“As you wish, my lady.”

Gillian paused at the bottom of the steps leading up to the veranda and looked up at the warm stone of the house. “Don’t worry, Tremayne Two. I’m not giving up on him.”

“I’m eternally grateful for that, my lady.”

The two shared a brief smile, then Gillian skipped up the stairs and into the house to change into her old green velvet riding habit. A brisk ride was just what she needed to clear her head.

Four

Gillian swung her leg over the perch of the sidesaddle and slipped down to the ground in a manner reminiscent of a sack of bulldogs plunging the same distance. She stifled the groan that threatened to escape as she hobbled over to help Nick from his horse. The lad leaped down without assistance and looked about him with interest, as fresh as a daisy despite the grueling four-hour ride.

“Children,” she grumbled under her breath and handed the reins to the groom who had accompanied them on the journey.

“Nick, please use the knocker,” she instructed and, hobbling to the front steps, attempted to straighten her appearance into something resembling that of a countess. A perspiring, dusty, unkempt countess whose riding habit had an unfortunate tendency to rick up on one side, but still, Gillian reminded herself as she raised her chin and tried to summon a haughty look, a genuine countess.

“’Ere, what’s that noise yer makin’? Can’t you see the knocker’s off the ’ouse? Don’t that mean nothin’ to ye? We don’t want ye hereabouts!”

Nick, faced with a door without a knocker, had effected entrance by simply pounding on the door with his fists. He was as startled as Gillian when the door suddenly swung open and a monstrous figure appeared, one huge hand on his hip as he glowered at the three people standing before him.

God’s ten toes, the man was huge—even bigger than Noble. He was as dark as sin, with a frown that could scorch the sun, but what really worried Gillian was the strange apparatus that lay glinting against his hip.

In place of his left hand was a highly polished bright brass hook.

“Good lord, pirates have taken over the house!” Gillian yelled, snatching her son back and pushing him behind her in a protective gesture. “What have you done with Lord Weston, you reprehensible, dastardly brute? By all that’s holy, if you’ve harmed him, I’ll do you bodily injury!”

The giant’s scowl deepened. A gold hoop hanging from his ear swung gently as he shook his head at her. “I ’aven’t done nuthin’ to ’is lordship, lady, I works for ’im. Ain’t much ye could do to me, either, ’cept maybe to rabbit an’ pork me to death.”

He took a step toward her and waved the menacing hook in her face. Rabbit and pork? Why was the huge, behooked pirate meandering on about supper at a time like this?

The giant gave Gillian a look that could only be described as disgruntled. “Ain’t no one mentioned supper, missis, nor meanderin’ fer that matter, whatever that might be. If’n ye don’t want to feel the flat of me ’and on yer bottle and glass, ye’d best be quick with tellin’ me who ye is, and what ye want with ’is lordship. I don’t ’ave all day to natter with ye, no matter how fetchin’ ye are.”