giving him a close look, then continued his pacing. “Very well, our watchword is testicle. Should you encounter someone who does not answer your cry of ‘Halt, who goes there?’ with a snappy ‘testicle,’ you will restrain him and shout for assistance.”

“A lady wouldn’t say it,” Charles said.

Noble spun around to face the interruption. “What’s that?”

“You asked me if I had a reason for choosing the word testicle, my lord. I thought of one. A lady wouldn’t say it. Therefore, any lady villains we encounter wouldn’t say the watchword.”

“Er…quite right. Are there any other questions?”

“They’d say something else,” Charles said. Noble ignored him and gazed down the line of footmen.

“Like whirlygigs,” Dickon said with a nod. “That’s what my mum used to call them.”

“Dusters,” said Crouch. “Jenny Hills. Flowers and frolics.”

“Yes, quite. Are there any—”

“Gooseberries,” said one of the Runners.

“No, they’s jingleberries, they are,” said another.

Noble rubbed his still-aching head. The pain seemed to be increasing again.

“Les accessories,” said Tremayne Two in a perfect French accent.

“Orchestra stalls,” offered Crouch.

“Twiddle-diddles. A lady would surely say twiddle-diddles,” Charles suggested, looking up as the door opened. “Oh, my lady, could you answer a question? If you were asked to say the word—”

“Charles!” Noble bellowed. “That will be all! You are dismissed, all of you.”

“If I was asked to say what word?” Gillian asked as the footmen filed out. Noble glared at the men and dared them to answer her.

“Whennymegs,” Crouch muttered as he closed the door behind him.

Gillian turned to Noble. “Whennymegs? Oh, testicles. What about them? Are yours all right, my lord?” She turned her attention to the front of Noble’s buckskins, concern writ across her face. “Did you damage them last night? You were quite enthusiastic, husband, but I thought everything looked hale and hearty this morning. Shall I check them for you?”