Gillian’s stomach contracted into a ball roughly the size of a runtish walnut. The barbarian was threatening to do some physical harm to her, of that much she was sure, even if she was confused by his sudden reference to bottles and such. Well, he certainly was due for a stern lecture about his manners with guests. She was convinced Noble had no idea his pirate was answering the door in such a surly manner.

“I am Lady Weston. Please stand aside and allow my son and me to enter our house.”

The pirate looked taken aback for a moment or two. His massive black brows actually retreated to either side of his forehead as he carefully studied Gillian, absently rubbing his jaw with the wickedly sharp end of his hook. She watched the tip of it, mesmerized. “Well, I’ll be blowed! The Duchess of Fife!”

Gillian frowned at him. Although she didn’t, as a rule, approve of employing pirates to answer one’s door, he was now a member of her staff and, as such, she was responsible for his well-being, both physical and moral. It was obvious to her that worry over his unfortunate infirmity had caused some damage to his mental state. Keeping this fact in mind, she corrected him in a gentle voice. “No, the Countess of Weston. I’m Lord Weston’s wife. Gillian, Lady Weston, to be precise.”

“That’s what I said. Yer ’is lordship’s trouble and strife.”

Gillian forgot to be mindful of his defective mental humors and bristled at the uncalled for accusation. “We’ve only been married one day, sir; I hardly feel that gives me time to be of any trouble to Lord Weston, let alone cause him strife. And whether or not I am, that is certainly none of your affair. You will cease making such ridiculous and completely unjustified judgments and allow me to pass by your large and, I regret to say, uncouth person.”

The giant looked confused. “Don’t get yerself riled up now, m’lady. I wasn’t makin’ no judgments against ye.”

“You said I was nothing but trouble and strife!”

“Aye, and ye are. Trouble and strife. Gooseberry puddin’.”

“Pudding! Did you just call me a pudding?”

“Aye, gooseberry puddin’!” The scowl was back on the pirate’s face as he shook his hook at Gillian. “Are ye daft, woman?”

Gillian took exception to his manner of debate on the front steps. This was not how she had envisioned making her entrance in her new home, in front of her new staff. “I am not the daft one here, Mr. Pirate. Will you please stop waving that thing in my face? Didn’t your mother ever teach you it was impolite to point your hook at others?”

The giant gawked at her, a dull red washing over his cheeks.

“That’s better. You should be more careful with that…that…apparatus. You could put someone’s eye out with it. Now please move aside, and then you may explain your propensity to speak in riddles.”

“Er…if I might intercede, my lady. He means you’re his lordship’s wife. Trouble and strife, gooseberry pudding, and Duchess of Fife are all popular cant used to mean wife.” A short, round man pushed the behemoth aside and bowed at what would be his waist if he weren’t shaped like an orange. “I’m Devereaux, Lady Weston, your husband’s man of affairs. Welcome to Britton House. I wasn’t aware that Lord Weston was expecting you, however I’m sure the news merely slipped his mind.”