I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (30 page)

Chapter 30

G
isele blinked and groaned, her head throbbing. She was stiff all over, and everything hurt. She tried to bring her hand to her head, but her arms wouldn’t move. With a spurt of panic, she realized they were tied behind her.

“Ah. My lovely, there you are.” A hand tipped her chin, and the mouth of a bottle was put to her lips. Liquid fire burned her throat, and she choked and coughed, spitting it out.

“Ungrateful bitch. Get up.” The gentleness disappeared, and rough hands pulled her to her feet.

Gisele swayed, nearly retching, her vision still fuzzy. The shock of the liquor had helped clear her mind, however, and the events of the evening flooded back with perfect clarity.

The marquess was standing before her, peering into her face, his expression unreadable. He held a half-empty bottle of brandy in his hand, along with something else, and as her vision cleared, Gisele recognized it as her mask.

“Did you really think you could hide from me?” he said, tossing the mask to the floor and crushing it beneath his heel. “I knew it was you tonight, just like I knew it was
you on the bridge that day.” He ran a hand along the tops of her breasts, and it was everything she could do not to flinch.

“You ruined me,” he said, “when you left me.”

“I didn’t leave—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Valence yelled.

Gisele tried to control her breathing while she took stock of her surroundings. A sharp unpleasant odor—sulfur, perhaps—overlain with the unmistakable stench of the Thames. The sound of rain, scattering across the roof, echoing loudly in the cavernous space, but a more rhythmic sound of water beneath them. A small warehouse of some sort, built over the docks jutting out into the river. And darkness everywhere, except for the tiny pool of light in which they stood, flickering from a lamp set on a table beside him. Next to the lamp, the pistol lay forgotten.

“You ruined me when you left,” Valence repeated, pointing the brandy bottle at her face. “And now”—his voice rose to a peculiar pitch—“you’ve ruined me now that you’ve returned.”

“The explosion—”

“I didn’t tell you to speak!” he roared, hurling the bottle against the wooden floor at his feet, where it shattered, alcohol soaking his legs and splashing everywhere.

Gisele fell silent. Behind her back she twisted her hands desperately, trying to dislodge the ropes.

Valence took off his coat and laid it beside the pistol.

“Do you know what all this is?” he asked, gesturing around him.

Gisele shook her head.

“Gunpowder,” he said. “For cartridges. I borrowed
heavily to purchase it, as I was assured there is a demand for powder fine enough for use in rifles.”

She felt herself pale. They were standing in the middle of a bomb.

“But like everything since you left me, it’s no good. It’s been packed in barrels that
leak
. The powder, I’ve been told, is useless now because of the damp that’s gotten in. It will not ignite.” He was unbuttoning his waistcoat now. “I was advised it could be dried, though the quality may be compromised, and in any event the process is a very long and tedious one, and the results are not guaranteed.”

Gisele looked around her, feeling her insides crawl. Even if there wasn’t much, even if most of the powder was damp, it would take only a small percentage to turn the building into an inferno.

Valence was divesting himself of his waistcoat, and his eyes were glazed.

“I was supposed to get married tomorrow, you know,” he told her. “The bride’s father was going to give me a great deal of money.” He moved closer to Gisele, shoving her back against a heavy post. The rough edges scraped the exposed skin of her shoulders. “But I can’t get married now, can I? Because I have you back.”

He was alternating between anger and delight indiscriminately, and his shifting emotions were unnerving her. He had never been unpredictable before, only predictably cruel and ruthless, and this, more than anything else, was scaring her.

“But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore now that I have you back.” He giggled, a crazed, maniacal sound. Her kernel of fear grew.

His hands kneaded her breasts through her gown, and
he crushed his mouth to hers. Gisele shuddered in revulsion but held her ground. She needed time. More time to figure a way out of this.

“You’re my perfect Gisele,” he was whispering. He licked the side of her neck and bit her ear. “Tell me you want me.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

His eyes closed in pleasure, and he stroked himself through his pantaloons. “God, it’s been too long,” he moaned. “No one else can do what you do to me.”

“Yes,” she whispered again. She was using the post behind her to saw at the rope around her wrists, and the cord was starting to fray. She redoubled her efforts, blood becoming sticky against her skin.

She suddenly gasped at the shock of cold metal on her chest as he pressed the blade of a small knife just below her collarbone.

“Not there, my lord. They’ll see,” she said, trying to fight her growing dread. That he would break his rule and mark her where it might be visible later was alarming. It insinuated there was never going to be a later.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, lovely,” he confirmed. The blade bit, and she felt first the sting and then the warmth as blood welled.

“Ahh,” he breathed, longing and satisfaction blending. His fingers traced the thin rivulet of blood where it had begun soaking her bodice. “I’ve missed this.” His other hand was fumbling with her skirts, tearing the thin fabric as he shoved it up her thighs.

She twisted, making it more difficult for him to push her skirts out of the way. He snarled and backhanded her across her face.

“You left me!” Valence raged, letting the knife fall to the floor with a clatter. “And you ruined me. And now I can’t go back.
We
can’t go back to our old life. And it’s all your fault for leaving. So now I’ll make sure we’re together forever.”

With a violent jerk, he ripped the delicate layers of her skirts and clamped his hands around her hips in a vise grip. Using strength she had not realized he possessed, the marquess pulled Gisele’s body against his own with such force that the rope binding her wrists finally snapped.

Wasting no time, Gisele heaved the man back with a vicious shove and he stumbled, astonished, to the ground. Diving forward, she grabbed the pistol from the table and turned to point it at Valence.

He stared at her in stunned confusion before a slow grin spread beneath empty eyes. “You can’t shoot that in here,” he told her. “You’ll blow this place to kingdom come.”

“Maybe.”

Some of his arrogance faltered. “You won’t do it.”

She pulled the trigger.

The flint fell on the frizzen, but the powder in the pan had obviously become wet in the rain during the flight to the warehouse, and nothing happened.

The marquess’s face went ashen before it turned a livid red.

“Bitch!” he screamed, and launched himself at her. He missed Gisele by inches, instead hurtling into the table, sending the lantern and his discarded coat crashing to the ground. The space went black for the briefest of seconds before a burst of light flared as flames shot from the broken lantern, feeding on spilled brandy and fabric.

Valence was screaming, thrashing on the floor, fire
licking ravenously at his clothing. Gisele backed away in terror, knowing her life would now be measured in minutes unless she could get out of the building. She looked around her in desperation, but her eyes, blinded by the intensity of the flames, could make out only blackness beyond. She swallowed a sob and staggered forward, but was brought up short by an unforgiving wall.

A loud crash had her whirling and she thought she might have heard a voice calling her name. She stumbled toward the sound, her eyes and lungs burning now as the smoke spread. She was disoriented and desperate and angry. After everything, everything she had done, everything she had overcome and defeated and accomplished, she was going to die here. In a bloody explosion. She would have laughed at the bitter irony had she not been so furious.

Suddenly there was someone at her back and she was swept up into a pair of strong arms. She clung to him as he sprinted away from the glow of the fire, through an open door, and into the night, where the shock of the freezing rain, coming down in torrents, had her gasping. She found herself back on her feet, scrambling away from the warehouse, her hand locked tightly with his. They hadn’t made it more than fifty yards from the building when it disintegrated in a firestorm of shattered wood. She threw herself to the ground, Jamie landing heavily on top of her and covering her with his body.

The dock crumpled into the Thames, pieces of burning wood hissing as they were swallowed by the river, and the remaining blazes were extinguished by the sheets of water falling from the sky. Within minutes all that remained was a noticeable hole where a building and a dock had once stood, their ruins scattered in chaotic disarray.

Jamie sat up, pulling her with him. His hands cupped her face, ran over her shoulders, her arms, her waist.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, barely audible above the sound of the rain. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.” She shook her head numbly. “Is he dead?”

Jamie made a funny sound in his throat. “Yes.”

“I’m not sorry.”

“Are you—did he—”

She shook her head again, more forcibly this time. “I’m fine.”

He enveloped her in his arms, crushing her to him. “I’m not,” he said. “You scared the life out of me. I should be furious. I will be furious. Just give me a minute and I’ll get there.”

She could feel him shaking.

“How did you know where I was?” she asked, her voice hoarse from the smoke and the terror.

“Sebastien. Sebastien remembered this place. Said it was the only wretched thing Valence still might own on account it was rotting from the inside out and no one save a troll would ever dare step inside voluntarily.”

“What does that make you then?” she blurted, looking back through the darkness at the gaping hole. She suddenly found herself laughing and crying, tears streaming down her cheeks to mingle with the rain.

Jamie’s arms tightened around her, and a tortured sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob escaped. “That’s the last straw, Gisele. I can’t work for you anymore. Your humor offends me, and these are the worst labor conditions imaginable.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I quit. This is far beyond what I’m being paid for.”

“You can’t quit. I love you.”

“That’s why I’ve decided to marry you instead. It seems safer.”

She pulled back to stare at him.

“You’re asking me to marry you now?
Now?
”

“Would you prefer I come back later? Say two o’clock?”

“Oh, God.” A new flood of giggles overtook her. “What would being married to you entail?” she asked when the spasms had subsided.

“I’m not sure,” he said, wiping gently at the water sluicing down the sides of her face.

“Would I have to steal something?” she managed.

“You’ve stolen it already.” He pressed her hand over his heart.

She hiccupped, a fresh stream of hot tears starting.

“You’ll never be a duchess, you realize.”

Gisele sniffled. “Thank God. Every time I put on an expensive ball gown something seems to explode.”

“I knew there was a good reason I didn’t dress you up and take you out sooner.” He smiled before he sobered. “Was that a yes?” He was searching her eyes now.

“Yes.” She pressed herself into him, love leaving her breathless. The rain hammered down and the wind gusted and the mud sucked at her legs, yet the only thing that really mattered was the feel of his warmth around her.

“Jamie?”

“Mmmm?”

“Take me home.”

Chapter 31

T
here was only one invitation delivered that next week.

Jamie brought it to Gisele as she lay watching him from the bed, a shaft of sunlight kissing her skin and hair, putting him in mind of a sated nymph. He bent and kissed her, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he settled himself next to her.

“You’ve lost your edge,” she said, plucking the single plain paper from his fingers. “Last week there were stacks.”

“Society is in a snit,” he informed her. “Not only have I refused to identify the magnificent woman I danced with at the ball or name her as my fiancée, it appears that the manner in which I danced was quite unacceptable to most matrons.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. And neither am I.” He grinned suggestively. “I’m quite looking forward to our next waltz.”

She grinned back.

Jamie studied her for a moment, his smile fading. “Where do you want to go?” he asked abruptly. “Even with Valence dead, we can’t stay in London.”

“No,” she agreed. “Nor do I want to.”

“I hear Halifax is nice,” he said casually.

Gisele stared at him and Jamie watched as she grasped
what he was offering. “Oh, Jamie.” She leaned forward and brushed the hair from his forehead.

He waited.

“No. My life is not in Halifax. My life is with you.”

“Good Lord, I wasn’t going to send you by yourself,” he huffed. “I’d planned to accompany my wife.”

She smiled at him and passed him the paper she still held in her hand. “Open it.”

Jamie pulled the paper apart. “We’ve been invited to a picnic at the Reddyck family seat,” he read. “By Sofia and Richard. They are removing to the country to live with Malcolm.”

“That’s where I want to go.”

Jamie squeezed his eyes shut.

“Your family is there, Jamie. And they love you and want you just as you are. And so do I. With you I am not defined by a title or a label or a past. I am… just Gisele.”

“And I am just Jamie, an almost-duke.”

“
My
almost-duke. That’s all I’ll ever need.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Perhaps we can bring Richard something when we go on our picnic?” Gisele asked. “He has a little wooden horse that he adores. Perhaps we could find him another?”

“I’d like that,” Jamie replied. He grinned at her, loving the way her eyes darkened and her breathing became shallow in response. He pressed her back against the pillows. “But there is something else Richard needs that I’m a touch more eager to give him.”

“What’s that?”

He leaned over, kissing her with a heat that left her gasping.

“Cousins,” he said. “And lots of them.”