I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (11 page)

“And when will this occur?” he ventured. “The triumphant return of… ah, a retired cavalry officer?”

“War hero,” she corrected. “And you will be presented tonight.”

“Tonight?” Jamie straightened. “As in… tonight-tonight?”

“We’ll need to work on your comprehension skills,” the duchess chided lightly. “The Countess of Baustenbury is hosting a ball. She does it every year, and it has grown into quite the event.”

“The Countess of Baustenbury?” Jamie refused to look at Gisele.

“Do you plan on echoing me for the remainder of this discussion?”

“No,” Jamie sputtered. “It’s just…”

“You are acquainted with the countess?” The duchess was watching him curiously.

“Not exactly. Why this ball?”

“The marquess will be there,” Gisele said quietly. “Invitations are rare and exclusive. Two things that are irresistible to him.”

Eleanor turned to Jamie. “I wish you to meet the man. I want you to see him, to speak with him, insert yourself into his world.”

“To what end?” Jamie felt something cold lodge in his chest.

The duchess’s lips thinned. “We will determine that. But for now, we will concentrate on making you visible, and most importantly, making your presence both desired and required at every club and crush in this city.”

“I cannot believe I will be so coveted.”

Eleanor drew herself up. “Your looks will get you noticed, though you already know that. Your job tonight, Mr. Montcrief, is to be charming and polite to every woman in attendance, whether she is eighteen or eighty. You will be humble and witty and cordial to every man to whom you are introduced, and if they ask for a war story, you will give them one, whether you wish to or not. Let me take care of the rest.” She paused. “I will bring my carriage to collect you myself at ten o’clock sharp. You will be dressed in a manner best left to the expertise of Sebastien. My son is of the same build as you—I will have him send over something appropriate until you can obtain a wardrobe befitting your role. Any questions?”

Jamie was beginning to feel a little as if his life had spun completely out of control, and the feeling was not sitting comfortably. “No.”

“Very good.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I would suggest you retire to your new lodgings and familiarize yourself with their location and amenities. And I would suggest you do that soon. Ten o’clock is not that distant.”

“Of course.”

“Until tonight then, Mr. Montcrief?”

“I’ll be ready, Your Grace.”

For what exactly, he had no idea.

Gisele waited until the door had closed behind them before turning on him. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“About what?” Jamie asked, feeling utterly drained.

“The truth about your family? Your captaincy? Any of it?”

“What difference does it make? I have given you my word to help you, and I intend to see this through. I should think that would be enough.”

Gisele watched him steadily. “I just wish I had known the whole of your history before we visited the duchess. I was blindsided in that room.”

“Oh, pardon me, did you want me to be honest?” he mocked in disbelief, the emotional turmoil of the last hour finally snapping what remained of his patience. “Like the way you’ve been honest with me?” He thought he saw her flinch but he didn’t care. “Every scrap of information you’ve given me I’ve had to beg and tease and draw out of you in the manner one might pull a bone away from a hungry dog. I still don’t even know what it was your husband did to you and what it is I’m supposed to stop from happening again!” He stopped, breathing hard. “I’m working
on assumptions and blind faith, Gisele. You, of all people, cannot
dare
condemn my lack of transparency!”

She looked away.

Jamie cursed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Her words were dull. “You’re absolutely right.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, at a loss for an appropriate response. What he wanted to do was kiss her. Sweep her up into his arms and carry her to the ends of the earth, where he would spend the rest of his life making her forget every terrible thing that had ever been done to her. But she didn’t want that from him—that she’d made very clear. She’d fought her own way free from her past. And if he was any sort of man at all, he would respect that.

He wished she’d yelled at him instead of backing down. Hysterics would be easier to manage than her quiet retreat. He should not have said what he’d said but Gisele had pushed him into a darkened corner so filled with unbearable guilt and regret that he’d wasted a year of his life trying to drown it all in drink.

Gisele turned and walked to the door, her expression completely unreadable. “We should hurry,” she said, her voice lacking any discernable emotion. “We have a great deal to accomplish before ten o’clock.”

Chapter 10

T
he Albany apartment was more spacious than Gisele had anticipated. Manicured as carefully as those of the townhomes they had just left, the exterior of the building exuded understated money and exclusivity. The interior was no different. Stepping through the door of the suite, Gisele found herself in a simple but expensively appointed hall where a fire was struggling to establish itself. Sebastien, efficient as ever, had already ordered coal brought up, water heated, and the windows cracked open to dissipate the mustiness of a space unused for too long.

Alone she continued her exploration into a masculine-looking drawing room of sorts housing an expansive desk, a modest settee, a comfortable leather chair, and a small sideboard topped with cut crystal decanters and glasses. Bookshelves covered the entire wall behind the desk, and Gisele let her fingers glide across the spines, leaving faint trails in the dust. Drifting toward a set of double doors, she peered into a bedroom tastefully decorated in cream and dark blues. A heavy bed dominated the center of the room, flanked by an ornate armoire. On the other side, a narrow door led to a dressing room where she could
see the corner of a large hip bath in which water already steamed.

She returned to the hall to find Sebastien and a porter struggling to deposit a large crate just inside the door. The valet looked harried and harassed.

“Where is James?” he demanded, the moment the porter had left and shut the door behind him.

“In the stables.” Gisele shrugged and toed the edge of the crate with her shoe.

Sebastien said something inaudible under his breath and pulled out his timepiece.

“Would you like me to fetch him?” Gisele asked with little enthusiasm. She and Jamie had barely exchanged a dozen words since leaving the duchess’s.

Sebastien collapsed into one of the upholstered chairs near the fireplace and waved his hand in defeat. “An hour,” he muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“In an hour Her Grace’s carriage will pull up outside this building. At which time she expects James to be
spectacular
and
irresistible
. Her words, not mine.”

“I have faith,” Gisele told him warmly, trying to cheer him up. “For you are a miracle worker.”

“As much as I appreciate your pretty flattery, my dear, I must point out I have nothing to work with,” Sebastien despaired. “No clothes, no shoes, and no James.”

A sharp rap on the door interrupted his lamentations, and he heaved himself out of his chair to answer. A footman in fine livery stood in the doorway holding a long, bulky box.

“The Duke of Worth sends his regards,” the servant said pleasantly. “He has sent over a number of items at
Her Grace’s request for”—he consulted a card—“Mr. James Montcrief. He does hope they will suit, and he looks forward to making his acquaintance this evening.” His oratory complete, the footman deposited the box into Sebastien’s arms and retreated back out into the night.

Sebastien marched the box into the bedroom, where he placed it on the bed, mollified somewhat by the delivery of the clothes if not the man he needed to dress. Gisele wandered in after him, watching as the valet began to extract evening wear with near reverence.

“The man might be a rogue, but he certainly knows how to appoint himself.” Sebastien picked up a black evening coat and admired the cut.

“Who? The Duke of Worth?”

“Yes.”

“Margaret told me he was snooping around Her Grace’s house the other day.”

Sebastien snorted. “He was probably just trying to make sure there was still enough money in the coffers to keep him in racehorses,” he said. “I don’t think the duke would have the smallest idea of what he was looking at even if someone were robbing the family blind and leaving a trail of coins and silverware out the front door.”

Gisele’s forehead wrinkled. “I’m trying to remember him.”

Sebastien laid out two different cravats on the counterpane with admiration. “Sinfully handsome, perhaps a little self-absorbed, and as far as I can tell, not at all interested in the business end of his title. But generous to a fault.” He held up a pair of evening pumps and stroked the black leather with a happy sigh. “And he has a superb sense of style.”

“What the hell are those?” Jamie growled from behind Gisele.

She jumped and spun, her heart leaping in her chest.

“Nice of you to join us,” Sebastien said, eyeing in dismay the bits of straw and hay that once again clung to Jamie’s clothing. “And they’re shoes.”

“For leprechauns?” Jamie asked.

Gisele snickered despite her efforts to remain silent.

“For
gentlemen
.” Sebastien pinned both of them with a glare.

“Dear God,” Jamie muttered. “If you expect me to wear those, I’m going to need a drink. Or six.”

“No, you need a bath,” Sebastien corrected.

“Why?”

“Because you smell like a horse. And even though you will likely dance with ladies tonight who do indeed look like horses, that does not mean
eau d’equine
will curry you favor with anyone. No pun intended.”

Jamie was frowning fiercely as he surveyed the clothing on the bed.

“I’ll bring you a drink once you’re in the tub,” the valet offered.

Jamie looked up with reluctant interest. “You will?”

“Yes. I’m not above bribery. Now go and get clean like a good boy. I’ll be in to shave you right away.”

Jamie sighed in defeat before he pushed past Gisele on his way to the dressing room. His eyes met hers briefly before they skittered away.

“Are you two not speaking?” Sebastien asked the moment the dressing room door closed behind him.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Gisele backed out of the bedroom, unwilling to have this conversation.

“Darling, you’re a terrible liar. At least to me.”

She stopped in the doorway, caught. “Jamie’s mother was the Duchess of Reddyck. His parents were married after he was born.” She paused. “And he didn’t purchase his captaincy. He was promoted. As it turns out, he really was a war hero.”

“And?” Sebastien had a perplexed look on his face.

“And what?”

“Why are you telling me this? As interesting as this trivia might be, honestly, what difference does it make?”

Gisele sighed unhappily. “That’s exactly what Jamie said when I berated him for not telling me before.” She leaned her forehead against the wood. “God, I am such a fool.”

“Ah.” Sebastien left the far side of the bed to face her and nodded sympathetically. “Fool, no. Unfair, yes.” He raised a dark brow. “It sounds as though you owe James an apology.” He turned back to the clothing. “But you can’t do it now. I have”—he checked his timepiece again—“only forty minutes to create
spectacular
and
irresistible
.”

Gisele nearly laughed. Despite her earlier encouragement, no miracles were necessary. Jamie unshaven and naked was stunning enough.

“I fail to see anything amusing about this,” Sebastien grumbled. “So if you are only here to entertain yourself at my expense, please get out.”

Gisele dropped him a mocking curtsy and retreated, leaving the valet to his fervent comparison of waistcoats.

She busied herself unpacking the contents of the crate still in the hall. Candles, bricks of hard soap, towels, extra bed linens, and bottles of whiskey and brandy. Blacking, brushes, and small tins that Gisele could only guess as to their contents and purpose, but nevertheless had been
designated as necessary by a valet who took his job very seriously. The mundane work gave her time to consider both Jamie’s and Sebastien’s words, and she squirmed as she did so.

Sebastien had said she’d been unfair, but that was kind. Gisele had been far worse than unfair. Wasn’t she the one who had lectured Jamie on the unimportance of one’s past when the present counts for more? And then to accuse him of not being honest about the events in his life when it truly mattered naught…

She glanced toward the bedroom doors, still tightly shut as Jamie prepared himself to face the unforgiving judgment of the ton. Gisele knew very well he would spend a large portion of the evening reliving the horror of Waterloo for the idle entertainment of aristocrats. He would undoubtedly need to provide an explanation about his title, or lack of one. Things he’d probably never expected he’d have to do when he agreed to help her.

Would she do the same if their roles were reversed? If it were Jamie who needed her help? Help that would require her to explain the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of her husband? Or relive the flames and the freezing water of the Thames? Would she sacrifice that personal privacy in order to keep her word? She didn’t have an easy answer, and for that she was ashamed.

God, but she owed Jamie an apology of epic proportions for her hypocrisy. And she would add another equally large
mea culpa
for her selfishness.

Gisele was hurrying back to the drawing room, resolute and determined, when the bedroom doors swung open. She stopped short as Sebastien emerged looking smug and extremely pleased with himself.

“May I present to you, my lady, Mr. James Montcrief.” He bowed with a flourish and moved aside as Jamie stepped out from behind him.

Gisele felt the ground give way beneath her, and she sat down hard on the wide leather chair. “Oh” was all she managed.

He was dressed in the very height of fashion, a look that was somehow cavalier yet perfect all at once. Black tailcoat, a pearl-colored waistcoat, and a cleverly tied cravat so blindingly white it couldn’t help but emphasize his rich complexion and unyielding jaw. Modern black trousers hugged powerful legs, his muscular calves encased in black silk, and the sleek look was finished with a fashionable pair of thin leather shoes. His dark golden hair fell over his forehead in thick, careless waves, begging for fingers to run through it. There was a slight flush in his cheeks from his bath or his shave or both, bringing attention to those exotically colored eyes.

Gisele had never in her life seen a man as physically breathtaking as the one standing before her.

“
Oh?
That’s all you have to say? Really?” Sebastien demanded. “Tell me you don’t feel the need to throw yourself at his splendor. Or swoon at his feet?”

Gisele was still trying to find her voice.

Jamie had no such problems. “I want my boots back,” he growled.

“Over my dead and bloodied body,” Sebastien replied, peeved. “Only a boor dances in boots.”

Gisele rose slowly from her chair and came to stand directly in front of Jamie. His eyes were guarded, his thoughts unreadable.

“If you are worried about dancing, perhaps I might
have the pleasure of this one?” It would be the only opportunity she would ever have to dance with this man, and despite everything, she would not squander that.

“Practice. Excellent idea,” Sebastien sniffed. He hummed the opening bars to a waltz. “I’ll leave you to it while I put the rest of the clothes in order before they are ruined forever. The bedroom looks a little like we’ve been robbed.”

Jamie hesitated before he held out his hand, and Gisele wondered if he was going along with this idea out of duty or kindness. She placed her hand in his, and he encompassed it in his warmth, while his other hand slid around her waist. A thrill coursed through her.

“You approve.” He glanced down at his clothes. “I am suitable?”

“You are stunning.” She didn’t see any reason not to state the obvious.

He gave her a slow smile, dropping his guard, and she forgot to breathe. Lust flexed through her, leaving her throbbing and damp. He led her into the first steps.

“When I learned this dance, it was considered the height of indecency,” he whispered. “Scandalous.” His fingers traced a slow circle at the small of her back.

“Times have changed.” God, but he was making it hard to think. “Though if you waltz with a debutante like this tonight, you’ll still find yourself married by tomorrow morning.”

“I have no desire to waltz with a debutante,” he said quietly.

“But you will.”
Because I’ve asked you to
, she added with silent remorse.

“Yes.”

She gathered her courage. “Jamie? I need to apologize.”

He stilled. “No, you don’t. What I said earlier—”

“Stop.” She pulled back and searched his eyes. “When I asked for your help, I had no idea this would become so… personal. I, more than anyone, understand what it is like to try to forget, and I never intended for you to have to return to places better left behind. For that I am truly sorry.” She fingered a button on the front of his coat. “Your past is not mine to appraise or censure. I promise I will not do so again. The mere fact you are still here after everything…” She trailed off. “Your presence speaks louder than words ever could. Thank you, Jamie.”

His hand tightened on hers, and he pulled her back into him. She could feel the hard strength of him beneath the fine clothes, and she leaned into it, laying her head against his chest, for the first time truly believing everything would be all right.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered, his mouth inches from hers.

“Ahem.” Sebastien cleared his throat. “Her Grace’s carriage has arrived.”