I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (28 page)

Jamie stared in shock as he then watched Jenna Hughes extricate herself from her attacker and press her hands to her heaving bosom, blinking rapidly, the perfect picture of innocent outrage and injury.

The Duke of Worth crashed into the clearing on the dance floor, his eyes flashing in fury as he stared down at the marquess. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Valence?” he demanded.

Valence was still doubled over, gasping, his eye already beginning to swell. A buzz had started in the ballroom at the excitement, and the music stopped discordantly as, one by one, the musicians abandoned their efforts to play over the disturbance.

“Are you all right?” Worth had turned away from Valence in disgust and was now gently addressing Miss Hughes.

“Yes, thank you, Your Grace,” she replied breathlessly, looking extraordinarily fragile for a woman who, just seconds ago, had effectively stopped a raging marquess. “It was just so… unexpected.”

The duke bent and retrieved her mask and handed it to her, completely tongue-tied.

Malcolm had no such problems. “That was most
uncalled for, Lord Valence,” he said loudly. “If you want to dance with a lady, I would suggest you simply ask next time. Though I’m not so sure you’ll find many who are brave enough.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Across the floor Jamie caught sight of the duchess. She met his eyes and gave him a tight nod. Relief flooded though him. Gisele was still safe.

Valence straightened and glanced around him, pressing his hand to his face and once again realizing he was the center of attention. He faltered slightly before recovering, a vindictive glint touching his eyes.

“Your Grace, the Duke of Reddyck, I presume.” Valence transferred his gaze from Malcolm to Jamie. “The one brother the celebrated captain here didn’t manage to kill.”

There were a few gasps around them, and Jamie recoiled. “I beg your pardon?” he managed.

“Your brother. The tenth Duke of Reddyck, for as pitifully long as that lasted. Young Michael Montcrief.”

Jamie stared at the marquess mutely, afraid he might be ill. Malcolm’s face too was a frozen mask of horrified shock.

Valence smiled a cold, cruel smile. “Oh, I know all about you, Montcrief. The guilt you must live with every day knowing it should have been you who died on that battlefield must be excruciating.” He was playing to the audience now to divert the unwanted attention and everyone knew it. “Yet here you are in London, reveling in the high life while he lies in a cold grave. How do you live with yourself?”

Jamie took a deep, shuddering breath. The guilt rose
up again like a foul mist, although he thought he had overcome it. Jamie wished desperately Gisele were beside him. Her presence alone was enough to help him drive those demons back into the past where they belonged.

But she wasn’t here. Because of the man standing in front of him.

And nothing Valence could say or do to Jamie could ever compare to what he had done to Gisele.

The air around them was electric. Malcolm took two menacing steps toward Valence, but Jamie stopped him with a raised hand.

“You’re right,” Jamie said quietly, and the crowd craned forward to hear. “You’re absolutely right.”

Valence shifted uneasily, his eyes darting from Jamie to the onlookers.

“Not a day goes by when I don’t think of Michael,” Jamie said, everything fading strangely around him. “That he was killed so young is a tragedy, but no more so than the death of any other man killed on the battlefield serving king and country. He chose to fight a brave fight, to fight for something he believed in.” Jamie paused. “My brother died saving my life. He died a hero.
My
hero. I owe him everything. I loved him, and I will not do him the dishonor and disservice of wallowing in self-pity, though some days I miss him more than I can stand. He paid the ultimate price for our freedom. Mine and yours.” He pointed a finger at Valence scornfully. “I have not forgotten that. Nor will I take it for granted. Ever.”

Jamie stopped, feeling disoriented. In the background the orchestra started up again, though all around them was silence, until someone sniffed. A man turned and offered the woman his handkerchief, and then suddenly
time resumed, and the air was punctuated with murmured agreement and admiration.

Jamie swallowed with difficulty and blew out a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding.

Valence, sweating profusely, turned on his heel and stomped away. Slowly the rest of the crowd moved off as well.

Malcolm laid a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “That was cruel and unnecessary. You should never have had to defend yourself in such a manner,” his brother said gruffly.

“No,” Jamie replied slowly, looking at Malcolm. “That was entirely necessary. I loved my brother, and it was not my fault that he died.”

It was the first time Jamie had actually believed it.

Chapter 28

A
dam downed the rum punch he didn’t remember taking and pressed the cool glass to his face, staring at Montcrief through the one eye that hadn’t swollen closed. The bastard was like a fucking cat, always landing on his feet. His brother was dead because of him, and somehow Montcrief still came off as a hero. Well, not for long. Soon Adam would prove to everyone Montcrief had stolen his wife. His Gisele. And then who would be the hero?

He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened out there on that dance floor, or how Gisele had gotten away from him again, but she was here. Adam had seen the fear in Montcrief’s eyes when Havockburn had told him where Gisele was, and that fear had told him everything. Montcrief had her, and he was terrified Adam was going to take her away.

Adam tossed his glass onto a chair along the wall and stalked through the crowd, ignoring the whispers and the stares that followed him. Boden had tried to corner him, furious, of course, but Adam didn’t care one whit. And in a crowd such as this, it was easy to avoid him. Adam didn’t want any distractions. He needed to be fully focused on Montcrief. For it was the captain who would
lead Adam to Gisele. He pulled out her miniature and the diamond and stared at them both in his hand.

“Soon,” Adam whispered to the painting, pressing a kiss to her beautiful, perfect face.

He curled his fingers around the diamond and felt the edges of the stone bite into the flesh of his hand. A gray-haired matron was watching with appalled concern, and he glared at her, sending her scurrying.

Soon
, Adam repeated to himself.

He just needed to be patient.

Eleanor was pacing by a long row of potted ferns as Gisele, seated on a low chair concealed by the foliage, watched her.

“Hettie just told me she saw the marquess kissing a miniature and talking to himself,” the duchess said. “I would think that would be adequate proof of Valence’s descent into delirium. I’d like to see you upstairs now, locked safely away.”

“Not yet.” Gisele shook her head.

“Valence nearly caught you,” Eleanor hissed through her garish mask of chicken feathers. “If it hadn’t been for Malcolm and Jenna—”

“Has Boden called off the wedding?”

The duchess’s nostrils flared. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.”

“Not good enough,” Gisele said. “I’ve heard the whispers. Valence is said to be acting strangely.
Strangely
isn’t good enough.”

“You can’t risk it!”

“It will be all right, Your Grace.”

“Worth wants James to introduce his mystery bride at midnight. Fifteen minutes from now. What are you planning to do about that?” Eleanor demanded.

“Jilt Jamie with seconds to spare?”

“This isn’t funny,” the duchess snapped. “You’ve done all you can. You need to go.”

“I agree.” Jamie was suddenly at Gisele’s side.

“One waltz,” Gisele said suddenly. “I will dance one waltz with Jamie. And then, before the stroke of midnight, I will disappear like a secret princess in one of those children’s fairy tales.”

Eleanor eyed her uncertainly.

“We’ve brought Valence to the very edge,” Gisele said quietly. “He just needs a little push. This is our one chance.” She stood and held out her hand. “So you may ask me to dance, Jamie Montcrief, or I will find someone who will.”

No sooner had she finished speaking than the first strains of a waltz started.

Jamie stared hard at her. “Very well then.” He took her hand and tucked it under his arm, sounding completely at ease, yet the feel of his rigid muscles beneath her fingers told a different story. “If you’ll excuse us, Your Grace, we have a hornet’s nest to stomp on.”

Eleanor was watching them with worried eyes. “Straight upstairs to Sebastien,” she warned Gisele, “the second the damn dance ends or the second things go sideways. Do you understand?”

“Understood.” Gisele nodded.

They turned and made their way to the center of the ballroom, where couples had begun to dance. Jamie pulled her into his arms as they joined in.

“This is insane,” Jamie muttered under his breath.

“Quite likely.” Gisele pressed a kiss to the back of the hand that held hers.

“What was that for?” Jamie asked.

“For everything you said tonight. Michael would be proud.”

“I didn’t know you heard.”

“Every word.” She looked up at him, her throat thick. “Did I mention how much I love you?”

He squeezed her hand. “Once or twice.”

Her gaze fell back on the edges of the crowd spinning by. “Do you see Valence?” she asked as Jamie effortlessly guided her across the floor.

“Not yet.” His eyes were scanning the room from above her head. “But he’ll be watching, looking for me.”

Gisele caught sight of Eleanor watching them from the edge of the onlookers. Her eyes were barely visible behind her mask, but she jerked her head subtly in the direction of the terrace doors.

Gisele peered over Jamie’s shoulder, following the gesture, and felt the gooseflesh rise on her skin.

The Marquess of Valence was indeed watching.

Adam Levire stared hard at the woman dancing with Montcrief. This time he was sure it was Gisele and not that other blonde Reddyck had tricked him with. The blood was roaring in his ears, and his heart was beating in a painful staccato against his ribs.

It was Gisele. It was her, it was her,
it was her
. He knew it with every fiber in his body.

Adam took an involuntary step closer before stopping, realizing what he was doing.

He needed proof that Montcrief had stolen his wife. Adam wasn’t a fool—he was going to need proof to justify his actions, both past and future. One could not be faulted for defending one’s honor, and if ever Adam’s honor had been insulted, Montcrief’s theft of Gisele had done it. He could not have his marchioness disappear again like a wisp of smoke in a gale, leaving him bereft and tortured anew.

“Is he still standing there?” Gisele asked in low tones.

“Yes.” Jamie had spun them around so Gisele was hidden from view.

She could feel the malevolent force of Valence’s stare, and the tiny hairs on her neck were standing on end.

“I think you should go back upstairs now,” Jamie said, and there was real urgency in his voice.

“Not yet. He has to be completely convinced.”

“He’s looking very convinced,” Jamie snapped. “Gisele—”

“It’s not good enough,” Gisele said quietly. “He has to be pushed past the point of no return. Past the ability to think and act rationally.”

“Gisele, I want you safe. Now. This is too risky—”

Gisele could feel a rage boiling up inside her chest such as she had never before experienced. An uncontrollable fury at everything Valence had done to her, to Helena and her mother, at what he would continue to do to others for as long as he was able.

“No. I will not run.” She could hear the fierceness in
her own words. “Not until he can never hurt anyone ever again. Do you understand?”

Jamie took his eyes off Valence to search hers. “Yes,” he said simply.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he said, and in a heartbeat Jamie pulled her closer to him, never breaking stride.

His fingers spread across the small of her back, and he curled her hand in his until she was pressed against the length of his body. His heat suffused her, the hard strength beneath his skin reassuring and electrifying all at once. She never took her eyes off him, gazing up at him as if they were the only two people in the room, yet she was aware of the disturbance they were creating around them.

Their dance went from standard to seductive, their bodies one, their movements one. Jamie dipped his head, his mouth inches from hers. Gisele smiled softly up at him, her hand moving from his shoulder to curl around the nape of his neck. He spun her across the floor, to all appearances heedless of the gawking stares. She heard the last strains of the waltz begin, and she realized Jamie had maneuvered them as close to the doors leading out into the hall as possible. As the music came to an end, Jamie closed the last inches between them and kissed her with a scorching, desperate passion that created a ripple of shock clear across the room.

A commotion had erupted on the far side of the floor amid angry protests and shrieks.

“Go,” he hissed against her lips. “And don’t look back.”

She kissed him hard, one last time, and then she was gone.

Jamie watched for a brief moment as Gisele slipped from his warmth and fled through the doors and into the hall. Her exit went unnoticed, everyone’s attention now riveted in the direction of the dance floor, where the Marquess of Valence was frantically shoving his way through the crowd in an effort to get to Jamie. Unobtrusively Jamie faded back along the wall, coming to a casual stop near the refreshment table, as far away from the doors as he dared without making it obvious.

Valence had caught sight of him and, changing direction, charged through a dozen unlucky dancers to skid to a tumultuous stop before him.

“You have her,” Valence snarled, “I know you do. So where is she?”

“My lord?” Jamie adopted a look of concern.

“You have her, Montcrief. I saw you with her. Everyone saw you with her!”