Gillian felt a little dizzy. “Then why,” she asked carefully, “are you still fighting if she slighted you all evenly?”

“That is a good question, my lady.”

Gillian waited for him to say more, but nothing else was forthcoming. “And?” she prompted.

“I’m afraid we can no longer remember.”

Gillian fought the urge to throttle him, decided not to pursue the origin of the feud, and turned back to her original question. “The gentleman speeler in the hall, Tremayne, who was he?”

“That would be Alasdair McGregor, my lady. He has recently become Lord Carlisle.”

“Yes, well, that tells me who he is, but not who he is, if you understand.”

Tremayne looked confused.

“What is his history with Lord Weston?”

Tremayne looked stubborn.

“Why is Lord Weston so angry with him?”

Tremayne looked unsure.

Gillian frowned at him and was about to speak quite harshly when he gave a little shrug and sighed. “Lord Carlisle is an old acquaintance of Lord Weston, my lady.”

“And?”

“They had a falling out five years ago.”

“Oh. A friendship gone sour?”

Tremayne grimaced. “Something along those lines, my lady. If you’ll permit me, madam, I have taken it upon myself to instruct Mr. Crouch as to the proper method of polishing a fish knife. His idea of polished would shock the feathers off a parrot.”

“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.” Gillian gnawed at her lip as Tremayne left. The Black Earl had certainly displayed a temper worthy of his name. She was quite prepared to believe he fully meant every threat he had uttered. If she had thought him cold in his manner to her earlier, she had now corrected that impression. Noble’s anger was fueled by a fire hotter than that of hell itself. Still, McGregor’s involvement with the earl was just one more thing to add to her list of items to investigate. Gillian heaved a sigh and went off to find the Lord of the Underworld.

“Noble?” She stuck her head around the library door and spoke softly. “Are you busy?”

Noble looked up from the blackmail letter that had come in the morning’s post. “I am.”

“Ah. Well, I can see you are, since you are holding a letter and what appears to be a paintbrush if I am not mistaken, but I had thought to ask you—do you paint, husband?”

Noble blinked at her. “You interrupted me to ask me if I paint?”

“Well, no, actually I interrupted you to tell you that I am off to see my cousin Charlotte, but I couldn’t help but notice the paintbrush in your hand.” Gillian stepped into the room and closed the door carefully behind her. Noble looked puzzled rather than furious, which greatly relieved her mind. “It’s rather a curious thing to have in a library, I believe. A paintbrush. Unless, of course, you paint, but as I see no easel, nor any canvas or paints, I would have to assume that if you do paint, you paint elsewhere, which, as I believe I’ve mentioned, makes it curious that you are, in fact, holding a paintbrush. Here, that is. In the library.”