I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (23 page)

Chapter 23

G
isele had no idea what time it was when she finally stirred. Opening her eyes, she realized she was still in Jamie’s bed, though the man in question was not. Instead there was a note propped up on his pillow that simply read, “Gone with S, back soon,” and Gisele was content for the moment not to wonder where he might be. Though the fact that Jamie had left without her hearing was faintly alarming, it was mostly gratifying. Gisele had not slept as soundly or as well for as long as she could remember.

She knew she should get up. Or at least she should not continue lounging decadently in Jamie’s bed like some smug courtesan. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to care. What she had shared with Jamie last night had been astonishing and wonderful and now, in the bright light of morning, she was left only with a lingering sense of happiness and security.

And the knowledge she was very much in love with Jamie Montcrief.

Outside she could hear the sounds of traffic, and Gisele reluctantly pushed herself out from under the soft warmth of the sheets. Morning was slipping away and
she couldn’t stay here forever, as much as she might wish it. Someone—and Gisele desperately hoped it had been Jamie and not Sebastien—had left her clothing draped neatly over the end of the bed, and she quickly dressed. She splashed her face with cold water left in the washstand basin and combed and braided her hair, pinning her cap securely atop her head. At least now, if someone arrived, she looked more like Jamie’s very proper housekeeper and less like his kept mistress. Gisele snorted in regret. Housekeeping was highly overrated.

As if on cue, a hesitant knock came from the door. Wiping her hands on her apron, and adjusting the kerchief tucked around her shoulders and into her bodice, Gisele opened the door. A woman stood on the step, dressed simply in plain but well-made clothing, a baby tucked against her shoulder. The woman’s reddish-brown hair was pulled back from a pleasing, open face, and bright blue eyes darted past Gisele as if expecting to see someone else.

“Is this where Mr. James Montcrief lives?” the woman asked.

Gisele frowned. “Yes,” she replied shortly, seeing no reason to lie. The porter would already have said as much if the woman had but asked.

“Is he here?” She was looking hopefully into the hall.

Gisele noticed she had a copy of one of London’s newssheets in her free hand.

“No, he is not.” Gisele moved to block more of the doorway. Who the hell was this woman and what did she want with Jamie? As she tried to tamp down her irrational jealousy of this pretty stranger, Gisele bit her lip in dismay. She’d thought herself more sophisticated than
that. For if she’d had any lingering insecurities, Jamie had eliminated them last night. Multiple times.

“May I pass along a message for you?” she asked, as she imagined a well-paid housekeeper might do.

“Ummm…” The woman glanced down at the newssheet with indecision.

The child in the woman’s arms squirmed and she shifted him to her other arm, giving Gisele her first look at his face. He was perhaps six or seven months old, a happy grin between his round cheeks, and his chubby hand clutching a wooden horse.

The resemblance was uncanny.

The boy had a head of fine blond curls, which Gisele knew would darken to a burnished gold as he grew older. His whiskey-colored eyes, ringed with a profusion of dark lashes, looked up at her in watchful delight as he held out his treasure for Gisele’s inspection.

She stepped forward, coming closer to Jamie’s son.

“That is a handsome horse,” Gisele finally managed, her heart hammering in her chest. She was riveted by his innocent perfection. “He’s beautiful,” she said, meaning every word. “You must be very proud.”

“Thank you.” Obvious pride shone from the woman’s eyes, but a there was a sadness beneath it as her fingers absently brushed the golden curls from the child’s forehead. She gestured to the paper still in her hand. “I saw James’s name in the paper,” she said. “And it said he was staying here. I’ve been looking for him.”

I bet you have
, Gisele thought, fighting the roaring in her ears.

“Can you tell him Sofia was here? And Richard? Tell
him his family misses him.” She tousled the blond curls again. “He knows where to find us.”

“Of course,” Gisele replied, her stomach churning.

“Thank you.” The woman smiled warmly, and Gisele was struck by her loveliness.

They turned to go, the child watching Gisele over his mother’s shoulder with wide eyes, and Gisele waited at the door until she could no longer see them. Then, very slowly, she closed the door, pressing her back to its solid bulk and closing her eyes. Her knees finally gave way and she slid to the floor, gasping.

He knows where to find us
rang through her head over and over and over. Goddammit, but she was a fool.

How long? How long before Jamie would have eventually told her? But then again, why would he? It wasn’t as though the boy or his mother seemed to figure prominently in his life. In fact, they didn’t seem to figure at all.

But the idea that he might yet be with this woman cut deep. Almost as deep as the idea that Jamie Montcrief had a beautiful, perfect son, for whom he cared so little that the mother didn’t even know how to contact him.

Anger warred with betrayal. How could he? He had a
son
. Regardless of his relationship with Sofia, he had a son he should be taking care of. He shouldn’t be here, with Gisele, any more than he should have been in that filthy tavern, drunk and destitute. Jamie had much more important responsibilities. Fury was rapidly flooding her heart and mind, and she embraced it because it wasn’t nearly as painful as the alternative.

Gisele forced herself to her feet, her face grim. She might have been blindsided, but she wasn’t helpless. She
could do one thing about this whole mess. She would pass along Sofia’s message and one of her own.

It started raining a little while later, the brief morning sunshine eclipsed by heavy dark clouds that turned the apartment into a gloomy cavern. Which suited Gisele fine. She paced the dim hall like a caged lioness, waiting for Jamie to return. She thought she’d worked out what she would say, had practiced it a hundred times in her head, but when Jamie walked through the door, she could only stare at him mutely.

Oblivious, Jamie took his time shaking the water from his coat and hung it near the fire to dry. He turned to greet her and stopped.

“Gisele?” His forehead creased. “What’s wrong? Has something happened? Are you ill?” His eyes slid over her, looking for signs of a trauma he would never be able to see.

“Where were you?” she demanded.

He had a flat box in his arms she hadn’t noticed earlier, made from gleaming walnut, and Gisele recognized it for what it was immediately.

“You bought a pistol?” She was momentarily distracted.

“And two blades. Sebastien has them at the smith now. He’ll be along shortly.” Jamie was eyeing her with concern. “I didn’t like the idea of being unarmed. I don’t expect Valence would do something so stupid, but I will not be caught unprepared.” Jamie took a step toward her, and she took a step back. “Gisele, what is it?”

Gisele opened her mouth twice before she found her backbone. “You had a visitor this morning,” she said.

“Who? Gisele, what’s going on? You’re starting to scare me.” He reached for her hands but she pulled away again. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you here alone—”

“It was a woman. She had a little boy with her. Not quite a year old.” Gisele watched as Jamie’s complexion drained of color. “She asked me to pass along a message.”

Jamie was watching her, silent and ashen.

“She said to tell you Sofia and Richard had called. That they missed you. And that you knew where to find them.” Despite her best intentions, the last came out like an accusation. She was terrified she was going to cry.

“Gisele—”

“How could you?” she whispered. “How could you abandon them like that? She didn’t even know where to find you until she saw your name in a damn newssheet!”

“I didn’t abandon them,” he growled.

“Really?” Gisele hated the petty tone of her words, but she couldn’t stop. “Then what?”

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand how you could ignore that little boy.”

Jamie dropped his head and swore. “They have everything they need. Enough money, enough clothes, enough food—”

“And you think all of that makes it all right? They need
you
. That little boy needs you.” Gisele wrapped her arms around herself.

“It’s not that simple.”

“They’re your
family
, Jamie. What is not simple about that?” She wanted Jamie to say something. To offer her an explanation that made some sort of sense. “You brought them here. To London. When?”

Jamie closed his eyes. “Last year. Right after the war.”

Well, that would certainly explain why he had lied to her earlier about the last time he had been in London.

“And then what? You bought a bottle and drank your way to a tavern in Nottingham?”

“It wasn’t like that! It—”

A pounding on the door interrupted whatever he’d been going to say next.

“Goddammit, now what?” Jamie swore, stomping to the door and yanking it open.

A man filled the doorway, rain-drenched and dressed in a mud-splattered greatcoat, his hand raised to assault the door once more.

“Jesus Christ,” Jamie breathed and took a step back.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Montcrief,” puffed the porter, coming to a skidding halt behind the visitor. “You said to question any gentlemen callers but this man wouldn’t allow me the privilege of his card—”

“I don’t need a damn card to see my damn brother,” the man growled. “And if this title is good for anything, then a damned duke doesn’t need to explain himself to a damned servant.”

The porter paled. “Forgive me, Your Grace.” He turned and fled.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jamie asked, making no move to invite the man in.

Gisele peered around Jamie’s bulk and nearly stumbled. The duke was indeed Jamie’s brother—there could be no mistake. The same jaw, the same whiskey eyes, the same golden coloring. The only thing that set the younger man apart was a slighter, shorter frame.

“Are you going to let me come in or are you going to
make me do this in the rain for all and sundry to hear?” the duke demanded. “Because, by God, I will.”

Silent, his face set like granite, Jamie backed up, allowing his brother access to the hall. He slammed the door behind the duke with more force than was necessary.

“What do you want?” Jamie asked, looking positively hostile.

“What do I want?” the duke repeated, his expression a mixture of disbelief, chagrin, and what looked like regret. “You can’t be serious.”

Gisele took a silent step back. She had no desire to get in the middle of this, whatever
this
might be. This was between brothers and had no bearing on her. Whatever bone she had to pick with Jamie could wait.

She cleared her throat. “I’ll just go now—”

“Stay,” Jamie barked, not looking at her.

“I don’t think—”

“I said,
stay
. Whatever my brother has to say, he will do it in the next ten seconds, and then he will leave. You and I, however, are not finished. Not by a long shot.”

Gisele swallowed and stood frozen behind Jamie.

“Say whatever it is you’ve come to say, Malcolm. And then get out.”

“Like hell I will,” Malcolm hissed. “Do you know how hard it’s been to find you?”

“I can’t believe you’ve spent any time looking,” Jamie sneered. “You were the one who told me, and I quote, that you wished it had been me who had died out there instead of Michael, and to take the whore and never come back.”

The duke flushed a deep scarlet. “That was a mistake.”

“A mistake? Forgive me if I don’t quite believe you.”
Jamie marched to the door and opened it again. “Are you done? Salved your conscience? Now get out.”

“Sofia told me where you were.”

Jamie’s face went slack. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sofia told me where you were. She saw your name mentioned in the paper so she came—”