Gina Lamm

by Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes

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

  ***

  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 invitations 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.

  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 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 Watersons’ 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?”

  “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 you 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 on 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.”

  Leah followed directions numbly, not sure what else to do. Things weren’t going anything like she’d imagined. 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.

  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 Watersons’ 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?

  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 his way into the back garden. He peered through the windows of the house.

  People milled about, dressed in their lesser finery for a s
maller gathering. But even the poorest-dressed among them still shone like a polished gem. They chatted and laughed easily, the cares of the world as foreign to them as the colonies.

  Bitterness lodged in the back of his throat. He coughed quietly, then resumed searching for her.

  His efforts were rewarded only a moment later. Leah followed Lady Chesterfield into the room, a delicate smile on her face. A footman took her wrap, revealing her creamy shoulders and smooth arms, framed as they were by the delicate ivory lace of her dress. She laughed at something Lady Chesterfield said, tilting her head back in abandon, revealing the slender column he’d love to kiss.

  Lord, she was beautiful.

  He curled his fingers into a fist as he fought the urge to go to her. He was nothing to her, nothing at all. She was here for the duke. And he was only here to see that she remained unharmed by Prachett or his men.

  They couldn’t know that this glittering debutante was the maid from Granville House, could they?

  The rain had stopped, but the air was cold, thick, and damp. Music started in the house, the plaintive sound of a pianoforte seeming to echo the strain in his chest.

  He slapped his hand against the brick.

  Thinking of her was such foolishness. Why perpetuate a fantasy?

  Avery turned and looked through the window once more. She stood at the back of the room, a polite smile on her face as she addressed the gentleman next to her. His stomach dropped. The gentleman next to her was none other than his employer. The man she seemed determined to catch.

  Jealousy roared through Avery. He dug his fingers into the brick, gritting his teeth so hard they ached. He could not tear his gaze away from the couple.

  Why should he care? Granville was a gentleman, despite his age, and would make an exemplary match for Miss Ramsey. He’d always been kind to Avery. So why did Avery want nothing more than to rip her away from the duke’s side?

  The song ended, and a polite smattering of applause sounded.

  He spent nearly an hour by the bush in the back garden, growing more and more angry as Leah remained by the duke’s side. Avery’s employer took a glass of ratafia from a passing servant and offered it to her. A cold wind kissed Avery’s burning skin, but it did nothing to cool his rage at the sight of the duke’s hand brushing Leah’s. She blushed, smiling down at the glass in her gloved hands.

  Damn it.

  It should be Avery she smiled at, Avery touching her.

  He snarled as he ripped the bush beside him out of the ground, spraying damp earth in all directions.

  When the haze lifted, he realized his hands were cut and bleeding. The holly’s sharp edges had punished his impetuous actions with aplomb—and the Watersons’ poor gardener would have an apoplexy.

  He knelt in the damp earth, replacing the battered bush as best he could. Would his rages ever be controlled? Would he ever be the master of his own mind and body?

  He flexed his sore palms, ignoring the trickles of blood that dripped to the ground below. His gaze locked on the group inside. The duke had moved to another part of the room. He stood by the front door, but where was Leah?

  Avery’s heart raced as he desperately scanned the room for her. Where had she gone? He must find her before someone else did.

  The squeak of a nearby door’s hinges chased him behind the mangled bush. He crouched low. Footsteps echoed on marble, disappearing only a moment later. Someone descending the stairs into the garden?

  Maintaining his crouch and ignoring his protesting muscles, Avery ran alongside the manor toward the back garden. He had a feeling that the person wandering there alone just may be the woman he’d been searching for.

  He bolted for a stone statue of a Greek warrior and knelt in the shadows cast by the lights of the manor’s windows. His breath caught in his throat as the clouds moved past the moon, shining soft light down on her.

  Her gown glowed, almost as if she were a celestial being. Her hair, a golden tumble of curls and braids, absorbed the moonlight, mesmerizing him. She shivered, rubbing her gloved hand on her bare upper arm. The longing seated deep in his chest intensified so much that he stood, intending to run to her. The aching pain in his body returned to remind him why that was impossible, but his heavy breath did not go unnoticed.

  Leah turned abruptly, bright eyes wary. “Hello? Is somebody out here?”

  Blast and damn. He stayed in the shadows, willing her to go back into the house, to remain in the safety of company. He could not go to her, not here.

  “I know you’re out here. I can hear you breathing.” Her voice came louder as she drew closer. He flattened his back against the statue’s legs. She must not find him here. She must not…

  “Avery?”

  His eyes flew open. There she was, the woman of his dreams, the one who haunted his waking hours. The one he could not touch, not under any circumstances. His one lapse would have to last him a lifetime.

  “Miss Ramsey,” he croaked. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Miss Ramsey. You must return to the house. You are not safe here.”

  “Avery, are you okay?” She reached out for him, but he dodged her hand, making sure to stay in darkness. “I can’t really see you, but you don’t sound all that good.”

  “I am well. Please return to the house.” Please, because I long to draw you into my arms, to make you my own. But you are so much more, need so much more than I can give. I’ve endangered you.

  She propped her hands on her hips, giving him a cross look. “Bullshit. Get over here where I can see you.”

  He shook his head. Maddening, infuriating, beautiful woman. “I cannot be seen. I do not have permission to be here. Return to the house. It is not safe for a female to wander outside alone.”

  “I’m not alone,” she whispered, joining him in shadow. “You’re here with me.”

  He turned away, though her words warmed him with violent hope. She must not see his face.

  “You’ll be missed.”

  She laughed softly. “I don’t care.”

  He kept watch out of the corner of his eye. She stared at his face, squinting through the darkness. The moment her eyes adjusted to the dimness and she realized his injuries, horror painted her features and stabbed his heart.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered, stepping close to him. “You…you’ve been…”

  “My dear Miss Ram,” Lady Chesterfield called from the balcony. “Where have you got to, dear child?”

  Leah tossed a look over her shoulder, and he took advantage of her distraction to look his fill. The delicate lace of her gown only hinted at her womanly charms, but the innocent décolletage flamed his interest as much as a daring gown would have. The ivory color only accented her porcelain skin, pinkened her lips and cheeks, and set off her golden hair to perfection. She was as close to an angel on earth as had ever lived, and she deserved the best man life could offer her.

  “That’s me,” Leah griped as she turned back to him. “We had to pick a name so nobody could connect the dots to the maid at Granville House.”

  He stifled his sigh of relief.

  “Miss Ram?” Footsteps echoed on the marble steps to the garden.

  “Go,” he said quietly, and though it cost him dearly, he gently pushed her toward the house. She stumbled from the darkness as he melted backward.

  Lady Chesterfield’s cry was nothing if not glad. “My dear, there you are. Lord Granville is searching high and low for you. Come, we mustn’t keep him waiting.”

  Avery watched from the cover of the statue as Lady Chesterfield and Leah disappeared into the house. His chest burned with an intense ache he couldn’t place, but he knew its cause.

  He could not speak with her again. It was much too painful. He’d only brought trouble on her. He’d keep watch from afar and count himself blessed that he had met her at all.

  ***

  “What a naughty girl to disappear in the middle of a performance,” Lady Chesterfield clucked as she pulled Leah back toward the house. �
�I declare it is as if you’ve no interest in His Grace at all.”

  “That’s not it, Lady Chesterfield,” Leah protested lamely. “I just had a headache and needed a little air, that’s all.”

  “Well, we must return before his interest wanes. Good heavens, did you injure yourself?”

  Leah looked over her shoulder where Lady Chesterfield was mopping at a blood spot on the shoulder of her beautiful gown. The same shoulder where Avery had touched only a second ago. What had happened to him?

  “It was just a bug bite that I scratched too hard,” she said as Lady Chesterfield fussed. “It’s not bad, I promise.”

  “You must be more careful, dear.” Lady Chesterfield removed her own shawl and placed it over Leah’s now-spotted dress. “Now, we must find His Grace.”

  Lady Chesterfield’s winning smile and wink couldn’t remove Leah’s uncertainty. God, she wanted nothing more than to run out there and check on Avery. His face had seemed swollen, discolored even. It was so hard to see in the shadows, which he’d probably planned. She rubbed the shoulder he’d just touched. That was his blood. He’d been hurt and refused to show her.

  “Miss Ram.” His Grace’s voice melted over her like warm butter. Distracted for a moment, she turned to him. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he sounded a lot like her grandfather would if Pawpaw had a British accent. “I trust you are well.”

  Leah opened her mouth to answer, but Lady Chesterfield beat her to it. “Of course she is, Your Grace. I was just telling my dear niece about your new phaeton. It sounds lovely.”

  If Leah didn’t know better, she could have sworn Lady Chesterfield had just fluttered her lashes at the duke. Leah stared harder. Nope, no question. Definite lash fluttering.

  The duke laughed softly. “Yes, Miss Ram. I fear I have been frightfully rude in boring your aunt with such talk.”

  “Rubbish, dear Duke.” Lady Chesterfield tapped his arm flirtily with her fan. “I have been most entertained.”

  An extended silence fell. Leah glanced first at Lady Chesterfield, whose cheeks held high spots of color, then over to the duke, who was looking directly at the baroness.