He bowed and, with a polite farewell, took his leave.

“Er…Lady Weston, perhaps I should take Master Nicholas home.”

“No, it’s quite all right, Rogerson. I believe the worst is over.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Charlotte said, looking over Gillian’s shoulder.

“Why do you say that, Char?”

“Because Lord Weston is headed this way, and he doesn’t look pleased.”

Gillian spun around. It was true, her Lord of Fire was walking toward them in a manner that made her knees quake. She looked beyond him to where Lord Rosse was handing over the reins of his horse to a groom and preparing to leap over the small metal fence that lined the edge of Rotten Row.

“Well, hell,” she muttered.

Lady Caroline gasped. Charlotte looked worried and picked fretfully at Gillian’s handkerchief. Rogerson blanched at the sight of the earl’s face and prepared to spirit his charge away to safety. Gillian sighed and resigned herself to being yelled at yet again.

This time, she knew, she had no excuse to offer.

Twelve

Lord and Lady Weston were given the sobriquet of the Battling Brittons that night by Lord Rosse. Gillian truly didn’t know how he came to crown them with that title, since it was impossible to battle someone with whom you weren’t speaking. And seeing as how Noble was positively icy to her, not saying a single, solitary word after he had escorted her home from the park, nor later while she was preparing for Lady Cowper’s soiree, she felt Lord Rosse had taken liberties with the nickname.

Sitting next to the marquis, Gillian was particularly aware of her husband’s eyes glittering dangerously whenever she caught his gaze as they rode to that evening’s entertainment. After the chill that swept her the first few times she encountered his eyes, she did her best to avoid them altogether, turning her attention to the man next to her.

“Lord Rosse,” she addressed him with a smile that was somewhat frayed around the edges, “as Noble is not speaking to me, perhaps you will tell me how he came by a broken nose.”

Rosse shot his friend a pleading look. Noble ignored both it and his wife and glared out the window of the carriage as it rolled through the night.

“I believe, madam, that he acquired it at Jackson’s rooms.”

“Ah. Thank you, my lord.”

“Not at all, my lady.”

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Since my wife is behaving in a childish manner by making a point of not speaking to me, would you ask her just what the blazes she thought she was doing by ignoring my wishes and not only leaving the house but meeting with the very man I specifically forbade her to meet?”

“Ah…”

“Lord Rosse,” Gillian said with an injured sniff and a frown across at Noble, “you might, since you are being so obliging as to act in a mature and intelligent manner, unlike some people I could mention, notably the irrational, emotional, and unjust man I married, would you be so kind as to tell him that I did not agree to abide by his dictates since they were silly, unreasonable, and unfair?”