“My lord?”

Noble shook the images from his head with difficulty.

“What is it?”

A footman stood at the opened door of the carriage.

“My lord, do you wish to exit the carriage?”

Noble looked closer. It was Dickon, his footman. They were home.

“Ah, yes, indeed.” Home. What a sweet word. Home and Gillian. Gillian at home. Gillian at home, in his bed.

“My lord?”

“One moment. Her ladyship is resting.”

He waited until Dickon stepped away from the door, then kissed Gillian awake.

“Come, my dear, you are tired and need your rest.”

“I’m not really that tired.” Gillian yawned. Noble smiled to himself. She would be tired, oh yes, very, very tired indeed by the time he was through celebrating with her.

He helped her down the steps of the carriage and, giving in to a carefree, wild impulse, swept her up into his arms.

“Noble! What on earth are you doing? I’m quite capable of walking, I assure you,” Gillian protested, blushing at his actions in front of the servants and a passing carriage.

He smiled down at her and was starting for the three steps leading up to the front door when a loud noise shattered the calm of the evening. A sharp explosion echoed off the side of the house, followed immediately by the wild clatter of hooves as a small passing carriage suddenly raced away from them, the horses whipped to a gallop.

“What…”

Noble’s mind snapped into sharp focus. He set down Gillian and hastily conducted a check of her person, then turned to instruct the coachman to follow the carriage from which the shots had been fired, but it was too late. Tremayne was on the ground, coming toward them, having recognized the sound for what it was.

“Noble, what was that? Surely not a rifle shot.”

“Pistol, my dear,” he said grimly and waved Tremayne back to the carriage, ignoring the burning in his upper arm. “Follow him, you fool! Are you armed?”

“Aye, m’lord.” Tremayne nodded and, leaping back into Noble’s carriage, snatched the reins from the groom and set off after the culprits.

“Noble, you’ve been shot!”

His arms were suddenly full of wife, her hands checking over him as he had done moments before to her. “I think it’s just your arm. Oh, my dear sweet Noble, let me help you in. Crouch! Crouch, send someone for a doctor. Dickon, help his lordship up the stairs. Charles, tell the kitchen I will need plenty of hot water. Good lord, Noble, put me down this instant, you’ve been shot and you shouldn’t be straining your wound!”

Noble ignored her orders and carried her up the stairs to her bedchamber, then deposited her on the chaise. “It’s not serious, madam. Tremayne will take care of it for me. Now have your bath and I shall see you as soon as this incident has been dealt with.”

Gillian stared in surprise as her husband stalked out of the room as if nothing untoward had occurred, but soon rallied her wits enough to supervise Tremayne Three and Crouch in the care of Noble’s wound. She was pleased to see that it was minor, just barely penetrating the outer edge of his arm.