“Ah, well, a bit of information there, as it turns out. Mariah, your Mariah, or rather, formerly your Mariah, has been seen in the company of Sunderland.”

One of Noble’s sable brows arched. “Really? I hadn’t imagined he would be interested in her.”

Rosse nodded. “It surprised me too. Rumors are that he prefers his women a bit more…masculine.”

“To say the least,” murmured Noble.

“Sunderland?” Sir Hugh asked, a look of confusion crossing his face. “The Duke of Sunderland? What has he to do with your mistress?”

“That is the question, is it not?” Noble said, setting his glass down and stretching his arms high over his head. He still felt drained, but it was an extremely pleasing sensation.

“You forget, Tolly, Sunderland is a cousin of Noble’s. Spent some time with him at Nethercote, or don’t you remember that? Ah, but that was before your time.”

“I’m not that much younger than you,” Sir Hugh replied with an angry glance at the marquis. “I remember Sunderland.”

“No other word on the matter I wrote you about this morning, Harry?”

Rosse shook his head. “Impossible to trace.”

“Other matter?” Sir Hugh asked, clearly peevish about being left out.

Noble gave him a quick accounting of the evening’s shooting, and told Rosse that he had his Bow Street Runners in place.

“Excellent,” Rosse responded and rose with the others as they started off for the dining room. “With that much protection, I’m sure you need not worry about either Gillian’s or Nick’s welfare.”

One of the footmen presented Noble with a note on a silver tray as they were about to enter the dining room. He paused for a moment to read it, and then swore loudly.

Rosse turned back, watching silently as Noble questioned the footman. The man repeatedly shook his head and tried to back away from the enraged earl, but Noble was clearly bent on gleaning what information he could. Finally the man made his escape.

Rosse raised his brows as Noble turned back to his friends. “Trouble?”

Noble said nothing but ground his teeth together as he handed the note to his friend. Sir Hugh leaned in to read the note.

Rosse whistled softly. “This fellow’s really going for blood now, isn’t he?”

Sir Hugh frowned. “I’m sure it’s all nonsense. Why would anyone have wanted to shoot Lady Weston? Unless…”

Noble snatched the note back from Rosse’s hand. “There is no ‘unless’ about it. No one would have cause to hurt Gillian except as a means of hurting me.”

“Hold on now, Noble,” Sir Hugh cried as Noble spun on his heel and demanded his hat and stick. “You’re not thinking clearly; your mind is muddled. There is someone who could want to see her destroyed.”

Noble stopped so abruptly that the shorter man ran into his back. “Who?” he ground out, not bothering to turn around.

Sir Hugh danced to the side. “If you just apply your mind to the matter, I’m sure it will become clear, Noble. There’s only one man—or at least there’s only one at this point—with whom your wife has been disporting herse—”