I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (6 page)

Jamie retraced his steps to where Gisele stood in the doorway and came to stand directly in front of her, forcing her to look up at him. Without taking his eyes from hers, he tossed the flaming stick into the pile of oil-soaked thatch. “No, I would not like to leave.”

Something shifted in her eyes, and the corners of her mouth curled slightly. For one wild moment, Jamie wondered what she would do if he kissed her right then. To prove to her just how much he wanted to stay. The urge to taste her was almost overwhelming.

Behind him the fire caught and began to lick greedily,
smoke beginning to curl. He touched his finger to the side of her cheek. “I gave you my word. And I don’t scare that easy.”

They’d ridden hard all that night, stopping only once to water their horses. Sebastien had caught up with them some miles south of Leicester, and he hadn’t spoken, though he wore a look of satisfaction. Jamie was quite certain that this wasn’t the first time Gisele and Sebastien had spent a night on the backs of horses, putting distance between themselves and suspicious circumstances to avoid thorny explanations.

Yet as they traveled south, in the direction of London, the vague sense of unease and urgency surrounding the pair seemed to grow, not lessen. It was a disturbing sensation for Jamie, and it was not unlike the one that plagued men on a battlefield waiting for dawn to reveal an enemy that had amassed before them under the cover of darkness.

Jamie watched Gisele now out of the corner of his eye as they handed their horses over to the stable hands at the inn where they’d finally stopped. All of them desperately needed food and a few hours of rest, as did their horses. She and Sebastien had inquired about rooms at two other guesthouses, smaller, ramshackle establishments farther outside of town, but neither had had any vacant chambers to offer. This one, in the heart of Northampton, was bigger and busy, with quite a few carriages and mail coaches waiting in its sprawling yards.

Jamie could see that neither of his companions was happy about having to seek shelter at these finer lodgings. Gisele was visibly nervous, her eyes darting across the
court as if searching for something or someone. Before she’d even dismounted, she’d pulled the hood of her cloak all the way over her head despite the warmth of the late-morning sun.

He eyed Gisele again as she preceded him toward the narrow entrance to the inn and grimaced. Jamie could only assume it was their proximity to London that had her so on edge, and it was unnerving, especially after what he’d witnessed last night. Had Gisele committed a more serious crime in London? Something that would earn her a place on a scaffold should she ever return? Was Jamie now risking the same fate by accompanying her?

Sobriety had reestablished his sense of self-preservation, for better or worse, and no matter how altruistic Gisele’s motives might be, keeping his own head attached to his neck had become a priority. Just as well that they’d stopped. He’d have his answers here, before they went another step closer to London.

A commotion just inside the door interrupted his thoughts. A shrill female voice pierced the air, haranguing an unseen group of servants. The accent was refined but the volume and manner of the tirade were just the opposite. Gisele stopped in her tracks and began edging backward. Jamie heard Sebastien swear under his breath as he too veered away from the entrance. A second later, the harridan responsible for the disturbance erupted from the doorway in a froth of embroidered green silk.

Gisele hit Jamie’s chest with a thump, turning desperately away from both the fashionable woman stalking toward them and the bevy of maids and footmen clutching bags and lapdogs in her wake. Sebastien had dropped
to his knee, head turned away, adjusting a boot that didn’t need adjusting. Jamie glanced down at Gisele, who was looking up at him with wide, panicked eyes. They were trapped between the side of the inn and the crush of people behind them. Two of the tiny lapdogs started yapping hysterically, and as Jamie gaped alternatively at the foul canines and the bellowing woman, he suddenly felt Gisele’s hands curl into the front of his coat and jerk him around with a shocking force.

His hands hit the rough wall on either side of Gisele’s shoulders as she slid her fingers from his coat to his face and hauled his lips to hers. He struggled to breathe—drugged instantly by her scent and her softness—as he fought vainly to make sense of what was happening. And then Jamie felt Gisele sigh into his mouth, and he stopped thinking altogether. He pressed her back into the wall, his body tight against hers, deepening the kiss. Every ounce of blood he possessed traveled immediately to his groin. Her fingers coiled into his hair, and her own breath hissed in response to his, and had they been anywhere else but where they were standing, Jamie would have taken her then.

“You two should be ashamed.” The words were spit in their direction loudly enough to be heard above the din of the barking dogs. “Baseborn, common rubbish!” The last floated over the woman’s shoulder as she sailed past them into the yard, where a crested carriage waited. A footman rushed forward to open the door of the conveyance, and the lady stomped haughtily inside.

Gisele pulled away from Jamie just enough to watch the carriage door swing shut. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest, breathing hard. Jamie reached
down and tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “What the hell was that?” he demanded hoarsely.

Gisele’s eyes were heavy, her lips swollen, and her breathing still uneven. He watched as her gaze dropped back to his mouth. Dear God, he couldn’t think when she did that. He tipped her chin up again.

“That,” she began shakily, “was the Countess of Baustenbury.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes. “Not good enough.”

Gisele let her hands slide from his hair. “I know. I’m sorry.” Her arms dropped to her sides.

“Are you?” He made no effort to move, keeping her pinned against the wall and ignoring the people pushing past them.

A flash of heat touched her expression before she bit her lip. “Not entirely.”

Bloody hell. He’d wanted to know how she tasted, and now that he did, he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to keep himself from doing it again. And again. With a supreme effort of will, Jamie ran a finger along the hood of her cloak, tucking a piece of pale hair back into its depths. He leaned toward her, his mouth close to her ear. “Listen and listen carefully. I will take you inside, and once we are settled, you will tell me who the Countess of Baustenbury is and why you used me to hide from her.” He paused, his voice deceptively quiet. “You will tell me who you really are, and you will tell me what or who is waiting for us in London. Understood?”

Gisele nodded.

“And if you ever kiss me like that again,” he whispered, “be prepared to finish it.”

Chapter 6

W
hen Gisele had been young, before everything had happened, she’d known desire. It had been the blacksmith’s son, strong and gentle and as innocent as she in the ways of women and men. They’d shared only fumbling kisses and shy, stolen touches, but she’d discovered sensations that had left her flushed and wanting.

She’d thought that part of her dead, battered into submission by cruelty and perversity, and until now, she’d given it little thought. Until she had let Jamie Montcrief into her life. Until Jamie had taken her kiss and turned it into something that had scattered her wits and reignited something deep within. He’d made her feel that desire again, that reckless thrill deep in her belly that urged her to risk everything for more.

Gisele paced across the little rented room in agitation. She had panicked when she had seen the countess bearing down on her, but the woman was one of the biggest gossips in London, and a cruel one at that. She would have recognized Gisele in a heartbeat, and everything Gisele had done and was attempting to do would have unraveled just as quickly.

Both she and Sebastien should have anticipated that
they would encounter old acquaintances on this journey, and they should have had a plan of action in place. Kissing Jamie was not a good plan at all. Not if she wanted to retain her concentration and focus. And ultimately her life.

For in that moment, when Jamie had kissed her, when he had let go of his hesitation, Gisele had abandoned her own vigilance. The countess had ceased to exist. The inn, the yard, the carriages, the
world
had impossibly ceased to exist. She had never been kissed like that. By anyone.

“Was he as good as he looks?” Sebastien’s voice had her whirling to the door in alarm.

“Shut up,” she snapped.

Sebastien stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, smirking unrepentantly.

“It was a mistake,” she declared with far more conviction than she felt.

“Didn’t look like one.”

Gisele pinched the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t know what else to do. The countess was right there.”

“Yes, she was.” Sebastien closed the door gently behind him, his teasing tone disappearing. “And it’s going to happen again. Next time it will be an earl or a viscount or even—”

“I know,” she mumbled miserably.

“You must tell him everything, darling. It’s only been two days, but I have a good feeling about him. I don’t think you will find a better champion.”

“I don’t need a champion!” she scowled. “I am not some helpless princess waiting in a tower for a knight to rescue her from the terrible dragon!”

“No, you did that all on your own,” Sebastien replied
quietly, lowering himself to a wooden chair and leaning forward.

“With a little help.” She gave him a weak smile.

“Let James Montcrief in, Gisele. If not for you, then for those others who do need a champion. How many times does he need to prove himself to you?”

Gisele looked away.

“If you don’t tell him, I will,” Sebastien warned. “For he’s a liability to us otherwise.”

“I—” A knock on the door interrupted whatever ridiculous objection she might have thought to make at that point.

Sebastien rose and pulled the door open.

“Is everything all right? I heard raised voices.” Jamie stood in the doorway in his shirt-sleeves, his coat over his arm, brushing stray bits of hay and straw from the garment.

“Where were you?” Gisele asked.

“Stables. Seeing to the horses.”

“There are stableboys for that.”

Jamie shrugged unapologetically. “Old habits die hard.”

Sebastien slid past Jamie into the narrow hall. “I’ll leave you two alone. You have a great deal to discuss.” He gave Gisele a meaningful look.

Gisele glared at Sebastien’s retreating back, and then, recognizing the futility of that, she transferred her glare to Jamie.

“Don’t.” Jamie carefully laid his jacket over the back of the chair Sebastian had just vacated. “You don’t get to be incensed or anything approaching righteous. Instead, you get to be pleasant and accommodating and
informative
.”

Gisele took a deep breath, making a swift catalog of the information she would need to share with Jamie. Sebastien was right, as usual. She would need to tell Jamie the whole sordid story as much as she was loath to do it. But Iain was off-limits.

“Let’s start with this Iain,” Jamie said conversationally, settling his bulk into the chair. He made a show of making himself comfortable, but the planes of his face were like granite. “I’ve got all day.”

The small room shrank further. “Ask me a different question.”

“Fine. Is Iain your husband?” Jamie stretched and put his hands behind his head.

“That’s not a different question.”

“Yes it is. And it’s a simple one to answer, requiring only a yes or a no. I’m not interested in his favorite color or if he enjoys bread pudding. I want to know what he has to do with you, and therefore with me. I’d like to avoid pistols at dawn and all that.”

Gisele almost stomped her foot in frustration. “No,” she bit out.

“No, he isn’t your husband, or no, you won’t answer?”

“He isn’t my husband.” She somehow managed the words through clenched teeth.

“Then he’s your lover.”

Gisele closed her eyes, a familiar resentment beginning to simmer. “No.”

“Yet that’s not what you implied earlier.” He wasn’t giving her any quarter. “Were you lying then? Or are you lying now? For I don’t like being used by another man’s mistress.”

Gisele stared daggers at Jamie. “You’re a bastard.”

“I believe we’ve already been over that,” he said flatly, his expression intense and unforgiving. “Who is he to you?”

“A friend.”

“
Friend?
Mother of God, but I’ve come to despise that word. It means nothing.”

“Truly, Jamie, Iain has nothing do to with you. You don’t need to understand that part.”

“Then tell me about the parts I do need to understand.” He paused. “Like last night. It was another one of your damned tests, wasn’t it?”

“No.” She turned away, but not fast enough.

“Stop lying to me. You wanted to see how far I could be pushed outside the boundaries of the law.”

“What?” She spun in startled confusion.

Jamie leaned forward, his eyes slitted. “You didn’t need me last night at all. You were perfectly capable of doing what we did on your own.” He paused. “More than capable. Masterful, in fact.”

Gisele was struggling for words.

Jamie seemed to mistake her silence for agreement. “I’m left to wonder then, what you could possibly need me for in London. Certainly not to rescue another country maid.” His nostrils flared. “I will not be used as a convenient scapegoat for whatever diabolical crime you have committed in London.”

Gisele stared at him. “That’s why you think I need you?”

He rose to his feet. “What am I supposed to think? You’re terrified at the idea of returning to London—terrified that you might be recognized. Yet you’re on casual, nay,
cordial
terms with men who collect bodies
for a living. And let’s not forget I watched you burn a cottage to the ground with such a skilled efficiency I know you’ve done it many times before.”

“I did that to save a woman who would have been dead within a year had I not!”

“Then I ask why? While it may have been noble, why go to such extremes for a woman you’ve never even met? I have to assume, Gisele, that what you did—what you do—is to atone for something in your past. Something terrible. What did you do in London, Gisele?”

“I got married,” she said savagely, suddenly furious he had forced her into this before she was ready.

A charged silence filled the space between them.

Jamie sat back down with a thump. “You’re
married
?” It came out as an accusation.

“Not anymore.”

“You’re a widow?” His tone softened slightly.

“No. I’m…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Divorced?” He was incredulous now.

“No.”

“Then what?” he demanded. “What the hell are you?”

Gisele looked directly into his eyes. “Dead,” she whispered. “I’m dead.”