by Gina Lamm
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of another large home. Leah bunched her soft-blue ball gown up in her hands to descend from the carriage. She didn’t remember who was throwing this shindig, or even what the hell day it was. It was just another night that she’d be expected to dance with His Grace, converse with His Grace, simper at His Grace. She considered shoving a finger down her throat so she could puke in the bushes and go home. Play cards with Muriel or scrub a chamber pot or two. It’d be less of a pain in the ass than being here, she was pretty sure.
“My dear Leah, come now.” Lady Chesterfield gestured with the fan.
Leah trudged toward the door, her heavy stomps sounding more like she was wearing combat boots than fine kid slippers.
“Stand straight, my dear. Good heavens, are your stays not laced snugly?”
Reluctantly Leah stiffened her spine. “No, it’s fine. I promise. Sorry.” If they tightened this corset any more, she’d need to be re-inflated when she took it off. She sighed as deeply as she was able to when she handed her wrap to a waiting footman. There were many long hours between now and that blessed corset removal.
“Amelia, darling,” an approaching woman cooed to Lady Chesterfield. “I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting your charming protégé.”
Introductions, dancing, more introductions, more dancing, chatting, warm and disgusting lemonade, it was a carbon copy of almost every night she’d had since moving into Lady Chesterfield’s home. It was hard not to think of all the books she’d read, all the movies she’d seen. This wasn’t elegant; this wasn’t magical. It was a damned bore. Where was the romance of the whole thing? It seemed to have gotten trampled beneath expensive kid slippers and the feet of aristocrats.
Leah’s smile started slipping as she stood in a group of young people who were cheerfully gossiping about some countess she didn’t know. A longing glance at the clock revealed that it was approaching midnight. People were being nice enough to her, but she didn’t want to be there.
She wanted to be in an attic room, snuggled on a thin mattress with Avery’s strong arms around her.
“Miss Ram,” the high male voice intruded on her fantasy, and she jumped.
“I’m sorry,” she said, turning to Granville. “I was daydreaming.”
“Dare I hope that I took part in your dream?” His teasing smile wasn’t as hopeful as his words.
“Oh, you,” she said, smiling tightly and thwapping him on the arm with her fan. She should have smacked him harder. “I’m pretty sure we both know better than that.”
“Would you take a turn with me about the room?” He held out his elbow to her. She gave a desperate glance to her conversation-mates, but there was clearly no help there. The two young gentlemen appeared completely in awe of the duke, and the ladies were all shooting daggers at Leah.
Just her luck.
“Yes,” she said, trying to make it enthusiastic. She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and the two of them moved toward the edge of the crowded ballroom.
“Quite a crush, is it not?”
“It is,” she agreed, opening her fan. The slight stirring of air across her throat helped, but it wasn’t enough. “It’s a very nice ball.”
“I had hoped to dance with you earlier, but I was detained.”
“Oh?” She scanned the crowd for Lady Chesterfield. A chaperone to run interference would make the conversation much easier.
“Yes,” he said, patting her fingers gently. “As a member of the Fancy, I attend many of the tournaments. There have been some exciting events of late, and our next bout promises to surpass them. Lord Charleston requested my assistance with a matter related to it, or I should have been here in time to claim my waltz.” He nodded to an acquaintance as they passed.
“Fancy?” she repeated, tilting her head toward him. The name was completely unfamiliar, and she had to admit talking about anything other than waltzing was a great idea right then.
“The Fancy. Ah, I forget that you have lived abroad for so long.” He smiled down at her like she was an ignorant child, which she guessed she was, to him. “Boxing tournaments, Miss Ram. But they are not a tale for such a proper young lady as yourself.”
“Oh, Miss Ram.” A young man with a rose-colored waistcoat came up to her with a smile. “I do beg your pardon, but I believe it is time for our dance.”
“Of course, Mr. Lowell.” She turned to the duke. “Will you excuse me, Lord Granville?”
“Quite reluctantly,” he said, bowing over her hand. “Perhaps afterward, I may again claim your attention? There is a matter that I wish to discuss with you.”
Crap, crap, and triple crap. She took a deep breath and put on her most polite act. “Yes, to be sure.”
As Mr. Lowell led her onto the dance floor, she worried the inside of her cheek. Her brain whirred like a wind-up robot toy. The duke and boxing matches. Avery’s bruises and muscles that were much too nice for a valet to have…Could Granville have been forcing him to fight? That didn’t seem likely. Granville was too nice.
She curtsied to Mr. Lowell as he bowed, and they began the quadrille. Fortunately, she’d been practicing Regency dances since she’d first planned to marry Mr. Darcy, so she only had to pay a minimum of attention to the steps.
Avery fought, and the duke was a member of the Fancy. What was she missing? Weren’t fights like that illegal? But there was something else, and she wished she knew what it was.
“You look quite fine tonight, Miss Ram.” Mr. Lowell nodded as he gripped her hand. They stepped together in a line with another couple, moving to the music.
“Thank you,” she said. Turning, they moved through the formation and took their place at the end of the line.
“If I may, Miss Ram.” He paused as another couple passed them. “I should like to drive out with you in the park if you are amenable.”
The thoughts of Avery and the duke and back alley boxing matches slammed to a halt. Oh, crap.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lowell, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh.” His face fell as they came together again for the last pass of the dance. “My apologies for being so forward.”
“Oh, no.” She stumbled a little through the step. He steadied her. “It’s nothing like that, it’s just…” She trailed off as the music ended. “I wish I knew what to say.”
He shook his head ruefully. “I understand, Miss Ram. I do wish you every happiness.”
He left her on the edge of the dance floor. She stared after him with complete befuddlement.
When she was single, men never looked at her twice. Why was it that once she’d found the man she wanted, they seemed to be lining up in droves?
Sometimes the Fates had a really twisted sense of humor.
“Chased the young pup off, I see.” The duke laughed as he approached her. His silvery waistcoat matched his hair tonight.
“It wasn’t like that. He had, erm, another person to dance with.”
The duke nodded knowingly. “It is quite close in this room. Would you care to walk onto the balcony with me? There is something I would ask.”
“If you’d like, Your Grace,” Leah said, though her eyes searched for any distraction she could plausibly use.
They passed through the crowd, which parted to let them through like Moses and the freaking Red Sea. Leah shook her head inwardly at the deference everyone showed to Granville. She’d been no better than these people only a few weeks ago. She’d only seen the title and hadn’t looked past it to see the man himself.
Not that Granville was bad. Quite the opposite. He was a sweet old man. But he was perfect for Lady Chesterfield, not her. Her heart was too full of someone else.
The night air was fresh with a hint of chill. Leah drew in a deep breath gratefully. It had really been stuffy in there, too many people and too many layers of undergarments. She’d never take her regular old cotton bra and panties for granted again.
“Miss Ram,” the duke said, placin
g a hand on her arm and turning her to face him, “I had hoped to speak with you about a matter of some delicacy.”
A little knot caught in Leah’s throat. “Of course,” she said. Uh-oh. Had she been reading his signals wrong? She hadn’t thought he was really into her, but he seemed to be nervous. If he proposed to her right now, she’d fall over in shock.
The duke took a deep breath. “Your aunt, Lady Chesterfield.” He stopped, looking out over the darkened lawn. Leah followed his gaze. He wasn’t really looking at anything.
“My aunt?” she prodded.
“Yes. Of course. Your aunt.” He looked down at her, smiling in a nervous but fatherly way. “Has she made mention of me?”
So that’s the way he’s rolling. Relief nearly made Leah sag. “She talks about you all the time.”
His eyes lit up. “She does?”
Leah nodded. “I think she really likes you.”
“I see.”
They fell silent. Leah worried the inside of her cheek, wondering what she should do to help this along.
“You know, Your Grace,” she said, looking down at the toes of her slippers, “I think she’s really interested in you. Why don’t you ask her to the park? Or the theatre?”
He clasped his hands together behind his back. “The dowager duchess is not in favor of my marrying again.”
“Oh. Oh. I see.” The memory of his mother made Leah shudder. The poor man. “But you don’t need her permission, right?”
“No, of course not.” He pursed his lips. “But my mother can make things, well, difficult, to say the least. Since her dowry repaired the family fortunes, I find myself somewhat dependent upon her good nature.”
Leah nodded knowingly. “Well, you could always—”
A shot rang out. The lamppost beside them shattered, raining glass onto the ground beside them.
Twenty-Four
Avery ran after the Chesterfield carriage. Thankfully, with the glut of conveyances leaving at the same time, Leah and her chaperone were forced to move slowly along the lane toward the home in Hanover Square.
He kept his breath even as he followed at a distance.
Staying out of sight had not been easy for the past weeks, but he’d had no choice. After the Swansdown came the Berford. Prachett had demanded Avery lose at both tourneys, promising to harm Leah if he did not comply. Though the lies gnawed at him daily, he did as he was bidden, losing to boxers who he could have readily beaten. The duke had never mentioned anything, but Avery knew that his actions must look suspicious.
Besides, staying near to Leah would only have strengthened the connection that should never have formed at all—that had put her very life in danger tonight and all the nights she’d been in his life.
Then why do you follow her still? his subconscious mocked him. He had no choice. The gunshot tonight had been a warning from Prachett’s men; he knew that. To ensure Avery’s continued assistance, they would do much worse to Leah.
Ignoring the thought, he ducked behind the manor house just beyond Lady Chesterfield’s. He watched from the cover of shrubbery as Lady Chesterfield and Leah descended the carriage and headed into the house.
He sighed with relief, as he did every night when she’d returned home safely. The carriage rumbled to a start, heading for its home in the stables.
Guilt chased him, ever his constant companion. He should not follow her. He should not steal after her in the night like a thief. But it was his fault her life was in danger. He must protect her if he could.
“Sorry, Lady Chesterfield. I forgot my fan in the carriage.”
Leah’s voice floated to him, the sweet sound drawing memories that he longed to relive. He ducked lower as she descended the front steps and followed the path the carriage had taken toward the stables.
Indecision gnawed at his gut. He should leave. He should not speak to her, should not make his presence known. She’d be angry with him. She may even hate him for neglecting her, no matter his good intentions.
He stole after her anyway. Her presence was a lure he could not deny. Pressing his back against the chilly stone wall of the stable, he waited.
Her voice was indistinct as she spoke with the stable lad. A light laugh whipped Avery across his chest. She sounded so happy, so free. He looked downward, to where his hands were fisted in front of him. He should stay away. Her life was better without him.
“Avery?”
Reflexively he brought his fists upward into a fighting stance, dropping them a split second later when he realized that Leah was looking straight at him, a delicate white lace fan in her hands.
He stood straight and cleared his throat.
“Yes,” he said, frantically searching his brain for an appropriate reason for his presence. “Miss Ramsey. Good evening.”
Her fan thwacked across his arm. “What the hell is your problem?”
“I beg your pardon?”
She gripped him by the hand and dragged him farther into the shadows. He tried to ignore her closeness, but the scent and heat of her body wrapped around him. When she turned to him, fire in her eyes, it was all he could do not to kiss her.
“I have been waiting to hear from you for two freaking weeks.” She punctuated her statement with a finger to his chest. “I thought you’d died or something. Where the crap have you been?”
He caught her hand against his chest, pressing it to his thumping heart. “I have been closer than you know.”
She delivered a soft kick to his shin. He grunted as she connected with a still-healing bruise. “What, are you stalking me now? Because that’s not sexy at all, even if you were a sparkly vampire.”
He shook his head in confusion.
She rolled her eyes. “Never mind. But seriously, I’ve missed you.”
“I have missed you as well,” he whispered, and bent his head to hers. She jerked sideways, avoiding his kiss, and disappointment flooded him.
“No way,” she said. “No kissing until we’ve talked some things through.”
A noise from behind him grabbed his attention, and he pressed a finger to Leah’s lips. Together they watched as the stable hands left for their quarters, apparently having finished their duties for the evening.
“Come here,” Leah whispered, and led him into the warmth of the stables.
The heavy scents of horseflesh, leather, and straw perfumed the air. Avery lit the lamp by the doorway, and together he and Leah made their way to an empty stall near the back of the stables.
The lamp’s metal hook rasped as he hung it above the stall door. Words ran rampant through his brain as he rehearsed them silently. He must remember all the reasons that he and Miss Ramsey could not be together. Never mind Prachett. He’d been careless before. He could have left her with child, after all. There was nothing he could give her, no provisions he could make to ensure her happiness and well-being. Their encounter had been a mistake. They had no future together, and he must convince her of that.
But when he turned and saw her there, pale-blue gown seeming to make her skin glow in the lamplight, all his carefully chosen words dissipated.
“Tell me the truth, Avery. Have you been following me?”
She’d set her fan on the narrow window ledge and had her hands on the curve of her hips. His pulse quickened as her décolletage heaved with emotion.
“I have.”
She lost some of her irritation at his honest confession. “Why?”
He took a step closer to her, drawn despite himself. “Because there are evil men about, and you are an innocent.”
She barked a laugh, tilting her head back in mirth. With that graceful column so exposed, he was sorely tempted to taste her lovely skin. He did not.
“I’m about as far from innocent as you can get, dude. I can take care of myself.”
He shook his head. “You mistake my meaning. There are threats that you are unaware of.” Unable to resist her anymore, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. “I would see tha
t you come to no harm.”
Her arms wound around his neck. “Why do you care so much?”
His kiss was the only answer he could give.
All his reasoning why they should not lie together burned up in the heat of that kiss. She pressed herself eagerly to him, opening her mouth to receive him. He groaned as he tasted the wet recesses of her, reveling in the feeling of her hands wandering the planes of his shoulders and back.
His erection pressed full against her belly, hardening him further. The décolletage of her gown seemed to call to him, begging for his attention. Who was he to ignore such a summons? He pressed fiery kisses along her throat, in the sweet space between shoulder and collarbone, finally to rest his lips atop the swell of her left breast.
“Avery,” she whispered in a throaty voice. “I want you too, but you have to promise we’ll talk afterward.”
“Of course.” He’d have promised her the moon in that moment. Though he was not proud of his too-hasty answer, it seemed to please her.
Leah divested him of his trousers, eyes alighting when she spied his erection. Her attention only served to harden him further.
“You’ve missed me too, haven’t you?”
She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she took him into her mouth. Her hot, wet mouth closed around his length and his knees buckled. Gripping the wall to steady himself, he threaded his free hand into her hair.
She took him deeply, throat working around the sensitive tip of him. He never looked away. He couldn’t. The sight of her beatific face as she moved her hand and lips in concert was the most sensual thing he’d ever seen.
“Leah,” he whispered, “you must stop.”
At his words, she ran her tongue up the underside of his shaft. A drop of crystalline fluid appeared at the tip. Avery gritted his teeth to stop the flood of pleasure that threatened to sweep him away.
He must regain control of this. Of her.
Gripping both her hands in one of his, he laid her back into the sweet-smelling straw. She pulled against his grip, but he tightened his hold. The way she smiled, writhing and twisting against him, was proof of her approval.
