I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (3 page)

“Yes?” He was afraid of his answer. Truth be told, he was a little afraid of her at the moment.

“Yes?” she demanded, leaning forward intently. “As in yes, when I’m sober I can make big things go bang at my discretion? Or
yes
, I forgot my powder flask too close to the hearth when I was foxed last night and now the tavern is short a stool and a good cooking pot?”

Jamie knew there was an implied insult in there somewhere, but he couldn’t stop the ghost of a smile that touched his lips. “The former. Only once the latter, though it was a bench and a good roast.”

Gisele grinned at him, and his world tilted. “Unfortunate.”

“Took me two days to get the splinters out of my arse.”

An elegant eyebrow arched, followed by an inelegant snort. “Also unfortunate. But it does explain the slightly imperfect condition of your backside.”

Jamie willed himself not to squirm at the thought of this woman examining him last night while he was insensible. He cleared his throat loudly. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Which was?”

“If I’d need to blow something up.”

Gisele tucked an errant strand of fair hair behind her ear and sighed. “I’m not entirely sure.”

Jamie threw up his hands in frustration before snatching at the sheet as it started to slide from his nether regions. “Let me see if I understand. You spied on me, set me up, stole my clothes, offered me a job in which I may or may not need to kill someone, steal something, or blow something up. Have I missed anything?”

“Please.”

“Please?” He wasn’t following.

“My manners have been remiss.” He watched in fascination as a glimmer of what looked like fear or possibly despair shadowed her features for the barest of seconds and was replaced by determination so quickly he wondered if he had imagined it. “I—we—need your help. Please.” She met his gaze without wavering.

Jamie knew there was likely nothing good behind the door this mesmerizing woman held open for him. He should say no, the promise of money and clothing and food and—dear God—a horse be damned. He should swallow his pride and walk away with his bedsheet and his sanity intact, and he could do that with a simple no.

“Yes.”

“You give me your word?”

“Yes.” Truly, what did he have to lose? Absolutely, positively nothing. Literally and otherwise.

“Thank you.” It was barely audible, but he heard the sincerity behind her words. “But if you work for me, this cannot occur again.”

“This?” The bewilderment was back.

“This.” She gestured at him and his bedsheet. “You cannot drink yourself to the point of oblivion. To the point where you no longer have control of your actions or your memory. Ever.”

Jamie looked away for a moment, something that felt suspiciously like shame snaking up through his conscience. “You’re not my keeper,” he muttered.

“No,” she agreed in a gentle voice he didn’t deserve. “I am your employer. And I am making a simple request. Can you accommodate me?”

“Yes,” he said tightly.

“Thank you.” She was silent for a long moment, and he could feel the weight of her stare as she considered him.

“Why me?” he demanded. “You could have chosen a different man. Why am I here?” He was fairly certain he wasn’t going to like her answer, but he suddenly needed to know.

“Because you saved me last night. Few other men of your class would defend a woman they believe is… not a lady.”

“I can’t imagine you have ever needed to be saved,” he mumbled.

“You are wrong,” she said quietly. “And you’re also wrong if you think this is about me. It’s not.” She stood, smoothing her worn skirts, gazing down at her hands and looking, for the first time, rather vulnerable. In a fluid motion, she suddenly tossed a guinea at him.

He caught it awkwardly. “What’s this?”

“It’s called money. People use it to pay for things.” She smiled again, and this one reached her eyes.

“What’s it for?” Jamie held on to his patience.

“Sebastien will be up shortly to see that you have the necessities and to assist you with whatever you require. If you are not here when he returns, I will understand. The coin is for your trouble and to ensure you will not have to spend the rest of the day naked.”

“You should know that I honor my promises,” Jamie said, not sure if he should be irate or impressed.

Gisele shrugged. “I would like to think so, Mr. Montcrief. But at the moment, I can’t say I really know you at all.”

The man she called Sebastien did not make an appearance until after the heavy wooden tub had been emptied and dragged from the room. Jamie stood by the dwindling fire, his skin raw from scrubbing. He shivered as his hair dripped cold rivulets of water down his back.

“I hope these fit.” Sebastien strode into the room, his arms laden with a pile of clothing. He dropped them onto the end of the bed and assessed Jamie critically. “Had you not felt the need to choke me earlier, I would have had a better idea of your size.”

“Had you not felt the need to abduct me last night, I might have been more courteous upon waking.”

“Abduct?” The man’s brows rose fractionally. “Fancy word for dragging a man insensible from drink off the streets and putting him to bed.”

Jamie winced. Well, hell. The man had a point. “My apologies.”

Sebastien’s lips twitched. “Likewise.”

Jamie nodded warily. “Now what?”

Sebastien considered him. “I would suggest a shave.”

“Why?”

“Because you look like a man who’s been stranded on an uninhabited island for a year.”

“I have.” The words slipped out before he realized their import. That was the perfect description of his life.
Trapped alone on an island in a vacuum of nothingness. Dear God, when had he become so maudlin?
Probably when you sobered up
, a little voice intoned.

“I see.”

Jamie made a bitter sound in his throat. “I doubt you do.”

This time it was Sebastien who made the same noise. “You’d be surprised.” He paused. “However, on my island, razors and self-respect have been invented. Let me extend the courtesy.”

Jamie smiled despite himself. “You can leave it there.” He gestured at the table.

Sebastien looked at him in horror. “I think not.”

This time he laughed at the man’s sincere dismay. “You have so little confidence in my ability to groom myself?”

Sebastien’s eyes traveled the length of him, and a dark brow rose pointedly. “I’m sure you’re quite capable,” he managed diplomatically with answering amusement. “But I insist.” He dragged the chair over to the fire. “Sit.”

Jamie remained standing as he watched the man rummage through a leather bag and extract a small shaving kit, laying the contents out on the table with a precision that suggested he’d done this countless times. “Am I to trust you with a blade at my throat then?”

Sebastien rolled his eyes. “If I had wanted to kill you, Mr. Montcrief, I wouldn’t have bothered to tuck you into bed so nicely last night. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to drag your rather substantial carcass up those stairs? Besides,” he added, pulling out a pair of barbering scissors and running his fingers along the edges of the blades, “Gisele already paid for your clothes, and they sure as hell won’t fit me. Or her.”

Jamie listened to Sebastien strop the razor. “What is Gisele to you?”

The rhythmic sound stopped before resuming. “A friend,” came the careful reply. “What did she tell you?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Yet you agreed to help us. Why?” The sharp smell of soap drifted across the room.

“I don’t know.”

“Because she’s beautiful?”

“No. Well, that might have been a part of it.” Jamie grimaced. “She’s the first person in a long time who has put faith in me. And she did say please.”

“At least you’re honest.” There was a clatter as Sebastien pushed the small table closer to Jamie. “Now, continuing to look like a beggar will not help anyone, Mr. Montcrief. Sit.” Sebastien rolled his eyes again. “
Please
.”

For lack of any other options, Jamie sat.

“Shall we begin?”

Chapter 3

A
dam Levire, the Marquess of Valence, was drunk. Normally he did not enjoy the loss of control that accompanied insobriety, but tonight he required a brief escape. He sat alone in his study, fingering the fine crystal and drinking his hideously expensive brandy the way one might gulp cheap ale. The liquor, however, had thus far failed to dull his mounting grief and rage. Four years, and he still felt cheated. Four years and he had yet to get over the loss of his beloved wife.

Gisele had been perfect. He had known the moment he saw her in that dowdy dress at that dowdy country house, surrounded by crude and clumsy country boys. Gisele’s father had paraded the exquisite girl about the room as though she were a prize filly at auction. The man’s greed for a lofty match was palpable, and during this vulgar display of her own flesh, Gisele was as silent as good manners would permit. But Adam could tell by the set of her chin that every fiber of her being rebelled against the life her father was selling her into. She was a diamond in the rough who, with the help of the right man, could be polished to a brilliant shine.

Adam was already married by then, of course, to a
widow he’d selected for her impeccable breeding and impressive wealth. Luckily, his first wife had been easily dispatched, and the effort had been well worth it. Gisele had become the toast of the ton, the most desirable woman in London, and she had belonged to him.

As it turned out, she’d also had more fire and strength than he’d anticipated, and it had taken him longer than expected to bring her to heel. Adam had needed every ounce of his cunning to shatter the girl’s stoic resistance and ferret out her weakness. How ironic that the one chink in Gisele’s armor had been his own stepdaughter, Helena. Adam had originally intended to consign the brat to the same fate as her mother, but Helena had been fourteen at the time of her mother’s passing, and by then she had shown the promise of considerable beauty.

And there was always value in keeping beautiful things.

Very quickly Helena became the means through which Adam mastered Gisele. He delighted in watching his flawless blond warrior bend to his will just the way a good wife should. Everything in his life was perfect. Until the explosion on the river took not only his treasured wife and sniveling stepdaughter, but a fortune too. And now his financial survival demanded that he replace it.

Adam hurled his glass at the fire, the splintering crystal doing nothing to soothe his nerves. To avoid penury, he had elected to court and fawn over Lady Julia Hextall, whose fair coloring was like a taunt from the grave. The chit was meek and timid and intolerable in all aspects except for the staggering fortune she possessed and her faint resemblance to his lost bride.

Lady Julia’s father, like Gisele’s, was predictably
thrilled by the prospect of having a marchioness in the family. The vulgar man had only recently inherited his title from a third cousin and was still shaking off the foul dust of his former life in trade. But at least he grasped the value of Adam’s venerable name. The girl’s brother, on the other hand, was considerably less impressed. No matter. Adam would simply ignore the boy’s feeble protests. For now.

This was all Gisele’s fault, really. Adam reached into his desk drawer and drew out a miniature portrait, caressing the gilt frame. He ran the pad of his thumb over the surface of Gisele’s perfect face, frozen forever.

“Bitch!” he hissed at the painting, then clutched it to his chest, his anguish more acute than ever.

The sad truth was that her death had ruined everything. The fortune in diamonds Gisele had been wearing the night she died was gone forever. And the rest of his money troubles could be traced back to her too. After the accident, Adam’s grief had been so consuming that he had lost all interest in the management of his estate and relied on others to see to his investments. He regretted it now, but it was too late. The damage was done.

Moreover, Adam’s sudden poverty accounted for but a fraction of his despair. In his private life, he could find absolutely nothing that held his interest. Nothing gave him any joy or pleasure. Not a horse, not a card game, not a woman. Certainly not a woman. He’d brought plenty of them to his bed in the last four years, but rarely could he bring himself to perform. Even using his preferred methods of arousal, he was often left unsatisfied. No one could do for him what Gisele had done.

Adam tried to comfort himself with the thought of
the wealth he would have before the season was out. No amount of money could replace what he had lost, of course, but he prayed that perhaps, in the darkest hour of the night, given enough drink or laudanum to blur his vision, he might mistake Lady Julia for Gisele. His Gisele. And that finally he would be able to reclaim the pleasure he had been denied for so long.