Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes gg-2

by Gina Lamm

  Miss Ramsey. Leah. The memory of the strange and beautiful girl stirred feelings that it should not. But the concern on her face, the tender way she’d bandaged his ribs, the sweet scent of her…

  He bit back a curse. He should not think of her, no matter how kindly she’d treated him. The girl wanted to repay his kindness in helping her gain a position in the house. Ascribing any more importance to the gesture would be folly. He did not have the luxury of courtship, and even were he so inclined, she was destined for a much more advantageous match than with a man such as he. Whether or not she would wed the duke, a woman that beautiful deserved a mate who was her match. And Avery was certainly the farthest man from that.

  He dressed quickly, having wasted much more time considering Miss Ramsey than he could afford. Avery set his jaw and proceeded down the stairs to His Grace’s dressing chambers. His duties would not wait for his dreams to end.

  As he neared the dressing room, hissed curses met his ears. Quickening his stride, he arrived at the door just in time to discover the source of the commotion.

  Leah stood with one slipper toeing His Grace’s chamber pot across the polished floor, her skirts caught high against her thighs and her fingers pinching her nostrils shut. The lid slipped and clanged as she prodded the pot gingerly with her toes, her whispered oaths coming fast on the heels of each clatter.

  “Miss Ramsey,” Avery choked out, pointedly ignoring the delectable length of leg her indecent show displayed, “whatever are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to get this out of here.” She punctuated her statement with a particularly hard shove of her slipper on the upper portion of the receptacle. Only Avery’s quick thinking and faster movement prevented the chamber pot from tipping over and spilling its contents over the costly carpeting.

  He set the pot upright, then lowered his brows into a glower. “You must be silent, or you’ll wake His Grace. Take this down to empty into the slops jar outside the house. The night soil man collects it there.”

  She didn’t release her nostrils, speaking in an odd, nasally tone. “I can’t touch that.”

  “Whyever not?” Frustration ran rampant through his brain, and he fought to keep a civil tongue.

  “It’s someone else’s shit. Literally. I can’t possibly carry that without some kind of sanitary protection. Rubber gloves, a hazmat suit, a bomb shelter, something.”

  Avery tamped down the urge to throttle the beautiful chit. It was a very near thing. “You requested a position in this household. You informed me that you were capable of a housemaid’s duties. Are you now saying that you misled me to acquire the post?”

  An angry blush climbed her cheeks, only managing to make her look lovelier. “You know I didn’t lie to you. I told you, I can do this job. But listen, I have zero desire to die of some horrible disease because of a cavalier attitude toward human excrement.” She crossed her arms. Even in her plain, high-necked gown, her chest rounded with the pose.

  His mouth went dry, and he nearly choked as he tried to swallow. Though he was irritated, his desire for her grew. How could it not? She was defiant, strong, and determined. The muscles in his legs tensed, readying him to cross the room to her. Instead, he bent down and lifted the chamber pot. Though he knew he should not, he could not resist a parting shot as he turned and crossed to the door.

  “I shall remove the slops for you this time, Miss Ramsey. But perhaps you should rethink your decidedly unwomanly attitude before you meet His Grace.”

  Her shocked gasp followed him down the stairs, and he let a small smile of triumph stretch his lips. It had been the most egregious lie, but it had been worth it to anger her. She angered and frustrated him to no end. Let her taste her own medicine.

  Passing Henrietta on his way down the back stairs, he nodded a polite greeting and tried to ignore the young maid’s disdainful scowl. Even his fellow servant’s dislike could not temper his satisfaction at having spoken so to Miss Ramsey. She was far too idealistic, and if he could disabuse her of her starry-eyed notions before she followed them into trouble, then so much the better.

  His personal satisfaction was simply a bonus.

  Nine

  Avery disappeared through the dressing room door carrying that disgusting chamber pot and leaving a completely stunned Leah in his wake.

  Unwomanly? Had he seriously just told her that? She looked down at the floor where the chamber pot had been only a moment before. The last thing in the world she’d wanted was to carry a toilet down the stairs to empty it in the backyard. But she hadn’t asked Avery for help, and she certainly hadn’t expected him to snark at her like that.

  Biting her lip, she bent and rolled up the rug in front of the hearth. What could Avery have meant by that? Was it to be expected from a man who was unused to having a woman speak her mind? Or was it something more? She blew an exasperated breath as she straightened. She wasn’t exactly the most graceful and soft-spoken of women, but did that make a difference in this time?

  Mrs. Knightsbridge hadn’t given her much to go on. As she dragged the rolled up rug toward the door, she recounted the lady’s words.

  “Your destined true love is in Granville House, the Duke of Granville’s Town home.” She’d smiled, patting Leah on the cheek. “Be careful, my dear, and do not settle for less than the man of your heart.”

  Leaving the rug propped against the jamb like an overgrown and drunken Cuban cigar, Leah dusted off her hands with a decisive snap. It didn’t matter what Avery thought. She liked herself just fine, and her destined true love would adore her just the way she was.

  She grabbed the fireplace brush and began raking the ashes out of the fireplace. What matters is that I meet the duke and let him decide. Mrs. Knightsbridge is right. I can’t settle for less than the man of my heart. And it has to be the duke, right? That’s how all the stories go.

  The pointed clearing of a throat brought Leah’s head around. Holy crap, it was the duke himself. Almost like her thoughts had conjured him from thin air.

  “Good morning. Where is Russell?” the duke said in a calm tone. “I have need of him.”

  Leah gripped the fireplace brush tightly, jamming it hard into the hearth to make up for the Jell-O in her knees. He was there, and he was in his nightclothes. His grayish hair was tousled, his wrinkled skin pale, his long fingers tapping against his leg lazily. This was a decisive man used to moving, to getting what he wanted. He was like a perfect statue, he really was. Like George Clooney or Sean Connery. She could work with that, right?

  “He’s just stepped out, Your Grace, to get something. He’ll be back in a minute.” She smiled, hoping her nervousness didn’t show. She was talking to the duke, finally! “Can I get anything for you?”

  “No, thank you. Inform me when he arrives,” the duke said.

  Her heart fell when he turned around and headed back toward the bedroom. Her hands shaking on the brush handle, she resumed sweeping out the ashes, trying like hell to keep her disappointment in check.

  “Oh, there is one thing.”

  Her heart stuttered. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “What is your name?”

  He smiled down at her, and his entire being changed then. The haughty pride that had surrounded him before melted into a pleasantly warm friendliness that Leah was dying to wrap herself in. His too-thin face widened, his brows lifted, and she could picture how he’d look if he was about twenty years younger and his eyes shined with love for her. She nearly sighed aloud in relief. This was the man she was here for.

  “It’s Ramsey, Your Grace. And my first name is—”

  “Thank you, Ramsey.” With a polite nod, the duke disappeared into his bedchamber, taking that beautiful smile with him.

  The handle cut into her palms as she stared at the closed door.

  Oxygen.

  That was important somehow, wasn’t it?

  What was it for again?

  She dropped the brush and flew toward the stairs. Avery. She had to find Avery. Th
e duke wanted Avery, and he knew her name, at least half of it, and he wanted his valet, so where the hell was Avery?

  And if she got to rub the duke’s interest in the snarky valet’s face, then that was just a bonus.

  “Where are you off to, then?”

  Henrietta’s high-pitched voice thumped Leah in the back of her neck like a slap from a long-dead tuna fish. Stopping on the landing, Leah turned and faced the younger maid.

  “I’m doing my job. What are you doing?”

  The younger girl shoved her mobcap back, narrowing her eyes as she stared. “You were to be attending to His Grace’s dressing rooms, I was told.”

  “Exactly.” Leah walked back upstairs, stopping by the doorway that Henrietta stood in. Her proximity forced the younger maid to look upward into Leah’s face. Stiffening her spine and raising her brows, Leah said, “And you’re supposed to be working in the breakfast room. So why are you up here?”

  Henrietta’s mouth opened, but only a half-formed squeak escaped it.

  “So how about this? You do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

  Turning on her heel, Leah hurried downstairs after Avery. If that little devil Henrietta wasn’t careful, she’d get on Leah’s bad side. And considering how many times Leah had gotten the best of Jamie at that age, it was a pretty safe bet that Henrietta would regret it.

  “Avery!”

  The valet in question entered the door from what Mrs. Harper had called the “area.” He carried the thankfully empty chamber pot in front of him, the lid turned upside down. Leah jumped the last two stairs to get to him sooner.

  “The duke is awake, and he asked for you. He smiled at me, and he said my name. I was right, this is going to work.” The words poured from her like rain from a summer cloud. It wasn’t so much to gloat, either. More to share her triumph with her friend. They were still friends, right?

  Avery’s nostrils flared, but he remained expressionless other than that. “I shall attend him directly. You can replace the chamber pot now, I trust?” He offered it to her, but she stumbled backward, warding the disgusting object away with waving hands.

  “Can you take it up, since you’ve got to go anyway?” She might sound pathetic, but damn it, hot water was hard to come by around here. And she didn’t even know if they’ve heard of bleach yet. “You’re already contaminated.”

  He blew an angry breath. “I must attend to His Grace immediately. If you are capable of performing your duties, you must prove it now.”

  Leah shifted from foot to foot, searching her boggled brain for an answer to this problem. Gloves! Wait, they didn’t have latex yet, did they. Maybe like, a towel or a rag she could wrap the pot in…

  Avery didn’t give her a chance to realize her half-formed flash of brilliance. He plopped the chamber pot in her hands and headed directly upstairs.

  “Oh my God,” Leah moaned, bolting upstairs after him as fast as she could. “I’m carrying a toilet.” Bile filled her mouth and she swallowed hard, nearly stumbling as she hit the landing and skidded.

  “Careful there.” The thread of amusement in Avery’s words nearly made her chuck the damn pot at his head.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she hissed as they rounded the corner and entered the dressing chamber. “You think it’s funny that I might die of some horrible disease because of the lack of sanitation here.”

  He rolled his eyes as he crossed to the bedroom door. “You shall not die. More’s the pity, you shall live to empty many, many more chamber pots.”

  She didn’t have time to snap back at him because he disappeared into the duke’s bedchamber then.

  Slamming down the chamber pot into the corner behind the screen, Leah stomped back to the fireplace and resumed brushing the ashes out with overly violent motions. God, that valet was such an asshole. Handsome as all get-out, but a real irritant. Fortunately, she thought as she tucked a loose curl back beneath her cap, I’m on the right track. After seeing the duke smile, I know I was right about him. It’s just a matter of getting to know each other now, and Mrs. Knightsbridge’s prophecy will come true.

  She just had to stick it out that long, and things would fall into place. She hoped.

  * * *

  “There you are, lad.” His Grace’s voice floated from the corner of the room by the window.

  “My apologies, Your Grace. I am here to assist you.” Avery stood with back straight against the wall, awaiting his orders. Though he’d been told time and again to relax in the duke’s presence, he could not. In his experience, most so-called gentlemen were not to be trusted. Even though His Grace had given him no cause for alarm, his instincts would not give over.

  The duke rose from his seat by the window, where he’d been looking out across the early-dawn-covered Town. Avery didn’t take more than a single glance out of the pane. Something was not right. His spine prickled with warning.

  “We shall ride out in two days’ time. The Houndstooth tourney has been arranged.” His Grace sank into the bedclothes, an eager smile on his face. “I’m told that you shall be the man to beat, Russell.”

  Avery’s heart sank. He’d halfway hoped that the duke would refuse to allow him to fight. He should have known better. His Grace had discovered him in the mills, and though he’d been kind enough to give Avery a respectable position, he’d never made a secret of his continued support of the Fancy, those members of the ton who supported boxing. The other members would not take kindly to one of their favorites missing the famous Houndstooth, especially if Prachett was trumpeting about his supposed attendance.

  “Very well, Your Grace.” Avery bowed low and turned to leave.

  “Russell.”

  Avery ground to an immediate halt. Turning, he watched as the duke’s smile faded. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  The nobleman closed his eyes, a picture of long-suffering. “The dowager duchess is hosting a rout tomorrow evening, and she has need of more staff. See to it that Mrs. Harper provides her with everything she requires.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Avery stood still as the duke yawned.

  “You may take yourself off, Russell, and begin preparations for our journey. I’ll ring if I have need of you.”

  The duke smiled at him, almost a gentle, fatherly expression, and waved in dismissal. Avery left the room with a mixture of relief and foreboding. The next tourney was set. He must fight once more.

  The dressing room carpet was turned up at the corners, and Leah was nowhere to be seen. Filling his chest with air, he tipped his head back and stared at the beamed ceiling. He should not be disappointed at her absence. He should not think of her at all. But he was, and he did, and he could not resist searching the nearby corridor for her.

  The doorknob squeaked softly as he twisted it.

  “Miss Ramsey?” His whisper echoed down the long hall.

  There was no answer.

  You shame yourself, his mind seemed to chastise him. Mind your duties. The chit is about her tasks, as well she should be.

  With his rationality restored, Avery turned and marched down the main stairs toward the butler’s pantry. Mrs. Harper and Smythe must be informed of His Grace’s journey and of the dowager’s rout. The Duke of Granville’s ancient mother did not entertain often, but when she chose to do so, it was a highlight of the ton. Most people lived in fear of the dowager, and rightly so. But they also desperately sought her good opinion. If she was entertaining, there would be such a crush that the servants of two households would be a necessity, not a luxury.

  The timing, however, was less than ideal. If Miss Ramsey were to commit an error in service at the dowager’s home, more than her own position would be at stake.

  Avery’s blood chilled as he rounded the corridor and knocked on the door to the butler’s pantry. The dowager had been known to have unsatisfactory servants tossed into prison for the merest offense. There was not much time for Miss Ramsey to learn to serve properly.

  “Enter,” Smythe called.


  Avery made a vow as he entered the small room. He must do his best to prepare her for the morrow. Whether he thought her mad or merely a dreamer, she could not last in Newgate.

  She’d not go on his watch.

  * * *

  The bucket of ashes was freaking heavy. Leah thunked it down on the top step, breathing heavily as she eyed the long back stairway to the servants’ hall downstairs.

  Take the bucket to the kitchens to dump it out. Grab a broom and go back upstairs. Sweep the dressing room, then dust it, then put the carpet back. Set the fire, however the hell you do that.

  The list of chores swirled in her head, weighing her down, and she gripped the banister to stop herself from tipping forward.

  The last thing she needed was a tumble downstairs. How did anyone remember this ridiculous list of stuff to do? No wonder all these servants were so pissy. Their brains were overworked as well as their bodies.

  Leaning sideways to ease the crick in her back, Leah let her eyes flutter closed. If only she’d had a couple of hours more sleep, then maybe she’d be sharp enough to handle the enormity of this job.

  A heavy metallic clang ripped her eyes open, and she watched dumbfounded as the formerly full bucket bounced down the stairs, scattering ash and dust in all directions.

  Whirling, she caught a glimpse of a too-large mobcap and dark skirts disappearing into a nearby bedroom.

  That little snot.

  With Henrietta’s name poised in an angry roar on her lips, Leah charged toward the door after her.

  “Ramsey! Whatever have you done, you clumsy girl?” Mrs. Harper’s voice stopped Leah short. Wincing, she turned and rubbed suddenly sweaty palms down her skirt. The housekeeper glared up at her from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Mrs. Harper, I’m so sorry about that. I’d set it down for a second, and someone ran by and tipped it over,” Leah explained lamely. “I didn’t—”

  “Blaming your faults on others will not be tolerated in this household. Sweep up these stairs at once.” With a disdainful sniff, Mrs. Harper disappeared into the kitchens.