I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (16 page)

“Gisele—”

Very deliberately she bent her head, taking him fully into her mouth. She dragged her tongue along the length of his shaft, and Jamie made a tortured noise, every muscle in his body seizing. She swirled her tongue around the tip of his cock then and he shouted, his hips surging up against her as he lost all control. She felt her own body spasm as he pulsed, breathing hard.

She smiled against the flatness of his abdomen, pressing gentle kisses along the surface, feeling his body still shuddering beneath her touch.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie said hoarsely. “I don’t usually… that doesn’t—”

“I’m flattered,” Gisele said, a languid satisfaction stealing over her. She stretched herself forward, kissing his neck.

He caught her head with his hands then and drew her all the way up, claiming her mouth with his own. He kissed her desperately, holding her tightly against him.

Eventually Jamie pulled back, searching her eyes with his own. “No regrets?” he whispered.

Gisele shook her head, feeling more free than she had ever felt. “No regrets.”

Jamie grinned at her before letting his head fall back against the pillows, his eyes closed in blissful lethargy.

Gisele rolled onto her back beside him, her head on his shoulder, and took a moment to revel in her newfound knowledge. The knowledge that she possessed the power to elicit the same reckless need in Jamie that he inspired in her. He had given up his control willingly and placed himself in her hands, and she understood that he had offered more than just his body. He had offered her his trust.

She glanced up at his profile. Jamie still had an expression of euphoric contentment on his face, and Gisele savored the thought that she had put it there. Her lips curled in wicked satisfaction as she considered what else she might do to provoke such an expression from Jamie Montcrief.

His stomach suddenly rumbled loudly. Gisele chuckled and rolled away from him, climbing from the bed and straightening her skirts. “Hungry?” she asked.

Jamie cracked open an eye with a wolfish grin. He rolled on his side to appraise her, and it was impossible not to notice his swelling erection.

“For
food
,” she said, picking the sheet up from the floor and tossing it at him. The power was positively heady.

“Yes. And yes.” He was laughing.

“Thank you, Jamie. For… that,” she said suddenly, the words slipping out unbidden.

He stopped laughing. “I’m fairly certain that was supposed to have been my line.” His eyes became serious. “You have no idea what you do to me, Gisele.”

A bubble of laughter burst. “Oh, I have an idea.” She dodged a pillow as it flew at her head.

They both froze due to a sharp banging on the door.

“Who is that?” Gisele asked.

“I don’t have the first clue.” Jamie was already out of bed and reaching for his breeches and shirt.

Gisele glanced down at her dress even as she hurried from the bedroom, closing the doors tightly behind her. It was one thing for the housekeeper to answer the door as she went about her duties—it was another thing for a housekeeper to be keeping company with a half-naked man.

She stopped in the hall, rearranging her face into an expression of polite servitude, and opened the door.

She had a brief impression of a rifleman’s uniform before it blurred and she found herself enveloped in a pair of strong arms, her nose buried in new wool. She was lifted nearly off her feet and then set back, the object of intense scrutiny as a pair of coal-dark eyes raked her from head to toe.

“You should have sent me a message,” the intruder barked. “I could have come immediately.”

“You were busy.” Gisele was gaping. “Why are you wearing a uniform? And why are you here?”

“Why are
you
here, Gisele?” the rifleman demanded, ignoring her questions. “I stopped at the duchess’s, and she gave me this direction. I nearly expired. She told me you were currently posing as a London housekeeper and that you had hired a cavalry captain who was—” His eyes suddenly left hers to focus over her shoulder, and she knew Jamie had stepped into view.

“Who the hell are you?” Jamie demanded in a voice
Gisele had thought reserved only for infuriated monarchs. He moved forward, pushing Gisele behind him as though he believed her to be in imminent danger.

Both men had their hackles raised and their teeth bared.

Gisele looked to the ceiling for guidance she knew she wouldn’t find and sidled out from behind Jamie.

“Gisele?” Jamie said, not taking his eyes from the soldier. “Do you know this man?”

“Umm, yes.” Gisele took a breath. “James Montcrief, may I present to you Iain Ferguson.”

Chapter 13

J
amie studied the man as he was ushered into the apartment, noting the strange shuffling walk that did little to detract from his striking good looks. Iain was tall and lean, roped with long muscle Jamie recognized as the kind earned only by hard physical labor. He had dark hair, black eyes, and a rich, olive complexion. He was in regimental uniform, the garments clearly new, which Jamie thought strange, considering Gisele had told him Iain’s injuries had removed him from service. She had also told Jamie that Iain Ferguson was in Scotland getting married, which was clearly not the case.

Jamie was aware he was glowering at Iain, and he made an effort to put a more pleasant expression on his face. This was her
friend
, he reminded himself, and he would try, for her sake, to remember that. Gisele turned and led both men into the drawing room, gesturing for them to sit. She perched herself on the edge of the settee and gave Jamie a look that pleaded with him to hold his tongue. At least for now. He gave her a tight nod.

“Please tell me why you are not in Scotland.” Gisele impaled Iain with a level stare.

“Please tell me why you thought it was a good idea to be in London,” Iain retorted.

“The marquess is getting married again, Iain. And it cannot be allowed to happen.”

“I heard. You should have sent me a message when you found out, Gisele. You can’t do this by yourself.”

“Mr. Montcrief has volunteered his assistance,” Gisele told him, rolling her eyes. “I was not about to attempt anything foolish alone.”

“But you’ll attempt something foolish with him?” Iain jerked his chin in the direction of Jamie.

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Gisele muttered. “Why are you here, Iain?” she asked, and Jamie recognized her posture. She would not be dissuaded this time. “Did something happen? Is Helena all right?”

“She fine.” A smile touched the rifleman’s lips. “She’s wonderful.” The smile faded. “But I had to see you before…” He trailed off. “We’re leaving.”

“Leaving? For where?”

“Halifax.”

“Halifax?” she repeated, sounding startled. “You’re going to Canada?”

Iain leaned forward. “The bulk of my old regiment is to be deployed there. My captain asked me if I would consider coming with them. While my injuries obviously prevent me from participating in any engagements, they do nothing to impede my ability to load and fire a rifle. An ability which seems to have become legendary.” He said the last almost regretfully. “I am told they are in dire need of skilled men to train and drill troops in the use of such weapons.”

“I see.” Gisele was twisting the fabric of her skirts in her lap, and Jamie had to restrain himself from going to her.

“It’s not the only reason.”

Gisele looked up at Iain sharply.

“She’s not as strong as you,” Iain said quietly. “Helena. She’s been brave, but the constant fear of being recognized is eating her alive. Every time we meet a new person or get passed by a carriage, she flinches. She can barely bring herself to go to market or the theater. She can’t live like that anymore.” He paused. “And she won’t have to in Halifax. It’s a new beginning for her. For us.”

Jamie watched Gisele. She was silent, regret and resignation touching her features.

“When do you leave?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh, Iain.”

“I’m so sorry, Gisele.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t feel right about leaving you when all this is happening.”

Gisele slapped her hand on the desk. Jamie and Iain both jumped.

“Leaving
me
? Are you bloody serious?”

“But I—”

“You are not responsible for me. Your responsibilities lie with Helena. You are responsible for seeing her safe to Halifax, for giving her oodles of babies to raise, and for loving her with a single-minded devotion. You are responsible for cherishing the happiness you two have found.”

“Speak your mind, why don’t you,” he muttered.

“And when have I not with you?”

Iain winced. “Once would have been nice, perhaps.”

Gisele laughed, though it ended abruptly. “Jesus, but I’m going to miss you.”

Iain grinned at her. “Yes, you will. The duchess seems to think you are in good hands, however.” The grin slipped, and his eyes slid to Jamie. “Perhaps you might give Mr. Montcrief and me a moment of privacy, Gisele?”

Jamie sat back, his forehead creasing in circumspection. Gisele was shaking her head.

Iain stared her down. “I’ll be but a minute. Mr. Montcrief has survived Napoleon and the Grande Armée for ten years, Gisele. Surely ten minutes with me won’t be a stretch.”

Jamie cut his eyes to Iain. He wondered what else the Duchess of Worth had told Iain Ferguson.

Gisele seemed to be considering the same thing, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Slowly, reluctantly, she got to her feet. Even more reluctantly she moved to the door. Jamie thought she was going to argue further, but instead she fetched the two coal buckets and left without another word.

Iain stood and went to the bookshelves, running his fingers along the titles. “What are your intentions towards Gisele?” he asked without turning around.

“My intentions?” Jamie blinked, instantly bridling. He’d been expecting a more military question.

“Yes, your intentions.”

“Why would that be any of your concern?” Jamie asked, deflecting.

Iain turned back to Jamie and crossed his arms over his chest. “I wanted to die, you know,” he said finally.

“I beg your pardon?”

“In Spain. I wished every day they had left me on that damned field to die. I woke up on the ground in a hospital tent and realized I was still alive, and I begged anyone
who would listen to help me die. I was still begging them when they shipped me back to England, though by then it was obvious my wounds were healing and the likelihood of death had faded. My mother came to collect me and brought me home, and I spent the next fortnight staring at the wall and wishing I were dead.”

Jamie shifted, unsure of the point of this conversation. “What happened after a fortnight?”

“The duchess brought Gisele to my mother’s house to hide. She arrived a stranger—silent and pale and stinking of smoke and the Thames, and my mother bathed her, fed her, and tucked her into bed next to me where I was attempting to torture myself to death with self-pity.” Iain stared down at his hands. “Gisele had written me to inform me of her engagement, but I had heard nothing from her after that, which was odd. But I was so consumed with myself, it never even occurred to me to ask after her.” He shook his head. “My mother was a smart woman. It’s hard to pity yourself when your best friend is in more pain than you.”

“That’s what Gisele said about you.”

Iain snorted. “She would. But the truth was, I was a sniveling, selfish fool. I had convinced myself my wounds were insurmountable and my life was over. That I would never be able to find happiness as I had always envisioned it—as a husband or father, for what woman would want me? Less than a whole man?”

“She convinced you otherwise.” Jamie wasn’t sure he had managed to mask the possessive jealousy in his words. Even though he knew they hadn’t been lovers, compassion and care had forged a bond between the two friends that had endured.

Iain gave him a hard, knowing look. “Aye, she did that.”

Jamie refused to take the bait and stayed silent. Without Iain Ferguson, Jamie was well aware he would not have the gift that was Gisele. But it didn’t mean Jamie didn’t feel an irrational resentment that he hadn’t been the one to help mend her then.

“But then, you already knew that.”

“Yes. She told me,” Jamie answered simply.

“She told you everything.” The words were speculative.

“Not everything.”

“Enough.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Jamie bore the full weight of Iain’s stare steadily.

“Why did you agree to do this? To help her?” Iain’s words were critical.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Jamie swore angrily. “I’m not going through this again. Sebastien. The duchess. You. I am sick to death of the doubt of my character, my moral compass, and my feelings for Gisele!”

“Do you love her?”

“I—” Jamie opened his mouth to deny it, but the words lodged fast in his throat.

“So that’s the way of it then.” Iain straightened abruptly.

Jamie swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Did he love her? He wasn’t certain he did or even if he deserved to do so. Protect her, yes. Help her, certainly. But love her?

Iain didn’t seem to notice his distress and instead sat down on the settee and winced. He reached down and rubbed his leg through the leather of his boot.

Jamie cleared his throat and tried to collect himself. “Does your leg pain you?” he asked gruffly. He was a soldier. He was a man not given to demonstrations of emotion. He still had dignity. Somewhere. The revelation of
the depths of his feelings toward Gisele would be dealt with. But not now. And most certainly not with Iain Ferguson.

Iain gave him a sidelong glance. “Aye. Some days more than others.” He struggled to adjust his boot, but the tight leather left little room to maneuver. He glanced in the direction of the door as if hoping Gisele would reappear.

“Can I help?” Jamie asked, unsure if Iain would resent the offer.

Iain hesitated. “I’d be obliged.”

The conversation was almost normal, and Jamie latched on to the concept. Nothing else about the last hour had been normal. Nothing since he had met Gisele had been normal.

“What do you need?” Jamie asked.

Iain grimaced as he tugged at the top of his boot. “I need to take the damned boots off,” he grumbled. “Sometimes it helps to rub the tightness from the muscle.”

“I can do that.” Jamie moved to crouch in front of Iain. The other man braced himself against the settee, and Jamie grasped the heel of the boot.

“Just give it a good yank,” Iain suggested.

Jamie did as requested and the boot came free with a horrible tearing noise. Iain let out a bloodcurdling shriek and clutched at his leg. Jamie went tumbling back into the bookshelves, landing hard on his back, Iain’s boot still in his hand.

“Jesus Christ!” Jamie wheezed in terror.

“My leg!” Iain yelled. “God in heaven, you’ve pulled it off!”

Jamie blanched, staring from his back among fallen books at the spot where Iain’s leg should have been. It
was gone. He scrambled to his feet, spinning and casting about in panic. A tourniquet. He needed something to bind the wound. He’d done it before on the battlefield. Something to stanch the blood. Before Iain bled out before him.

Or before Iain pissed his breeches laughing.

Jamie turned back to stare at the man, who was doubled over, his breath coming in huge heaving gasps.

“Shit, Montcrief, you should have seen your face,” Iain managed before losing his composure again.

Jamie looked down at the boot he still clutched in his hand. A thick pad of fleece was set into the top, leather straps protruding from the sides. The solid portion filling out the boot itself was rock-hard and, on closer inspection, composed a cleverly crafted lower leg and foot carved out of wood.

The apartment door crashed open, and Gisele tumbled in.

“What’s wrong?” she panted, her eyes flying from Jamie to Iain and back again. Then they dropped to the boot Jamie held.

“Dammit, Iain, what have I told you about doing that?” she scolded the man still laughing hysterically behind him.

Jamie did not miss the effort she was making to appear angry.

“One day someone is simply going to put a bullet in your brain in a misguided attempt to put you out of your misery.” Her eyes were watering now as she struggled to smother her own laughter.

Iain finally got himself under some semblance of control. “I’m sorry,” he lied.

“No you’re not,” Jamie said, rubbing his face with his free hand.

Iain bent over his other leg and unbuckled the straps on the top of his remaining boot. He pulled that leg free too and propped it up beside him on the cushions. He caught Jamie’s stare and made a wry face.

“French gunner had good aim that day.” Iain rubbed the stumps of his legs, just below the knees. “Damn cannonball.”

“Perhaps you should have jumped higher.” Jamie straightened his clothing and tossed Iain his leg. The rifleman caught it midair and stared at him before grinning. Jamie couldn’t stop himself smiling back.

Seeing the standoff had ended, Gisele began giggling like a schoolgirl. Jamie looked at her, his heart turning over in his chest, and he realized then that Iain had been right.

The respect and admiration and desire Jamie felt for this magnificent woman had merged into love.