He patted his waistcoat pocket with his hook. “Aye, m’lady, all’s taken care of there, but I’m worryin’ what I’ll do if the murderin’ bastard doesn’t show up.”

Gillian’s smile brightened up the dark room. “He’ll show up. He’s been wanting to save me…well, now he’ll have his chance.”

“It’s a right devilish mind ye’ve got yerself there, mistress.” Crouch saluted her with his hook. “I’m thinkin’ ’is lordship, once ’e gets over being drugged, will thank ye.”

“I wish you were right,” Gillian said, her smile fading. “But I fear he’s simply going to be too angry to see much reason for a while. Oh, well, there’s just no helping it. If those two men intend on acting like stubborn little children and refuse to be reasonable, we’ll just treat them as children and do what’s best for them.”

The rumble of masculine voices made its way up the stairs.

“Must be Lord Rosse leavin’ ’is lordship,” Crouch said as Gillian pushed him toward the back stairs.

“Then go, and Godspeed, Crouch.”

“And to you, m’lady.”

The two conspirators grinned at one another, then separated—Crouch down the backstairs, and Gillian skimming up the staircase to her bedchamber. She hugged the bottle tightly to her chest, planning just exactly how she would slip the liquid into a bit of brandy. Crouch had warned her about putting too much in brandy, since the liquor would accelerate the effects of the drug, so she had to make certain Noble didn’t drink too much…just enough to guarantee he’d sleep through the dawn.

“That should take care of the Lord of Pigheadedness,” she muttered a few minutes later as she entered her room and looked around for a spot in which to hide the bottle. As she walked toward the wardrobe, a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye had her gasping and stumbling backward in surprise. A small, thin figure unfolded itself from the corner and stood hesitant in the candlelight.

“Nick? Is that you? Is something wrong?” Gillian started toward the slight figure but rocked backward when he threw himself against her.

“Oh, Nick, my darling, did you have a nightmare?” Gillian wrapped her arms around the boy and swayed gently with him while he heaved huge sobs into her chest. She murmured soothing words and brushed the dark locks back from his forehead until the weeping lessened in intensity. “It’s all right, my love. I’m right here, and nothing can hurt you now.”

“But…if Papa sends you away…”

Gillian stared down into the tearstained face and blinked in surprise. Nick was talking? Now? Why? His thin little body shook against her as she held him. First things first, she told herself, and with an arm around the lad, sat down with him on her bed. “Your papa’s not going to send me away, Nick. You’re worrying about nothing. Now tell me.” She handed him a handkerchief. “Did you have a nightmare?”

He nodded and blew his nose, then tried to hand the handkerchief back. “Er…no, you keep it,” she said as she smoothed a hand over his hair. “Do you want to tell me about the dream? Sometimes it helps make it seem less frightening if you can talk about it.”