Gillian continued to stroke his chest, heedless of the icy grip of torment that was creeping over her husband. It was true she could melt the ice encasing his soul with her passion, Noble thought as the pain from her betrayal seared a bloodless wound deep into his heart, but she could also be a thousand times colder than Elizabeth ever had been.

“If you would just tell me, Noble. Who is it you suspect? Who would do such a thing to you? Who knew where your mistress lived? Why would someone target you in such a way?”

“If you are quite through, madam…” The words fell from his lips with chilly formality. Briskly he pushed her away and fumbled with his breech buttons, his fingers numb with cold and fury. “I have work I wish to do. Your attentions, although welcome, are unnecessary to procure my permission for Nicholas to accompany you. The next time you seek such permission you might just ask me first.”

Gillian paused in the act of righting her gown, feeling as if she had just been slapped. She stared at Noble, stunned and shocked by the frigid tone of her husband’s voice. What had happened? Just a few minutes ago he had been whispering the most erotic, passionate words in her ear, praising her, thanking her, shouting out her name when their souls twined together in one blinding moment of ecstasy. What had happened to take that warm, lovely, loving man and change him into this cold automaton? She fought back the tears that threatened to choke her and finished arranging her gown, wondering all the while if she could explain to him the effect he had on her. Perhaps if she could, he would understand.

“Noble,” she said a moment later and reached out to touch him. Her hand froze in midair as he flinched away from her. She couldn’t keep the tears back then. They welled up and spilled over as she choked out an apology, then ran from the room. What had she to do to banish the ghost of Elizabeth? Why couldn’t Noble give her a chance? Wasn’t there room in his heart for them both? Was she doomed to receive only the adoration of his body, but not his soul? She rushed blindly for the sanctuary of her bedchamber.

Nick watched his stepmother race past him on the stairs. She was crying and hadn’t even noticed him. His shoulders slumped a little lower as he sat down on the step. Had it already begun, then? Had she started to hate him the way his other mother had? He went over a list of his actions in his head—no, there was nothing there that would upset her, nothing that would give her cause to hate him as the other one had. He had been very careful ever since she had come into his life a few days before—he liked her and wanted her to like him. He had made a mental promise to be good, but maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe she would turn away from him as his other mother had. He didn’t think he could bear that.