Rosse wasn’t sure, but something didn’t smell right about the entire situation. So far the added men he’d put on the investigation had found nothing to justify his intuition that there was more to the matter than just McGregor. He told Noble his suspicions, anyway.

“You’ve been out of the spy game too long. Your nose has lost its sharpness,” Noble opined.

Rosse shrugged and took a sip of his friend’s excellent brandy. “Possibly. But I don’t believe so.”

Noble thought about that for a moment; then his eye caught sight of the blasted note again and his attention was fixed wholly and completely on gaining satisfaction.

“Take Gillian to the Gayfields’ tonight. I’ll meet her there later.”

Rosse looked into the hooded gray eyes of his friend, his mind quickly assimilating facts and trying to figure out Noble’s scheme. “Where will you be until then?”

“In your shadow,” Noble said grimly.

Rosse’s pale eyes blinked behind the glass in his spectacles; then enlightenment darkened them. “Ah. I believe I see. You will pretend to be away this evening, leaving the avenue open for McGregor—”

“—to attempt to seduce my wife, whereupon I’ll burst onto the scene and strangle the bastard on the spot.”

A slow smile stole over Rosse’s face. “And your wife?”

“Will believe I am still angry with her over this afternoon’s debacle.”

“A little hard on her, isn’t it?”

Noble tugged at his lower lip, then sighed. “It can’t be helped, and it will only be for a short duration. It is important that McGregor believe we are at odds, the better for him to succeed with Gillian.”

The marquis warmed his brandy between his palms and inhaled the aroma. “Do you trust her?”

Noble paused in his circuit around the desk. “To not betray me with McGregor? Yes, I do. I’ve—” He picked up the paintbrush on his desk, his fingers running over the softness of the sable brush. As soft as that was, Gillian’s hair was a thousand times silkier. “I’ve treated her poorly, Harry, and I intend to make up for that, but first I must deal with these incessant threats and attempts to drive us apart.”

“I wondered if you had seen that,” Rosse commented mildly.

“Seen what?”

“That the nature of the threats had changed from blackmailing you to promising harm to your wife and now to a blatant attempt to instill distrust and discord in your marriage.”

Noble sat down suddenly. “McGregor’s mad.”

“Possibly. But I think it goes further than just McGregor’s attempts at obtaining justice for Elizabeth. This strikes me as an attempt to destroy you personally as well as socially.”

“Personally?”

“I think, my friend,” Rosse said as he stood and strolled to the window to look at the street beyond, “I think it is a good idea that you have sought additional protection. I fear you are going to need it.”

What Rosse hadn’t told his friend was that he himself had hired two more men with the sole purpose of following the earl and his countess. One of the men was even now in attendance at Lady Gayfield’s, in the guise of a hired footman. The other had been given an invitation to the rout, procured at no small social cost to Rosse, and was in attendance at the party. Rosse went over his plans again, satisfied he had done all he could to protect his friend and his lovely lady.