Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes (16 page)

of Miss Ramsey at bay. He must think of something else,

anything else.

His Aunt. Millie. She’d looked especially poor today.

Avery tightened his jaw as he watched the sand fall

into the bag. Half full now.

The disease had been progressing faster these last few

months. Surely the squalid conditions of her surroundings

were of no assistance, but what could he do? With his

wages from service and his winnings from the tourneys, it

was all he could manage to keep her fed and in medicine.

The medicine.

He winced as he dropped the scoop back into its pail.

The medicine that helped her also made her ill when she

took it. But Leah had tried to help, and failing that, Leah

had reached for his hand.

Damn
and
blast!

He swung at the bag and smiled inwardly at the

stinging satisfaction of his knuckles. Miss Ramsey, not

Leah. And she was none of his affair. None at all.

The bag creaked against the ropes as he pummeled

it again.

His work this night would be most satisfying. He’d

exorcise the demons in his head by punishing his body.

And isn’t that just what he’d been doing his whole life?

i

The next day dawned bright and sunny, the perfect

weather for a proper British party, Leah thought.

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Well, maybe not the typical British weather, but

beautiful anyway.

Leah tried to keep from yawning as she helped Cook

load a basket full of her best scones. Apparently Mrs.

Dearborn, the Granville House cook, was better at scone

making than the Tunstall Place’s own kitchen mistress.

And the dowager demanded the best for her events, as

Leah had been reminded, oh, about a billion times since

she’d descended the stairs in the pre- dawn hour.

“Ramsey, tuck that cloth around the scones, and then

the footmen can take this basket. Do be careful, girl.”

Leah wasn’t exactly sure how she could screw this up,

but she tucked the cloth carefully anyway. The kitchen

around her was a maddening mix of rushing maids and

steaming pots, noise and mayhem almost like opening

night of a musical. It was like everyone expected the

queen herself to show up at this rout.

Leah frowned as she shut the basket. She knew there

was a prince regent about now, but was there a queen?

She wasn’t sure. Renaissance history she was much

clearer on, but nineteenth century? Not so much. She

couldn’t remember one being mentioned in any of her

favorite books placed during this time. She’d have to ask

Avery later.

“Don’t dawdle, Ramsey, you must hurry. The

carriages are leaving in a moment. Take that hamper.”

Mrs. Harper’s hands fluttered like deranged humming-

birds as she shooed Leah toward the door.

Toting the basket, Leah hummed under her breath as

she reached the fresh air and sunlight outside. The chaos

she’d just left seemed far away, and she took a grateful,

cleansing breath. Man, she’d needed that.

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“Good morning, Ramsey.”

A deep voice behind her made her jump. She turned

to find out who’d spoken.

“Hello,” she said, smiling politely to the stranger. “Do

I know you?”

“No’ yet,” he said in the lightest trace of a brogue.

“But I’d like to remedy that. I’m Lachlan Mackenzie, the

stable master. May I take your hamper to the carriage?”

Leah smiled. What a gentleman. Her head tilted in the

beginning of a grateful nod when the basket was lifted

from her hands.

“I’ll take it. Get into the carriage.”

Leah wheeled on Avery, who now held the basket.

Around the handle, his scarred knuckles were white

with tension.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine. Is there a

problem?” She glared at him, digging her toe into the gravel.

He leaned close to her as the Scotsman gave a mocking

smile. Avery hissed the words into her ear. “Get into the

carriage, and do not argue with me.”

Mrs. Harper opened the door to the area, stifling

Leah’s retort. Ooooh, Avery was so going to freaking

get it later. Glowering at him, Leah turned on her heel

and half stomped to the plain black carriage that stood

waiting outside the area.

What was Avery’s deal, anyway? The stable master

had been nice to her. He definitely hadn’t been as

macho- chest- beaty as Avery had. He was almost acting

possessive of her.

That thought nearly made her trip on a cobblestone.

Avery didn’t feel that way about her, did he? In a fog, she

climbed into the carriage and reluctantly took the empty

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seat beside Henrietta. A knot started in her stomach,

tension and nausea combined. He hadn’t said anything,

hadn’t given any indication he was interested in pursuing

her. And, on that somewhat awkward subject, what was

she feeling for him?

She looked down at her gloved hands. She was here

for the duke, wasn’t she?

“Sara,” Henrietta said loudly. Leah tossed a hard

glance sideways at the little devil maid, her bullshit- alarm throwing off some huge signals.

“Yes, Henrietta?”

“Did you know that the dowager especially likes it

when servants speak with her in a familiar manner?”

Henrietta smoothed her skirt nonchalantly. “I am told

that she and her scullery maid have a nice little tête– à–

tête every evening.”

Sara’s jaw dropped in clearly overdramatic shock.

Leah rolled her eyes.

“Oh yes,” Sara nodded, her words wooden. She’d

clearly practiced this hundreds of times. “The dowager

does indeed like it when servants call her by her Christian

name, Hyacinth.”

“Yes. And she is also quite fond of…” Henrietta

trailed off as Avery and another footman entered the

carriage. Once they were seated and the door closed, the

carriage creaked to a start and jounced along the road

toward Tunstall Place.

Well, at least Henrietta and Sara stopped giving me advice
that’ll get me skewered by the dowager
, Leah thought. Avery sat across from her, looking out the window. She took

advantage of the silence to examine him and gauge her

reactions. It was almost like a science experiment.

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His hands folded in his lap, his jacket pressed and

straight, his hair pulled neatly back into what he called a

queue, his face solemn. His hazel eyes, clear and bright

as they looked out on the slowly passing streets. His

nose was crooked, and she caught herself wondering

what had happened to disrupt the straightness. Her skin

warmed as she took him in, and something in her chest

loosened pleasantly.

They jounced over a rut, and she realized with a start

that she’d been staring at him like he was a half- dressed

Chippendale. Heat climbed her cheeks and she looked

out the window herself.

What the hell was wrong with her?

DUKE
. She was here for the
DUKE
. Not for his

manservant. Mrs. Knightsbridge had been clear. Well,

sort of clear. And Avery had sworn that he was the last

person on earth who could be meant for her. So she’d

best get her brain in the game and start playing to win.

The carriage jounced along the busy and crowded

streets, the air inside thick with tension.

Leah picked at the threads on her cloak. This was as

awkward as a blind group date.

The footman beside Avery was checking out Sara,

who was staring at the ceiling as if it was printed with

the winning lotto numbers. Henrietta glared at Avery as

if she could make him disappear for ruining her set- up of

Leah’s failure. And Avery stared out the window, a crease

marring his forehead.

Dump them in a big house with some video cameras,

and there was reality TV gold right there.

Fortunately, the carriage ride only lasted about fifteen

minutes. They rolled to a stop beside a beautiful manor

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that looked a lot like Granville House, only not quite

as fancy. Avery offered his hand to assist her from the

carriage, but Leah ignored it and hopped down to the

gravel alone. Sure, it was a childish move, but damn it,

he’d acted like a caveman with Lachlan earlier.

Mrs. Harper, who’d ridden in the first carriage,

clapped her hands.

“Henrietta, Sara, Ramsey, attend me.”

Why
do
I
get
called
by
my
last
name?
It was a stupid thing to let bother her, but it did. Just another way to keep

her separated. She followed the other maids and stood

behind them as Mrs. Harper doled out duties for the day.

The preparations took forever, but they passed by in

such a whirl of activity that it was hard to really gauge

the passing of time. There were tablecloths to be ironed,

flowers to be arranged, china to clean, silver to polish,

and enough other things to keep a platoon of Mr. Cleans

busy for a good month. But with the army of maids and

footmen from both Tunstall Place and Granville House,

all of it got done in time for the party.

“Now,” Mrs. Harper said in an excitedly hushed

voice, “we must be ready when the guests arrive.

Henrietta, Sara, you remain in the entry hall to assist with

hats and coats and the like. Teresa, you can assist with the

trays when they’re rung for. Henry, George, do go and

help Cook.” She turned to address the butler.

“Um, Mrs. Harper?” She hated to speak, but she was

tired of being ignored. She’d been standing there for

twenty minutes waiting for her assignment. “Where do

you want me?”

“Oh, anywhere, girl, do find something.” Mrs.

Harper dismissed her with a wave of her hand.

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Stung, Leah turned toward the large drawing room

that would see the most action. Maybe there was a

tablecloth to straighten or a settee to dust or a chamber

pot to empty.

She shuddered. Approaching footsteps made her turn.

“Miss Ramsey, I have but a moment, but do let me

apologize for my behavior toward you this morning.”

Avery’s voice was nearly a whisper.

“What is your problem?” Leah hissed back to him,

picking up a vase of flowers and straightening the cloth

beneath it. “You act like you don’t give two shits about

me and then you treat me like I’m some kind of helpless

female who needs you. Which is it?”

His jaw worked silently for a moment.

“Russell, you’re needed in the drive. His Grace has

arrived,” the Tunstall Place butler called.

Without another word, Avery gave her a quick look

and strode away.

“Stupid man,” Leah mumbled beneath her breath.

She plucked a wilted leaf from a daisy. “What am I

saying? They’re all stupid.”

The guests started to arrive. Backing into a half- hidden

corner, she pretended to dust some figurines while she

soaked in her first glimpse of true London gentility.

It was like being a guest at William and Kate’s

wedding, only without all the tabloid reporters.

There were beautiful women, wearing insanely deco-

rated hats and beautiful, ornate gowns. The footmen

took turns showing the ladies in, one by one. Their

escorts, gentlemen dressed in tight breeches and colorful

waistcoats, followed, straightening their jackets and

laughing with one another.

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Leah sighed with happiness as she pressed up against

the half- wall that shielded her. God, this was beautiful.

The gowns, the clothes, it was straight out of a dream

she’d had in college— the one that almost made her go

into theatrical costume design. It was only her inability to

survive as the permanent houseguest on someone’s futon

that prevented her from chasing that dream all the way

to Broadway.

But here, seeing such opulence firsthand? It brought

back the feelings full force, and she happily swam in them.

Polite chitchat and laughter swirled around Leah as the

guests made their way into the sitting room. The other

maids and footmen scurried around in the background,

but Leah didn’t really pay them any attention. The real

show was the lords and ladies, and she intended to enjoy

it as much as possible.

She did until Henrietta, buried under several ladies’

cloaks, shot Leah an evil glance as she passed. Startled,