I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) by Kelly Bowen

do the same.
    It was like a perfectly scripted play, he realized. One that had been performed many times, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he should be impressed or alarmed.
    “Who are your friends?” he asked.
    “Men who are familiar with every back road and trail from London to Edinburgh. They’ve helped me many times before. They’ll take Polly with them, safely away from here.”
    Maybe Gisele should have been a spy. She had answered his question without answering anything at all.
    “Where’s Sebastien?” he tried.
    “Treating Mr. Tuck and all his friends to rounds at Martha’s tavern. No one is likely to leave when ale is flowing on someone else’s coin.” She came to a stop at the door of the tiny cottage. Her eyes met his, gleaming in the gloom. “But that doesn’t mean we have time to waste. I need you to do exactly what I say, and I need you to do it quickly. Understood?”
    “Yes.”
    “I need you to pull down as much thatch as you can from the edges of the roof and bring it inside. Or straw if you can find it in the back shed. The drier the better.”
    Jamie blinked. “Thatch?”
    “Yes. And do it quickly.” Again Gisele didn’t wait for an answer, simply took the pack from Jamie’s hands and ducked through the door into the run-down cottage.
    It took Jamie less than three minutes to assemble a good-size pile, and he pushed into the pitiful dwelling, depositing his load inside the door. He found Gisele standing in the center of the room, her pack open at her feet, a pair of gleaming scissors in her hands. A discarded dress lay on the floor and a painfully thin woman stood in front of her, dressed in boys’ breeches and a loose shirt. Her knotted hair fell along the sides of her face and down her back in a dark mass.
    Gisele grabbed a handful of the woman’s hair. “Don’t move.” The scissors flashed, and a curtain of hair fell to the floor unceremoniously.
    Jamie tried not to stare at Polly Tuck’s face but he couldn’t help himself. Even in the weak light offered bythe sputtering fire, he could see the left side of her cheek was a mass of discolored bruises. Her left eye had swollen closed altogether. A gash, crusted with blood, ran along her hairline. He felt his jaw clench.
    Gisele snipped a few more times, leaving the woman with a rough but passable haircut. She bent and picked up a well-worn hat. “Put this on. It’ll hide your face, and if anyone asks, you got into a fight. Scraps between boys are unremarkable. Expected, even.”
    A movement caught his eye, and a man stood from where he had been crouched behind the table near the small hearth. It was difficult to tell in the shadows, but he looked like an exact copy of the man waiting up at the top of the lane. He met Jamie’s eye briefly and tipped his head before turning to Gisele. “I need her ring.”
    Polly twisted a band off her finger and dropped it in Gisele’s palm.
    “Are you ready to do this?” Gisele asked the woman quietly. “Because once you leave, there is no coming back.”
    Polly put her hand on her abdomen, the swell almost unnoticeable, especially under the bulk of her shirt. “Yes.” Jamie heard steel in her answer.
    “Good.” Gisele tossed the ring to the waiting man, who bent, disappearing again briefly behind the table. She turned back to Polly. “There is a woman who is expecting you in York. You will live with her for as long as you require, certainly until the baby is born. She’ll help you find a means to earn a living and take care of your expenses until then. You’re not the first to come through her door, nor will you be the last. Do you understand?”
    Polly offered Gisele a brave smile and wiped a hand across her eyes. “Yes,” she said.
    The man near the hearth had moved and picked up a warm jacket from the table. He held it out for Polly, gently helping her into it.
    “Time to go,” Gisele said.
    “Thank you,” Polly whispered, giving Gisele an impulsive hug. Over Gisele’s