I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (20 page)

“I don’t know what else it would take to convince the earl he cannot allow the wedding to proceed.”

“Then we don’t worry about the earl.” Gisele’s voice startled him.

Jamie looked up at her. She was in the doorway to the drawing room, her expression resolute and calm, any sign of the frustration he was feeling absent. “You heard everything?”

“Yes.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“We focus on Valence. We can still discredit him publicly when the opportunity arises, of course, but it is Valence who ultimately will decide if this wedding happens.”

Sebastien was stroking his moustache. “You think we can make the marquess dishonor himself and refuse to marry Lady Julia?”

“Not we. Me. And yes, I can. And he will still look like a lunatic.”

Jamie pushed himself from the door. He’d seen that look on Gisele’s face before, and it generally didn’t lead to anything he liked.

“Valence needs to believe, beyond all reasonable doubt, that I am alive.”

“I thought we accomplished that quite nicely today.” Jamie was trying to head off whatever wild scheme was currently developing behind those beautiful eyes.

“He believed he saw me at the time. But does he still believe that now? He has no proof. And the Earl of Boden has provided him with a reasonable excuse and explanation.”

“So we do it again,” Jamie said. “What we did this afternoon.”

Sebastien was shaking his head in resignation. “Gisele is right, James. We can torment Valence with glimpses of his lost bride for months, but that is siege warfare, and we’re out of time. After today Valence will be more vigilant and less likely to react so recklessly in public. We need to change our strategy.”

“Valence is using laudanum to help him sleep.” Gisele was deep in thought.

“There is comfort in the familiar,” Sebastien said. “He always did like the smoke.”

Jamie watched Gisele and the valet exchange a long look.

“Opium is a tricky thing, isn’t it?” Gisele said quietly. “In its various forms, it can inspire all sorts of strange, fevered dreams. Make men believe in ghosts.”

Jamie jerked as though she’d struck him. “No.”

“I beg your pardon?” She raised a fair brow.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m thinking.”

“Oh, yes I do. And this is the most idiotic, reckless idea you’ve come up with yet. And you promised me you wouldn’t be reckless. It’s one thing to appear to him surrounded by crowds in which you can hide, where Sebastien and I are but a step away. It’s another to trap yourself in a room with a drugged madman. That’s what you were planning, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Though I hadn’t planned on being alone,” she said. “And I hadn’t planned on being trapped. I’ve seen Valence use opium many times. He becomes exceedingly debilitated and lethargic.”

“Oh, of course,” Jamie seethed. “Amidst all your grand plans then, Miss Whitby, how had you planned to drug him?”

It was Sebastien who spoke up. “Leave that to me.”

“You’re not helping, Sebastien!” Jamie shouted. “You should be saying something like ‘Gisele, this is too dangerous and borders on insanity and it will never work.’ ”

“He needs to see me, Jamie. See me in a setting thick with memories and unrealized desires and dreams. I have to make him remember. Make him
believe
. I need to leave him with touchable, tangible proof.”

“Well, you’ll be doing it chained to me then,” Jamie
growled, “for it will be a cold day in hell when I allow you into his house by yourself to craft another one of your absurd dramas amidst a haze of opium and depravity.”

“Yes,” Sebastien breathed.

“I’m sorry?” Jamie and Gisele both turned to the valet.

“That’s brilliant.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“It is one thing for Valence to see Gisele again. That alone will eat away at him.” He turned a speculative look on Gisele. “But what if he saw you with another man?”

Gisele was staring at Sebastien with wide eyes. “I love how your mind works.”

“That would push him over the edge like nothing else.” Sebastien crossed his arms with what looked like smug satisfaction.

“Oh, for the love of God!” Jamie threw up his hands in utter defeat, disgusted with the both of them. “And I suppose you expect me to just go along with this?”

“No one will force you to, of course. Though you would be much more convincing kissing Gisele than I ever would,” Sebastien advised. “You have added appeal in that I get the feeling Valence doesn’t care for you overmuch. But I’m sure Joseph could get the job done in a pinch.”

“Joseph?” Jamie’s mind blanked. “The horse thief?”

“Coachman,” Gisele corrected with minor annoyance.

“Jesus Christ,” Jamie swore.

“We’re out of time, Jamie,” Gisele said, having come to stand beside him. “Will you help?”

“This is
insane
.”

“You seem rather fond of that word lately.”

Jamie took his hands from his face. “That is because
it’s the only adjective that remotely covers everything that has happened since I met you.”

Gisele looked at Sebastien. “Perhaps you should fetch Joseph—”

“Don’t you dare!” Jamie snapped. “If you are going to be sneaking around in the dark kissing men, it damn well better be me. Besides,” he muttered, “the boy would likely never survive the experience.”

Sebastien’s mouth twitched, and Gisele blushed.

“You’re confident we can get in and out without being seen?” Jamie couldn’t believe he was agreeing to this. But he knew she’d do it with or without him.

“Yes,” Gisele said. “I spent a great deal of time plotting versions of my escape. I know that house inside and out.”

“What about the maid?”

The valet shrugged. “Sleeps in the attic. She won’t hear a thing, but even if she does, she won’t expend the effort to investigate. She’s told me she’s learned to ignore all manner of oddities.”

“And the opium—”

“Will be the easiest part.” Sebastien set his jaw.

“Fine.” Jamie conceded defeat. He turned to face Gisele. “But you are not to leave my side. And if I think something is not right—if there is even a hint the marquess is not as debilitated as he needs to be for you to be safe—then you defer to my judgment. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“For the record, Gisele, housebreaking and haunting were never mentioned when you hired me. I think I’m going to need a raise.”

Chapter 20

A
dam had been forced to call on the Earl and Countess of Boden after the events of the afternoon, wanting to allay any misgivings the earl might be feeling after the incident at Westminster. Boden was doing his best to discredit the gossip currently flying around London’s coffeehouses and assembly rooms, but privately he made it clear he was in no way pleased with the scandal Adam’s strange behavior had wrought. The earl had even dared to go as far as to threaten Adam, promising such conduct would not be tolerated in the future—and the fool concluded his empty tirade by suggesting Adam’s continued interest in his late wife was a slur to Lady Julia’s good name.

Adam sneered. As if he could tarnish the reputation of a girl whose father had owned a third-rate soap factory before inheriting a title that should never have belonged to him. The upstart earl was no better than the filthy tradesman he used to be, and he would soon learn that no one threatened the Marquess of Valence. Not without consequences. So when Adam returned home, he’d admitted every acquaintance who showed up at his door harboring morbid curiosity poorly disguised as
concern. During each audience Adam had let slip a reluctant offhand comment that he might be having second thoughts about elevating a merchant-class girl to the lofty role of marchioness. That he was reconsidering the suitability of any connection to the regrettably vulgar Hextall family.

By tomorrow morning it would be the earl groveling in his drawing room, begging Adam to marry his daughter. Begging him not to withdraw his suit and ruin Lady Julia. He took a grim satisfaction in that.

Adam had, however, chosen to avoid his club tonight, having no further interest in fielding tactless questions that ultimately served only as painful reminders of Gisele. But as he stared out the window at the darkness, he was lamenting his decision, for without the distraction, he’d found himself rattling listlessly about his house, unsettled. The yearning and frustration and grief he was usually able to suppress would not be quieted.

When the housekeeper informed Adam he had a visitor, his first instinct was to tell the slattern to throw the man out. It wasn’t until she told him the caller insisted he had once been employed by Lord Valence that Adam had snapped to attention. He barked at his housekeeper to show the man in, and then took up a position near the fireplace, hoping he appeared calm and in control.

Sebastien glided into the room, as soundlessly as always. Damn, but Adam had missed the man’s impeccable competence.

“Lord Valence,” he said with a respectful tilt of his head.

“Sebastien. I must confess, this is a surprise.”

“Forgive my presumption, my lord.”

“Of course. I trust you are well?”

“As well as can be expected, given my current situation.”

“Montcrief.”

Sebastien grimaced slightly. “He is but a common soldier, my lord.”

“You are looking for alternate employment?”

Sebastien met his eyes.

“Consider it done.” Adam felt a spurt of pleasure. Not only would he be acquiring arguably the best valet in London, Sebastien would be back under his roof. Back under his control. “You may present yourself here, after my wedding.”

“My humblest thanks, my lord.” Sebastien paused. “About this afternoon, my lord,” he said evenly.

Adam scowled. “This afternoon I encountered a woman who was the very image of my dear Gisele. I am afraid her uncanny likeness made me act in a way that was neither dignified nor appropriate. This afternoon was an unfortunate mistake.”

“Perhaps. You knew your wife better than anyone,” Sebastien said softly.

“Yes,” Adam sighed, before he frowned. What was that supposed to mean? He studied the valet, but could see only compassion in the man’s face.

His former valet drew a tiny pouch from his coat. “For this evening, my lord. I know this afternoon was difficult. I anticipated the night may be more so.”

Adam took the proffered opium from Sebastien. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely, moved almost beyond words. It was the first kind thing anyone had done for him in a very long time. “You remembered.”

“I remember everything, my lord,” Sebastien said, then bowed himself from the room.

The smell of opium smoke was strong up here, masking the faint scent of decay and dust that clung to everything. The house was silent, and Gisele knew Valence would be shut up in his rooms, alone with his pipe where he could be neither observed nor disturbed.

Gisele crept slowly and soundlessly down the hall, the feeling surreal. She had never thought to return to London, and she had never, in all her wildest imaginings, thought to return to this house. Contrary to her earlier bravado, if Jamie hadn’t been right behind her, she doubted she would have made it this far.

Gisele had spent almost her entire marriage in this prison, the marquess declining ever to visit his ancestral holdings somewhere on the far western edge of the country. They’d rarely traveled, only when fashionable etiquette demanded, and even then, visits to country manors and estates had been brief and suffocating. She paused in the doorway to her old rooms, feeling more than a little suffocated right now.

“We can go back.” Jamie’s voice was gentle in her ear.

“No,” she whispered. She could never go back. Not anymore.

She forced herself to look into the rooms she had once occupied, as if to prove to herself she was now safely on the outside looking in.

It was the gleam of silver in the depths of the room that caught her attention. The glow from the streetlamps through the open curtains created macabre shadows on
the walls, and it was enough to give shape and detail to the contents of the bedroom. Gisele stared, uncertain if her eyes were deceiving her. She took a hesitant step into the bedroom, and then another. She reached the dressing table and picked up the object she had seen shining in the dimness.

It was her hairbrush, blond strands still caught in the bristles. Her mirror and her comb were there too, along with a tiny bottle of perfume. A pair of her earbobs lay forgotten on the surface, abandoned four years prior. Gisele turned, moving to the massive wardrobe that stood against the far wall. With a soft click, the door swung open. Her gowns hung before her—the finest fabrics, still shimmering and pristine. She fingered the silk and the gold muslin, the taffetas and the satins. The gowns glowed in the darkness, their pale colors ghostly reminders of the woman who had once worn them.

“Oh, God,” she breathed, turning.

Her embroidered silk dressing gown still hung over the back of a chair, where it had been discarded in favor of a ball gown on a similar spring night.

“Everything is here,” she whispered. “How it was left on that night.”

Jamie had come to stand just inside the room.

Gisele turned in a slow circle, trying to identify what was churning through her. Faint nausea. Revulsion. Something that fell short of pity. “Everything is the same.”

Jamie moved to stand in front of her. His hands cupped her face. “Nothing is the same.” His eyes glittered in the darkness.

Gisele nodded, grasping Jamie’s hands with her own, anchoring herself to Jamie’s steady strength.

“Valence has been waiting for me to come back for four years, Jamie.” She smiled a cold, brittle smile. “Let’s not disappoint him.”

The opium was of excellent quality as he’d known it would be—Sebastien would never have brought him anything less than the best. The laudanum Adam used regularly offered oblivion, but tonight he wasn’t seeking oblivion. He reclined on his bedroom floor, inhaling the earthy smoke deeply, the familiar languid release creeping over him slowly but surely. God, but he needed this. Needed but a handful of hours to feel good about something again. To find pleasure in something. Needed an escape into a world of fantasy where he might find the only thing left that could bring him comfort. Memories of Gisele had traumatized him this afternoon on the bridge, and he would seek her out now, where he knew he could find her and where he knew she couldn’t run.

His limbs became heavy, and sensation drained entirely from his extremities. He was floating now, the pipe clattering to the tray before him, his head falling back as he let go of the petty and inconsequential world around him. He sought her out, murmuring her name, waiting, hoping,
knowing
she would come to him.

Minutes or hours passed and, out of a mist, she was there.

“Adam.” Gisele stood over him, her flaxen hair swirling over her shoulders, strange shadows cast over her face by the lantern light.

She was in sharper focus than she had ever been before, seemingly real enough that his pulse spiked in
anticipation. And unlike in past dreams, Gisele was wearing the dressing robe he had bought for her as a wedding gift—a sheer silk gown embroidered intricately with tiny roses. He felt his body stir as he remembered just how he had made her take that gown off. He smiled at his wife, reaching for her, but she drifted away. Adam didn’t mind. She never went far here.

“Come back,” he murmured, beckoning her with his fingers.

She drifted around him, the edges of her gown brushing against his skin, playing with something in her fingers.

“What did you bring me tonight, Gisele?” he asked.

“What you lost,” she whispered, as though this should have been obvious to him.

The object sparkled and flashed.

“My diamonds.” This pleased him immensely, and in his dream, she bent so that the gem flashed before his eyes, a kaleidoscope of colors. The colors swirled and spun, and when they cleared, she was gone.

“Gisele?” Adam turned his head, unhurried. She was near his bed, standing at the edge, looking into the shadows.

Another rush of ecstasy filled him, and Adam could feel his cock harden. He had trained her so well.

The darkness Gisele had been watching suddenly shifted and took shape, and a man morphed out of the murk. He caught her head with his hands and kissed her, the specter’s dominance of her screaming his possession.

Adam shifted in horror, his rapture ceasing, but too lethargic to formulate a solution.

“Gisele,” he called out, but she wasn’t listening to him anymore. She was kissing the faceless man, her dressing gown sliding lower over her shoulders, ignoring him.

“Gisele,” Adam called again, but it was the man who looked at him, features sharp in the glow of the lantern.

“I found what you lost,” Montcrief said to him, and then the room went dark, and Adam lost the sense of where he had last seen Gisele. He fought to orient himself but it was to no avail.

Shadows swirled, and Adam was sucked into the oppressive abyss knowing, somehow, that he had lost his beloved Gisele again.