“Thank you, Devereaux, I also trust it will not be needed for a long time.” He and his man of affairs watched as Tremayne witnessed the document. Then Noble glanced at the clock and stretched as he stood. “I believe I will retire for a few hours before I am due to leave.”

“Good night, my lord.”

“Good night.” Noble took the stairs two at a time. He was looking forward to spending the time before he had to leave covering as many items remaining on the list he had created for Gillian as was humanly possible. He was even looking forward to apologizing to her for trying to remove Nick from her care. Apologies did not come easy to him, but he had been wrong. The threat of taking Nick away had hurt his wife deeply.

He paused a moment as the thought snaked through him that he could die at dawn, leaving behind Gillian and Nick. Although he had every confidence in his ability with a pistol, only a fool did not feel fear when facing danger.

“If it’s to be, then so be it,” he muttered to himself as he stalked down the hallway toward his dressing room. That and other grim thoughts raced around in his mind while Tremayne removed his evening clothes. Gillian’s words from earlier in the evening haunted him.

“This duel is simply ridiculous! It is not about a slight done to me or to you,” she had said, her face flushed with anger. Noble thought her eyes were about to spit flames. “This is about your male arrogance, and Lord Carlisle’s arrogance. Neither one of you wants to admit it was a simple misunderstanding, that no insult was done to either of you, except the ones you hurled at each other so publicly in the street. Is your stupid male pride worth dying for, Noble? Is it? Do Nick and I matter so little to you that you would throw away your life on something so trivial?”

He had defended his actions with the standard response about honor, but now, as he thought of what her life would be like without him, of how Nick would grow up without a father, he admitted there was some validity to her opinion.

It was ridiculous. It was about arrogance—his arrogance and pride and nothing more. Gillian had not betrayed him with Lord Carlisle, nor, from all accounts, had Carlisle behaved in an improper manner toward her. The fault for the entire situation lay squarely upon his shoulders.

He thought about this as he splashed water on his face and chest. What was to keep him from sending an apology to Carlisle and backing away from the challenge? It could be done; it was done all the time. He would have to take a little ribbing about the situation, but that would soon die down, and the promise of endless nights lying in his wife’s arms would make even the worst ragging bearable.

Ah, those nights, he thought to himself. He wanted those nights, all of those nights with her, all of her forever. That simple realization made him breathe easier. Nodding to himself, he sat at a small writing table and wrote a note to Carlisle apologizing for his comments and accusations, then enclosed it in another to Harry, his second, with instructions to see that Carlisle received it immediately. He sent Tremayne out to rouse a footman to deliver the letter; then, satisfied that he had solved the problem in a manner that would greatly please his wife, he headed for his bedchamber to please her in other, more tangible, ways.