I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (13 page)

He watched in interest as Huston’s face darkened. Jamie raised a brow. It would seem that at least the viscount was not as naïve as Gisele feared.

“Thank you, Mr. Montcrief,” Julia was saying. “I am looking forward to the wedding.”

Jamie chose his words deliberately and carefully. “Well then, before marriage claims another beautiful bride, perhaps I may be so bold as to ask for the honor of this dance? That is, of course”—he looked over at Viola—“if your sister would do me the honor of the next?”

“Of course,” Huston answered for his siblings before either could respond.

Jamie held out his hand to Julia as a quadrille ended. The orchestra began another waltz.

“You look lovely this evening, Lady Julia,” Jamie said.

“Thank you, Mr. Montcrief.”

“Are you having a good time?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Montcrief.”

“Do you enjoy dancing?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Montcrief.”

Jamie fought the urge to roll his eyes.

She allowed Jamie to lead her into the first steps of the dance. Her hand felt tiny and fragile in his, so at odds with Gisele’s steady strength. She was perfectly proper and appropriately distant, and Jamie cast about for a way to crack her politesse.

“Is it a love match?” he tried.

Julia looked up at him in shock. “I beg your pardon?”

Well, that was a marked improvement
, he thought.

“Your marriage,” Jamie clarified, smiling bashfully. “It’s just that my parents married for love, and someday I hope to be able to do the same. I’m sorry if I have offended you.”

Julia smiled faintly at him and inclined her head. “Then your parents were very lucky,” she said softly. “But
I can assure you, Mr. Montcrief, my father has made a careful selection in a husband for me. Marriage to the Marquess of Valence is a superbly suitable arrangement for our family.” A brittle edge had crept into her tone.

“What about you?”

“It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Jamie looked deep into her eyes and tightened his hand on hers.

Lady Julia blushed to the roots of her hair and dropped her gaze. “This is a highly inappropriate and pointless conversation, Mr. Montcrief,” she mumbled. “I would appreciate it if we ceased speaking of the matter.”

“Of course. My apologies,” Jamie said, feeling slightly foolish and a little frustrated. It would appear it was going to take more guile than he possessed to successfully seduce Lady Julia. The girl was the very picture of stalwart discipline and propriety.

They finished the dance in silence, and Jamie returned her to the care of her brother, Lady Julia’s eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

The viscount watched them approach with what looked like grim satisfaction. “Splendidly danced, Mr. Montcrief, Julia.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Jamie handed Julia back to her brother, then turned his attention to Viola. “I believe you owe me a dance,” he said with a gallant bow.

He endured another quadrille and returned the second Hextall sister amid the expected platitudes. Huston, looking relieved he had completed his familial duty, steered Jamie toward the rear of the ballroom, clearly headed to the cardrooms.

“Your sisters are lovely,” Jamie said conversationally.

“Yes, they are,” he agreed with distraction. “Thank you for consenting to dance with them. The acquisition of your attentions seems to have become something akin to a competition this evening amongst the ladies. My youngest sister was quite insistent she required an introduction.”

“I’m flattered. Lady Viola suggested I might join you both on an outing to Hyde Park.”

“I bet she did.” Huston slanted Jamie a sardonic look.

“With your father’s permission, of course.”

The viscount grunted. “She could do far worse than a cavalry officer. I must say, you seem like a decent sort, Montcrief.”

Jamie winced inwardly, forcibly reminding himself that the stakes necessitated the deception. The viscount, however, had left him the perfect opening. “You are not pleased with the prospect of Lord Valence becoming your brother-in-law.”

Huston stopped, his blue eyes troubled. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

Huston’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “It is an advantageous match.”

“For your father. Or so I’ve been told.”

His lips thinned even further. “I just…” He trailed off indecisively.

“Don’t want to see her hurt,” Jamie finished for him.

“Yes.” The viscount blew out his breath. “Sometimes I think I am losing my mind. Seeing danger where it doesn’t exist.”

“Danger?” Jamie wondered out loud.

Huston looked back up at him uncertainly. “She will be the marquess’s third wife.”

Jamie pretended ignorance. “But that is hardly unique. There are many who marry multiple times because of the death of their spouse.”

The viscount wavered, coming to some sort of decision. “You will hear this anyway, so it might as well come from me.”

Jamie gave him a puzzled frown.

“His first two wives died… badly.”

“Badly?”

“They both drowned. The first one in a pond on his estate grounds and the second one in an explosion on the Thames.”

“Good Lord.” Some of the shock in his tone was not fabricated. He had never asked Gisele how Valence’s first wife, Helena’s mother, had died. “But surely these were accidents?” He would have wagered everything he owned that Helena’s mother had not died accidentally.

“My father assures me they were. But…”

“You are not so certain.”

Huston looked around in alarm. “Please don’t repeat that. Valence would call me out for something like that.”

“Touchy, is he?”

“Quite.”

“It is very admirable you care about your sister’s happiness as you do. You are only human to be concerned.” Jamie used his most reassuring voice.

Huston grimaced. “I should not be troubling you with such frivolities.”

“Nonsense. Your sister’s well-being is not a frivolity.”

The viscount smiled at him ruefully. “Have you met him? The marquess?”

“No.”

“Well, perhaps when you do, you can tell me if my concern is misplaced.”

“Of course. What specifically bothers you about his person?”

Huston shrugged helplessly. “I can’t put it into words exactly. He just seems… off.”

“Off? As in you think he might prefer the favors of men instead of women?”

Huston’s mouth made a perfect O.

“I forget myself.” Jamie bent his head. “I beg your pardon. I’ve spent too much time in the rough and have not yet mastered the subtleties of society-speak.”

The viscount seemed to recover. “No,” he said, smiling despite himself. “It’s refreshing. But I am quite certain he’s not a lover of men. He was utterly obsessed with his last wife.”

“Obsessed?”

“To the point it made others uncomfortable. She was a…
possession
.” His eyes were unfocused in memory.

“I see.”

Huston shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. “Enough of this dismal talk. I am in desperate need of a drink. Care to join me?”

“Sounds like just the thing,” Jamie agreed, and allowed Julia Hextall’s brother to lead the way, turning his words over in his mind.

The good news was that Huston’s instincts were better than most, and he had serious reservations about the marquess, which might make him a useful ally. For now, Jamie would do what he could to fan the flames of those reservations with his own. Gossip in society was not unlike the speculation that ran rampant through the ranks
on the eve of battle. Controlled and directed by the officers, it made a useful tool. Men needed to hear what they wanted to believe, and Jamie had had plenty of experience leaking information to troops.

Like that the enemy had inferior numbers. Or guns. Or cavalry. Its officers were inept and disorganized, its horses starving, its gunners blind, its infantry cowards, its shot ruined from the damp. Aye, he had been seasoned at making men believe anything that would bring them the courage to do the unthinkable.

The cardrooms were crowded, though the tables were less so, giving evidence most of the men had simply come to escape from the dance floor and wives or matchmaking mothers. Smoke hung heavy in the air, drink flowed freely, and the atmosphere was one of boisterous conversation and joviality.

The Duke of Worth was already ensconced comfortably at the center table, and he broke into a wide grin when he caught sight of Jamie. “Well, if it isn’t our sacrificial lamb. Wherever did you find him, my dear Huston?”

“Cowering behind a potted palm,” the viscount joked.

“Ah.” The duke’s eyes danced, and he leaned toward Jamie. “Then it’s no wonder you two ran into each other. When Huston and I were but boys, I’m quite sure the only foliage he thought he would need to take cover in was the tall oak variety when we hid from our schoolmasters. But now poor Huston is set to inherit an earldom and the potted palm is one of his favorite haunts at these social functions.”

Huston made a face at his friend. “Just wait until your sister returns from the Continent and you are
forced to escort her about a ballroom. Then you too will learn to appreciate the convenience and the safety of the potted palm. Otherwise you will end up like Mr. Montcrief.”

The duke shuddered in mock revulsion. “You have danced with everything wearing a gown, Montcrief,” he snorted, looking Jamie up and down with a wink. “Luckily, your handsome coat shows little sign of fatigue.”

“I did not wish to risk social suicide by accidental exclusion,” Jamie defended himself, allowing a little innocent indignation to creep into his words.

“Lord Almighty, do not apologize to us,” the duke laughed, well on his way to a state of happy intoxication. “Every set you dance is one Huston and I need not.” Worth pulled out a chair next to him and gestured for Jamie to sit. “But God help you at the next rout, Montcrief. Every mama not shopping exclusively for a title will have her daughters paraded out before you can manage a drink. Speaking of which—” He snapped his fingers and a servant bearing a tray of decanters and bottles materialized, and tumblers were distributed and filled.

“We are playing vingt-et-un,” Worth said, draining half his glass with gusto. “Mr. Montcrief, this is Lord Braxton and Lord Grey.” He waved his hand at two young men seated to his left, then gestured across the table. “And Lord Valence.”

It caught Jamie off guard, the disclosure oddly anticlimactic.

Slowly he turned to face the Marquess of Valence, unsure of what to expect. Horns and a tail and maybe cloven hooves. At the very least a hunched troll more at
home in a cave than in a ballroom. Yet all he saw before him was… ordinary.

The marquess was of average height with average brown hair and average features. A person who would get lost in a crowd and whom no one would remember. He was common in build, perhaps a little thick around the middle, dressed expensively and impeccably in evening clothes, but otherwise completely, utterly unremarkable.

“A pleasure, Mr. Montcrief,” the marquess said pleasantly. “I understand you are new to London?”

“I am.” Jamie found his voice just in time, concentrating hard on keeping his expression neutral.

“And what do you think so far?” Valence asked, gesturing in the direction of the ballroom.

“It is certainly full of… beauty,” Jamie replied.

“You are looking for a wife then?”

“Possibly,” Jamie allowed, as if he’d put thought to the notion. “Please accept my congratulations on your own upcoming marriage. Lord Huston tells me you are engaged to his sister.”

“Indeed I am.” Valence raised his glass in a silent toast to the viscount.

Huston’s face tightened perceptibly, and he formed an answering grimace.

“You must be looking forward to it.” Jamie shifted in his chair.

“Indeed. Lady Julia possesses an abundance of charms any man would appreciate.”

The Duke of Worth guffawed, oblivious to the subtle, strained undercurrents. “Any you’d like to share with us?”

“Sod off, Worth.” Huston elbowed his friend with
enough force to cause the brandy to slosh over the rim of the duke’s glass. “I’m her brother and I’m standing right next to you, remember?” The viscount forced a laugh, making a significant effort to appear relaxed, but Jamie could feel the animosity seeping out around the edges.

Worth laughed. “Thank God for that. I suppose that means we’ll have an excuse to see
this
marchioness from time to time then.”

An awkward silence fell across the table. All eyes fixed on Worth.

The duke, foxed as he was, recognized his gaffe. “That is to say, Lady Julia will make a superb hostess. She is, er, the quintessence of social accomplishment—”

“What His Grace is trying to say is that Lady Julia will not avoid the social scene as my last wife did,” the marquess said smoothly, rescuing the floundering duke. But his eyes were cold.

“I cannot believe that, my lord.” Jamie chuckled mirthlessly, finding an opening. “I have yet to meet a woman, whether lady or laundress, who does not revel in the chance to shine, even if only in the company of her friends.”

The attention of the table’s occupants shifted from Worth to Jamie, and the duke, released from his blunder, shot Jamie a grateful look.

The marquess leaned back in his chair, assessing Jamie with a fleeting look of malice. Jamie lifted a brow in challenge, and Valence’s anger was snuffed immediately, replaced with a curtain of bland politeness. Jamie felt the hairs along the back of his neck rise.

“Your sister, Lord Huston, does not posses the arrogance
and condescending nature of my last wife.” The words were like poisoned darts, disguised as flattery.

Jamie froze, forcing his eyes to the floor so they couldn’t betray him.

The marquess continued. “I do not like to speak ill of the dead, and certainly not of my late wife, for I loved her very much. But the truth of the matter was that she preferred her own company to that of others whom she considered lacking in both beauty and intelligence equal to hers. As much as I tried to encourage her to kindness, she made it very difficult most days.”