Gillian was waiting for him. After tucking Nick into her bed, she had disrobed, bathed her eyes, and hurried through the connecting door to have Noble’s snifter of brandy ready when he arrived. Tremayne’s voice filtered through from the attached dressing room, alerting her to Noble’s presence. She tucked her feet under her as she sat before the fire, warming the brandy. First she would get him to drink the brandy, then she would tell him about Nick.

Noble threw open the door to his bedchamber and paused dramatically, one hand on the door, the other on his heart.

“Wife!” he said in a deep voice that rumbled around Gillian in a manner that made her knees turn to water. The look in his eyes made her own widen—God’s drawers, how was she to get the brandy in him when he was wearing that look? How was she even to hand him the glass when his very glance made her tremble with anticipation?

“Noble!” she squeaked and, taking the glass in both hands, held it out to him.

“Gillian!” he answered and, raking those parts of her visible with a look that left no doubt in her mind as to his intent, he stalked toward her. Slowly. As he smiled. Gillian’s hands twitched, sloshing the brandy around inside the rounded balloon of the glass.

“Brandy?” she gasped. He didn’t even look at the glass as he plucked it from her hands and set it down on a nearby table, then turned and plucked her off the ground just as easily. Gillian blinked to find herself suddenly seated on her husband’s lap, the soft satin of his dressing gown sliding sinuously beneath her fingers.

Noble cupped her head between his hands and gazed into her eyes. “I am about to make you very happy, wife.”

Gillian squirmed against the protrusion poking her in the thigh. “Yes, I can feel that you are, you always do, Noble, but you know, I really think before you make me very happy, you ought to have a sip of brandy. It’s been a long and strenuous day, and now that you’re talking to me again, you probably need a little something to help you relax and calm your heated…uh…brain.”

She held out the brandy to him again. He took the glass and leaned down to kiss her. Gillian heard the clink of the glass striking the table just before his tongue slipped in between her lips.

“Ah, yes, my darling, moan for me,” he said against her lips. “I love it when you moan, Gillian. Your moans make my toes curl. Moan again.”

Gillian opened her eyes and looked up at her Lord of Curled Toes. “Brandy.”

He handed her the glass. “No, you must drink it,” she said quickly and pushed it at him.

“I don’t care for any; you have it,” he said, taking the glass and putting it to her lips.

“No!” she squealed and clamped her lips tight until he removed it. God’s garters, he was making it difficult to get a simple little draught inside him.