Gillian waited as long as she could, watching a gilt ormolu clock nervously, but there was nothing for it but to go upstairs by herself. Charlotte was still engaged in the dance with her divine viscount, and nothing was going to pull her from that sort of an opportunity.

Gillian toyed with the idea of asking a footman to accompany her but had a much better idea. She looked around for a servant, noticed a short, burly footman just behind her, and signaled to him.

“Madam?”

“I am feeling unwell, and Lady Gayfield has suggested I rest quietly for a few moments in a bedchamber upstairs. The third one on the left, second floor. I would like a maid sent to attend me.”

The footman looked startled but murmured his compliance and left to carry out her instructions. She uncrossed her fingers and, feeling pleased with her cleverness, hurried toward the staircase.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor, popped her head around the corner to make sure there was no one in the hallway, and scurried down, counting doors. “One, two, ah, here it is.”

She slipped into the room and was surprised to find it empty, although several tapers had been lit. There was a large bed with blue and gold bed-curtains, several pieces of mahogany furniture, a love seat against a far wall, a screen with embroidered peacocks, and a large painting reminiscent of Botticelli’s Venus. Gillian looked at the painting closely. Was that cherub doing what she thought he was doing?

“I believe that’s by Smollett,” said a voice from the other side of the room. Gillian spun around and clutched her throat, then relaxed when she saw Lord Carlisle leaning negligently against the wall next to a wardrobe.

“You gave me quite a start, my lord, but I am pleased you are still here. I was detained and feared you would leave before I could meet with you.”

“And deny myself the pleasure of a few stolen moments in your exquisite company, madam?” Lord Carlisle strolled into the room and grasped Gillian’s hand in both of his, and brought it to his mouth. “I could not leave without gazing just once more into those deep, entrancing pools of emerald.”

He kept his gaze locked on Gillian’s as he turned her hand over and kissed her palm.

Gillian leaned closer. “You’re very good, my lord, but not nearly as good as my husband.”

The smile that had been playing around the earl’s manly lips suddenly evaporated. He dropped her hand with a sigh.

“Well, it cannot be said that I did not try.”

“No,” Gillian laughed, “you did try. I’m sorry, my lord, but I do not wish to have an affair with you; I merely wish to know what it is you wanted to tell me about Noble, and to discuss this silly duel.”

Carlisle said nothing for a moment, his black eyes somber. “Madam, will you accept advice from one who has known you but a short while?”