I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (8 page)

“Don’t be obtuse, Jamie.” Gisele had doubtlessly intended these words to sound harsh and dismissive, but they left her lips like a whisper of silk.

Encouraged, but still unsure, Jamie brought his hand softly to her cheek. He waited, heart pounding, for a protest that never came. And neither did Gisele move
away—out of sheer stubbornness or something else—as he trailed his fingers down the side of her face. So, without giving either of them an opportunity to reconsider, he wrapped his hand around the back of Gisele’s neck, pulled her across the last inches, and claimed her mouth.

Chapter 8

G
isele melted into Jamie instantly. Later he would reflect that it might have been his own body that had dissolved into hers, but the order of things was unimportant, really. He felt her arms snake around his neck, and he let his own hands roam down the curve of her back, feeling the strength and heat that lay beneath the fabric of her dress. His mouth moved to the hollow at her throat, and he could taste the salt on her skin, feel her pulse hammering beneath his lips. He had never wanted a woman so badly in his life.

He flexed one arm around Gisele’s waist and lifted her just enough that her toes left the ground. He stumbled backward, bringing the two of them heavily onto the chair, and pulled her weight on top of him so that her long legs straddled his lap. He shoved her skirts up, sliding his hands along the tops of her thighs, and then around her arse, and then, with one swift and unforgiving tug, he slid her closer so that the cradle of her hips slammed into his arousal. They both groaned, the intimate contact rendering him motionless with pleasure. But only for a blink. He rocked into her once, twice, a third time, until they had established a rhythm that sent sparks traveling through
his limbs and caused pinwheels of light to flash behind his half-closed eyes.

Gisele threaded her fingers through his hair and arched her back, driving her hips against his straining cock with even greater force. He grew impossibly harder as her head tipped back, her silken hair cascading down into his lap and brushing opulently over his arms.

With one hand Jamie brought Gisele’s lips back to his and kissed her deeply, their tongues meeting in a cadence more languid than the pulse of their bodies. She met him stroke for stroke as his other hand found the neckline of her bodice. Reverently he cupped one breast through her gown, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. He dragged his mouth from hers even as he frantically pushed the material of her dress down. He took a nipple into his mouth and sucked and was rewarded by the feel of her fingers curling into his scalp.

Jamie slid his free hand between them then, down beneath Gisele’s skirts. He caressed her through the opening of her pantalets and then smoothly slid a finger into her core. She was slick and hot and shockingly tight. He was touching and tasting and thrusting—all in one maddening and unrelenting rhythm. Soon her entire body spasmed, clenching and compressing around him with a blinding intensity as her breath hissed against his ear.

Gisele collapsed against Jamie’s chest. She lay panting for a minute as he pressed light kisses to her exposed neck. His erection was still straining at the fall of his breeches but he was loath to move, instead taking fierce satisfaction at the pleasure he had wrung from the woman cradled in his arms. Neither of them stirred nor spoke for what felt like millennia.

Then Gisele placed her hands on Jamie’s thighs and slowly rose to her feet. He felt the loss of her body acutely but couldn’t form the right words to call her back. Instead he surveyed her movements as though in a trance, watching as she took two large steps backward and began to put herself to rights with methodical concentration. Her face remained hidden by her hair even as she made a final adjustment to her bodice and let her arms drop to her sides.

When she did finally raise her eyes to look at him, Jamie felt something black and miserable claw through his chest. Gisele’s face was expressionless. The stare she offered him was empty.

“You’ve proven your point,” she said tonelessly.

“My point?” He felt as if someone had gut-punched him.

“That you hold a great deal of… allure. To any woman. A fine audition, indeed.”

Jamie shook his head in an effort to clear it. Not an ounce of his passion for her had been feigned. How could she think otherwise?

“But please know that I do not require a repeat performance,” she continued grimly. “I left this part of my life behind a long time ago. So save your charms for the Lady Julia. She will need them more than I.”

Jamie opened his mouth to argue, but before he could formulate a protest, they were both startled by a few sharp raps on the chamber door. Wordlessly Gisele crossed the room and admitted Sebastien, who staggered in, his arms supporting a large tray heavy with food and drink. Jamie immediately moved to help him.

The valet looked pointedly between Jamie and Gisele, a silent question aimed at both.

“Jamie knows everything now,” she said simply.

Sebastien looked to Jamie for confirmation, and Jamie inclined his head, hoping Sebastien would interpret the flush of Gisele’s countenance as having been wrought by emotional conversation and nothing more.

“Thank God,” Sebastien said, sounding enormously relieved. “I was afraid it was going to be a very long day.” He sat at the small table and picked up a knife.

Jamie observed Gisele from the doorway, but he made no move to join his companions at their meal. God, but he wanted this captivating woman. And not just physically, though the feel of her body against his had been so very right.

She was intelligent and brave and beautiful, and the idea of having a woman like Gisele Whitby want to be with him made him almost dizzy with longing. But he should know better than to covet things he didn’t deserve. He had absolutely nothing to offer her, other than his pledge of assistance, whatever that might be worth. For the first time in his life, Jamie regretted his lack of fortune and title, two things he might have wielded with power and purpose on her behalf.

Gisele still wanted his help, but she wanted him to keep his distance. She’d been quite clear on that score, and Jamie truly had no idea how he was going to manage it. Her touch had branded him somehow despite her claimed indifference. He wondered how long Gisele’s mark would burn him or what he might do to bury the lingering heat. Jamie sighed heavily.

Sebastien was wrong. It
was
going to be a very long day.

Chapter 9

T
hey rode into London late the next afternoon under a blanket of sullen gray clouds, the wind chasing leaves and dust through the winding, twisting streets. The spring warmth of the previous evening had fled, leaving a pervasive chill that darted and bit through the seams of Gisele’s cloak.

“How much farther?” It was the first thing Jamie had said to her in over an hour.

Gisele watched him from the corner of her eye, guilt and unhappiness nudging at her conscience. She’d hurt him yesterday, she knew. She’d seen it on his face when she’d dismissed him, after he had left her shattered and senseless and reeling. It had taken everything she had to retreat from him and demand distance, but what had happened in that room last night could never happen again.

She didn’t fear the physical intimacy. It was the power Jamie Montcrief had over her—his ability to reduce her to a desperate mess of wanton recklessness with a simple touch—that was unacceptable. He made her lose control. Her desire clouded her judgment and allowed her emotions to control her decisions. It was too dangerous, not
only to their mission but also to her own carefully reconstructed sense of self.

The problem was that she still very much needed his help. So the best she could do was disassociate herself from the undeniable attraction she felt toward this man. He had been right about one thing. She could be a very skilled actress.

“Not too much farther.” She kept her tone light, determined to recapture a professional and cordial partnership. To recapture
control
. “Did you wish to stop for something?”

“No.” He was watching her now. “Is this wise?” he demanded suddenly. “You being in London? How recognizable are you, exactly?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. “I was the Marchioness of Valence. I died in a spectacular explosion hundreds of people witnessed. But that was four years ago, and the ladies and gentlemen of the ton tend to care only for the gossip sitting conveniently in front of their noses. I suspect their memories of me are cloudy at best.”

“Yet Sebastien left ahead of us so there would be no chance of you two being seen together.”

“It is better if we are not, I think. If Sebastien is recognized and I am standing right beside him, it’s that much easier for a keen eye to connect us both to Valence.”

Jamie was frowning at her now. “So he was Valence’s valet. He must have known what was happening to you.”

Gisele twisted in her saddle to look at him, ruthlessly suppressing a surge of dark memories in order to keep her voice even. “Yes. He knew. Sebastien helped orchestrate our escape.”

“And did no one wonder at his sudden disappearance immediately following yours?” Jamie sounded critical.

“He didn’t disappear immediately,” Gisele said, not liking his tone. “He stayed long enough to make sure Helena and I were declared dead. He organized and planned our funerals. Made sure there were no loose ends. When enough time had passed, he left.”

Jamie grunted at the information and eyed the looming specter of Westminster in the distance. “Who else?”

“Who else what?”

“Who else in London knows the Marchioness of Valence isn’t dead?”

“The Duchess of Worth. The Dowager Duchess of Worth,” she clarified. “And her limited staff.”

“A duchess?” Jamie’s forehead wrinkled. “Why?”

Gisele shook her head. “That is not my story to tell. But she was the only one who saw me. Truly saw me and understood what was happening.”

“How did she know?”

“My gown ripped one night at a ball. She hustled me off to repair it before Valence understood what had happened. She saw… I couldn’t…” Gisele floundered for the right phrase, aware Jamie was watching her closely. “She saw some marks that my supposed clumsiness could not explain.”

She could see a muscle working alongside Jamie’s jaw as he returned his attention to his horse. The shadows were getting longer now and casting strange shapes across roads that narrowed and widened in intervals. An occasional cart or hackney drove past, interspersed with people hurrying to their destinations before darkness fell.

“And no one else suspects? Friends or others you might have been close with?” he finally asked.

“I didn’t have friends. I was not allowed out in public without my husband. Attempts to socialize in secret resulted in consequences I do not care to recall.”

Jamie face darkened further. “So it is the Duchess of Worth we are paying a call to then.” His words were clipped.

“Yes.”

“Does she even know we’re coming?”

Gisele tipped her head. “I sent her a message from Nottingham so she’ll be expecting us at some point. Sebastien should have arrived at her town house already, and he will inform her we’re not far behind. But it doesn’t matter. She is the closest thing I have to family, and family always looks after their own.”

Jamie made a noise in his throat. “Not always. Sometimes they do not rise to the occasion.”

Gisele was startled at the raw pain in his words and surmised he must be referring to his estranged brother. “Your brother is a fool for—”

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s hurry.”

The sky was drifting toward darkness by the time Gisele stopped. Here the streets were wider, the buildings set in neat squares with expanses of garden and parks breaking up the urbanity. Lanterns hung at the entrances of the expensive townhomes, illuminating each well-appointed doorstep in the encroaching shadows. The homes were tall, most with facades of brick wrapped around the ground floor and giving way to columns soaring up three stories to the eaves. Somewhere someone was playing
the pianoforte, the music escaping into the night through an open window. Despite himself, Jamie was impressed. This was a London he had never seen.

“Wait here,” she said, dismounting and passing the reins of her horse to him.

He watched as she glanced furtively up the street, but nothing moved save a cat darting across the pavement. Quickly she opened the wrought-iron gate and hurried down the stairs to the servants’ entrance. He could hear the report of her knuckles on the door, and then the area was flooded with light as the door was opened. There was a rush of low voices he couldn’t make out, and then the door closed and Jamie could see Gisele coming back up the stairs, trailed by someone.

“Joseph will see to the horses,” she said to Jamie by way of explanation. “There’s a stable in back next to the coach house. You can follow me.”

Jamie eyed Joseph dubiously, doubting the boy’s ability to manage a mouse, much less two horses. He was no more than fifteen or sixteen, and even the proper livery he wore could not hide the fact that he was painfully thin. His cheeks were hollow and sharp, his eyes overlarge in his face. His hair had been slicked down, but the occasional piece stuck up at the back in defiance, giving him a slightly disheveled, childlike appearance.

Reluctantly Jamie handed his reins over to the youth and watched as the boy led the two horses away.

“Er, shall I offer my help to the lad? He looks a little peaky,” Jamie ventured.

“Good Lord, no,” Gisele assured him. “Joseph was the best damn horse thief in all of London. If there’s anything he knows, it’s horses.”

“Horse thief?” Jamie croaked, watching the rump of his beloved roan disappear into the passage toward the mews in back. He would have sprinted after the boy and the animals, except Gisele was pulling him insistently toward the townhome.

“He’s retired,” she explained as if this made all the sense in the world. “He’s Her Grace’s coachman now.”

“Coachman?” he parroted dumbly. “Why?”

Gisele led him down the stairs, not bothering to look back. “He’s brilliant with horses, of course. Now come inside. It’s getting cold.”

She pushed the door open and a flood of warmth and light enveloped him. He trailed after her, still trying to understand the last part of the conversation. She led him through the cramped but well-organized space, delicious smells wafting from somewhere up ahead, distracting him and reminding his stomach it had been too long since he’d eaten. They passed a scullery, deserted at the moment, and a darkened laundry room, also empty. Narrow doors lined the hall, concealing what must have been the wine cellars and pantries. Abruptly the hall widened into an open space dominated by two large trestle tables.

Standing in the center was a mountain of a woman who had stopped dead in her tracks at their appearance. In her arms she clutched a half dozen heavy butcher knives.

“Miz Gisele?” She set the knives down on the table with a crash. Her face creased with delight, and she barreled forward, coming to envelop Gisele in a smothering hug. Jamie blinked and took a slight step back, eyeing the woman’s thick forearms and massive shoulders. The woman looked as though she might be able to lift an entire bullock by herself.

“Never thought I’d see you step foot in London again.” The woman drew back, pushing strands of brassy blond hair back under her cap and straightening her stained apron.

“Neither did I,” Gisele said with what sounded like real regret. “Is Sebastien already here?”

“Aye. He’s helping ol’ George with them books in the study upstairs. Her Grace’s son was sniffin’ around the other day. Sebastien was always a better hand at creative accounting.”

Jamie was fighting hard to keep his face impassive. Creative accounting? What the hell did that mean? He glanced sideways at Gisele, but she registered no surprise.

“So the duke’s been prowling about?” Gisele was asking.

“Aye. Prob’ly wondering if his mama’s lost her mind fer good.”

“Just as well to keep him thinking that.”

“Aye.” The woman nodded sagely.

“Is Her Grace home?”

“Aye, she just returned not a half hour ago. I believe she’s jus’ changing.”

“She didn’t know exactly when we were coming,” Gisele told her.

“No matter. Jus’ happy yer here.” The woman nodded her understanding even as her sharp gaze suddenly locked on Jamie. “Who are you?” she asked without preamble but with a great deal of suspicion.

“Margaret, this is James Montcrief. He is working with me. Margaret is the duchess’s cook.”

Margaret crossed her muscular arms over her boundless chest and studied him openly. Jamie forced himself to
meet her shrewd gaze steadily, realizing with a start that the woman’s eyes were level with his own.

“A pleasure, ma’am.” He hoped he sounded suitably respectful. He honestly didn’t like his chances should this Goliath take exception to him.

“
Humph
,” she grunted by way of greeting, before turning back to Gisele. “Iain married yet?”

“I imagine so.”

“ ’Bout time,” the cook mumbled. “He’ll make that girl happy.”

“Yes,” Gisele agreed.

Margaret picked up one of her knives and ran a finger expertly along the edge of the blade, silent in consideration. “You come up with a plan yet on how we ought to stop that bastard Valence from gettin’ married again?”

“Not quite yet.” Gisele was avoiding Jamie’s eyes.

Margaret sniffed. “Well, if you get desperate, Miz Gisele, I have favors owed me. A man can vanish these days, you know. A large is worth nearly ten guineas now, an’ the surgeons are payin’ up front and not askin’ stupid questions.”

Jamie’s mouth dropped open. He hadn’t thought very carefully about where he might find the connection between the former Marchioness of Valence and the two resurrection men she called friends. But never in his wildest imaginings would he have guessed it lay in the kitchens of a dowager duchess.

“No.” Gisele put a hand on the woman’s arm. “The Darling brothers offered the same. But I’d never ask that of you even if the risk were not as great.”

“Ah, well, I figured you’d say as much.” Margaret tapped the tip of the lethal blade against her palm and
sighed with what sounded like regret. “You’ll let me know if you change yer mind?”

“Of course,” Gisele assured her.

The cook began collecting the rest of her abandoned knives. “If yer hungry, help yourself to the leftovers,” she told them. She waved her arm in the general direction of the kitchens and the pantries. “We just had cold meats and bread and cheese tonight on account Her Grace was out. Got a few more chores left afore the day’s done or I’d fix you something.”