Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes (23 page)

employer before you, Your Grace. My debt to him was

repaid long ago. I owe him nothing.”

“I gladly shouldered the risk of hiring you on.” The

duke rose slowly, the corners of his mouth drooping.

“But I cannot risk scandal in this household. It bears on

everyone under this roof, to everyone who bears the name

of my family. You must understand the position I am in.”

Damn
you, Prachett.
Rage bubbled in Avery’s chest, the red poison thrumming through his veins. He let

his lids slide closed. Breathing deeply, he controlled the

anger and desperation. “Your Grace, it has never been

my intention to cause you harm.”

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Lord Granville rounded the corner of his desk,

straightening his waistcoat as he did. “The Swansdown

Mill is occurring soon. While it might seem best to

avoid the bout, I am sure that the bounder would

use your absence to poison your—

and by extension

my— reputation. I believe it would be best if you put in

a performance there. Your appearance there as my man

should squash any rumor. I shall sponsor you, lad, and I

trust that you are speaking the truth of your involvement

with him.” The duke leaned heavily against the front of

the ornate desk, looking older and more tired than usual.

“I have made no secret of the fact that you are my valet

and a fighter. But while society has looked the other

way, I believe that Prachett may change that if we are

not careful.”

“Very well, Your Grace.”

Lord Granville turned with a wave of dismissal.

“Thank you, Russell.”

Avery’s shallow bow went unseen, and he left the

room with his chin high, though his heart was heavy and

his jaw was throbbing. Another bout? His bruises would

be yellow and green, still tender. He had no doubt that

Prachett would take his revenge for the loss today. Could

he avoid the man?

He’d cost Prachett hundreds of pounds today. Prachett

would kill for much, much less. He thanked whatever

star watched over him that Leah had left the house before

all this occurred. If she ran afoul of Avery’s past, she’d

likely never be seen again. He’d find some other way to

get medicine for his aunt.

Avery mounted the stairs to the duke’s dressing cham-

bers, the burning pain in his muscles throbbing in time

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to his steps. He must see to the unpacking, and then he

could retreat to his small room, shuck his sodden clothes,

and lick his wounds in private.

When he opened the door to His Grace’s rooms,

a strange glint caught the corner of his eye. The

bureau’s mirror was shining oddly, almost shimmering

like the surface of a pond in a rainstorm. Drawing

closer, he reached out and pressed his palm flat against

the mirror.

The glass was cold, and it sent a shiver through him.

Leah had fallen through the glass as if it were pure

air. He’d caught her, pressed her intimately against him.

However inadvertent the contact had been at the time,

he remembered it with longing now.

She’d laughed with him, smiled at him. She’d never

treated him the way so many others had before. She was

a woman unlike any other, and he’d allowed her to leave

him without telling her so.

Turning, he slumped against the bureau’s slanted

front, uncaring for the moment that his wet clothing

pressed against the wood.

He’d wanted her. He realized that now. The way a

man wants a woman, flesh to flesh and heart to heart. She

wasn’t the first he’d wanted physically, but she was the

only one that the hole in his chest seemed to scream for.

“Leah,” he whispered as he looked skyward. “Please

be safe.”

“Of course I’m safe. Why wouldn’t I be safe?”

He whirled, eyes wide. She stood behind him, bold as

brass. He almost didn’t recognize her, coiffed and clothed

like a debutante.

“How are you here?” Avery took a cautious step

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forward, his heart thumping wildly against his ribs. “It

is impossible.”

She ran the few steps that separated them, throwing

herself into his arms. Closing his eyes, he bent his head

to kiss her.

Just before their lips touched, she said, “You’re right.

It’s impossible.”

He opened his eyes. He was still alone in the bedchamber.

Clutching his aching, pounding skull, he turned to his

duties. It wasn’t the first time an opponent had nearly

cracked his skull, but the cruel daydream was particularly

painful.

She’d never run to him.

i

Raindrops ran down the windowpane of Leah’s borrowed

room. She trailed her finger down the glass, chasing a

droplet. Her reflection, wavy and dim, stared back at her.

Though she’d tried to leave after Miss Stapleton, Lady

Chesterfield of course had other ideas. They’d gone

shopping for, of all things, more feathers. The hole of

Avery’s absence wasn’t healing as she’d hoped. It seemed

to be growing wider and more jagged every day.

It wasn’t as if Lady Chesterfield wasn’t kind to her.

She was. She’d gone to the trouble of procuring invita-

tions to balls and teas and musicales, all with the express

intent of wedding her charge to the Duke of Granville.

She’d bought Leah dresses and hats, slippers and gloves.

If Leah backed out now, she’d look like a scam artist

hell- bent on fleecing a nice old lady. If nothing else, she

wanted to prove that old bat Miss Stapleton wrong. She

wasn’t a bad person.

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Leah’s heavy breath fogged up the window. Pressing

her forehead against the glass, she let her thoughts

wander back home.

Was Pawpaw okay? He’d been so damn insistent that

she find someone to marry. The old- fashioned notion

wasn’t that out of the way for him, but the sincerity

and demanding nature of his request had been. She

drew a little heart in the fog of her breath on the glass.

Her grandfather meant everything to her. She couldn’t

imagine loving anyone more than the man who’d raised

her, who’d shown her what family and loyalty and

courage meant.

Courage. Leah’s eyes closed and the memory of

Avery’s kiss came unbidden. It had been an incredible,

a kiss that she could replay a thousand times and never

get tired of. The feeling that curled low in her belly and

crept up to her chest was hard to define. There was lust

there, a familiar and comforting friend. But there was

something more. What the hell was going on with her?

Cupping her chin in her hands, she stared as hard

as she could, trying to make out the street below her

window. No use. The rain was coming down too hard.

What a miserable day, and it fit her miserable mood to

a T.

“Miss?” Muriel’s head poked through the crack in the

door. “I’ve come to dress you. Lady Chesterfield said that

you’re attending the Waterson’s musicale tonight.”

Leah yawned and stretched, shuddering as her joints

popped like Rice Krispies. She’d been sitting here and

wallowing too long, apparently. “Yeah, that’s right. She

said they can’t sing worth a crap. This is going to be

awful, isn’t it?”

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“Oh no, miss.” Muriel pulled a gown, one of the

many that Lady Chesterfield had commissioned for Leah,

and yet another source of Leah’s growing burden of guilt,

from the tall oak wardrobe. Shaking out the pale cream

and lace, Muriel spoke matter- of- factly. “Graves has told

me that His Grace has returned. He’s to attend tonight.”

“His Grace? Like, the Duke of Granville, that His

Grace?” Leah wrinkled her nose in uncertainty.

“Why yes, miss. Lady Chesterfield is quite pleased.”

The maid picked at a loose thread on the ivory gown.

“Shall I help you to dress?”

Leah reached out and grabbed Muriel’s hands, forcing

the maid to turn and look at her.

“Muriel, listen. I need to ask you something, and I

need to promise me you’ll tell me the truth.”

Muriel nodded. “Of course, miss.”

“Do you know anything about the duke? I mean,

other than that he’s kind of old and a duke. Is he kind?

A good man? What is he like?”

“I do not know, miss.” Muriel’s face was serious if a

little sad. “He was married before, but the duchess passed

away in childbirth. His Grace’s son is up at Eton. That is

all I know, s’truth.”

Leah dropped Muriel’s hands. “He’s got a son?”

Muriel shook out the gown again. “Yes, miss.”

His heir. No wonder Miss Stapleton had said that. Leah

wanted to smack herself in the forehead. Of course that

was what she meant. Okay, a widower with a son. Wow.

Muriel sniffed, regaining her composure. “Now

please, allow me to help you dress. Lawks, you shall be

late if we do not hurry. Hannah is dressing her ladyship,

so come.”

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Leah followed directions numbly, not sure what else

to do. Things weren’t going anything like she’d imag-

ined. But what could she do at this point?

Muriel managed to get Leah dressed and ready by

the time Lady Chesterfield descended from her room.

Tonight, Leah’s patroness was outfitted in a brassy gold

satin, pheasant feathers towering from a simple- looking

hairdo. Lady Chesterfield smiled in a long- suffering way

as she rounded the bottom step.

“I trust you know, dear Miss Ramsey, what a sacrifice

it has been for me to allow you the use of my personal

lady’s maid. My coiffure is much plainer than I would

like, but that cannot be helped. But, I must say”— she

patted Leah’s cheek with a proud smile— “you look

ravishing, my dear.”

“It’s thanks to you and Muriel.” Leah smiled back.

“The clothes and hair are all you guys.”

“No matter, my dear. The beauty is all yours. Tonight,

you take the ton by storm!” With that proclamation, and

a trilling, birdlike laugh, Lady Chesterfield sailed through

the front door, held open by a dour- looking Graves.

Shouldering her evening wrap, Leah smiled at the butler.

“Good night, Graves. Thank you.”

He acknowledged her words with the barest of nods.

Oh well. He was a tough nut to crack. She followed Lady

Chesterfield into the damp and drizzly night, wondering

what the hell to do about the mess she’d made of this

whole situation.

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Eighteen

The Duke of Granville’s carriage rolled to a stop

in front of Waterson Manor. A tiger jumped to the

ground and opened the door only a moment before the

duke stepped out, dressed elegantly in white pantaloons,

a black coat, and crimson waistcoat. Once Lord Granville

was escorted into the house by the Waterson’s butler, the

boy resumed his position and the carriage rolled around

to wait in the back of the manor.

“Pissin’ down, it is,” the tiger, Edmond, muttered as

he jumped to the shiny wet cobbles. “Night not fit for

man nor beast.”

“Mind your tongue, lad. ’Tis fine enough for the likes

of you,” the coachman replied as he loosed the horses

from their traces. “Oy, who’s with ye back there?”

“Oh, ’im?” Edmond rubbed his hands together.

“It’s Russell.”

Avery tossed his hood back and jumped to the

ground. Riding on the back of the carriage, Avery was

sure his employer hadn’t noted his presence— exactly as

he’d planned it. After all, how could he explain that he

was there to assure himself of Miss Ramsey’s well- being?

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A note had been shoved beneath his door sometime

during the night, and the contents had frozen the blood

in his veins.

Russell,

I am most displeased. Your mission was clear, and you

failed to carry it out. Do not be surprised if those you

care for come to sudden harm.

Be ready for my instructions if you’d like to protect

them. You know what I can do.

Prachett

Harm to himself, he could stand. Pain was a familiar

friend after all these years. His aunt was safe enough with

Mrs. Comstock watching out for her. But even thinking

about Prachett harming Leah made rage thunder through

him. He’d had to make sure she was safe.

Rounding the back of the manor house, Avery found