Noble growled. “Out, damn you. Now!”

“Noble!” Gillian pushed to her husband’s side and tried to make her apologies. “Sir, I do apolo—”

“You do not. My wife does not apologize to the murdering bastard McGregor.”

The Scot dabbed at his split upper lip and grimaced in what Gillian thought was a smile. “It’s no concern of yours, my lady. I’ve received enough apologies for your husband’s behavior from the prior Lady Weston to last me a lifetime.”

With a snarled oath, Noble’s right fist shot out and caught the Scot on the chin. His head snapped back, and he would have fallen over backward but Crouch, standing behind him, grabbed him and held him up in case the earl wished to thrash him soundly.

“If you ever come near my wife again”—Noble grabbed the poor man’s cravat and hauled him over until he was just inches from his face—“I will cut out what passes for your black heart and dance the Highland fling on it.”

“You can try,” the man croaked in response, not seeming to be intimidated by Noble’s threatening countenance. Gillian gave him full marks for bravery, although she was forced to subtract a few for lack of common sense. One didn’t beard the Black Earl in this sort of a mood unless one had a death wish. “You can try, but we both know what will happen. You’ve tried to best me before, Weston, and failed. What makes you think you can do it now?”

Noble’s fingers tightened on the cravat. McGregor’s face turned red beneath the blood, and he struggled to free his arms from Crouch’s grasp.

“Now I have something worth fighting for. I warn you, McGregor, stay out of my life or prepare to forfeit your own.”

Noble released him so suddenly that the Scotsman would have hit the floor if Crouch hadn’t been holding him.

“Get rid of this rubbish, Crouch,” Noble said and turned on his heel for the library.

“Did you think I would forget so easily, Weston? Do you think I will allow you to murder another innocent woman the way you did Elizabeth? Do you think I’ll let you torture this woman the way you did your first—”

Gillian flinched when one of the Tremaynes, who was assisting Crouch help the gentleman speeler out the door, accidentally shoved his elbow in the poor man’s mouth. She made a mental note to have a talk with the staff about the manner in which they helped wounded guests down the front steps, then turned to face the library. If Noble thought he was going to let that scene pass without comment, he could just think again!

She poked her head around the door. Noble had his back to her. She was about to speak when he slammed his fist down on the desk.

Oh, dear. He didn’t even flinch, and she was sure that had to hurt. She closed the door softly and eyed the members of the staff, engaged in cleaning up the mess on the hall floor. They suddenly refused to meet her gaze and attempted, with the exception of the Tremayne sleeping on the floor, to escape her presence.