“Here, let me have him, you’re doing more damage than good,” Rosse said, pulling the man out of his enraged friend’s hands.

“Where has your master gone? Is he upstairs? Is he in the house? Where is he?”

The man blanched and shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know where the master is.”

“Liar!” Noble snarled. Picking the man up, he threw him out one of the windows next to the door. “You!” He pointed at the slight figure of an obviously terrified footman. “If you don’t want to join your friend there, tell me where to find your master.”

The footman stared with an open mouth at the broken window, swallowed hard, and pointed upward. “Second floor, my lord. Last room on the left.”

Noble and Rosse were up the stairs before John Coachman and Nick even entered the house.

Noble’s mind was empty of all thoughts but of saving his Gillian. As his foot hit the top stair, a scream ripped through the air, rending Noble’s heart in two. He snarled vicious threats as he charged down the corridor, Rosse hard on his heels.

“Here,” he bellowed and, trying the doorknob, began to throw himself against the door.

“Noble, stop a moment,” Rosse pleaded. “Stop a moment before you knock yourself silly.”

“Gillian…scream…in there…” Noble panted as he threw himself again and again at the door.

“Look at the door, man, it must be at least five inches thick. You can’t break it down.” He grabbed Noble and shook him until his eyes lost the panicked look. “You can’t break it down, but there has to be another way into the room.”

Noble stared at his friend, his chest heaving, his eyes clouded with tears. “He’s hurting her, Harry.”

“I know. We’ll get her out, but you have to use your head.”

Noble froze for a moment, anguish written into every line of his face; then suddenly he spun around and raced down the darkened hallway.

Rosse watched him for a moment before turning his attention to the lock. He fiddled with it to no avail. Perhaps they would have to break down the door after all. If so, they would certainly need something stronger than brute strength.

***

Gillian had discovered quite early on that her screams gave great pleasure to Sir Hugh, and a pleased Sir Hugh was a Sir Hugh who did not hover over her with that wicked-looking knife, threatening to do all sorts of unspeakable things to her. He had already carefully sliced off her gown and was now taking enormous pleasure out of cutting great chunks of her shift off as well. She knew Noble would save her, but she hoped he’d hurry. She was quickly running out of shift, and her attempt to delay the baronet with talk was not meeting with great success.

“Sir Hugh, won’t you tell me, please, why you are doing this? I understand you think Noble has done you a wrong…”

“Noble,” Sir Hugh growled and waved the knife uncomfortably close to her face. “Your dear husband. Ah, Elizabeth, if only you’d chosen me, but I was a mere baronet and not worthy of you, was I?”