I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (4 page)

Chapter 4

N
ot two days in and Gisele already regretted choosing James Montcrief for the job.

She wanted to blame Iain—her former partner—for creating the vacancy in the first place. She would never have needed Montcrief at all if Iain, bless his love-besotted heart, hadn’t abandoned their cause in favor of taking a wife. He was undoubtedly married by now, holed up in a tiny Scottish hamlet somewhere in front of a roaring fire, wrapped in warm blankets and his pretty bride. In fairness, none of them had known the Marquess of Valence was courting again until well after Iain’s departure for Gretna Green. But Gisele would have suggested—no, insisted—that Iain head north with his love even if they’d been aware of Valence’s betrothal at the time. She was thrilled for her newlywed friends, and she wished the couple every happiness.

Which meant she would lay the blame for the entire Montcrief debacle at Sebastien’s feet instead.

At the end of her conversation with a sheet-clad James yesterday morning, Gisele had been convinced she had the situation well in hand. He’d accepted her terms of employment with little delay. He was impressive
physically, and she had been certain his natural intelligence would right itself as soon as every last ounce of alcohol had been flushed from his brain. In short, Gisele judged James Montcrief as more than capable of seeing his contract through. The man was exactly who and what she required, no more and no less.

So there had been simply no cause for Sebastien to transform James Montcrief into…
that
.

Even after a day and a half, Gisele was still trying to relate the bearded, bleary-eyed, ale-sodden creature she had hired to the Greek god now keeping pace beside her. Sebastien’s ministrations had uncovered a gentleman possessed of both refined elegance and raw masculine magnetism—and she found the whole package too unsettling for words.

Things had been much simpler when Montcrief was filthy and drunk.

His hair, she had learned, wasn’t brown, as she had first thought. Today it was more of a burnished gold, and it fell in thick, cleverly styled waves over his forehead. Without his beard he had a wide, pleasing face, with eyes the color of fine whiskey and lashes that any woman would gladly barter her soul to keep. On another man they might have looked feminine. But other men didn’t have James’s strong jaw. Or the strong shoulders and broad chest. Or the powerful legs. Or the strong forearms—she cut herself off with an inward curse. The man simply radiated strength through every pore. Even his damn horse looked stronger when he rode it.

A cavalry
captain
, the boys in the Nottingham stable had told her with wide, worshipful eyes as she had paced, watching James select a mount with the care of a jeweler
examining fine stones. Gisele had always considered herself a fair horsewoman. But the man riding beside her made her feel like the greenest girl poking along on her pony. He rode as if he were part of the bloody beast, and he didn’t even seem to be trying. Maybe it was his seat. The way he sat his horse was effortless, his long legs relaxed and balanced. Those same legs were sheathed in riding breeches that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and Gisele was finding it difficult not to continuously admire the way they hugged his thighs and his hips. Which was asinine, considering she had already seen him naked. One would think that would have been sufficient. But even now she couldn’t resist tilting her head, resenting the coat of superfine she knew hid a truly magnificent backside.

“Is there something wrong?” James glanced down at the back of his saddle.

“I beg your pardon?” She jerked upright.

“You’re staring.”

“I was admiring your horse.”

“Oh.” He patted his horse’s rump. “Thank you.”

Gisele averted her gaze from those capable-looking hands, then caught Sebastien’s silent amusement as he rode companionably behind them. She scowled at him and returned her attention to her own mount.

“I was lucky. Not so many good ones left. War took too many.” James’s voice sounded distant, and Gisele wondered if he was referring to horses or men.

“Yes,” Gisele agreed to both.

“The horse was expensive.” James turned toward her, and her insides traitorously converted to molten liquid under that smoky gaze.

Good God, but this had to stop. She could not afford the distraction. She had given up that part of her life years ago and had never regretted it once. Yet now she couldn’t go two minutes without wondering if this man kissed as well as he rode.

“Don’t trouble yourself overmuch, Mr. Montcrief. You’ll earn it.” Gisele returned her attention to the road ahead, despising the way her heart was hammering.

“I would expect no less.” James lapsed back into silence. “You’re a very good valet,” he said to Sebastien presently. “You must be missed.”

Gisele turned in her saddle and shot her friend a warning look.

“You certainly weren’t a footman before you did, well, whatever it is you do now,” James continued on blithely.

Sebastien looked insulted. “No, I most certainly was not.”

“Even my father would have been impressed, which is no small compliment. What made you leave your calling?”

Gisele decided to put an end to the fishing expedition before it went too far. While James’s tone held a teasing quality, she had no doubt he was probing for real answers. Answers she wasn’t ready to provide just yet.

“Since we’re on the subject,” she interrupted loudly, “why don’t you tell us about your father, Mr. Montcrief?”

He gave her a long look, and she knew she hadn’t fooled him.

“Your father, Mr. Montcrief?” she prompted again.

He shrugged, clearly yielding, then frowned. “Jamie.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Jamie. Please call me Jamie. James was my grandfather’s Christian name, and he was a miserable old cur.
No one could stand him. And
Mr. Montcrief
seems utterly absurd given our rather, ah, unique introduction.”

Gisele balked. “I don’t think such familiarity is appropriate.” She didn’t relish the idea of calling this man Jamie. It sounded much too intimate.

“And this from a woman who calls herself Just-Gisele?”

“Very well. I suppose you have a point,” she capitulated. But she would not be diverted. “I will call you Jamie. If, in return, you tell me about your family.”

“Why is it important?” Jamie gave her a suspicious look.

Because I need to know exactly who I’m dealing with. Because I need to know how much you know about London society. Because the life of a young girl might rest on your shoulders, and I need to know how strong they really are
.

She shrugged carelessly instead. “It’s not. If you would prefer to ride in silence, please, just say the word. I simply thought polite, pleasant conversation would be an agreeable way to pass the time.”

Jamie gave her another long look. “My father’s dead, you know, so if you’re hoping to get to him through me, you’re about five years too late.”

Gisele made no effort to hide her irritation at Jamie’s response. “Suit yourself.”

A pregnant silence followed, punctuated only by the sound of hooves thudding on the packed road, and the creak of leather.

“I’m a bastard as well, in case that didn’t come up while you were spying on me,” Jamie said to no one in particular. “So I stand to inherit naught. No titles, no land, no wealth, no estates. I wasn’t lying to you earlier when I said I own nothing.”

Gisele slanted him a sideways glance. “Yes, I got that.
If you recall, it was I who paid for your clothes and your boots and your horse and your breakfast.” She was gratified to see his jaw clench. “And for the record, I’m uninterested in the lurid details of your conception. All I wish to know is why a man so obviously raised in privilege found himself here. But if you prefer not to talk about it, we can certainly discuss something else. Politics, perhaps? Or religion? How you got the scar on the inside of your left thigh?”

Sebastien guffawed, and Jamie scowled anew.

“Fine,” he snapped. “My father was Edward Montcrief, Duke of Reddyck. He had a handful of other titles, most of which are unimportant. He was a good father.”

“He saw to it you had an education.”

Jamie nodded. “And he bought me my commission.”

“Very generous of him.”

Jamie nodded again.

“Do you still own it?”

She wasn’t sure if Jamie had heard her; he was silent for so long.

She tried again. “Are you still a captain—”

“No. I sold my commission after Waterloo.”

A pang of disappointment assailed her. A cavalry captaincy was worth a great deal of money, Gisele knew. He had evidently divested himself of a small fortune in a very short time.
Where did all that money go?
she wondered silently. Given Jamie’s condition at the tavern, she supposed the answer was obvious. For some inexplicable reason, the thought of the waste was depressing. She would have liked to believe he was better than that.

“And your siblings? I am assuming there is a new Duke of Reddyck? Do you see him?” Gisele asked.

Jamie’s expression froze. “I am as dead to him as my father is. My brother wishes the French had done what he will never have the guts to do himself.”

Interesting. She hadn’t expected that. Gisele chose her words carefully. “And how would your death benefit your brother?”

Jamie’s lips tightened, and he shook his head, clearly having reached the limits of what he was willing to share on that front.

“Have you spent much time in London?” she asked with an air of nonchalance, though, for her purposes, the question was far from casual.

Jamie turned to face her. “London?” He laughed bitterly. “I’ve spent the last ten years of my life as an officer of the King’s Dragoon Guards. I’ve been too busy stuffing entrails back into the bodies of fallen Englishmen to attend very many London tea parties.” He stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Gisele shrugged, keeping her face carefully blank. “Do not apologize on my account.”

Jamie shifted his reins to his other hand. “The last time I was in London, I—” He stopped again, and Gisele watched a fleeting shadow of pain tighten his face. Then it was gone. “The last time I was in London I was sixteen years old,” he said with an obvious effort at civility. “My father took my brothers and me to buy horses.” He cleared his throat.

Gisele considered him, wondering what he had been going to say before he had changed his mind and lied.

“And yourself? When was the last time you were in London?” He returned her question.

A shudder coursed through Gisele, catching her unprepared.
A vile mixture of bitterness and pain engulfed her, making it hard to breathe for one horrific moment. She bit her lip, furious at herself and her lack of control over emotions she thought she had long ago bested. “Four years,” she gritted out. “The last time I was in London was four years ago.” And she had been certain then she would never go back.

“Is that where we are going?” Jamie asked, gesturing ahead of them. “We’re on the right road for it, anyway.”

“Yes,” Gisele managed grimly. “We are going to London.” She took a deep breath in an effort to regain her composure. “Though we have a stop to make along the way.”

The woman had gone white as a sheet. It would seem that angry, naked men did little to discomfit his new employer, but the merest mention of London had almost been her undoing. It was the first time he had noticed any sort of crack in the ice queen’s polished veneer. It had also served as a reminder that he still had no notion of Gisele’s true objectives, and the danger of throwing himself behind an unknown cause suddenly hit him with the force of a runaway carriage. He’d completely lost his edge. He’d allowed himself to be lulled into complacency by a good horse, a good haircut, and a fetching woman who had professed her faith in him. The notion of that faith had been intoxicating and humbling and he had embraced it with recklessness.

Or maybe that was the idea.

Perhaps he had just become the victim of a shrewd and cunning woman who had sensed his vulnerabilities and
exploited them with the deftness of a puppet master. She had, after all, spied on him and set him up. And aside from admitting she had intentionally duped him in that tavern yard, Gisele had divulged nothing else about herself.