I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (19 page)

“Of course, Your Grace,” Jamie said easily. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Care to watch a session?” the duke asked, jerking his head in the direction of Westminster.

Jamie shook his head with regret. “I am afraid I am off to a number of appointments my valet assures me are necessary if I am to release you from your obligation of seeing me clothed for the remainder of my time in London.”

Worth laughed. “I will send a note round then, Montcrief.” The duke took a final look around, shaking his head in disbelief. Giving Jamie a brief salute, he hurried toward the looming edifice of the palace.

“That went well,” said Jamie conversationally.

“Exceedingly.” Sebastien stepped forward, kicking at a piece of coal that had rolled near his boot, his eyes fixed somewhere on the smoggy horizon. “Just for the record, James, if this fails, I will kill him.”

“Get in line,” Jamie told him pleasantly. “You may have whatever is left of Valence once I’m finished.”

Chapter 18

A
dam crashed into his study, not caring that his boots were leaving great streaks of mud on the expensive rugs. His hair was dripping, and his coat was filthy and wet. His housekeeper, or whatever she was calling herself these days, had fled upon his arrival. Yanking his coat from his shoulders, he threw the ruined garment on the floor as he stalked directly to the sideboard and poured himself a large glass of brandy, gulping it down in three swallows. It burned his throat fiercely and forced the marquess to take a deep breath. He poured another, his hands shaking less than they had a minute ago.

He had seen her. His Gisele.

She had looked at him, touched him, spoken to him. Called him by name, the way he had always encouraged her to do.
Adam
. His name had rolled off her tongue like quicksilver, in a way she had never managed to get right when she’d been married to him. How could he have let her slip away? Why had no one else seen her?

That thought brought him up short. Putting down his glass, he forced himself to close his eyes and regain control over the scattered thoughts that were pinging wildly inside his skull. Why had no one else seen her, indeed?

Because she died a long time ago
, a little voice whispered cruelly from inside his head.
No one saw her because she doesn’t exist
. He braced his hands on the sideboard, sweating. Had his encounter today been a manifestation of his imagination? Was the idea of his upcoming wedding so repugnant that his mind was seeking refuge in the memories of his lost bride—his most cherished Gisele?

No
, he snarled to himself. His marriage was not to be abhorred but anticipated. Once he was married, all his problems would be solved. He couldn’t afford gossip or scandal now. He couldn’t afford Boden finding a reason to call off the wedding. Adam
needed
this wedding or he was ruined. Whatever had happened out there on that bridge this afternoon had been a mistake. A horrible, embarrassing mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.

It had all happened so fast, but the truth of the matter was that the woman he had believed was his Gisele had been naught but a lowly servant. He was an educated man, for God’s sake. Too sophisticated to believe in spirits come back from the dead to stalk him in broad daylight in the middle of Bridge Street. It was obvious Adam had misheard what the servant had said as she’d passed him. Hell, it was likely she hadn’t even been speaking to him, but to someone else in the crowd around him.

Adam groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. He would have to put some very serious thought into how he was going to handle the talk that would be generated by the unfortunate turn of events this afternoon. He couldn’t have people whispering. Not now.

Another thought surfaced, leaving him stricken. Sebastien. His former valet.

Adam had thought the man long gone, perhaps even dead, yet here he was, back in London, with Montcrief of all people. The valet had never been anything but a paragon of discretion, yet the man had also been privy to the most private parts of his life. Adam was well aware others might not share or understand his tastes in pleasure, but those tastes had never been intended to be shared in the first place. Would the valet cause trouble?

No, Adam reassured himself. Sebastien would not be a problem. Not now, after so many years. At any rate, it would be a marquess’s word against that of a servant. Adam could certainly brazen out gossip, but he would need to be vigilant. Careful. Discreet.

He would have another bride and her fortune in but a few days, and then nothing would matter.

Chapter 19

M
argaret had seen Gisele safely back to the Albany after her appearance near Westminster. The day, like so many others, had turned cold and rainy, but even without the heavy cloaks covering their heads and faces, two servants would have gone unnoticed as unimportant but necessary fixtures in the machinations of daily London life. Gisele built up the fire in the hall, the air damp and chill, and hung her cloak near the building warmth. Crouching in front of the hearth, she held her hands out to warm them and realized with no little surprise that they were steady.

Her heart had been in her throat as she had watched Valence approach, his face as dour as she had ever remembered it, and it had taken everything she had not to turn and run. And then she had knocked into him and sent him stumbling, and all she had seen was a man. Not a monster, not an indomitable creature, but just a man who no longer held the power to hurt her.

So she had smiled then, at the marquess, holding his eyes with her own, whispering his name and sinking the barbs deep into his soul. There was no fear or panic, only the knowledge that she, together with the people who
loved her, could destroy this man’s sanity with a weapon of his own making.

And then, in a heartbeat, she had melted back into the crowd, easily losing the marquess amid the congestion of the bridge entrance. She wondered what had happened afterward. What had happened after the marquess was presented with the living, breathing image of his dead wife. Her brow creased in consternation.

What if she was giving herself too much credit? What if she was overvaluing herself? What if the marquess no longer cared about her as much as she thought, and his obsessive nature had already moved on to greener pastures that included Lady Julia and all her money? What if—She forced herself to stop. She despised what-ifs. They never served any useful purpose, other than to torture their bearer.

They had all agreed it was better for Jamie to keep his afternoon appointments than to run to ground after their little performance at Westminster. Sebastien believed Jamie should be as visible in town as possible, if only to establish his own credibility. A gentleman who secluded himself in a small apartment all day would be suspect, but a gentleman who was seen spending money in the finest shops and establishments of London would be viewed by the ton as one naturally of their ilk.

Gisele grimaced. Her partners would be back eventually with the answers to all her questions. She just needed to have a little patience.

Early evening had descended when Sebastien and Jamie staggered in, buried under piles of boxes and wrapped
packages. The valet unceremoniously deposited his burden in the hall and went immediately to Gisele, kissing her soundly on both cheeks.

“You were brilliant this afternoon,” he told her, drawing her into a rare embrace.

Gisele met Jamie’s eyes over Sebastien’s shoulder. Jamie was searching her face, anxious and concerned. She flashed him a reassuring smile and he returned it, a softness to his features she hadn’t seen before.

“Tell me,” she demanded, pulling away from Sebastien. “Tell me what happened. Did Valence truly believe it was me?”

Jamie had crossed his arms and was leaning against the fireplace mantel, looking smug. “Which version do you wish to hear?” Jamie asked. “For we heard quite a few in the places we visited this afternoon.”

Gisele looked at Jamie with incomprehension. “Versions?”

Jamie frowned in concentration, relating four slightly different reports of the events that had unfolded after Gisele had smiled and bid the marquess a good afternoon. In three of these stories, Valence had climbed up on the edge of the bridge with the intention of throwing himself into the river, only to be saved by the quick thinking and quicker actions of the Duke of Worth. In another, the marquess had thrown a hapless servant girl into the river. But in all, the Marquess of Valence had wreaked havoc and confusion, out of his mind in his desperate search for his dead wife.

“Oh.” Gisele dropped to a chair unfeelingly, the success of their strategy startling. “I didn’t expect…”

“It was the right place and the right time,” Sebastien reflected after a moment. “Right before the House of
Lords convened. A great number of the right people witnessed Valence’s, er, episode.”

“Will it be enough?” Gisele asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Was the Earl of Boden there?”

“I didn’t see him,” Jamie said. “But I’m sure he’s heard about it since then.”

“Do you think—” A pounding on the door cut off her next question.

Jamie met her eyes, a twist of trepidation and alarm coursing through her.

“Do not even consider answering this door,” Jamie hissed at her. “Close yourself in the bedroom and don’t come out until I tell you.”

Gisele didn’t need to be told twice.

Jamie opened the door, coiled tightly.

Lord Huston staggered past him, ragged and sweating, coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of Jamie’s hall.

“Why don’t you come in, Lord Huston?” Jamie said as he closed the door.

“You must come to the park tomorrow.” Huston was pulling on the fingers of his gloves in agitation.

“The park?”

“Yes, yes. Hyde Park. Rotten Row. The fashionable hour, and all that. And I can’t—I need—”

The man was like a spooked horse. Jamie opened his mouth, then changed his mind. He held up a hand.

“Let me get you a drink. Brandy?”

The viscount gulped his assent.

“Sebastien?” Jamie called loudly. “Lord Huston is
here. Please pour, if you would be so kind. And did the housekeeper leave anything to eat?”

His valet appeared at the door silently. “Of course, Mr. Montcrief. I believe there may be some pies left from—”

“I don’t want anything to eat,” the viscount said. “Just a drink.”

“Of course.” Sebastien moved to take Huston’s cloak.

The man seemed not to notice, nor did he notice when Jamie guided him into one of the chairs near the fire.

Sebastien reappeared with two glasses already poured, and Huston drank his in one nervous swallow. The decanter was left discreetly on the side table next to the viscount, and Sebastien exchanged a look with Jamie before disappearing back into the drawing room.

The brandy seemed to have settled Huston. “I am quite sorry to have barged in on you like this, Montcrief.”

Jamie took a seat opposite the viscount, waving his hand dismissively. Men barging into his apartments was becoming a pattern today.

“May I be of assistance to you in some manner? I believe you said something about Hyde Park? The Duke of Worth indicated to me this afternoon you two had plans to ride. Is that what this is about?”

Huston shook his head and looked hard at Jamie. “I have been quite candid with you regarding my feelings towards the impending wedding of my sister to Lord Valence.”

“Yes,” Jamie said slowly.

“I’m not sure why.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“I don’t know you, Mr. Montcrief. Not well at all, yet the brief time I’ve spent with you has convinced me you
are a man of honor. That you have the ability to see people for who they truly are. I think this is why I have confided my doubts.”

“Thank you.” Jamie stared at him in confusion. “I think.”

It was Huston’s turn to wave his hand in dismissal, pouring himself another drink. That one disappeared as quickly as the first. “This afternoon…” He stopped, seemingly at a loss for words and consoling himself by cradling the decanter against his chest.

“Ah.” Jamie sat back, arranging his features into an expression of encouraging sympathy. “You’re referring to the unfortunate incident on Bridge Street this afternoon.”

“You were there, I heard,” Huston mumbled. “Even rescued Valence’s robes from the muck.”

“It was my valet who did that, actually.”

Huston slumped. “My father insists we go out as a family tomorrow,” he said through gritted teeth. “My father and mother. My sisters. And Lord Valence, of course.” He flinched. “The earl wishes a show of familial solidarity that this… unfortunate incident has been shoved under the proverbial rug and forgotten. He wishes to reaffirm all is right in the world of the Hextalls.”

“Your father is not concerned that the man his daughter is set to wed was seen standing on the edge of a bridge, looking for his dead wife?” Jamie was rude in his surprise.

Huston sneered. “My father assures me the stories are exaggerated. He insists the incident this afternoon has been blown out of proportion by spiteful, envious gossips. Lord Valence, he tells anyone who will listen, has always been an upstanding gentleman to his daughter and those
around him. And if the marquess was overcome with shock at seeing a woman who was the doppelgänger of his dead wife, why, that only proves just how deeply he cared for her and his admirable commitment to his marriage vows.”

Well, shit
, Jamie thought, stricken. They had been counting on a far different reaction from Boden. It didn’t matter what the rest of London thought; it was the earl’s opinion that mattered.

“That is unfortunate,” Jamie said, keeping his voice even. “What does the marquess have to say about all of this?”

“I wasn’t there, but I was informed Lord Valence called upon my mother and father personally this evening to express his regrets over the events of the afternoon and to apologize for any embarrassment it may have caused the earl or my sister.”

Dammit
, Jamie thought angrily. Valence was obviously not yet ready to abandon the Hextall fortune based on the single appearance of a wifely ghost.

“What can I do?” he asked Huston.

“Perhaps you might speak with my father. Convince him my objections to this union are not born of petty biases and personal dislikes; that I wish to stop this marriage not for the purpose of lowering the social standing of my family, but to protect Julia from harm. Perhaps if he heard a few words of caution from a respected cavalry captain, he might think twice.”

“I don’t know what I could possibly say that a hundred stone of overturned coal has not,” Jamie pointed out.

“Oh, God.” Huston dropped his head into his hands. “This is a disaster. Valence can’t be allowed into our family.”

You have no idea
, thought Jamie grimly. “I will do whatever I can, of course,” he assured the viscount. “I, too, neither like nor trust the man.”

“Thank you.” Huston looked up. “I can’t spend two hours trapped in polite conversation with Valence and pretend to be happy he is there. I might take a page from his book and throw myself off a bridge into the Serpentine. You will save me from myself.” He tried to smile through his distress. “At the very least, Viola will be thrilled at your presence.”

Jamie winced inwardly. “Then I look forward to it.”

They arranged the particulars, and Jamie saw the much-restored viscount to the door.

“Thank you again, Mr. Montcrief.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jamie warned. “I haven’t done anything.”

Huston sighed and hurried down the steps. “I have every confidence in you,” he flung over his shoulder.

Jamie closed the door and leaned against it.

“That is extremely disappointing.” Sebastien had come up behind him. “I was hoping Boden was smarter than that.”