“There, you see, that part of you is swelling again. I’m going to find some cold water. A compress is what you need now.” She started for the door, but his bellow of outrage drew her back. As she unlocked the manacles he tried to reassure her that nothing was broken, and with a frown at his son, promised to explain the situation at a more appropriate time.

Five minutes later Noble rubbed the feeling back into his wrists as Gillian and Nick examined the tall wardrobe. It was empty, as were the bureau drawers.

Ten minutes later he stormed naked up and down the long, darkened hallway with one branch of candles in his hand, scattering orders and expletives behind him as Gillian and Nick scurried from room to room in search of clothing.

Fifteen minutes later the hack driver got the surprise of his life when a furious man emerged from the house clad in nothing but a bedsheet draped around his massive frame, followed by the woman dressed in boy’s clothing and the dark lad who looked as if he was trying hard not to laugh.

“You! Take us home! Now!” the sheet-clad man ordered in a plummy voice that brooked no opposition. The driver considered voicing his admiration of the bedsheet knotted into a bow on the man’s left shoulder, but one glare from the man’s piercing gray eyes killed that idea. Despite his unusual apparel, the tight, grim line of the man’s mouth, not to mention the muscles that bulged and rippled across the bared portion of his broad chest, bespoke unwillingness on the gentleman’s part to engage in a little friendly ragging.

“Bloody queer toffs,” the driver huffed to himself and, touching the horse with his whip, set off through the warm night.

Noble continued to mutter rude things under his breath during the ride to his town house. Every lurch of the poorly sprung hack made his head throb worse. It felt as if someone were sitting on his shoulders, using his head for an anvil. He wanted nothing more than to lie down with his head in Gillian’s lap and let her trail her long, cool fingers over his aching head. How had he come to this? he wondered idly as he watched his wife through narrowed eyes. Wanting—no, needing—a woman’s touch. He shied away from the blossoming suspicion, but honesty compelled that he recognize the existence of the uncomfortably restricting feeling that banded about his chest for what it was.

His desire for his wife went beyond the purely physical.

Noble was disgusted with himself. He had never sought anything but physical relief from a woman. Had he not learned from Elizabeth that to allow anything more led only to deep, bone-searing pain? God knew, the lessons learned at her feet were enough to turn a man away from women altogether. Women were not to be trusted, no matter how demure they looked, no matter how innocent and naive and wholesome they appeared even when wearing the clothes of a servant. No, he might be weak enough to secretly yearn for more than he ought, but he would not let that weakness control his life. There was comfort in an ordered and structured life. He had learned years ago how to beat down those feelings of need, the desire for succor, the best-forgotten longing to be cherished and loved. He would not let those unwelcome emotions flare to life again, no matter how tempting he found his wife.