I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (24 page)

Jamie closed the door very slowly before turning on the duke. “If you have done anything to her or to—”

“Goddammit, stop talking and try to listen for a bloody minute!” Malcolm shouted. He took a steadying breath. “I’m trying to apologize to you. What I said to you that day, I said out of anger and grief. In a heartbeat I had lost my brother and had found myself saddled with a title and expectations and responsibilities I never wanted. I was selfish and infantile and I resented the time you had with Michael that I didn’t. That doesn’t excuse what I did. But I regretted it immediately, because with my words and my actions, I lost another brother.”

Gisele could see a muscle ticking along Jamie’s jaw. “You didn’t just dismiss me, Malcolm, you dismissed the very thing dearest to Michael. And that was unforgivable.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. I had men searching for Sofia before the week was out. They were able to locate her fairly quickly. She told me what you’d done for her.”

Jamie looked away.

“You shouldn’t have done it. That commission meant a great deal to you.”

“What the hell else was I supposed to do?” Jamie snarled, anger blazing. “What the hell was
she
supposed to do? She was alone and penniless and pregnant. She was family, even though you denied it and turned your back on her.”

Gisele was looking back and forth between the brothers, a strange feeling crawling through her. None of this conversation was making sense.

“You’re right, Jamie. She’s family, same as you are. Which is why we’ve been looking for you for almost a year. When she saw that article—”

“Who, exactly, is Sofia?” Gisele could stand it no longer.

Jamie’s jaw was set, and she wasn’t sure if he was going to answer her.

“Sofia was… Michael’s.”

Gisele felt the ground tilt a little under her feet. “His wife?”

“They weren’t married.”

“Why?” The question was out before she could stop it.

“Because the men in my family have spectacularly bad timing when it comes to the women they love.”

“I don’t understand.”

Jamie sighed. “Sofia and Michael met the day he reported for duty, and they fell in love on the spot. She was a gunner’s daughter and had grown up following the British army. She did mending and tailoring for the officers to supplement her father’s pay. Michael wanted to take her home to marry her, but then they found out she was pregnant and decided to marry straightaway. Their wedding day had been planned for June sixteenth of last year.”

The day the whole of the English troops had been frantically sent marching to the crossroads of Quatre Bras and Waterloo.

“And Richard is Michael’s son,” Gisele whispered unsteadily.

Jamie jerked his head. “He never got the chance to see him.” He turned a glacial stare on Malcolm. “Where is she?”

“Still in the shop you bought for her. I invited her to come and live with me as soon as I found her but she declined. Said she would stay where she was so that, when you were ready, you would know where to find her.”

Gisele put a hand out to steady herself against the mantel. “Oh, God. He looked just like you.”

Jamie turned around for the first time since Malcolm had arrived. “Who?”

“Richard.”

Jamie stared at her. “Good Christ, you thought he was
mine
?”

“He looks just like you,” she repeated numbly.

“He looks just like his father,” Jamie snapped. “And his father looked just like me, being my brother and all. Just like him.” He jabbed a finger in Malcolm’s direction.

Gisele rubbed her face. “I’m sorry, Jamie.” She looked up at him, another truth blindsiding her then. “You sold your commission to support her. And Richard.”

Jamie looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Of course I did. And Sofia’s done quite well for herself since then. Even has a seamstress working for her now.”

Gisele suddenly felt like weeping.

“Are we done here, Malcolm?” Jamie asked wearily, turning back to his brother. “This is pointless.”

“No, we certainly are not done. Not after I have just found you.”

Jamie ground his palms against his eyes. “You couldn’t find me, Malcolm, because I didn’t want to be found. I didn’t want to look at Richard every day and be reminded
he will grow up without a father because I failed to protect Michael. To look at Sofia and know I failed. To look at you and know I failed.”

“Michael left you Foxhaven.”

Jamie’s head jerked up. “What?”

“Michael left you Foxhaven.”

“He left me an estate? How?” Jamie was looking at his brother in confusion.

“What do you mean, how?”

“Where are you getting this from?”

“He left a will, Jamie. Michael wasn’t six years old. He knew he wasn’t playing war with sticks and rocks. He knew very well he might not survive.”

“But it was my responsibility to see that he stayed out of harm’s way. I should have—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Jamie. You always did fancy yourself the hero, even when we were children. Protector of all, savior of many, but honestly, this bloody martyr act is wearing thin. You—”

He never finished because Jamie’s fist crashed into his jaw.

Malcolm staggered back, but didn’t fall.

“Feel better?” Malcolm asked, straightening and rubbing his chin. He wiped a trickle of blood from his lip where it had split.

“A little.”

“Do you want to do it again?” The duke was grinning.

“Maybe later. Outside.” A small muscle was pulling at the corner of Jamie’s mouth. “I can’t afford to replace any of the furniture in here.”

The grin slid from Malcolm’s face. “I’m truly sorry, Jamie. I don’t know how I can make it up to you, but I
hope you can forgive me. You’re my brother, and I can’t bear to lose you too.”

Jamie was silent for a minute. “I don’t want to lose another brother either.”

Malcolm’s grin returned. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not going to hit you again.”

“You always did have a good right hook.”

“You used to be better at ducking them.”

“I think I’m getting old.” Malcolm snorted and peered around the hall. “What
are
you doing here, Jamie?”

Jamie crossed his arms. “Working.”

“Doing what, exactly?” Malcolm looked at Jamie’s expensive clothing and expensive apartment and smirked. “Or should I have said
whom
?”

“Don’t be a bastard,” Jamie grunted with no venom.

“No, that’s you,” Malcolm said lightly. “Though from the gossip columns, that seems to be helping rather than hindering. Seriously, Jamie, you don’t need to be here. I’ve nearly concluded my business in town and will be returning home in a few days’ time. Come home with me. Foxhaven is yours, and I would like my brother back. I need you. Do you know what a bloody headache it is to be a duke?”

“I can’t.”

Malcolm misunderstood. “Sofia and Richard would join us—”

“I can’t,” Jamie repeated. “Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because I made someone a promise and I need to keep it.”

“To whom?”

“Me.” Gisele stepped forward, finally finding her voice.

“And who are you?” The question was cautious.

Gisele looked to Jamie, having no idea how to answer that question. A good part of her still felt like collapsing in a puddle of tears in response to the revelations of the last few minutes. The utter selflessness and loyalty of the man standing before her were making it hard to breathe. She should never have doubted him. She never would again. She loved this man with an intensity that defied reason.

“I love you, Jamie,” she said suddenly, not caring who heard it, not caring if Jamie returned the sentiment. But he had to hear it. She had to say it.

Jamie moved to stand before her, his forehead touching hers, his eyes closed. He cupped her cheek with his hand and kissed her softly.

“Gisele…”

She put her fingers to his lips. “Shhh.” It didn’t matter. Nothing he could say or failed to say would change anything.

Behind them Malcolm cleared his throat tactfully.

“He’s my brother,” Jamie whispered to her. “We can trust him. But what we tell him is up to you.”

Gisele squeezed his hand. She stepped away from Jamie and looked the duke in the eye. “I am the Marchioness of Valence.”

Malcolm blinked and looked at Gisele askance. “The one who was on a barge when it blew up in the middle of the Thames?”

She knew her own expression now mirrored the duke’s.

“A good memory runs in the family,” Jamie muttered under his breath.

“Is this a joke?” Malcolm asked his brother.

“No, I can assure you it’s the farthest thing from.”

Malcolm swung his attention to Gisele. “But you’re dead.” His eyes went back to Jamie. “And you’re kissing her.”

“Umm…” Gisele winced.

Another series of sharp raps sounded on the door, and it was Gisele who moved to answer it, if only to delay the awkward explanations that were looming.

The Duchess of Worth swept in, a troubled look on her face, and the hall suddenly shrank to minuscule proportions.

“We have a problem,” Eleanor announced without preamble. She was brought up short by the sight of Malcolm, still dripping in the middle of the hall, his lip bloody and rapidly swelling. “Good gracious, there’s two of you.” She peered at Malcolm. “The Duke of Reddyck, I presume? Whatever happened to your face?”

“He walked into my fist,” Jamie said.

“My reflexes aren’t what they used to be,” Malcolm added cheerfully.

Eleanor blinked. “I can see that.”

“May I present my brother, Malcolm Montcrief, Duke of Reddyck. Malcolm, this is Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Worth.”

“A pleasure.” Malcolm offered a polite bow.

“What are you doing here?” the duchess asked in response.

If Malcolm was perturbed by her rudeness, he showed no sign. “Looking for my brother.”

“It would appear you’ve found him.” She cut a sharp glance at Jamie in question.

“I’d like to help,” Malcolm offered.

The duchess turned an assessing eye on the duke. “And what is it you believe you can help with, exactly?”

“My brother was just kissing a dead marchioness,” Malcolm said calmly. “Now, I do not claim to be exceedingly clever, but even I can recognize what’s at issue here.”

Eleanor crossed her arms, but not before she sent Jamie and Gisele an arch look that flooded Gisele’s face with heat. “Kissing, you say? Was he indeed?” She paused and turned back to the duke. “How much do you know?”

“I only know that I’ve spent a year trying to find my brother, a situation born purely of my own stupidity. And now that I have him back, I’ll not walk away from him ever again.” Malcolm looked Jamie in the eye.

“He hasn’t yet been told the… details,” Gisele explained to Eleanor. “We hadn’t quite yet got to that part when you arrived.”

Eleanor
harrumph
ed. “Well, then I would suggest you share the details sooner rather than later. Perhaps Reddyck might indeed be of assistance with our problem.”

Jamie gave Malcolm a composed and steady account of what had brought him and everyone standing in the room together. The duke looked alternatively shocked, horrified, indignant, and furious at appropriate intervals. It would seem Jamie’s decent upbringing had not been limited to the eldest son.

“And which of these myriad problems do you believe I can assist you with?” Malcolm asked the duchess when Jamie had finished.

“My son is holding a ball.”

“A ball?” Gisele worked her tongue around the word as though it were the first time she’d been presented with the concept. That certainly wasn’t what she had been expecting.

“Yes, the boy has been a constant burr under my
backside this week, snooping about, talking in slow, measured sentences about how delightful it would be if I gave up my home and came to live with him. And if that weren’t trouble enough, today Worth, bless his meddling heart, has taken a notion to host a ball. And a masked ball, of all things.”

“I don’t understand.” Gisele was frowning. “Why?”

“The events of yesterday afternoon have caused a tidal wave of talk, just as you planned. Unfortunately, the undertow of that gossip seems to have caught his dear friend Lord Huston and his two lovely sisters in its wake. It would seem it is now Lady Julia’s fitness that has been called into question, based on her untitled upbringing and Valence’s preference for the ghost of his dead wife to a living, breathing debutante.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Gisele cried in horror. “What is wrong with people?”

“That is exactly what Worth said to me this morning. So he’s holding a ball. An engagement party of sorts just prior to the wedding, in honor of Lady Julia and Lord Valence. A public quashing of petty gossip. A declaration from a duke that anyone who takes exception to the good name of his best friend and his family will deal with him.”

“When?”

“Tonight.” Eleanor crossed her arms over her chest in disgust.

“Tonight?” Jamie was staring at her. “As in tonight-
tonight
?”

“I thought we had addressed this comprehension issue,” the duchess chided Jamie.

“How can the duke host a ball tonight?” Gisele asked.
“Balls take weeks to plan. You need invitations and food and decorations and—”

“Money. And when you’re a duke and you have lots of it and you’re willing to spend it to make something happen, it does. Right now society matrons and maidens are in a dither, frantically rearranging their social calendars to accommodate the Duke of Worth.” Eleanor said it with no arrogance or pride, just as a simple statement of fact. “Because to cut a duke, and a popular, eligible, wealthy one at that, would result in social consequences no one would wish to consider.”

“So everyone will attend,” Gisele said evenly.

“Yes.”

“And by their presence, they will be validating the assertion that Lady Julia is above reproach.”

“Yes.” Eleanor was nodding.

“And if the Marquess of Valence were to be absent?”

The duchess looked taken aback. “Then despite my son’s efforts, her reputation would suffer a substantial blow. For what honor-bound bridegroom would not attend his own engagement party, hosted by his social superior, unless he was sending a very harsh message? Since Lady Julia does not suffer from any obvious physical deformities, it must be assumed she has acted in such a manner as to render her unacceptable for marriage to a marquess. Unacceptable for marriage to anyone.”