I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (18 page)

“Why wasn’t Valence with you?” The thought struck him belatedly.

Gisele sneered. “He was waiting for us on the far side like some pagan deity surveying the delivery of a sacrificial virgin.”

“Of course he was,” Jamie muttered. “But you’re sure no one would have seen you escape?”

Gisele shook her head. “Before the barge blew, George created a smoke so thick and noxious, I could barely see my hand in front of my face. And it was dark that night. It would have been impossible for anyone to have seen us in the water.”

“So it’s safe to say you are well and truly dead.” He was watching her carefully, knowing exactly how hard this was, to relive that night.

“Two hundred people saw me die. Yes.”

“Good.” He took her hands in his.

“We’ll just have to make sure he is the only one to see me.”

“Correct,” he replied. His mind was racing. “But you have to promise me you’ll not be reckless. We must be smart and careful and precise.”

She nodded up at him. “I promise.” She took a deep, slow breath before letting it out. “Thank you. For being my partner. Not my warden.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t make me regret it.”

She grinned up at him in determination. “Never.”

Chapter 15

T
he Marquess of Valence crumpled the newssheet in his fist and tossed it into the fire in annoyance. One line. He’d had one line in the entire social section, while James Montcrief had merited nearly an entire paragraph. A bloody nobody, strutting around with fine clothes and fabricated war stories to obscure the fact that he was a nonentity.

There was something not quite right about James Montcrief. Adam had always trusted his gut, and his gut was telling him Montcrief was not to be taken at face value. The captain most certainly had a hidden agenda, and the conversation at the card tables last night had given Adam pause. When the subject of his late wife’s remoteness had come up, Montcrief had fallen just short of actually calling Adam a liar, for Christ’s sake.

Equally troubling was the amount of time Lord Huston had spent in Montcrief’s company last night. The viscount had not been a problem thus far, but if the former captain should lead the boy in the wrong direction regarding his sister, Adam might be forced to do something… distasteful. Nothing could get in the way of his wedding. He needed Boden’s money, and he needed it fast.

Adam had enormous outstanding debts, and though the creditors had been stalled with assurances his coffers would soon be refilled, he knew they were waiting like scavengers to seize what was left of his property if he did not deliver. Adam’s connections and title would hold them off for only so long. His last investment, like everything else these past four years, had failed, and at this juncture, Adam would go to any lengths to ensure he had Lady Julia wedded and bedded before Boden could reconsider.

The marquess stared unseeing into the fire. He needed more time with Montcrief. Time to determine what made the man tick. To determine his strengths, his weaknesses, his limitations, and his price, if necessary. Perhaps the man really was in London to find a wife. Or perhaps he was here for something else entirely. Adam would do well to find out more about this mysterious interloper. Before the House of Lords convened this afternoon, Adam would stop at the war office. He still had a contact there who would be happy to deliver a full report on Montcrief, including the unofficial account of his service. If there were any blemishes on the man’s military record, Adam would know them later this afternoon.

It seemed like a good place to start.

Chapter 16

S
ebastien returned to the Albany a short while later and listened as Jamie explained their plan.

“It might work,” the valet speculated.

“Of course it will work,” Gisele scoffed.

Sebastien hesitated. “You’re poking a hornet’s nest with a stick, my dear.”

“That’s the idea.”

“You don’t know what will fly out.”

Gisele scowled. “As long as
something
flies out, we’re further ahead than we are now. Do you have a better idea?”

“Tell us what you found out this morning, Sebastien,” Jamie interjected, putting an end to their debate.

Sebastien’s lips thinned. “I spoke to Valence’s last remaining servant. Everyone else left in the year following your demise, mainly because the marquess stopped paying them, but his scullery maid had nowhere to go. She’s stuck and overworked and bitter because of it.”

“Did she say anything useful about Valence?”

“Oh, she had all sorts of things to say about Valence,” Sebastien assured her. “How useful any of it is…”

“Try me,” Gisele said.

“He hasn’t changed much, as far as I can determine,”
Sebastien started slowly. “He has his patterns and routines, and he sticks to them. House of Lords, White’s, a careful selection of exclusive social events. He doesn’t gamble often, rarely drinks, though he does use laudanum frequently at night. Apparently he’s had a great deal of trouble sleeping since the passing of the last Marchioness of Valence.”

Gisele nodded silently, assimilating. “Where will he be today?”

Sebastien frowned. “Westminster this afternoon. His club late tonight. Then home, I suppose.”

Gisele stared sightlessly at the bookshelves. “The House of Lords sits today, correct?”

“Yes.”

“The grounds and streets around the palace will be busy then. Especially midafternoon.”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t seen Westminster in quite a while,” she said, sitting back with a decisive air. “I’m in the mood for a little outing.” She regarded both men, batting her lashes in mock innocence. “Would the two of you care to accompany me? And, now that I think of it, perhaps we should invite Margaret and Miss Hughes as well. Please send a note to the duchess, if you would be so kind, Sebastien. If we hurry, we can make it there within the hour.”

“To do what, exactly?” Jamie’s eyes narrowed at her.

“Why, to see the palace and its grounds, of course. It’s a stunning example of architecture, art, intellect, and…”

“And?”

She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’ve also heard it’s haunted.”

Chapter 17

A
dam Levire made his way back toward Westminster, inattentively navigating the increasing crowds as he neared Bridge Street. His visit to the war office had been interesting, but he had no idea if the information he had obtained about former captain James Montcrief would prove useful in any way. Moreover, Montcrief’s competence as an officer had been confirmed, much to Adam’s chagrin. He had been hoping to start the day with better news.

He shifted the bulk of his robes over his arms, cursing his lack of a footman and doubly cursing his lack of a carriage and coachman. Soon, Adam told himself. Soon he would once again be wealthy enough to avoid attending to the menial details a man of his station should delegate to others. He wasn’t a servant, like the droves of bodies scurrying around him. He shouldn’t have to carry his personal belongings around with him on foot like so much baggage. It was humiliating.

He had no sooner finished the thought than a careless kitchen maid knocked into him, her market basket driving hard into his hip and throwing him off-balance. A few
apples hit the ground and rolled in all directions. Adam swore angrily, staggering back, trying to keep his robes from tipping into the mud.

“Watch where you’re going, whore,” he snarled, his temper finding an outlet.

The cloaked servant looked up at him, her green eyes wide, her pale hair tumbling around her face within the confines of her gray hood. “Good afternoon, Adam,” she said, before ducking back into the morass of humanity funneling across Westminster Bridge.

Adam stared, shock rooting him to the spot. Tiny spots of light danced before his eyes, and his lungs screamed for breath he couldn’t seem to draw. He thought, for a terrifying second, he might faint. People flowed around him, jostling him.

Jerked from his stupor, he dropped his robes and charged into the crowd after her. After his wife. His Gisele.

Adam dashed out into the center of Bridge Street, narrowly missing being run down by a team of heavies pulling a wagon teetering with woolen bales. The driver yelled profanities at him as he maneuvered his startled horses around the marquess. Adam barely took note. She was here. Somewhere. He bolted toward the river, certain it was where Gisele had headed, but all he could see among the congestion of carriages and carts and coaches was dozens of unidentifiable bodies, all wrapped in drab cloaks and coats against the chill of the afternoon.

“Lord Valence?” Distantly he heard his name being called from somewhere. He ignored it. He couldn’t afford the distraction. Not when she was so close.

Up ahead he saw a woman hurrying away from him, the same basket banging against her side, fair hair escaping from the edges of the same gray hood. Gisele! He sprinted after her, evading oncoming horses, and grabbed her arm desperately, spinning her around. She screamed, her basket dropping, her hood falling from her face.

He shook her, so certain it was Gisele that he was slow to recognize the woman had pale blue eyes, not vivid green ones. Her hair was too gold, and she was too tall. And she was still screaming incessantly. His Gisele never screamed. Ever.

Adam shoved the useless woman to the ground. He was losing time. With every passing second, Gisele was getting away.

He ran back out into Bridge Street, looking around wildly. A desperate shout finally broke through the fog, and he looked up to see a wall of flailing hooves coming directly for him. The driver was hauling back on the reins, but the horses were helpless to stop the momentum of the massive load of coal behind them.

He threw himself out of the path of certain death, landing painfully on his knees as the horses skidded by, the collier’s cart veering on two wheels and finally tipping. The crash was deafening, coal spilling across the width of the street at the entrance to the bridge, the already-panicked horses heaving themselves against traces tangled hopelessly. The driver had been thrown and the overturned cart was being dragged farther down the street.

Adam struggled to his feet, ignoring the pain shooting from his knees, and clambered up onto a stone balustrade at the edge of the bridge. But he couldn’t see her.
He still couldn’t find her. No, no,
no
. This couldn’t be happening.

“Lord Valence!” His name came again, and this time he looked down.

The Duke of Worth was staring up at him in horror.

“Are you quite all right?” the duke exclaimed.

“No!” Valence shouted. “You have to help me!”

“Have you been robbed?” Another lord, already dressed in his sessional robes, had joined the duke. “I’ll set my men on the scoundrel, so I will! Which direction did the villain go?”

“Not a villain, you imbecile,” Valence snapped, frantic. “My wife!”

Worth cleared his throat. “Er, I’ve just come from St. James, Lord Valence. Lady Julia was entertaining a number of callers with her sister. It is quite impossible for her to be here.”

Adam swore in frustration. Goddammit, but was everyone this dull-witted? He was losing her, and no one seemed to understand. They were all standing around like sheep while his beloved wife slipped farther away.

“Not Julia,” he cried. “Gisele!” Adam leaned forward in agitation and promptly lost his balance. His hands grasped at thin air, and for a sickening moment, he thought he would slip from the bridge and into the river far below him.

The duke, with lightning speed, caught the skirt of his coat and yanked him back to safety. His footing lost, Adam tumbled from his perch and landed hard on his back, the breath knocked clean from his lungs.

Spots danced before his eyes, and when they cleared, Adam looked up to find a half dozen lords, including
Worth, staring down at him, their expressions ranging from alarm to confusion to pity. Beyond them traffic had ground to a standstill, blocked by heaps of coal strewn across the road. Crowds of people were muttering angrily and giving him vile looks. Someone had caught the horses, and two footmen and a groom were trying to free them from the overturned wagon, while a gentleman was helping the dazed and bleeding driver to his feet. The servant he had accosted was sobbing loudly and pointing at him even as she was comforted by a lady and her maid who had climbed from their stalled carriage.

Adam could feel the color drain from his face. What had he done?

Jamie watched with interest as the marquess finally became aware of himself and his surroundings. If he had questioned Valence’s obsession with Gisele, this reaction had erased any doubt. Sebastien joined him, slightly out of breath.

“She’s safe?” Jamie asked, not looking at the valet.

“Long gone across the river,” Sebastien confirmed. “Margaret is with her.”

“Good.” If Gisele wasn’t safe with Margaret, she wasn’t safe with anyone. “How did Gisele seem?”

“She seemed… very confident,” Sebastien replied slowly.

Jamie nodded his head, fiercely proud of her. He returned his attention to the scene in front of them.

“Is Miss Hughes injured?” Jamie asked, watching as the tall serving girl Valence had accosted collected her basket and allowed herself to be led away by a well-meaning lady clutching a vinaigrette and offering it to
Miss Hughes every few steps. Miss Hughes’s raven hair was hidden under a long blond wig of the highest quality, and where the duchess had been able to find such an excellent match for Gisele’s color on such short notice was beyond Jamie’s comprehension. Her Grace did indeed have some very odd and very useful resources at her fingertips.

Sebastien snorted. “Miss Hughes is a great deal more resilient than she might appear. I asked her to be noticeable and convincing.”

“Well, I was duly convinced.”

Sebastien made an indistinguishable noise in the back of his throat and surveyed the wreckage surrounding them. “This is quite impressive.”

“Beyond my wildest expectations,” Jamie murmured.

The marquess was being helped to his feet, shrugging off concerned questions and offers of help. Valence was breathing hard, his hair disheveled, his coat filthy, and his breeches torn at the knee.

“Shall we finish this little performance?” Sebastien asked.

“Indeed we shall.” Jamie glanced at Sebastien. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

The valet nodded, revulsion crossing his features once before it was gone, replaced with a perfect mask of mild disinterest. “This has been too long in coming. After you, Mr. Montcrief.”

Jamie strode forward, the heavy robes flapping in his arms. “Lord Valence!” he called loudly. “A moment, my lord!”

The marquess stopped, a trail of uncertain aristocrats strung out in his wake. “Mr. Montcrief,” he said, distaste
ringing, even as his eyes darted from side to side. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“I was sight-seeing, my lord,” Jamie said earnestly. “I’ve never had the chance to visit Westminster, though I certainly did not expect… this.” He waved his hand at the carnage around them.

Valence’s jaw clenched, and his eyes fell to the garment in Jamie’s arms.

“You dropped these, my lord,” Jamie continued, holding out the filthy robes Valence had abandoned. “I didn’t imagine you meant to leave such a fine costume in the mud. It looks quite expensive.”

Valence was looking at him intensely, ignoring his outstretched arms. “Then you saw her.”

Jamie pretended to look confused. “Who?”

“My w—the woman who knocked into me.”

“Oh.” Jamie shook his head. “No, no, I’m afraid I didn’t see anything,” he lied. In truth, he’d been not five feet behind Valence, ready to tackle the marquess should Gisele not be able to make good on her escape. “It was my valet’s quick thinking that saved your robes, my lord. I cannot take the credit.” Jamie gestured casually behind him to where Sebastien stood, patient and stoic.

Valence’s eyes bulged slightly before he recovered. “Sebastien.”

“Good afternoon, Lord Valence,” the valet greeted him with a short bow.

“I didn’t realize you were back in London.”

“Just recently, my lord.”

“You know each other?” Jamie asked with feigned surprise.

“I had the good fortune to serve Lord Valence a number of years ago,” Sebastien said.

The marquess’s eyes went from Sebastien to Jamie and back again. “And you are currently employed by Mr. Montcrief?”

Sebastien gave a clipped nod. “Yes.”

Jamie was impressed by how much dissatisfaction Sebastien managed to convey in a single word.

“I see.” Valence seemed torn between addressing the reappearance of his former valet and the reappearance of his wife. “Then did you see her? The woman?” The ghost of Gisele emerged the victor, just as Jamie had known she would.

“No, my lord, I did not see anything.” Sebastien stared straight ahead, his face a mask of stone. “Of course.”

Valence’s nostrils flared, and he snatched the robes from Jamie’s hands. Without another word he stalked away from Jamie and Sebastien, to be swallowed quickly by the crowd trapped and milling around the destruction.

“Montcrief!” The Duke of Worth joined Jamie, scratching his head and glancing in the direction in which Valence had disappeared.

“Your Grace,” Jamie said, adopting a look of grave concern. “What happened here?”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion,” the duke said, perplexed. “It would seem Lord Valence lost his sense of bearing and ran out into the middle of the street. He seemed to be convinced he was chasing his wife.”

“Lady Julia?” Jamie asked. “Whyever would Lady Julia be in the middle of Bridge Street?”

“Not Lady Julia,” Worth revealed. “Gisele. The last Lady Valence.”

“His dead wife?” Jamie let that hang.

“Apparently.”

Jamie barked out a laugh. “You’re telling me all of this occurred”—he swept his hand at the disaster around them—“because the Marquess of Valence saw a ghost?”

The duke shrugged helplessly.

“Does he see his dead wife often?” Jamie asked.

“I don’t think so.” The duke looked at Jamie uncertainly. “But maybe?”

“Perhaps he’s losing his mind.” Jamie left it to the duke to determine if he was joking or serious.

The bells began tolling the hour, interrupting them.

Worth grimaced. “Bloody hell, but I’m late. Though at least”—he peered around at the small knots of men talking and gesturing excitedly—“I won’t be the only one.” He gave Jamie a grin. “Perhaps you might care to join Lord Huston and me tomorrow? We are to ride in Hyde Park. I’ve a new mare I’m considering breeding, and I’d not be averse to a qualified second opinion.”