“I had to drug you,” she started to explain, then threw up her hands, muttered something about him not understanding, and, turning, bolted out of the library. Noble stared at the spot where she had been standing, trying to grasp this miracle she had worked; then her words sank in. Nick had spoken about that night?

He passed her on the first flight of stairs, racing up to the second floor, where Nick’s rooms were. If Nick was remembering the facts of that night, he needed more than just simple reassurance—he needed every ounce of love his father could give him. As Noble leaped up the last few stairs he sent a prayer of heartfelt gratitude that God had sent him Gillian. Without her, he wouldn’t have learned how to love again.

He paused in the doorway to Nick’s room, sick with the thought of what he would find. His son, his innocent little boy, exposed to horrors Noble fervently hoped he’d never understand, events so traumatic that it had stripped him of speech. He stood with his hand on the doorknob, willing himself to enter the room and face the boy who fought his devils just as fiercely as Noble fought his own.

“He needs you, Noble,” Gillian said softly behind him.

Noble nodded, still unable to open the door. Gillian leaned into him for a moment, then put her hand on his and waited. Noble took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Nick leaped up from the window seat and stared at his father. Noble’s silver-eyed gaze held that of his son for a brief minute, then the boy was flying across the room crying, “Papa!”

Gillian smiled even as she wiped discreetly at the tears that overflowed at the sight of Noble sitting with his son on his lap, the boy sobbing into his chest, reliving once again that horrible night. She met her husband’s eyes briefly, then slipped out of the room with Rogerson.

“He’ll be better now, ma’am,” the tutor reassured her.

“They both will,” Gillian responded, dabbing at the last few tears. “They’ve learned how to climb walls, I think.”

“Walls, my lady? I don’t understand.”

Gillian beamed at him as she started down the hall. “It doesn’t matter, Rogerson. They understand.”

***

“Good lord, man, you look like death warmed over. No man looks like that who’s spent the night worshipping at the feet of his lovely bride; therefore you must have drunk yourself silly instead. Noble, my boy, we really must have a talk one of these days.”

“My lovely bride,” Noble said as he settled himself across from Lord Rosse, “drugged me last night so I couldn’t attend my dawn appointment.”

Rosse stared at him. “You didn’t tell her you’d apologized and called it off?”

Noble explained about Gillian’s plan to save both his and Carlisle’s honor. Rosse laughed over the tale until he realized that his friend was looking even more grim than before, if that was possible, which he would have doubted had he not been looking at proof.