Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes

Geek Girls 2

by

Gina Lamm

To my sister. We used to want to kill each other, and now we’re best friends. Nana was right. I love you, Heather!

One

“Excuse me, you’re stepping all over my farthingale.” Leah tugged her hoop underskirt free of the clueless knight’s boots. Having the most spectacular garb at the Renaissance Faire was becoming more of a burden than a bragging right.

He staggered away from her and blundered into a tree, his homemade metallic armor clanking. Leah smothered her laugh at the sight. “Somebody should pop the lid off that tin can with legs, and if he doesn’t watch out, I’ll do it for him.”

Ella, Leah’s good friend and Ren-Faire buddy, snickered behind her hand. “Go easy on the guy. He didn’t make the eye slits in his helm big enough.”

Irritation wrinkled Leah’s forehead as she watched him apologize to the tree and turn to walk the other way. “Made his codpiece too big if you want my opinion,” Leah muttered as she brushed the dirt from the gold brocade hem of her handmade Anjou gown. “If he was packing that much, he’d never be able to sit on a horse.”

Ella’s snort brought a smile to Leah’s face. She was kind of glad she hadn’t called in sick like she’d planned. This outing was just what she needed to get her mind off her best friend’s upcoming wedding. Jamie’s joy only reinforced Leah’s own shit-tastic love life. Ella had encouraged her to stop moping and get back to having fun, and Leah was determined to give it a shot.

As Ella and Leah made their way through the Faire, Leah dipped her head and mumbled “Good morrow” to a passing fairy. Why did people insist on doing that? It was a Renaissance Faire, not a nearly nude fairy-for-all. It really burned her when people took one of her favorite events and turned it into another excuse to wear booty shorts, bikini tops, and clearance Halloween wire-and-sparkly-mesh wings.

“Ooh, a henna artist.” Ella pointed to a silk tent strung beneath a large oak. “And bonus, no line! Want to get inked?”

Leah smiled. “I really need to get going, or I’ll be late for the coronation. Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll catch up with you after, I promise.”

“Okay,” Ella said, tilting her head. “If you’re sure.”

Leah nodded. With a parting wave, she wound her way through the crowd as gracefully as her hooped skirt would allow.

Once alone, Leah’s mood turned south. She slumped against a tree by a palm reader’s cart, cradling her head in her hands. What was wrong with her? Jamie’s wedding was in just a few days, and if Leah couldn’t get herself together enough to be there for her best friend, she’d always regret it. Her own loneliness could shove it until Jamie’s happy day was done. Besides, she wasn’t really losing her best friend, so she needed to buck the hell up.

The cheerful chatter of the Faire goers surrounded her—normally a wonderful, happy sound. Today, instead of scanning her fellow attendees’ garb for historical accuracy and nifty ideas, all Leah could do was feel sorry for herself. Ella was right. She had to stop acting like she was losing her best friend. Shoving herself upright, Leah glared at the green canopy of leaves above her.

“Screw this,” she said, adjusting her skirts and straightening her French hood. “I’ve got a coronation to attend.” Leah strode toward the parade ground, nearly mowing someone down in the process.

“I do beg your pardon,” Leah said as she bowed her head and bobbed a curtsy to the man. “I didst not see…” She trailed off as she got a look at his face. “Kevin? What are you doing here?” Seriously? She gripped the sides of her skirt so hard the fabric rasped in protest.

“Leah. I hoped you’d be here.” Kevin’s self-conscious smile didn’t reach his eyes. He smoothed his clearly expensive jeans over his too-lean hips. “I need to ask you something.”

“Sorry, I don’t have time to talk. Her Majesty is expecting me to help with the coronation.” Leah resumed walking, hoping like hell he’d get the hint and not follow. Their particular personal history wasn’t one she wanted to relive.

No such luck. He trotted to keep up with her, weaving through the crowd. “You’ve got half an hour before that starts. I checked the schedule. Listen, Leah, I’ve been thinking.”

“About Teresa, hopefully. She is the one you’re going to marry.” Leah fought the angry blush climbing her neckline. How could she have been stupid enough to believe that Kevin loved her? She quickened her step, wishing she could leave him, and the past he reminded her of, behind.

“You know I didn’t mean for that to happen the way it did. I still care about you, Leah. I always wanted to stay friends with you, and Teresa wants that too. She actually wanted me to ask you to possibly, I don’t know—beabridesmaidorsomething.”

The rushed words sent a white-hot knife of hurt and anger through her chest. She stopped so fast that Kevin nearly knocked her down. Whirling, she gaped at him.

“You have got to be kidding me. A bridesmaid? She called me a slut the first time she met me! And she met me on the night that I’d thought…” The words swelled in her throat, and she fought to get them free. “I’d thought…”

“You thought I was going to propose to you.” Kevin scuffed the toe of his leather loafer in the dirt. “I know. I didn’t want to hurt you. It was just…I don’t know.”

“Hard to tell me you’ve been in love with Teresa for five years? Hard to tell me you’d been engaged the whole time you were stringing me along?” She dashed the angry tears away, hating that he could see how much she still hurt over the whole sorry situation, six months later. “Sorry, Kevin. I can’t help you.”

“Come on, Leah, it wasn’t like that. You know how my parents are. Teresa is an attorney—she’s great at what she does. Her family has known mine forever. They’re from DC too, and they all move in the same circles. I like you, you know that.”

“But an elementary school drama teacher who just happens to enjoy fantasy more than fund-raising events was more than your ancient and revered family name could take. It’s fine, Kevin. I get it.” Her voice was ragged and her chest tight, but she stood her ground. She wasn’t going to apologize. She’d tried to be the kind of girl he wanted, but that particular mask hadn’t fit. It was just as well. His mother had hated her with a passion, and no matter how hard Leah tried, she could never live up to that impossible standard. It had been much easier to cling to Jamie than to try to fight for Kevin anymore. Of course, now she didn’t have her best friend either.

He took her hand, gently rubbing a tiny circle over her knuckles. “I still care about you. A lot. And I know it’s shitty of me to ask this. But listen, Teresa’s cousin Wendy had to back out of the wedding. Her doctor put her on bed rest until the baby comes. You can wear Wendy’s dress for the ceremony and be in the pictures. And you don’t have to worry about anything because the photographer said he can Photoshop Wendy’s face in afterward.”

She’d have laughed if it wasn’t so pathetically painful. Jerking her hand away, she stared at him—his fancy clothes, hair perfectly gelled into that tousled look, his complete discomfort at standing on a dirt path in the middle of the woods—all of it. Even though she’d wanted him desperately at the time, she could see now that she’d been a total idiot to think he could have made her happy. Didn’t stop it from hurting like hell, though.

“There is no way that I’ll be in your wedding. You and that attorney bitch really deserve each other.”

She walked away without looking back, her aching heart turning to lead in her chest. What a stinking mess her life had become, and it was nobody’s fault but her own. She’d been so busy chasing the dream of a happily-ever-after that she’d completely lost sight of who and what she wanted.

The coronation, normally one of Leah’s favorite events, seemed to drag on forever today. She performed her bit perfectly—like a trained monkey in a circus, she thought, her dark thoughts belying the bright smile on her face. She didn’t miss a step, and her solo performance got the largest applause. Once the final song was completed and the parade through the fairgrounds done, Leah yanked off her hood and went straight to the gates. Her sanctuary was only a few miles away. She had to go see the one man in the world who could make her feel better about everything.

“Leah, there you are,” Ella called to her from a pottery vendor’s stall. She grinned as she approached. “You were beautiful in the coronation ceremony.”

Leah gave as sincere a smile as she was capable of, considering the roiling mass of snarled emotions inside her. “Thanks.” She scuffed the toe of her slipper in the dirt.

“Hey,” Ella said, her voice soft and knowing. “What’s up?”

Leah shook her head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” Leah turned away abruptly and cleared her throat. Between the pain of Kevin’s request and Ella’s gentle probing, she couldn’t take much more today. Cursing herself inwardly for the lie, she said it anyway. “I wish I could stay longer, but Pawpaw needs some help at the shop this afternoon.”

Ella crossed her arms over her middle, framing her green-corseted chest. “You going to keep lying to my face? Because we can play that game if you want.”

Leah begged Ella with eyes already filling with tears. “Don’t make me talk about it, please.”

Ella lowered her brows but nodded. “Okay.”

“Thanks for hanging out with me today. I do appreciate it.”

Ella grabbed Leah’s arm. “Anytime, Leah. I mean it. Call me.”

The knowing look in Ella’s eyes made Leah feel even worse somehow. She agreed anyway.

“I will.” Leah pulled free and walked away. She hoped she was fast enough to keep Ella from seeing the stupid tears that flowed down her cheeks.

Two

The bronze bell strung over the door of Ramsey’s Antiques had long ago lost its clapper, but it still managed to clang violently whenever Leah pushed through the door. Pawpaw said that it never sang that loud for anyone but his granddaughter.

“Pawpaw?” Leah dropped her French hood atop the glass counter at the front of the store. Scanning the empty sales floor, she drew in a deep breath, tasting the familiar scent of ancient leather, dust, and pipe tobacco. “You around?”

His voice sounded far away. “In the back, Leelee. What are you doing here so soon? I thought you were at the Faire today.”

Leah rounded the corner and collapsed on the stool behind the counter. The hoops of her farthingale flopped upward, nearly whacking her in the face. With a frustrated groan, she stood and smacked them down again. “I was. I ran into Kevin, so I left after the coronation.”

“Kevin?” Her grandfather pushed through the swinging door to the stockroom and set an antique vase beside the register. “What in the hell was he doing at the Renaissance festival? I thought he hated ’em.”

“He does.” Leah leaned on the counter, cupping her chin in her hands. “He came to see me.”

Pawpaw’s already lined face wrinkled further with temper. He crossed his arms over his barrel-like chest, his nostrils flaring. “What did he want with you?”

“To ask me to be Teresa’s bridesmaid.” Her stupid eyes were watering again. She sniffed and trained her gaze at the silver spoons nestled inside the glass case below her elbows. “This is complete and utter crap. I wasn’t good enough for him to love, but I’m good enough to be her stupid bridesmaid?” She dashed the tears away. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump my problems on you.”

“Leelee.” Her grandfather pulled her upright. “Look at me, girl. Come on.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his callused thumbs, demanding her attention with eyes that were so blue it was eerie—the same eyes that Leah saw in the mirror every day, only his were crowned by wiry salt-and-pepper brows instead of neatly groomed blond ones. Her grandfather, the gold standard for men everywhere. She just wished she could find someone as honorable and protective as he was. “That boy wasn’t ever good enough for you.”

Leah barked a bitter laugh as she averted her gaze. “Apparently he was too good for me. I’m not Washington caliber.”

“I’m not talking about money and power and all that hooey. Leelee, you were a bright child, and you’ve grown into an even brighter woman. It’s going to take a fine man to be able to make you happy. And Kevin wasn’t it. Don’t shed another tear over that good-for-nothin’.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, chasing some of the chill from her heart.

She smiled shakily, drawing in a deep, cleansing breath. “Thank you, Pawpaw.”

He folded her into his arms and she rested her head on his shoulder, just as she had a thousand times before. He smelled sweet, of his favorite pipe tobacco and aftershave. His broad hands were warm on her upper back, and she sighed against his familiar faded plaid shirt. Pawpaw was right. He’d always been right.

“Promise me somethin’.”

She looked up at him.

He continued with a half smile, “Promise me you’ll find somebody you can count on. A man who knows what it means to work for a living. A man who won’t let you run over him but will listen to every word you say.”

“I’ve got a grandfather like that,” Leah said with a laugh. “There can’t be another man like you.”

He smiled, but his voice was serious. “Leelee, listen to me. A good, strong, honest man. You find him, and you marry him. I want to know you’ve got somebody to come home to, so when I’m dead and gone, I know you’ll be taken care of.”

She pulled free of his arms and shook her head vehemently. “Why would you say that? You’re healthy as a horse.”

He shook his head. “I’m not guaranteed tomorrow, and I want to know you won’t be alone.”

“I can take care of myself, you know.” She tried to focus on the insinuation of her helplessness instead of the dead and gone statement. She refused to even consider a world without Pawpaw. And besides, she was an independent woman. While a romance would be wonderful, she didn’t need it to survive.

“I’m not talking about money or protection or anything like that, and you know it, girl.” He stared her down. “I mean a partner like I had with your grandma, someone to share life’s burdens with. You haven’t had it easy, and with Jamie gettin’ married, you’ll be more alone than is good for you.”

Leah stared at the carpet. She couldn’t look Pawpaw in the face. While the rest of the world saw the laughing, adventurous woman she’d chosen to be, she knew that he saw the lonely child she’d been when he and her grandmother had taken her in. He knew her too well. How could any man hope to do a better job of taking care of her than the man who’d raised her when her own mother hadn’t cared enough to do the job herself?

Her grandfather sighed. “If you’re going to stay around here this afternoon, you’d better change outta that getup. I could use some of your help staging the new silver I just bought. You’ve always been better at that than me.”

He patted her on the back and nodded toward the office at the back of the store.

“Yes, sir.” She caught the hood that he tossed at her and made her way through the back room. Maybe an afternoon of manual labor would keep the ugly memories of Kevin and her worries about the future at bay. Her throat tightened at the thought of Pawpaw’s words. Why would he be so worried about her getting married? What had he meant, dead and gone?

It took most of the afternoon before she could breathe normally again.

* * *

Leah stoically stared at Jamie’s TV, determined to ignore the pitiful whining of one claiming-to-be-starved greyhound. He’d had a bowl and a half of food only an hour ago, the rotten liar. He pawed at the foot she’d propped on the coffee table, his high-pitched cries fighting with the TV for her attention.

She’d volunteered to house and dog sit for the happy honeymooners, but Baron seemed determined to pester her to death. Instead of teaching a week at summer theatre camp, she was moping around Jamie’s house with a pile of movies, a boatload of snack food, and a greyhound that refused to get full.

“You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are what they were last April, please tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged.” Mr. Darcy’s eyes melted Leah from the TV screen, that beautiful deep voice rumbling through her bruised heart. “But one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

Leah mouthed the reply with Elizabeth Bennet. “I am ashamed to remember what I said then. My feelings are so different. In fact, they are quite the opposite.”

Baron whined again and pawed at Leah’s hand, shaking the tortilla chip free. He snatched up the forbidden snack and trotted happily to his bed beside a large mirrored bureau. Crumpling the chip bag closed, Leah tossed it on the side table atop her MacBook and lost herself in her favorite movie for a few more minutes.

She sniffed and wiped away her tears at the sight of Mr. Darcy kissing his new bride as they rode away in the carriage. Why wasn’t life really like that? Modern guys—well, the ones she’d dated anyway—wouldn’t know chivalry if it bit them on the ass.

The power button clicked beneath her finger and the TV went silent. Baron yawned and stretched, then trotted toward the kitchen, leaving Leah alone with nothing but her contemplation and half a bag of chips. A warm tugging began in her chest, a feeling she couldn’t place at all. She glanced over at the bureau.

Jamie had traveled through that mirror. It was some kind of time portal, Leah knew. It stood silently—tall, gleaming, with an almost otherworldly allure. Her Converses hit the floor with a soft thump, and before she knew what was happening, she stepped toward the antique bureau.

The mirror’s gilt edge gleamed at her, beckoning her onward. She couldn’t keep herself from reaching toward the glass, and she couldn’t stop her fingers from dipping into the mirror as if it were the cool waters of a pond.

Her mouth fell open in wonder. She pushed farther, relishing the tingling feeling that ran through her fingers and palm. This was insane. She should be scared. Lord knew what time period this mirror might dump her in. She should be screaming for help. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t. She smiled and pushed her arm through up to the elbow.

Excitement thrummed through her. Jamie had met her true love—an earl!—after a trip through the mirror. Leah bit her lip as the pulling grew stronger. Her shoulder was nearly through now.

A soft whine interrupted her, and reality cracked her on the skull. What the hell was she doing?

“Oh shit,” Leah said, yanking backward. “Baron, wait! I can’t…I’m stuck, I’m—”

Something pushed her from the other side of the glass, and Leah popped free. She staggered backward, landing on the couch with a thump.

“Oh good heavens, Baron, do get out of the way, or I shall tread on you.”

Leah bolted upright with a screech. Scrambling over the edge of the couch, she darted for the baseball bat she knew Jamie kept in the coat closet. Her heart thumped wildly as she brandished the Louisville Slugger at the intruder.

“Who are you? How’d you get in here?”

The bat clattered to the floor when Leah’s brain finally clicked with what she was seeing. A short, rotund woman was climbing out of the bureau mirror—out of the mirror Leah had just tried to dive through. Whoops.

“What the hell?” Leah’s knees gave way with shock. She clutched the edge of the sofa for stability as the woman’s feet hit the floor and she straightened her skirts. What was going on here?

“Language, dear,” the little woman admonished her with a motherly smile. She was dressed in a dark gown made of rough wool. Her grayish hair was done in a severe pulled-back style, not a wisp out of place. Her round face held laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, giving her a pleasant expression. Her simple dress and hairstyle were appropriate for a high-ranking servant of the nineteenth century. Only one person Leah had ever heard of fit the description.

“Are you—” Leah stopped, swallowing the knot of confusion that swelled in her throat.

“Pardon. I am Mrs. Knightsbridge.” The woman bobbed a curtsy. “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

Leah’s heart pounded so hard she was sure it would leap straight out of her chest. “Leah. Leah Ramsey. I’m Jamie’s friend.”

“Oh, my dear Miss Ramsey. Miss Jamie told me so much about you.” The little lady patted Baron on the head as he lapped her hand. “What a pleasure this is at last. I would dearly love to see Miss Jamie, and his lordship, of course. Are they at home?”

“I’m sorry,” Leah said, shuffling from foot to foot. For all her theatre history and costume knowledge, she was a little light on time-traveling-visitor etiquette. “They got married two days ago. They’re on their honeymoon.”

Mrs. Knightsbridge clucked her tongue and sighed. “Oh goodness, what a bother. I have arrived too late for the nuptials. These time shifts are becoming so unreliable.” She shook her head. “There is no hope for it. I shall have to go back and attempt to time my arrival more appropriately.” The little woman stepped toward the bureau again.

“No, Mrs. Knightsbridge, wait!” Leah jumped forward and grabbed the woman by the elbow. “Please, just a minute.”

“Yes?”

Leah swallowed hard. The words came of their own volition, and she couldn’t stop their complete rush. “I need to ask you something.”

Mrs. Knightsbridge arched a brow in a knowing manner but waited for Leah to continue.

“It’s my grandfather. I’m worried about him. He started talking yesterday about dying.” Leah ran her nails along her jeans, the rough edge of her thumbnail picking at the cotton. “I know you’ve got powers. Jamie told me. Is something going to happen to him? Is he sick and not telling me?”

“Why ask me, dear?” Mrs. Knightsbridge laid a hand atop Leah’s.

“Because I know you see things. The scrying. That’s how you found Jamie, right? Can’t you tell if something’s wrong with Pawpaw?”

Mrs. Knightsbridge shook her head, and Leah’s hopes slipped through the floor.

“I do not have what I require for that, my dear. But”—she smiled conspiratorially—“I can assist you in the same manner I assisted Miss Jamie.”

Her hopes leaped through the floorboards and lodged straight in her chest, making her heartbeat a ragged thump. “Really? You can send me to another time and place?”

“Of course,” the housekeeper said.

Leah jammed her hands in her pockets to keep them steady. She was almost vibrating, she was so excited. Go back in time? To when the gentlemen knew how to treat a lady, to when class was something everyone aspired to? She could find someone there, someone who appreciated her. Someone her grandfather would approve of. Someone who wouldn’t dick her over like Kevin had. And with time travel, she could be back before anyone knew she’d gone.

She grinned. “Let’s do it.”

Besides, who wouldn’t jump at the chance to visit Regency England? Not this girl.

Three

The scuff simply refused to budge from the duke’s favorite Hessians. Avery Russell sighed and resumed polishing the expensive leather boots. His Grace would be quite put out if these weren’t presentable in time for the next morning’s calls.

“Russell, are you about? I must speak with you.”

Avery didn’t look up from his work at the butler’s supercilious tone. “I am here, Mr. Smythe.”

The butler stepped into the dressing room and shut the door behind him. “Mrs. Harper has dismissed Fannie, the underhousemaid. Until a suitable replacement can be found, you shall attend to the sweeping up and tidying of His Grace’s chambers.”

Avery refused to raise his gaze from the boot. He bit his bottom lip to keep in the retort that first sprang to mind. Smythe could take that sweeping and shove it up his— “Are there not more than enough maids to attend to that? I have many other duties.” In any other household, a valet would never be found doing the maid’s work. But ever since Avery had come into the duke’s household, Smythe had tried him to no end.

“The maids cannot be spared from their responsibilities,” Smythe replied. “Mrs. Harper has divided the rest of Fannie’s work amongst them. You shall attend to this, or I shall see to it that you are dismissed from His Grace’s service.”

The threat in Smythe’s tone was clear. Avery set his jaw and swallowed his response. He had to mind his place. This position was much less hazardous to his well-being than his previous employment had been. The Duke of Granville had pressed the bounds of propriety in even hiring Avery for such a high position, and the rest of the servants knew it. Smythe was the biggest voice of dissent. Avery adjusted the boot before finally glancing up. “So be it.”

Smythe nodded, looking down his nose at Avery, his forehead wrinkled—whether in frustration or in sheer dislike, Avery couldn’t say. He’d simply have to continue doing his best to please the duke and hope that the servants fell into line. But after nearly a year as the duke’s valet without change, his hopes were fading.

“I shall leave you to it then. Have a care with the grates, Russell. Though you have but come to service lately, your actions reflect upon this whole house. I will not allow our reputation to be blemished.”

Without another word, Smythe turned and left the room. Avery resisted the impulse to curse beneath his breath. It would serve no purpose, none at all.

The door opened again. “Russell, His Grace’s new bureau has arrived. Though I should like to direct the placement of it myself, a matter has arisen in the kitchens that must be dealt with. You shall have to do.” Smythe disappeared again and was quickly replaced by the grunts and groans of the men as they strained under the furniture’s weight.

Frustration tightening his jaw, Avery left the boots and entered the bedchamber with quick strides. If the workmen left a smudge on any of His Grace’s things, Smythe would be sure to blame Avery. Damn and blast. Perhaps he should have remained in the boxing mills after all.

“Mind the doorway, lads,” Avery said as he lifted the corner of the bureau that was drifting dangerously close to the polished floors. “Steady. Place it just here.”

All four men blew heavy breaths of relief as their burden descended to the corner of the Aubusson carpet in the duke’s massive bedchamber. Avery straightened his simple black waistcoat as he stood.

“Well done. Please, make your way down to the kitchens. I am sure that Cook can spare you a cup of tea.”

With muttering thanks and doffing caps, the workmen departed, closing the chamber door behind them.

Avery eyed the bureau. A fine Chippendale piece, it had previously belonged to the Earl of Dunnington. After apparently boarding a ship for the colonies, his lordship would have no further need for his fine furnishings. Avery ran a hand along the polished wood, yearning filling his chest. If he had the coin that had purchased this fine bureau, he could support her for a year or more. His hand fell away, then curled into a fist. Useless. He turned away with a sigh to resume his duties in the dressing chamber.

Settling back on the stool with the scuffed Hessian, Avery tried to focus on the boot instead of his lot. Many others had lives much worse than his. He’d do well to mind his business and not waste time dreaming.

A solid thump from the bedchamber interrupted his musings. What the devil? Setting the Hessian aside, Avery turned, warning prickling through him. Was someone in the room? Had the duke come back early? Usually His Grace wasn’t due back from his club until well past the evening hours.

“Your Grace?” Avery called, his deep voice echoing back to him in the dressing chamber. He stood and entered the adjoining bedroom. “May I be of service?”

The sight that greeted his eyes was nothing less than extraordinary. Skirts, voluminous black skirts, hung from the mirror, and delicate booted feet kicked wildly beneath the fabric. The rest of the form, if indeed there was one, was completely obscured by Avery’s reflection in the bureau’s mirror.

“Bloody hell,” Avery breathed, unable to credit what he saw.

She continued to wriggle free, sliding farther and farther down the bureau’s slanted front. A trim waist exited the mirror, followed quickly by a lean back, flailing arms, and a tumble of yellow curls. She would have fallen to the floor had Avery not stepped forward and caught her just in time.

“What the devil is this?” Avery set her on her feet and quickly stepped away. “Explain yourself, madam.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re perfect.” She laughed, her face as shiningly pleasant as her tousled hair. Her accent was flat, smooth, and slow, like honey dripping onto a scone. “Sorry, I know this is sudden. Hello, I’m Leah Ramsey.”

Avery shook off the whisper of interest that flicked in his brain. Remember your place, my lad, and do not be taken in by a pretty face. “The name means nothing to me, miss. What are you doing in these bedchambers?” He kept his countenance grim. It was no wonder the men had struggled so with the bureau. She must have been hidden away inside it.

Her conspiratorial smile struck him dumb. “It’s going to sound weird, but I’ll tell you.” She gripped his arm and leaned against him to whisper in his ear, “I traveled through time to find my true love, and I’m pretty sure, Your Grace, that it’s got to be you.”

The ease with which the overly familiar gesture came was no less startling than the intimate press of her body on his. He stepped backward as if burned, staring at her in shock.

A devil with an angel’s face is sent to torment me.

* * *

Leah’s heart fluttered with excitement. He was absolutely perfect—everything a duke should be. Well, except for the silvery scars on his knuckles and slight crookedness of his nose. And maybe the height. Shouldn’t dukes clear six feet? He couldn’t be more than an extremely well-muscled five foot ten. And his outfit was plainer than she’d imagined for such a high-ranking aristocrat. But his broad shoulders and slim hips more than made up for any height deficiency. At five foot seven herself, anything taller than her was tall enough.

She’d made a big faux pas right off the bat, though. Drawing in a shaky breath, Leah smiled apologetically. She hoped that slack-jawed look on his face was more intrigued interest than shocked disgust. Tough call. “Sorry, I was just excited. I mean, look at this place. Look at you. I can’t believe I’m actually here!”

His silence didn’t inspire much confidence. He stood there, scowling at her like Mr. Darcy in a room full of commoners. She had to play it cool. Drying her suddenly damp palms on her skirt, she breathed deeply. “Let me explain. Mrs. Knightsbridge—she’s Micah, er, the Earl of Dunnington’s housekeeper—well, she’s got some pretty incredible talents. I asked her for help with my grandfather, but she sent me here instead. She said my true love was in this house, and she sent me here to meet you. Oh.” Cheeks burning, she suddenly remembered the rank of the man standing there. You couldn’t just run up to a freaking duke and make best friends. She sank into a low curtsy and whispered, “Your Grace.”

A firm grip surrounded her arm, flooding her with warmth. Gosh, he was strong. He pulled her upright, but the seriousness in his eyes stopped her smile in its tracks. “Miss, you are mistaken. I am not your true love.” His deep, raspy voice sent a tingle down her spine as he let go of her arm.

Her brain paused in mid-whirl. This was a stranger. A complete and utter stranger, and she’d just popped through the mirror and into his arms like she belonged there. No wonder he was treating her like she was crazy. If she was when she thought she was, this was a huge breach of etiquette. But she couldn’t quite dismiss the idea that she had the right guy. She shivered. Lord, if he was this gorgeous while he was pissed, how incredible would he look when he was happy and laughing?

“Listen, Your Grace, I’m really sorry. I know this is strange and sudden and completely crazy. Just give me a chance, okay?” And then she winked at him in a bold attempt to lighten the mood.

Instead of the delighted laugh she’d been hoping for, she got a cold stare in return. “Miss, I am not in a position to give you anything. I am Avery Russell, the Duke of Granville’s valet. And you are trespassing.”

The same strong hands that had caught her before she could fall to the ground pointed her toward the door.

“Wait,” she cried, grabbing at his arm. “I’m telling the truth!”

“A liar and a Bedlamite,” he growled as he pried her fingers from his. “You hid inside that bureau and crept out like a thief. I’ll listen to no more of this.”

“Please,” she begged, searching his still-grim features for some sign of compassion. “You’ve got to believe me.”

“Why?” He scowled down at her like he was a priest and she’d just spat in the communion wine.

Why? She stopped struggling. In an instant, the fight leaked out of her, leaving her muscles weak and useless. This had been the worst idea she’d ever had, and for Leah, that was saying something. She’d thought that the musical version of Attack of the Killer Tomatoes she’d staged would hold that trophy for the rest of her life.

“I…I don’t know.” Leah looked at the carpet beneath her feet. “You don’t have any reason to believe me.” She swallowed hard, trying her damnedest to get the lump in her throat out of the way so she could breathe.

He sighed. She didn’t look at him, fear and uncertainty keeping her eyes glued downward. This wasn’t how she’d expected things to go. Truth be told, she’d been picturing a fairy tale. Love at first sight happened, didn’t it?

But Avery Russell wasn’t the duke. So all she had to do was get to the real Duke of Granville. He’d fall in love with her, and everything would be fine. She took a deep breath.

“Mr. Russell, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been acting like a lunatic. Can I have a minute to explain? I promise, if you don’t believe me, I’ll get out of here without another word.” How she’d manage that she didn’t have a freaking clue, but she had to get him to listen.

His expression softened but barely. He nodded. “You have one minute.”

Great. And crap. What the hell could she say? Her brain buzzed, ideas flitting like deranged bumblebees, each one crazier than the last. She had to come up with something, anything. This was too important to screw up. The truth hadn’t worked so well. Maybe she should get a little bit more creative.

“Okay, listen to me. I’m from two hundred years in the future. My grandfather is a trained assassin. I’m his scout. We’ve discovered that there’s a threat to the duke’s life, and his only hope is for me to marry him and take him back to the future with me.”

He released her then but only to cover the bark of laughter that had escaped him at her ridiculous answer. Despite the gravity of the situation, she couldn’t help but smile at herself. That hadn’t been her best effort. Maybe she’d been watching too much Doctor Who lately.

Avery shook his head. “Your tales become more and more outrageous, Miss Ramsey.”

“Well, you wouldn’t believe the truth. I just wanted an adventure, and Mrs. Knightsbridge said my destiny was in this house. Would you turn down the chance to find your perfect love?”

He snorted in derision. “Love is a child’s fairy tale. And you must be more of a child than you seem to believe in such nonsense.”

Hot shame burned her cheeks. She crossed her arms in self-defense at his mocking tone. “So you don’t think the duke could be my true love? Even though Mrs. Knightsbridge has a hundred percent success rate?”

“It is impossible.” He shook his head. “As I said, you must be a foolish girl.”

Leah swallowed hard at the ridiculous knot in her throat. What did this stranger’s opinion matter? This was a once in a lifetime adventure, and she’d be damned if a stuffy valet would stand in her way. Mrs. Knightsbridge said her true love was here, and she owed it to her grandfather to find the best husband she possibly could. She gathered her courage and stared Avery straight in the eye. She hadn’t backed down from a challenge in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now.

“I am not a child, and I am not a fool. I know exactly what I’m doing, thank you very much.” With a confidence born of many years of acting classes, Leah smoothed her dress down her hips, willing them to twist slightly, enough to get his attention. “And if you don’t believe in love, that’s your problem.” Turning with a dramatic swish of her skirts, she strode to the other end of the massive chamber like a queen, making sure to twitch her ass. Tossing a look over her shoulder, she smiled when she saw the lustful fury brewing in his eyes. Teasing him shouldn’t make her this happy, but damn it, the stuffy jerk deserved it.

“Well, Miss Ramsey, who am I to stand in the way of true love?” The last words were said in a mocking tone so bitter that they made Leah wince. “If you should like to remain here, I will not stop you. You may look to Smythe for that honor.”

With a bow that was more mocking than respectful, the valet turned on his heel and left the room.

Leah sank down on the bed, rubbing her forehead. Why didn’t she feel triumphant? Hurdle number one had been cleared. So what was with the nervous bubble in her gut?

Swallowing her anxiety, she stood and took a deep, calming breath. Time to get her game face on and go round two with Mr. Smythe. This isn’t going to be easy, but then again, Leah thought as she exited the massive bedchamber, nothing worth doing usually is.

The corridor was wide enough to put a couple of pool tables end-to-end and still have room to play them both. Gilt-framed portraits spanned the huge hall that was lined with expensive furnishings, showpieces, and closed doors. Picking up a small vase from a marquetry table, Leah examined it in the critical way her Pawpaw had drilled into her since she was tiny.

“Holy cow,” she whispered to herself, and quickly put the ancient porcelain down. That piece could easily buy and sell a pretty nice Lexus a couple times over. Rubbing her suddenly sweaty palms against her borrowed costume skirt, Leah backed up to the wall to get another look at her surroundings. She was really beginning to worry that she was out of her league. And for a girl like Leah, who’d never met a challenge she didn’t want to fling herself face-first into, that was really saying something.

Four

“Thoughtless, foolish chit,” Avery snarled beneath his breath as he resumed his polishing. With all the fury he felt at the beautiful girl who’d waltzed into the room as if she belonged there, he rubbed at the scuff mark. That such a complete stranger had roused this much ire, and if he was honest, interest, made his blood bubble into an angry froth.

It was several moments later when the red fog of frustration left his brain that he looked down at the Hessian. Blinking in surprise, he realized he’d mangled it. The boot’s toe pointed toward the floor. A costly pair of His Grace’s boots had been ruined because Avery had not kept his wits about him. He’d allowed her to divert his focus, a lapse in vigilance that could have had unforgivable consequences.

Letting the boot drop to the floor, Avery looked up at the beamed ceiling. Drawing air deeply into his chest, he blew it out through pursed lips, concentrating on slowing the too-rapid thumping of his heart. The prayers that his pious father had beat into him at a young age ran through his head as Avery searched for a semblance of calm.

“Mr. Russell?”

The sweet, feminine voice with its altogether odd accent ran roughshod over his attempt at peace. His pulse surged, and he fought to maintain his focus on the wooden beams above his head.

“Mr. Russell, I’m really sorry about before. I was wondering if you could help me.”

He didn’t respond. Breathe in, hold it in…

“Oh, are you praying? I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll wait until you’re done.” She sat on the narrow bench beside him, her soft thigh pressing innocently against his knee. From the corner of his eye, he watched her bow her head and lace her delicate fingers together in her lap. Her long eyelashes fluttered closed.

She looked the very picture of piety, but it was impossible not to notice the way her breasts swelled above the neckline of her dress with each breath. The way her body bled heat into his. The way she smelled of sweet, exotic spices. All thoughts of calm and prayer forgotten, Avery leaned closer, trying to draw another breath of her into his lungs.

Her eyes popped open, and he jerked backward in surprise. “Oh good, you’re done.” She smiled, a genuine expression that made her brilliant blue eyes sparkle with inner fire. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier.”

He stared at her without a word. What more was there to be said?

“It was totally my fault. I really hope you can forgive me.” She looked down at her lap, and Avery fought the bolt of protectiveness that struck him when her smile faltered. “It’s just that I was so excited about being here and thinking I was meeting my perfect guy. I didn’t think about how it would affect you, especially considering I screwed up.”

Avery tried to swallow, but his throat was suddenly parched. His voice, when it came, was dry and cracked. “I took no offense. But you must realize how ludicrous this appears.” He wished he could bite the words back—her opinion was a commodity he hadn’t realized he valued—but once said, it was too late.

She picked at an imaginary thread on her skirt. He wished he could reach out and rub a finger across the fair skin of her wrist. A bitter laugh echoed in his head at the impossible thought. Despite how he was drawn to her, she was a beautiful stranger to him, nothing more.

“It was wrong, and I’m sorry. And I shouldn’t even ask, but you’re the only person I know here.” When she looked up at him, her eyes were as blue and guileless as a midsummer sky. “I need your help if you can forgive me.”

Before he could voice the protest that lay heavy on his lips, her small hand covered his scarred one. His heart stuttered in his chest as he fought to breathe, to keep his head, to not jerk away. She couldn’t know that hers was the first hand to touch him so gently since his mother had passed away all those years ago. But he knew, and her touch shook him to the core.

* * *

Leah wasn’t sure why Avery reacted so strongly when she touched his hand. The wary guardedness in his eyes intensified, and the tension lining his shoulders and spine increased. It was almost as if he needed to pull away but simply couldn’t. As gently as she could, she broke the contact. Did he have some kind of social anxiety or something?

Shaking off the concern, she tried to focus. Like it or not, at the moment, she needed his help. Nothing to it but to do it. Opting for honesty, she launched straight into her idea.

“I know this doesn’t seem like it’s possible, but I’m from the twenty-first century, from what you’d probably call the colonies.”

She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, scanning his features for disbelief. But, just her luck, Avery Russell had a poker face to end all poker faces. He was like a gorgeous statue with a slight bump in his nose. “It’s magic,” she said, and then immediately wanted to smack herself in the forehead. As if that would make it better.

“Of course.” His tone was dryer than South Texas in July.

She rolled her eyes and stood, needing to put some distance between them. “There’s no need to be sarcastic. I wouldn’t have believed it either if it didn’t actually happen to me—and my best friend, who’s now married to the Earl of Dunnington, by the way.” She hoped the name might mean something to him.

When he didn’t respond, her smile faltered, but she held her pose. Fine, she’d lay it all out there on the table—either he’d help her or not.

“So listen, here’s my problem. I can’t meet the duke without some kind of introduction. You and I both know I’ll need some help in order to meet him, let alone convince him we belong together.” She sat back down beside him and leaned close to lower her voice to its most convincing level. “You’re my only hope, Avery Russell.” She hoped her sincerity was clear in her face. There wasn’t much else she could think of to say.

The only clue that he wasn’t as composed as a sack of concrete was the slight flaring of his nostrils. It was almost like he smelled her perfume and liked it. Well, he could sniff her all damn day if he’d just agree to help her. And actually, there were a lot of things that could be worse than staying close enough to Avery to let him smell her perfume. The man really was magnetic, despite his attitude. Her gaze flicked to his full lips before she could stop it.

“It is madness, foolishness, and the worst sort of nonsense.” He sighed and looked down at his hand, the one she’d touched only moments before. “But it is not for me to judge you. If your course is firmly set, then I shall do my best to aid you.”

“Oh, Avery, thanks. You’re the best.” She flung her arms around his neck. His muscles trembled, and the slightly coarse fabric of his coat scratched at her cheek. She breathed in shoe polish and strong soap. But Leah didn’t care. She’d made her first friend, albeit a handsome and reluctant one, and he was going to help her get her true love. How much better could today get?

* * *

“And this is where you’ll sleep.”

The door swung open and Mrs. Harper gestured into the dim attic room. Leah closed her eyes, made a wish, and walked toward the open door to face her fate.

A haughty sniff came from her unwilling tour guide. The housekeeper, Mrs. Harper, resembled a disapproving Q-tip more than anyone Leah had ever met. Her tiny, stick-thin frame was crowned by a bushy cloud of stark-white hair, but a duchess herself could be no more stuck-up than Mrs. Harper was.

The grand tour for the new underhousemaid had culminated with this, the reveal of Leah’s temporary living quarters. She tried to contain her dismay as she looked around the tiny room, crammed with two beds and other people’s belongings.

“You’ll share this bed with Henrietta,” Mrs. Harper said. “Teresa and Sara sleep in the other. You’ll have one drawer for your things.” She gestured to a simple wooden bureau in the corner. “Your uniforms are already inside. Dress—mind you take care—and be down for supper at the hour.”

Mrs. Harper shut the door without another word, leaving Leah alone in the rapidly darkening attic room. She dropped the empty, beaten leather bag that Avery had produced to lend authenticity to her role as applicant for housemaid onto the floor beside her and crossed to the single, tiny window. After pulling it open, she ducked her head out to look at the city of London below.

She bit her lip, excitement thrumming through her veins. Carriages rolled down the cobbled streets, beautiful horses tossing their heads as Londoners called greetings to one another. Lamp boys scurried along, propping small ladders against the posts and touching their lit wicks to the lamp heads. A baker’s boy ran past, his arms loaded with golden-brown loaves. It was picturesque, beautiful, everything she’d imagined.

Her happy sigh echoed through the room. Who’d have thought that she’d be living such a dream?

“From the country, are you?”

Leah nearly swallowed her own tongue in shock at the high-pitched voice behind her. She whirled and smiled.

“Hello. Who are you?”

The girl didn’t answer at first, just tilted her head quizzically, causing her too-big mobcap to flop over one eye. She shoved it back with a motion that was clearly of longstanding habit.

“I’m Henrietta. You must be the new maid. Mrs. Harper sent me up to help you get settled.” The girl gave a small smile, revealing crooked front teeth.

Faint discomfort nestled at the back of Leah’s spine. This girl looked only a few years older than Leah’s drama students at Concord Magnet Elementary School. She couldn’t be more than twelve, thirteen years old, and she worked here? Reminding herself that child labor laws were still a work in progress, Leah nodded.

“Nice to meet you, Henrietta. Or do you go by Henry?”

“What a daft question. I am a girl, so I am Henrietta. They said you was a sight dim, and weren’t they right and all.” The polite smile was gone, and in its place was a look of dislike that was more suited to Mrs. Harper’s drawn cheeks than Henrietta’s apple-shaped ones.

Well well well, thought Leah as she drew herself up to her full height. The little match girl is more of a little spitfire. “Well, Henrietta, why don’t you show me around?” Leah kept tight eye contact with the little demon, daring her to challenge further.

Aha, she thought as Henrietta looked away and marched to the bureau. Round one to Ramsey.

“Your uniforms is here, caps and aprons there. Hair tucked all beneath your cap. You’ll be scolded if it’s not done to Mrs. Harper’s liking. Oh”—the girl turned—“and one more thing.”

She might as well have a blinking neon sign on her cute little forehead that read “I’m about to try to screw you over.” Leah crossed her arms and waited.

“Mrs. Harper said to tell you that supper has been delayed. You’re to remain here until quarter past the hour.”

Leah inwardly shook her head. Poor kid. She had talent but no control. Overplaying a part was worse than underplaying it. “Hold it right there.”

Henrietta had been about to turn the doorknob to make her escape, but Leah’s “freeze or you’re dead meat” voice had been fairly well honed over the years. The girl turned slowly, a wary look in her wide brown eyes.

“If supper is delayed, then you can help me settle in.” Leah plopped down on the bed and patted the faded covers beside her. “Sit down with me.”

Henrietta’s look of repugnance would have been funny if it wasn’t so damn depressing. Leah began wishing she’d stuck closer to Avery. Clearly the female staff wouldn’t be giving her as warm a welcome as he had.

Leah sighed and rubbed at the temple that was beginning a steady throb. What a damn depressing thought.

Five

It had been easier than Avery had thought to convince Mrs. Dearborn, the cook, to pretend Leah was her relation from the colonies. An older woman with a softer heart than anyone else in the house, Cook had been Avery’s only confidante. Despite their cordial acquaintance, he’d expected much more of a fight from her when he suggested the plan. But once Avery had explained that Leah would be out on the street if she couldn’t provide a reference, Cook had agreed to the charade and bustled Leah away to meet Mrs. Harper and apply for Fannie’s recently vacated position.

As Leah waved a cheerful farewell from the kitchen doorway, an odd twinge took up residence in Avery’s chest. Turning, he’d thumped at his ribs, trying to dislodge the feeling as he’d exited the main house and walked out toward the stables. It hadn’t worked. The buoyant, almost excited sensation cast an unfamiliar lightness to his walk.

Her tale was difficult to believe, but she had appeared sincere. Was it possible that she had come from nearly two hundred years in the future? The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he considered the notion.

When he was just a boy in the village of Chelmsford, their neighbor, Mrs. Comstock, had dabbled in the Old Ways. Though his clergyman father forbade him to speak with the old woman, he knew from her that strange things were possible. He’d seen her making potions and curing folk in ways that no normal person could, so it stood to reason that this stranger’s outlandish claim could prove true.

His father was dead, and he was no longer a boy. Would he heed the warnings he’d been given as a child, or discover more about this beautiful stranger? Whether she’d come from the future or no, she stirred an interest within him that she should not. And he could not afford any distractions.

Once he’d reached the stables and tossed the hounds some scraps he’d gotten from Cook, he rounded to the back of the buildings into the lean-to shed he used for training. As he reached for the leather door strap, he could have sworn that his lips were stretched oddly, in what almost felt like a smile. Shaking his head, he tried to clear his thoughts of yellow hair and summer-sky eyes as he entered the shed. It was damn near impossible. She haunted him like a wraith.

The scents of dust, hay, and sweat hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the sole purpose of this room. Imagining the way she’d felt for that brief moment pressed against him, he methodically stripped to the waist. Streams of late-afternoon light reached through gaps in the slat wall, lying in wicked angles across the straw-dusted floor. Dust motes floated in the air as Avery carefully hung his valet’s waistcoat, shirt, and jacket on iron hooks by the door. A rip, another, and then he wrapped thin linen strips around his knuckles, knotting them securely. Stretching his rib cage with a heavy breath, Avery turned and faced his opponent—a canvas bag filled with sand, hung with thick ropes from a ceiling beam. Settling his weight squarely on the balls of his feet, Avery’s fists tingling and ready, he pulled back for his first swing.

The ghost of an impish smile with twinkling eyes winked at him, and he missed the bag completely. Overbalanced, he staggered forward, nearly plowing directly into his former employer’s tall form.

“Oy, Russell, you’ll never win another tourney with a pitiful showing like that.”

Avery righted himself quickly, bringing his fist upward in defense. “Prachett. What are you doing here?”

Thomas Prachett laughed, moving closer to Avery. His heavy boots thudded on the straw-strewn floor. “I’ve need of my best man, is all. I told you I hadn’t finished with you.”

Avery circled, maintaining the distance between them. His nerves fired with alarm as he stared down his past in the form of a tall, thin, and cruel man. Prachett had loaned him funds when he’d had nothing, but Avery had paid sorely for that loan. Only the duke’s mercy had rescued him from an early death in the boxing mills at the hands of one of Prachett’s victims—or the man himself. “I’ve repaid my debt to you. You can have nothing else from me.”

“Your debt is satisfied only when I say it is. That pittance you’ve returned to me, yes, but where is my interest? A man must have his pride.” With a swift move, Prachett lifted the crop he’d been holding and brought it down across Avery’s bicep.

A hiss of pain escaped Avery, but he ignored it. “Your damnable pride is naught to do with me.” He swung at Prachett’s face, but the stinging pain in his arm cost him focus. Prachett dodged the less-than-perfect blow as drops of blood rained onto the straw.

“Oh, but it is, lad. Without you, Emersen has moved up the ranks. He cannot be beaten. Except, perhaps…” Prachett trailed off as he moved closer. “By you. The Houndstooth tourney is soon, and you must enter. You’ll lose there, and the wagers will turn against you. By the time you face this new threat, I’ll have secured my fortune in the betting books.”

Avery snarled as his anger overtook him. “Never again. I have left that life behind.”

Prachett snapped his fingers, and three men burst into the room. Avery fought like a wounded bear, striking and kicking and struggling against his captors, but there were too many. When they’d restrained him, pressing his body into the straw beneath the bag, Prachett leaned down and blew his foul breath across Avery’s face.

“If you will not do this for me, you may consider your time on this earth over and done. I will not tolerate another failure. I will not be shamed again.”

In answer, Avery spat in Prachett’s face.

Prachett shoved himself upright, dashing the spittle away with a ragged and stained sleeve. “Lads, convince him.”

* * *

“And this is the conservatory.” Henrietta led Leah into a room full of potted plants. The evening light shone through the many windows, giving the greenery an almost-living glow. The scent of damp earth hung heavy in the air.

Leah looked around, nodding sagely. Sure, it was a nice room, but the charade was starting to grate on her nerves. Mrs. Harper would probably have a stroke if they were late to dinner, and Henrietta wasn’t showing any signs of backing down yet. It was getting tough to maintain her patience with the girl. They’d already traipsed through half the huge house without any sign of the duke. And while the number of valuable and interesting antiques was impressive, Leah was starving and completely done with the hike.

“It’s very nice. But shouldn’t we be heading to supper now?”

The girl crossed her arms over her middle, her mobcap slipping to one side. “I told you, it’s been delayed.” She pointed toward the back of the room. “The orchids are quite lovely. They’re by the windows, just there.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Leah turned in the direction Henrietta had indicated. A delicate white flower sat in a small pot on a narrow table. She’d just bent to sniff it when the sound of a door slamming brought her head around.

She was alone. That little brat.

Leah crossed the conservatory toward the door, muttering under her breath the whole time. Grabbing the handle, she gave it a sharp twist.

It didn’t move.

Shaking the heavy door, she tried again. It was locked. A curse escaped her and she slumped against the solid wood.

This had been a lot harder than she thought, and she hadn’t actually had to do any work yet. Was her duke worth it? He had to be.

But what if he isn’t, and I got a job as a housemaid for nothing? What if Pawpaw is really sick, and I’m here chasing an adventure instead of being there for him? Uneasiness swirled in her middle, and she crossed her arms tight to stifle it.

But then the thought of Jamie and Micah’s faces at their wedding popped into her brain. It had been so beautiful, as beautiful as Pride & Prejudice had ever been. Pawpaw’s words echoed in her head. You find him, and you marry him, so when I’m dead and gone I know you’ll be taken care of…She shoved herself upright, straightening her mobcap determinedly. Not only was this for her future and her happiness, this was for Pawpaw’s peace of mind. Her man would be perfect for her, as perfect as Mr. Darcy for Elizabeth or Antony for Cleopatra, or even Romeo for Juliet—well, hopefully without the mutual suicide bit.

Wading through the plants, Leah headed for the nearest window. Here on the ground floor it should be as simple as yank up the glass and hop to the grass, just in time for dinner. Easy peasy.

Shoving a potted palm to the side, Leah stood on tiptoe to reach the latch. It was just out of her reach. Damn tall windows. Stretching farther, she was just able to flick the edge enough to loosen the catch. Her breath on the glass fogged her vision of the duke’s grounds, so she almost missed him.

Almost.

Avery Russell was walking slowly toward the house, his face and arms covered with bruises and crimson splotches of blood. He looked like he’d been on the wrong side of a mugging.

“Avery,” she breathed, fear streaming through her brain. “What the hell?”

Knocking the catch the rest of the way free, she shoved up the window with a bang and was tumbling free before her brain even had a chance to catch up. She had to go to him. Something horrible must have happened.

Her mobcap flapped wildly and strands of hair streamed free as she clapped a hand atop her head to secure her required headgear.

“Avery,” she yelled as she ran. Damn, the yard wasn’t that big. He had to hear her calling. “Avery, what happened? Wait a second, let me…”

Her skidding stop sprayed gravel beneath her boots. He’d entered the house without hesitating. He’d heard her, hadn’t he? Why wouldn’t he stop? Making up her mind quickly, she ran the last few steps that separated her from the door he’d entered and sprinted up the stairs.

She’d find out what was going on whether he wanted her to know or not. But what about supper, and Mrs. Harper? her logical side nagged. You’ll be in trouble if you’re late. And you have to keep this job or you won’t meet the duke, and Pawpaw…

She shook her head as she rounded the landing and threw open the door of the duke’s bedchamber. It would be okay. It had to be.

“Avery?” She kept her voice soft as she scanned the large bedroom. “Are you in here?” No sign of him. Ducking into the dressing room she’d sat next to him in, she scanned the smaller room for the valet. Nope. Not here either.

“Where did he go?” she said aloud, her hands on her hips. With a shake of her head, she turned to go. Her breath left her body when she clapped eyes on the bedroom’s new inhabitant.

He was tall, with silvery gray hair and pale blue eyes that seemed dedicated to a slight smolder. He appeared to be in his early fifties or so. His features were angular, all hollows and shadows and sharp bones, with shallow wrinkles near his eyes and mouth. Slender, graceful, like a predatory cat, he moved into the room. Dressed in severe, unrelenting black, there was only one person he could be.

Suddenly remembering her role as maid, Leah sank into a deep curtsy. “Your Grace.” She hadn’t intended to sound so self-conscious, but she was face-to-face with a freaking duke. And not just any duke, but the duke that was destined to be hers forever. Wow. She hadn’t imagined snagging such a sugar daddy, though. She’d have to think about how she felt about such a big age difference.

“Please tell Cook I shall dine at my club tonight.” His voice was softer than she’d imagined. Still masculine, but refined, almost the polar opposite of Avery’s deep and raspy male growl. He turned away from her with a polite nod. She stood rooted to the spot, confusion refusing to let her legs operate.

“At your club, Your Grace?” she repeated, just in the hopes he’d turn around. Notice me, she yelled in her head. Come on, you’ve got to turn around and look at me!

“Yes, thank you.”

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, not bothering to look up from the small wooden box he’d picked up on the bedside table. A gold ring glittered on his finger as he pinched, and a sniff sounded loudly in the room. Another pinch, another sniff. He tilted his head back and sighed, his longish gray hair swaying with the movement. Leah tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry.

“Very well, Your Grace.” Leah bobbed another unseen curtsy and let herself out of the room, closing the door with a soft click. Well, that wasn’t exactly the meeting she’d pictured. It was tough to measure chemistry when the guy wouldn’t even look at you. And he looks old! Totally wasn’t expecting that. She dismissed the thought with a heavy breath. It would just take some time.

A clock somewhere bonged the hour loudly, and Leah winced as she turned and sprinted for the stairs. She’d have to find Avery later. She had about thirty seconds to get to the servants’ hall and be seated for dinner.

But no matter how quickly she descended the stairs, she couldn’t outrun the twinge in her chest. Her feet grew heavier with each step, slowing her progress. When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she plopped down on the lowest step and cradled her chin in her hands.

She’d met her man. He was handsome. His voice wasn’t at all what she’d imagined. And—the thought of the snuffbox made her shudder—she hadn’t wanted a guy with any kind of substance dependencies. But the duke wasn’t what had slowed her, stopped her like a remote control car without any juice left.

She stood, turned, and ran back up the stairs as quickly as she’d descended them.

* * *

Pink-stained water dripped back into the basin as Avery wrung out the cloth. He dipped it again, letting the cool water soak the fibers. It was hardly the first time he’d tended to wounds here in his attic bedchamber, but he’d hoped that he’d finally left those days behind him. It seemed that he could not yet outdistance his past.

Wincing as he pressed the cloth to his swollen cheek, he blew out a breath. Prachett’s men had thrashed him thoroughly, bruising and breaking his skin. They’d not spared him, only relenting when he’d agreed to fight in the Houndstooth. Damn and blast. He’d sworn he’d not set foot in the ring again. But what choice did they leave him? If Prachett and his men killed him, then his aunt could not last out the month. There was no one to purchase her medicine or to pay for her lodgings and care but Avery. He could not abandon her, no matter how it cost him.

“Bloody hell,” he hissed as he draped the cool wet cloth across the welt on his upper arm. Drops of water ran in rivulets down his chest, dampening the fine spray of hairs on that side. He clamped the rag to his skin and set his teeth against the pain, squeezing his eyes shut. He blew heavy breaths from his nose, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat in each welt, each bruise.

After another moment, the pain eased somewhat. He lifted the now-hot cloth and dipped it into the basin again.

Leah’s anguished voice struck him like another blow from the crop. “Oh my God, Avery, what the hell happened to you?”

Six

Vulnerability. That was the sensation that bubbled angrily through his veins, clenched his teeth, and closed his fists. The knowledge that he was exposed, bleeding and wounded, and she was seeing him in this state, turned him into more of an animal than a man. He didn’t turn toward her, keeping his gaze locked on the small window in front of him. He could not show her his weakness, his shame.

“Get out.” His voice was low and threatening.

The floorboards creaked with her steps. “Don’t be stupid, Avery. You’re bleeding. You look like you got hit by a pickup truck.” Concern threaded her words, lending them an almost tender sound despite the insult.

He closed his eyes, trying to get his rage under control. Water trickled and dripped into the basin beside him.

“This is going to hurt. I’m sorry.”

The cloth had barely grazed his shoulder when he gained his feet like a shot. Whirling, he glared at her. “I said for you to leave me be. I’ve asked for no favors from you. These chambers are mine, not yours. If you are discovered here, you’ll be turned out into the street immediately. Besides, I’ve no need of your assistance.”

He backed toward the corner and widened his stance unconsciously, staring at her beneath lowered brows.

She stood motionless for a while, the damp cloth still hanging from her fingertips like a dead creature. He mimicked her stillness, not letting his gaze leave her face.

Sighing, she let the cloth fall back into the basin with a fleshy plop.

“Okay, fine. So you don’t need my help.” She crossed her arms, and he struggled to focus on the throbbing pain in his ribs rather than the way her breasts rounded with the unintended frame. “I’ll just stay over here, quiet and out of the way.”

She flounced over to the only chair in the room and sat, keeping her blue eyes trained on his face.

They stood in silence, a pair of combatants unwilling to give the other quarter. Had she been a man, Avery would have been very tempted to give way to his baser instincts and thoroughly thrash the blighter. But this was Leah. Tall, beautiful, odd Leah, who insisted on helping tend the wounds of a nigh stranger. Despite his best efforts, he could not stay angry with her. Even though she’d invaded his private rooms, he could not ignore the selfless intention behind her reasoning.

“You can stand there and stare at me all you want. That’s fine with me, but it’s not going to stop that drip of blood that’s about to hit your waistband.”

He looked down. Blast it, she was right. He dashed the offending drip away, leaving a smear of blood to mat the curls of hair on his abdomen.

“Come on. Don’t be such a hard ass. If you let me help you clean up, it’ll go much faster, and we can both get down to dinner before Mrs. Harper throws a hissy fit.”

“Surely it is not time for the evening meal?” At her nod, Avery cursed beneath his breath.

She shrugged, looking unconcerned. “They’ll get over my being late. You were hurt.”

“You must go.”

She shook her head vehemently. “Nope, not while you’re still bleeding.”

He gritted his teeth in irritation. “You silly wench, go down to supper. If you’re discovered in a man’s chambers, you’ll be ruined and cast out of the house. Smythe and Mrs. Harper would never allow you to stay.”

Raising her brows, she crossed her arms. “Well, you’d better hurry up then, because I’m not leaving this room until your injuries are taken care of.”

Despite the prickle of unease across his throat, he crossed the room to the basin again. Gripping the rag, he wrung it out and placed it on his broken skin with a hissing breath. Even though he desperately wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, he would not give her the advantage of losing his scrutiny.

“There. My wounds are being attended to. Now you may leave.”

She laughed at him. “This is going to take forever. At this rate I won’t get there in time for dessert, and then you’ll be in trouble for helping me get this job.”

Blast it—she left him no choice. His reluctant decision made, Avery laid the cloth back in the basin. “Be quick about it then. You must attend the evening meal.”

He could not miss the self-satisfied gleam in her eyes as she stood. “Good. Sit down on the bed there.”

He followed her instructions, his already sore muscles tight with apprehension. “This is very improper.”

“Oh stop. I’m a servant, so nobody can give a crap about my reputation.”

“In this household, even the servants are held to an impossible standard. And are you not a servant who has designs on a duke?” He tossed the bitter question over his shoulder and gave a hiss of pain when she probed at his rib cage.

“Yeah. But still. This will only take a minute.” She stood upright, frowning at his rapidly darkening side. “I think you’ve got a broken rib. We’ll need to wrap that up.”

He did not disagree.

Her touch was tender on his wounds, soft and gentle as she cleansed the blood from his skin and bound his aching sides. He found himself relaxing under her ministrations, despite his better judgment. When he’d been bandaged and cleansed to her satisfaction, she cleared her throat.

“So you didn’t say. How did this happen?”

Her question hung in the air, heavy and dark in its innocence. His teeth nearly drew blood from the inside of his cheek. She couldn’t know about his past. She’d hate him like the rest of the servants, and God help him, he could not face that derision coming from her. She was nearly a complete stranger to him, but she’d been so kind. The dark world of the boxing mills and his past was no place for a beautiful creature like her.

“Avery?”

He sighed.

“It is not a tale for a lady’s ears, and it does not signify in any case.”

“But…”

He stopped her with a hand in the air. “It does not signify. But have a care, miss.” He turned to her. “Men are not always what they seem.”

* * *

Leah swallowed hard, trying not to let her confusion show on her face. What could he mean by such a cryptic warning? Men are not always what they seem? Was Avery some kind of criminal or something? Had he been injured while doing something illegal?

“Well,” she said, looking down at the basin of water to avoid the seriousness of his hazel gaze, “I’ll remember that.”

With confusion stirring in her brain, she turned to leave the room.

“Miss?”

Her heart fluttered with something odd when she turned to look at his shirtless form again. Even his bruises and bandages couldn’t detract from the muscled beauty of his masculine form, but a half-naked Avery facing her was truly a sight to behold. His arms and chest were lined with muscle, nicely defined with a sprinkling of hair across his chest and thickening in a line down his belly, disappearing into his high-waisted breeches. But his eyes were as serious as the grave.

“Think on what I’ve said.”

Leah nodded, trying to swallow, but her throat had gone dry. “I will,” she rasped.

The door clicked shut behind her. His words dogged her steps as she made her way from the attic down to the servants’ hall. What the hell did he mean? Was he trying to warn her away? But why? She didn’t even know him that well, and she certainly wasn’t here after him.

Leah laughed to herself as she skipped the last step to hop on the landing. It made sense. Of course he’d been concerned about propriety. Leah shook her head with a smile and hustled for the servants’ hall. She didn’t regret helping him at all, but she was grateful for the reminder. This place and time was different than what she was used to, and any tiny misstep on her part could have grave consequences. She’d be more careful.

“I trust,” Mrs. Harper said when Leah entered the room, “that this tardiness of yours is not a habit, Miss Ramsey. No matter your relation to Cook, I shall expect the courtesy of your prompt attendance at mealtimes and whenever your services are required.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Leah said, hanging her head in what she hoped was an accurate portrayal of a chastened, meek parlor maid. “Henrietta was kind enough to show me the conservatory, and I lost track of time. It won’t happen again, ma’am. Oh, and His Grace is dining at the club tonight, Cook.”

After bobbing an apologetic curtsy, Leah slid into the chair beside Henrietta and smiled sweetly. The girl glared at her, obviously piqued that her scheme hadn’t made Leah completely miss the meal.

Cook gave Leah a tight nod as she plopped a bowl of watery soup in front of her, along with a hunk of coarse brown bread. “There, lassie. You’ll be needin’ your strength now. You’ve much to learn and do tomorrow.”

Leah murmured a polite agreement as she tore off a hunk of bread and chewed it slowly. Ugh. Dry and tough. Scanning the rest of the table’s occupants, she took note of how they ate their soup. Mrs. Harper took tiny sips, perching on the very edge of her chair with her spine straighter than a yardstick. Cook hunched over her bowl, her lips pursed as she poured in the broth. Various footmen and a hawk-nosed man that Leah presumed was the butler ate with typical male gusto, refined as it was by the niceties of aping gentility. Henrietta and the rest of the maids chatted between sips and giggled like the young girls many of them were.

Satisfied that she wouldn’t stick out too much, Leah soaked bites of bread in her soup and ate the bland broth without complaining. This was way too important to screw up.

Dinner was filling, if a little unsatisfying. Leah smiled at the maid who took her empty bowl. The thin girl didn’t smile back. Sliding her damp palms down her skirt, Leah watched as the rest of the staff separated into groups. Where would she fit in here? Best to hang back and see.

The maids gathered in a corner around Henrietta, baskets of mending at their feet. They turned their backs to the room, eyeing Leah with mistrust from some and complete dislike from others. Leah sighed. It wasn’t going to be easy to become one of the girls, apparently.

The off-duty footmen laughed as they shuffled a deck of cards. Leah stood, uncertainty holding her back. She knew better than to ask them to deal her in. She probably wouldn’t know the game they were playing, and she didn’t want the maids to think she was making a bid for the only male attention to be had. That would make things even worse, she was fairly sure.

So instead, she took a seat beside Cook and listened to the woman wax eloquent on the ways to prepare a leg of mutton. After an hour, she’d heard more than she ever wanted to know about sheep butchery. When the lady finally fell quiet, a smile pinned firmly to her lips at her own culinary genius, Leah saw her opening and jumped for it.

“Cook, why didn’t Mr. Russell come to dinner this evening?” Whoa. Not what she’d intended to say at all, but her curiosity about the valet had momentarily preempted her mission to snare the duke.

Cook’s smile slipped and she folded her hands primly in her lap. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t he normally eat with the rest of the staff?”

“Child, you’ll do well to keep clear of Mr. Russell.”

Confusion and offended loyalty for her new friend bubbled in Leah’s chest. “But I thought you liked him. He seems really nice. What do you mean, I should avoid him?”

Cook stood and grabbed Leah by the hand, dragging her into the darkened kitchen. Her voice was a sibilant hiss in the dim room. “Mind your tone with me, miss. I’ve put me own position on the line by begging for yours, so you’ll keep a rein on your tongue or you’ll be out on the street. Mr. Russell prefers to be alone, and that’s all there is to it. Do not speak with him; do not seek him out. I cannot be any plainer.”

Leah’s brow furrowed and she bit her lip at the woman’s words, not liking a bit of it. There was a lot more going on in this house than it seemed. Avery was alone, but he seemed lonely too. Why wouldn’t anyone associate with him? Weren’t valets kind of high up in the ranks of domestic help?

When Leah didn’t respond right away, Cook gave her arm a little shake. “Promise me, lass. I’ll not leave go until you do.”

“Fine, I promise.” The words spilled out reluctantly and Leah pulled her arm free. The relief on the woman’s red face was plain.

“Good. It is time to retire, so go up with the others. Not a word of this conversation to anyone.”

Without waiting for a reply, Cook turned and left Leah in the empty kitchen. Leah crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. What conversation? As far as Leah could tell, Cook had talked and Leah had listened, even though she didn’t understand a word of it.

Why would Cook be so adamant about Avery? It didn’t make any sense.

“Ramsey, as penance for your tardiness this evening, you will finish the scrubbing up,” Mrs. Harper said when Leah entered. In the few minutes she’d been with Cook in the kitchen, most everyone seemed to have cleared out. “You will find the scullery off the main kitchen there. Straight to your bed when you’ve done, and you are expected here for your tasks by five. I shall not be so lenient with your punishment if you are tardy again. Tomorrow you will learn your regular duties. Granville House is one of the most respected homes in London, and you must work to maintain that status with the rest of us.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Leah said dutifully to the woman’s back as she exited the servants’ hall, leaving her completely alone. Man, they didn’t really go for friendly working relationships, did they? Or maybe it was just Leah. Maybe they could tell she was way more familiar with the intimate workings of The Legend of Zelda than with a broom. In any case, she thought as she wandered through the dim kitchen to the smallish room on the side, she would be pretty damn happy to see the end of her stint as maid, and she hadn’t even done any real work yet.

Pushing open the door to the scullery, Leah ground to a horrified halt. “Oh, hell no.”

It looked like an episode of Hoarders: Regency Edition. Sticky dishes were piled everywhere, layered with crusts and molding bits of food. Large pots were stacked to one side of a huge basin, which was filled with grayish water. Flies buzzed gleefully around the whole mucky scene.

Leah slammed her eyes shut. “This has got to be a joke.” Even without the vision in front of her, the smell of old food was proof enough that reality had a really cruel sense of humor.

What do you want, Leah? You want true love? You want to find a man that Pawpaw can feel good about you marrying? Then here. Prove it. Do the best damn job you can. It’s the only way you’ll get the chance to win the game.

With a dejected sigh, Leah rolled up her sleeves and grabbed an apron. If she was lucky, she’d get this done in two hours, which would mean a good six hours of sleep. She could operate on that. She hoped.

Seven

She wasn’t lucky. Not only was she not lucky, she was almost completely sure that Mrs. Knightsbridge had put some kind of curse on her before shoving her through that mirror.

She didn’t shove you. You practically dived face-first into that bureau’s glass front. “Don’t worry, Pawpaw. I’ll go off and have an adventure and find a super-husband and everything will be perfect!” Typical Leah. Idiot.

The dishwater splashed into Leah’s face as she slammed the plate down into it. A drop hit her tongue, and she nearly gagged. Wiping her face against her arm, she sighed and resumed scrubbing.

It was after midnight according to the bonging she heard from somewhere in the house, and she still had three pots to scour. Her hands were pale and wrinkled like raisins. Her nails were jagged, her mobcap was slipping, and to make things worse, a large brown spider was working in a dusty corner directly in front of Leah. She had to stand as far away from the basin as possible to avoid any chance of contact. Arachnophobia wasn’t one of those things she could just suck it up and deal with.

“I’ve got my eye on you, you eight-legged bastard,” Leah said aloud to the spider as she worked at a crusted-on bit of something. “If you move, you and I are going to have problems. I’m talking major issues. You should probably go ahead and pick out your casket, because—EEeeeeeeek!”

The spider moved. The pot clattered to the floor, splattering dishwater all over Leah, the clean dishes, and the spider, who skittered down the wall toward the floor as fast as his many legs could carry him. Letting out another bloodcurdling shriek, Leah ran for the kitchen and collided with a solid, muscled, male body in the scullery doorway.

“Help,” she gasped into Avery’s face, completely uncaring that her voice was thin and panicked. “There’s a huge spider, and it was too close to me, and it ran and I don’t know where it went.”

He looked like she’d just grabbed an unexpected handful of Mr. Happy, but she couldn’t do anything about that. The irrational fear completely blocked logic from her mind as she climbed Avery’s body like a well-muscled ladder. Looking over her shoulder to make sure the spider hadn’t followed, she twined her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and held on for dear life.

* * *

He’d known the lass for less than a day, and she’d just wound herself around him like the crust on a meat pie. She wasn’t an overly fleshy girl, but she was surprisingly heavy when she clung to him like a petrified and hissing cat. Though his first instinct was to shove her away, breaking the unexpected and—if he was quite honest, painful—contact, he repressed it with difficulty. Spreading his feet apart to give him more balance, he carefully began to peel her from his body, making sure to move slowly and methodically, both to prevent distressing her further and causing his bruised body greater discomfort. Her panicked state would not facilitate his swift release.

“Stoppit, Avery, please. Holy shit, it’s coming this way!”

She clung to him tighter, burying her face in his neck. The measured pace of his removal gave him ample opportunity to feel the soft vise of her thighs around his hips, the press of her breasts against his chest. The scent of sweet perfume invaded his senses, and tendrils of yellow hair tickled his cheek. The heavy ache in his bones accompanied a deep tingling of desire at the base of his spine.

“Miss Ramsey, release me.” His voice was firm if muffled by the mobcap she’d pressed against his cheek. For every finger he removed from its grip at the back of his neck, another grabbed hold. “Now.” He mustn’t be seen with her this way; it would ruin her. His unease was growing into a creature that resembled her panic at the sight of the spider. He had to break their contact quickly. He could not harm her reputation, not when she’d been so kind to him.

“I can’t. Kill it, please.”

His voice was angrier than he’d intended, but he could not temper his response. “How am I to kill anything with you clinging to me like a vulture on a rotted corpse?”

“Ugh,” she said, loosening her hold enough to look him in the eyes. Her delicate nose wrinkled in disgust. “What a gross visual.”

With barely disguised relief, he grabbed her around the waist and turned, pulling her free and setting her in a chair with a soft thump. His security was tempered with another, stranger sense of loss. How odd.

“Where is it? Did you kill it yet?” She peered around his hip as if looking for a brigand to come despoil her instead of a tiny spider.

“Wait there a moment.”

He turned away from her and straightened his clothing. Scanning the stone floor beneath his feet, he stepped slowly.

“There it is! Oh my God, there it is by that bag.”

Instead of examining the tiny spider that was making its way up the side of a sack of flour, Avery looked over his shoulder at Miss Ramsey. She’d clapped both hands over her eyes, drawing her feet up beneath her as if to keep them away from the slavering fangs of the bloodthirsty spider. It would have been humorous had her fear not been so real.

Taking pity on her, he knocked the spider from the bag onto a small piece of kindling, intending to usher the blighter outside.

“Don’t take it on a transatlantic cruise, just squish it, for chrissakes!” Her choked voice chastised him.

Ignoring her, Avery walked slowly, turning the kindling to keep the spider from falling or jumping free. Shoving the kitchen door open with his knee, he bent down and deposited the spider in the bush beside the stoop.

“There, lad. Mind you stay clear of the kitchen and Miss Ramsey. I’ll not be allowed to spare your life a second time.”

He smiled as the small creature disappeared into the darkened foliage. The door’s hinges creaked as he pulled it shut.

She sat in the same position, feet tucked beneath her and hands plastered over her eyes.

“Is it safe?”

“It is. He will trouble you no longer, miss.”

Avery watched as the tension slowly ebbed from her fingertips, her hands, then her arms and shoulders. Her feet slid to the floor, and her whole body melted like warmed candle wax. The corner of her mouth turned down, her cheeks were pale, and her demeanor was that of one utterly defeated.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking down at the floor. “Snakes I can handle. Mice are fine. I know it’s stupid, I know, but those damn spiders scare the crap out of me.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry.”

His arms ached but not from the beating he’d taken. He didn’t know why. Never before had he felt the urge to do something, to ease her discomfort, to shelter her by…holding her in his arms? No. The thought was insupportable. She had come here for the duke, and he could not stand in her way.

Abruptly turning away, Avery cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “It is of no consequence.” Keeping his gaze trained on a stack of bowls, he fought to regain his composure. What had this woman done to him?

“I hate to even ask you this.” Her voice was thin and small. “Would you mind checking the scullery? To see if it had any, er, friends in there.”

Without comment, Avery turned and walked into the scullery.

Pots and dishes were piled everywhere, mostly clean but for a pile of largish pots to one side of the washbasin. He stooped to pick up a half-scrubbed pot from the stones of the floor. This must have been the crash he’d heard when entering the kitchen. He set the pot upright by the basin and examined the corners of the room.

“There is no sign of any eight-legged compatriots, madam. I should think you are safe.”

“Are you sure?” Her pale face peered around the corner of the doorjamb.

“Quite certain.”

She entered the room slowly, eyes darting this way and that, as if she didn’t quite trust his report. He said not a word as she moved with arms crossed tightly over her middle to stand in the center of the room.

“Thank you.” She didn’t look up at him as she spoke. “Again, I’m really sorry about that. I just can’t handle spiders. I’m not normally such a wimp, so please don’t think I can’t do this, okay?”

“What do you mean?”

She gestured to the mound of dishes. “I know you and Cook are risking a lot by getting me this job. I can handle it, I promise. I don’t want you to think because I wigged out over a huge, monstrously awful spider that I can’t hack this job.” She nodded and straightened her spine. “I’m kind of a bad ass, when I need to be.”

He smothered the smile her odd words brought to his face. “I have no doubt that you are.” He turned to leave the room.

“Hey, where are you going?”

His feet stilled, and he looked back at her. She stood tall, but uncertainty still shadowed her eyes.

“I missed the evening meal. I had intended to find food.”

“Oh,” she said. “Okay.” She turned back to her washbasin, and he moved to leave the room but stopped when she spoke again. Her voice was soft, uncertain.

“You could eat in here if you wanted. I’ve got to finish these pots before I go to bed, and it wouldn’t be so lonely if you were in here. You don’t have to talk to me or anything, if you don’t want to. Just be here, if you wanted to, that is.” She looked over her shoulder at him, and her wide, anxious eyes softened something in his chest.

“As you wish,” he said, and turned to leave the room.

* * *

Leah stared down into the dishwater, wishing it were physically possible to kick herself in the ass. What a completely stupid way to react to an itty-bitty spider! Well, it had been pretty sizeable, she argued with herself.

And for Avery to have seen her like that, completely overcome with panic over something so trivial? He must think she was a total wuss. But she wasn’t. She muscled the largest pot over to the basin, just to remind herself she was tough. She grabbed the brush and started scrubbing, punctuating each mental point with another stroke of the coarse bristles. She was a strong, independent woman. She’d built sets for the community theatre, all by herself. She’d made her own iPhone app. She’d beat Skyrim within a month of its release. But, she thought as she dropped the scrub brush down into the basin, at the sight of an eight-legged bug, she was a complete ninny. A brainless, spineless lump of humanity.

But she kept her head up and kept moving. She hadn’t gotten this far in life by giving up. Well, not that she’d gotten too far, honestly. But she was a self-sufficient adult, and that counted for something, right?

“The scullery maid should be doing this washing.” Avery’s voice came from behind her. A scraping of wood against the stone floor accompanied his voice. “Why were you pressed into this duty?”

Redoubling her scrubbing efforts, Leah looked down into the pot instead of back at Avery. She couldn’t tell him it was because she’d been late for supper. His I-told-you-so had to be more irritating than the usual. “Mrs. Harper said that the scullery maids were on vacation, or holiday, whatever.”

“Are you still expected to do the duties of underhousemaid in the morning?”

She nodded and frowned down at a stubborn bit of burnt-on food. No matter how she scrubbed, it clung to the bottom of the pot like Scrooge with his last nickel. “Stubborn piece of shit,” she muttered.

“I beg your pardon?” Avery’s voice was just behind her head.

Startled, she dropped the brush into the washbasin. The resulting splash soaked the chest of her apron and dress. She staggered backward, straight into the surprised valet.

He sprang away as if burned, and she stumbled to catch herself before she fell on her ass. Crap, she spent a lot of time not being graceful in front of him.

Good thing he wasn’t her destined true love. He’d have run away screaming by now if he was.

“Damn it,” she cursed, wiping at her front. “I’m sorry. I’m not normally such a klutz.” She looked up at him, confusion and helplessness leaking out of her ears. “It’s just late, and it’s been a really long day, and I…”

“Hush,” he interrupted her. The corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to smile, but he didn’t. Good thing, too. She’d have had to belt the shit out of him or burst into tears. “Sit just there, by the fire. It will dry your clothing. Finish that bread and cheese if you’ve a mind to.”

He unbuttoned his cuffs and began methodically rolling the fabric up his muscled forearms. Leah swallowed hard at the purely innocent sight. Damn, the man had some nice arms, even though they bore some purpling bruises. Corded with muscle, they flexed with the simplest movements. Did valets do that much heavy lifting?

“You’re not going to wash the dishes for me. It’s not your job,” she protested, but he shook his head.

“It is of no consequence. We’ll have them done in a trice, and you can find your bed afterward.”

“Oh gosh,” Leah said, dropping her forehead to the table in front of her with a moan. “I forgot I’ve got to be up at the ass crack of dawn in the morning.”

Avery barked a laugh, nearly scaring the shit out of her.

“What did you say?”

“The ass crack of dawn,” Leah said, laughing at Avery’s shocked expression. “It’s my somewhat colorful description for getting up too damn early.”

He cleared his throat, smothered his smile with a more neutral expression, and continued scrubbing the next-to-last pot. “As amusing as your description is, I’d suggest you not use it around the other servants. They should probably not enjoy it as much as I.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Leah said, smiling down at the cheese sandwich she was making. A sideways glimpse at the valet revealed that he was hard at work removing grime from what looked like a witch’s cauldron. And it wasn’t even his job; he just wanted to help her.

“Thank you for helping me.” Her words came out without thought, but she was glad they had.

He didn’t turn, but she thought his shoulders relaxed slightly. She popped a crust of bread into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before speaking again. “So how did you end up here? Always wanted to be a valet?”

He paused in his scrubbing to laugh. “Not as such, no.” The sound of bristles on metal resumed. “I had some little experience in grand houses before this one. My former employment rendered me unfit for service to most. But His Grace took a liking to me, so here I am.”

Leah sat back against the wooden slats. “So what did you do before that made you ‘unfit’ to most?” She made air quotes, even though his back was turned.

“I worked with my hands.”

The answer was cryptic, but his tone was even more so. Leah pursed her lips. “Like, making things?”

His laugh this time was bitter. “No, not at all.” He didn’t give her a chance to ask a follow-up. “It is of no consequence. What is your occupation in the land behind the wardrobe?”

Leah smiled. “That makes it sound like I lived in Narnia, which would have been awesome. But no. I’m an elementary school drama teacher.” She pinched off another bite of bread. “I’ve got a great group of kids, and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I mean, who else gets to play pretend for their nine-to-five?”

Water splashed as Avery emptied the pot. His muscles strained against the damp cotton of his sleeves as he lifted the large iron thing. “I am sure that the children enjoy their lessons with such a lovely teacher.”

Leah’s heart thudded at the compliment, but Avery didn’t turn. He merely wiped the pot down with a rag and continued washing up. She took a bite of the food he’d given her, just because she didn’t know what else to say. It would have been so much easier if Avery could be the duke. But even though he’d been sweet and had just called her lovely, he wasn’t exactly coming on to her. She’d spent a lot of time in the friend zone, and this was shaping up to be that kind of friendship, sadly.

She swallowed methodically, flicking a little crumb from the corner of the table. As handsome as Avery was, she was here to romance the duke himself. That had to be it. She’d win his heart and waltz back through the mirror with her perfect man in tow. She hoped.

Eight

When Leah and Avery parted ways at the top of the stairs, it was one o’clock. After that single compliment, he’d kept the conversation light, never venturing into the territory again. It had been a little disappointing, but even so, she’d really enjoyed talking with the strong, quiet man. She watched as he disappeared down the corridor, moving slowly. Must be his bruises hurting him. She shook her head. Shouldn’t have let him finish the pots.

Leah’s jaw cracked loudly as she yawned, and she covered her mouth with the hand that wasn’t holding her candle. Four hours of sleep? It wasn’t going to be fun, but she’d make it, she reasoned. It would be worth it in the end.

She found her door without much trouble and pushed it open with a creak. Soft snores echoed through the room from the occupants who were already in bed. Leah shook her head as she set the candle down on a small table. She really wasn’t looking forward to sleeping with strangers, but what choice did she have? Hell, she thought as she peeled her damp dress off, she’d much rather go bunk with Avery than with the obnoxious little Henrietta. Locking her in the conservatory? Come on. She’d have to do a lot better than that to get rid of Leah.

She spread her dress out on a ladder-backed chair near the fireplace, hoping it would dry by morning. Shucking her petticoat, she balanced on one foot as she removed her stocking. Another yawn knocked her off balance, and she grabbed the chair to right herself. The legs of the seat thumped against the rough wooden floor.

Leah froze as the snoring stopped. God, she didn’t want to wake them up. It was going to be tough enough to sleep next to the prickly Henrietta without having to deal with her anger about being rudely awakened. She could just imagine the retaliation for that. And the other two, Sarah and…well, someone—she couldn’t remember the other girl’s name—had seemed nice enough, but she could just imagine the hell it would be living with three girls who couldn’t stand her.

The even breathing resumed, and Leah sighed with relief. She made quick work of the rest of her undressing, and tiptoed to the bedside wearing only her shift and bloomers. Propping her hands on her hips, she stared down at the bed.

Grand. Just fucking grand.

Henrietta lay diagonally across the double bed, wrapped in the covers like a burrito. The only way Leah could fit in the bed at all would be to curl into the fetal position. Leah’s eyes narrowed, and her hands fisted by her sides.

That was just about enough for today.

More gently than she wanted, Leah pushed Henrietta’s legs over to the far side of the bed. The girl squeaked in alarm as Leah pulled the covers, lifting them up to straighten them with an irritated snap.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, you stupid git?”

“Quiet,” Leah whispered. She slipped beneath the covers beside Henrietta. “Don’t wake the others. I had to make room. You were hogging the bed.”

And for that, Leah got a sharp kick to the shin. Gritting her teeth, she rolled to her side and bunched the pillow beneath her head. As much as she wanted to return the favor, she wouldn’t kick a kid. No matter how much this particular kid deserved it.

“Good night, Henrietta.”

“Go boil your ’ead.”

Leah closed her eyes.

To her surprise and delight, the face she saw in the darkness of her mind was aristocratic, thin, and handsome. Black hair shot through with distinguishing strands of silver framed it. A hand with long, slender fingers reached out to her, and she took it gratefully.

“Oh, my darling,” the duke, looking at least twenty years younger, whispered as he swept her into a waltz. “I have searched the world over for you.”

She reached up and touched his face. It was smoother than she’d expected, without the faint feel of beard stubble or any wrinkles at all. He was hard, not with muscle, but with skin stretched directly over bone. His hand was cool in hers, and the other bled a chill into the small of her back. She shivered.

“You are cold,” he said in his too-soft voice. “Let me warm you.”

She didn’t resist as he drew her close in his arms. Her heart thumped faster in excited delight. Her destined true love was holding her in his arms. Could anything be more perfect? She rested her cheek against his chest with a contented sigh.

It was cold.

She was pressed full against his body, but instead of the comforting warmth she’d expected, he was icy from head to toe. Pulling away from him, she looked up into his face.

And screamed.

“You simpleton, wake up.”

Leah sat bolt upright with a gasp, her eyes flying open. Sarah and the other girl were dressing across the room, the light from their candles dancing crazily as they chatted and giggled. Henrietta stood beside the bed, glaring down at Leah. In her hands was the blanket. No wonder Leah had dreamed about being cold.

“You will be late if you do not hurry. I shouldn’t care if you were, but Mrs. Harper bade me wake you.”

“Oh my gosh,” Leah moaned, gripping her head. It ached with a thumping pain. What a freaking weird dream. But she didn’t have time to analyze it. She swung her feet off the side of the bed and winced at the chilly touch of the wooden floor. Without a word to Leah, the other three girls left the room. If she hadn’t been so absorbed in her own headache, it might have bothered her. As it was, she could barely stagger over to the drawer in the bureau that had been designated as hers.

The predawn sky was lightening slightly, but even with a candle it was tough to dig her way through the drawer. Finally her fingers closed around a small leather pouch she’d secreted in her skirt before making her journey through the mirror. She opened the zipper with relief and spread the contraband on the windowsill.

A toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. Tampons. A bottle of Advil and a box of throat lozenges for the cold that had been threatening her since last week. A bar of her favorite vanilla and coconut soap, and a stick of deodorant. A picture of Pawpaw, smiling as he worked on an ancient tractor. She popped open the bottle of Advil and swallowed two dry. Looking down at the picture, she said, “Morning, Pawpaw.” She traced the photo with a fingernail. She’d ridden on that tractor many times as a child, her grandfather holding her securely in his lap. Things were so much simpler then.

Shaking off her reverie, she brushed her teeth with water from the pitcher and made quick work of washing off as best she could with a rag and her soap. She donned her uniform, wincing at the still-damp fabric. It couldn’t be helped though. By the time her hair was all tucked beneath her cap, her stockings were on, and her boots were laced, the black of night had faded to the hazy gray of early dawn on the horizon.

She gathered up her treasure trove and replaced the pouch in the drawer beneath her dress. Her headache was starting to fade around the edges a little, and gratitude flooded her as she descended the stairs to the servants’ hall. If nothing else, Jamie’s journey had prepared her to rough it here in the past. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she was sure she was up to the challenge.

Well, she thought she was, until she discovered just how much a pain in the ass being an underhousemaid could be.

“Good morning.” Leah smiled at Mrs. Harper as she descended the stairs.

The white-haired housekeeper scowled at her. “You are very nearly late again, Ramsey. Granville House servants are expected to be prompt at all times.”

Fighting the urge to protest, Leah scrambled to her seat at the dining table. Nobody else seemed to be there for breakfast yet, but clearly Mrs. Harper had risen from the wrong side of the coffin. No use fighting that kind of bad attitude. Clearly this woman needed to roll a solid plus five to positivity.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Harper’s nostrils flared.

Leah put on her best contrite look. “Aren’t we having breakfast?”

The housekeeper looked at her as if she’d shat in His Grace’s boots. “You must work to earn your breakfast, girl. Now follow me.”

Blowing out an exasperated breath, Leah rose and trudged after the housekeeper. Was she ever going to stop screwing up? It hadn’t seemed like being a servant should be this hard. Hopefully she’d just polish a few pieces of silver and then have a good breakfast to make up for her lack of sleep. Longing for the coziness of her memory-foam mattress, she followed Mrs. Harper down the dim hallway.

“Attend me, Ramsey.” Mrs. Harper’s heels clicked on the polished wood floors, and Leah hustled to keep up with her. “These tasks are to be done every morning upon rising. The house must be cleaned and aired, all superfluous articles put into their proper places, the fireplaces and hearths brushed up. The hearths all washed with soap and water, then carefully wiped dry with linen cloth and new fires laid.” Leah hurried into a sitting room behind Mrs. Harper, who didn’t slow down at all. The woman opened the curtains and kept moving as she spoke. “Sweep all the carpets, then turn up the corners to sweep away the dust upon the floor. Dust the window sashes, and once or twice a week shake out the window curtains and hangings. Are you attending me?”

All Leah could do was nod her head numbly. Her brain throbbed, her headache having returned with a vengeance. The enormity of her new job pressing in on her, she followed Mrs. Harper through room after room as the housekeeper pointed out different tasks for her to complete. Why hadn’t she smuggled a vacuum and some Magic Erasers through the mirror with her? This was going to take forever.

“Attend to His Grace’s dressing room, and the dressing rooms of any guests we have in residence. Empty the slops, replenish the ewers with fresh water, clean the fireplaces, brush the carpets, sweep the room, and make ready for the valet to attend His Grace’s dressing. Once these tasks have been completed, you may then, and only then, come down to your breakfast.”

Leah stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, her jaw working soundlessly. Mrs. Harper had just listed about two weeks’ worth of housework, and she was supposed to get all this done before breakfast?

“I’m sorry,” Leah said, surging forward to intercept the housekeeper before she could launch into another list of duties. “I don’t think I heard correctly. I thought you said all this had to be done before breakfast.”

Mrs. Harper’s mouth pursed. “That is what I said, yes. It is the duty of a maid in your position to assist in all these tasks. You are capable, I trust?”

“Of course,” Leah said hopefully. Assist was a good word. There were other maids, so maybe that giant list the old bat had just rattled off was to be divided among them all. If not, Leah probably wouldn’t be eating breakfast for a few days. Weeks, maybe.

“Now then,” Mrs. Harper sniffed, “go along to your duties. Henrietta and Sara are attending to the breakfast room, so you may proceed to His Grace’s dressing chambers. Once you have put them to rights, come down and attend to the library. I shall direct your movements thereafter.”

After shoving a coal scuttle and cleaning rags into Leah’s hands, Mrs. Harper shooed her toward the duke’s dressing rooms.

Timing her footsteps with the throbbing in her head, Leah mounted the stairs, trying like hell to figure out where this adventure had gone so horribly wrong. She had a terrifying idea that empty the slops meant take care of the chamber pot.

She hadn’t planned on cleaning the man’s toilet before she’d even had the chance to say hello.

* * *

Avery rolled to his side on the thin mattress, his breath hitching as his injured ribs caught with the movement. Dropping his feet to the chilly floor, he rose, gritting his teeth against the heavy pain of his bruises. A deep breath blew the worst of the pain away, and he was able to bend and light the candle at his bedside.

Dashing chilly water against his face, he made quick work of his morning ablutions, careful of his healing skin. Much as he hated to admit it, his wounds were not as bothersome as they could have been, thanks to Miss Ramsey’s attentions. The rough cotton towel scraped against his throat.

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. The 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.

Longingly eyeing the door Henrietta had disappeared into, Leah trudged down the ashy stairs. Her morning had started out so promising, with that delicious ducal smile. How had it plummeted into drudgery so damn fast?

Watching her heroes in movies was proving to be much easier than trying to win one in real life.

Grabbing a broom from the kitchen cupboard, Leah returned and started sweeping up Henrietta’s mess. The repetitive motions gave her more than enough time to think about home.

Pawpaw had been so insistent that she find her guy and get married. What was his game? Rounding up a largish pile of ash, she bit her lip and recounted all the doctor visits he’d had in the past year. There weren’t many, certainly not enough to cause her to be concerned.

So why was he so adamant that she not be alone? What did he know that Leah didn’t?

With the ashes returned to the bucket, and Leah sweaty, tired, and confused, she dumped them into the bin and headed back upstairs to finish the duke’s dressing room. She’d have plenty of time to try to analyze Pawpaw when she got back. And if things kept going as well as they had been, she might just give up and dive through the mirror tomorrow. God, that made her sound like a damn weenie. She stiffened her spine. She’d never met a challenge she intended to back down from, and this wouldn’t be the one to take her down.

“Ramsey?”

Damn it, she was really getting fucking tired of that Q-tip’s haughty way of saying her name. Leah stopped on the third stair and turned. “Yes, Mrs. Harper?”

“The dowager duchess is hosting a rout tomorrow evening. You will help serve.” The old bat didn’t look happy about it, but she delivered the order with aplomb anyway.

Leah nodded politely. “Yes, ma’am.”

A thread of interest wound through Leah as she continued mounting the stairs. Serve at a real duchess’s party? See the glittering lords and ladies of the ton?

When the realization slammed through her, she missed a step. Clutching at the banister to prevent a fall, she gasped.

The dowager. The duke’s mother. Holy crap, the woman must have danced with Methuselah. How was she still alive?

Leah righted herself and rounded the landing. Maybe she’d been wrong about the duke’s age. If his mother was alive, then he had to be fairly young, right? Maybe he had one of those aging diseases that made you look a lot older than you were.

She entered the dressing room and started sweeping. She had to be careful, but this could be a very good opportunity to impress the duke and learn more about him. This could work.

Maybe her fairy tale would have a happy ending after all.

Ten

Breakfast was a long and tiring three hours later.

Cook set a bowl in front of Leah without a word. Apparently breakfast was lukewarm oatmeal-like gruel. Leah poked at the gelatinous mass with her spoon. It jiggled alarmingly, reminding Leah of that old B horror movie about the blob. The Oatmeal that Ate London! Run for your lives!

“Oh boy,” she said beneath her breath. Clearly she hadn’t gotten enough sleep.

“Ramsey, is the food not to your liking?” The housekeeper’s brows had climbed to her hairline. The other maids had filled in the empty seats around Leah, and Henrietta especially looked pleased at Mrs. Harper’s attitude. The little viper was really getting under Leah’s skin. She’d have to think about how to get back at her for the ash bucket. That had been a prank worthy of Leah’s best retaliation.

“No, no.” Leah laughed uncomfortably. “It looks delicious.” She took a big bite and nearly gagged at the too-thick texture. Blinking back tears, she swallowed the muddy-tasting gruel as quickly as she could.

“See that you finish it all.” Mrs. Harper watched her like a skinny, cotton-headed hawk.

Leah nodded weakly. It was a good thing she could stand to lose a few pounds. On this diet, she’d be lucky to keep anything down.

The scraping of a chair near the end of the table brought her watery gaze upward. Avery nodded politely as he sat and began eating with refined gusto. Hmph. Must be an acquired taste.

A swig of lukewarm tea helped clear the gluey taste from her mouth, and the chatter at the table picked up shortly thereafter.

“Her Grace’s routs are always such fun,” Sarah was giggling to Teresa across the table. “All those posh lords and ladies.”

“And their dresses, blimey,” Teresa said, her pale face long with dreamy reverie. “I’d love to be puffed off like that.”

“You?” Henrietta snorted. “A bony figure like yours would ruin those fancy clothes.”

Teresa looked down into her lap dejectedly.

Leah resisted the urge to kick Henrietta’s shin under the table. Instead, she opted for a more polite approach.

“I think you have a great complexion, Teresa. What do you use on your skin?” Leah swallowed another bite of gruel in the ensuing silence. Apparently they hadn’t expected her to speak.

“Me mum would mix rosewater and cream, and apply it to her face. She let me do it too, when I was older and we could afford it.” Teresa smiled down at her bowl. “It makes me skin softer. I do it whenever I can, even now.”

“Vanity is a sin,” Mrs. Harper admonished. “You’ll cease this immediately.”

Teresa’s face went bone-white. “Oh no, Mrs. Harper, I didn’t mean…”

“You’ll do as you’re told in this household.” Mrs. Harper’s chair scraped back. “The very thought of a maid taking such pains with her appearance is disgraceful. You are to be neat, pressed, and present yourself as a servant of His Grace, but to give yourself such a treatment is well above your station.”

“Yes, Mrs. Harper,” Teresa whispered.

“You’d all do well to remember that.”

With a glare at Leah, the housekeeper left the table. The three footmen followed at her direction, leaving Leah with the maids and Avery. All the females at the table turned distrustful eyes on Leah, with the exception of Teresa, who had tears tracking down her pale cheeks.

“Teresa, I’m so sorry,” Leah said. God, she felt like shit. “I just wanted to give you a compli—”

“You’re poison, you are.” Henrietta stood, her lips pursed in disapproval, much like Mrs. Harper’s had been. “You intended to cause that trouble for poor Teresa, hoping that you can replace her as the upper housemaid. We’ll none of us have aught to do with you.” At her beckoning gesture, the other girls followed, including the still-sniffling Teresa.

Leah leaned forward with a groan, plastering her forehead against the rough top of the dining table. This was so not going well.

* * *

Avery stared down into his bowl, unwilling—no, unable, if he were to be honest with himself—to look at Leah.

He should have spoken. He should have defended her against the false accusations that Henrietta had hurled on her. But how could he, when he knew that casting himself as her savior would harm her even further?

A movement drew his gaze as she sat up and glared at him. “Thanks for saving me there, cowboy.”

Leah shoved her chair back to stand. He shoved another bite into his mouth to prevent having to reply.

She left the dining room without another word, and Avery stared at her departing back as if his regretful gaze alone could atone for his lack of action.

He was no gentleman. Never had been, by birth or by breeding. Did that excuse him? His mother’s voice, echoing in his head from beyond her too-early grave, said not.

No matter what it cost him, he could have borne it to protect her. But how could he subject her to the jibes and taunts that would surely follow his public declaration of loyalty to the girl? She could have no way of knowing how much worse things could be if he were to cast his lot with her. His presence caused more problems than it corrected, and poor Miss Ramsey had more than enough trouble of her own.

Avery sighed regretfully as he left the now-empty table. He should know by now that nothing ever came of wishing things different. He had his lot, and now Miss Ramsey had hers. They would both manage as they could and leave the rest to the whims of Fate.

No matter how his heart ached with every pain she was forced to endure.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur of normal duties and preparation for the dowager’s rout at Tunstall Place across the square. With the large crowd that was expected, Avery would serve as footman with the others from His Grace’s employ, and even Miss Ramsey was expected to assist. Cornering her to ensure her proper service was becoming more troublesome than he’d expected, but he persevered through the afternoon.

Until he was summoned by Cook.

“Mr. Russell,” the old woman hissed as he made his way through the kitchens with a pile of freshly pressed cravats. “Meet me in the larder.”

He nodded subtly and went on his way. He knew without her speaking what the summons meant. It was a play that they’d enacted many, many times before.

Once the cravats were put into their proper place, Avery descended the stairs again, winding around the corner of the kitchen to duck into the larder, unseen. Cook waited for him there, her sausage-curls wispy and haphazard from the heat of the kitchens, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

“The apothecary’s boy came this morning.” A small brown bottle was produced from Cook’s apron pocket. “He said to thank you for your custom. I gave him your coin for it.”

Avery took the bottle with a grateful nod. “I thank you, Mrs. Dearborn. My aunt sorely needs this. Her illness is getting worse.”

Cook sniffed and dashed away a tear with the corner of her apron. “Millie was always a sweet girl. It’s one of my greatest regrets that she took ill so sudden. She could have made a cook in some great house, for an earl or even a duke after my own time.” She looked into Avery’s face, sincerity thick in her words. “She was the best kitchen maid I ever had, and that’s the honest truth. You tell her Mrs. Dearborn sends her love, and you take care of her, boy.”

Avery gripped the bottle tightly, bowing deeply. “You may be assured of that. My mother would have wished for me to care for her youngest sister, and I’ve no intention of shirking that duty.”

Cook straightened her apron and patted her curls. “Now, I’ve a goose to see to. I take it that you’ll be off to St. Giles this afternoon?”

Hesitation sprang to his mind. He’d not yet spoken to Miss Ramsey, and it might be impossible to do so before the dowager’s rout if he spent the evening away. But what choice did he have? His aunt could not do without this medicine. He nodded.

“I’ll inform Smythe that you were called away.” Cook shooed him. “Now, be off with you. I’ve a basket made up for Millie. It’s by the door.”

“You have my thanks, Mrs. Dearborn.”

She left him in the larder with the bottle of medicine in his hand. Lifting the bottle to catch the beam of sunlight streaming through the crack in the larder door, he watched as the milky medicine bent the light, diffusing it through clouds of liquid. Strange that such a small amount of medicine could cost so much. And strange that such an odd woman as Miss Leah Ramsey had upset his normal balance.

Making up his mind, he shoved the bottle into his waistcoat pocket and headed up the back stairs to find Miss Ramsey. He couldn’t leave her to face the dowager without warning.

But he must be quiet about it. If anyone were to see him…

No. He’d not dwell on that.

Rounding the corner of the landing, he waited for Henrietta and Sarah to pass by.

“She won’t last out the week,” Henrietta’s snide remark caught his ear. “Mrs. Harper should never have hired her on. I could have taken Fannie’s position, and that’s the truth. This girl cannot possibly do the job.”

“What can Mrs. Harper be thinking, allowing her to serve at the dowager’s rout?” Sarah followed Henrietta, the coal scuttle banging softly against the older maid’s skirts. Avery stood aside and allowed them to pass. They did not acknowledge his presence at all. It was as if he was simply a stick of furniture. Don’t trip on it, mind you, but certainly don’t bother making conversation with it.

The cut had long ago ceased to bother him.

Continuing on his way, Avery mounted the stairs slowly so as to hear Henrietta’s reply.

“I am glad that she shall serve. The stupid girl will anger the dowager, we’ll make sure of that. This afternoon I am to instruct her how to go on. What a job I shall make of it!” Henrietta’s giggles echoed in the stairwell.

Avery’s stomach dropped. Damn and blast. Redoubling his speed, he mounted the stairs two at a time. He must keep Henrietta from ruining Miss Ramsey’s chances of succeeding on the morrow. It really was too bad that he could think of but one way to keep her from her sabotaged lessons.

* * *

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to come with you?”

Miss Ramsey’s voice floated over his shoulder as he led her through the streets. They’d left the fine parts of the West End many minutes ago and were now nearing St. Giles.

“There was no choice,” he said patiently, holding an arm out to stop her from crossing in front of a hack. “The dowager’s rout is tomorrow evening, and if you’re to know how to go on, I must instruct you. Do not worry. Mrs. Harper has been told you’ve been sent on an errand for Cook.”

They continued across the street, and Avery tried not to notice the growing concern on Miss Ramsey’s face as she took in their surroundings. The fine homes had given way to crowded hovels, filth and garbage littering the streets. The warmth of Miss Ramsey’s body soaked into him as she pressed close to his side. He repressed his desire due to her proximity, though it was a damned difficult thing to do.

“Mrs. Harper said she’d have somebody tell me what to do. God, what a stink. Where did you say we were going again?” Miss Ramsey’s gloved hand pressed over her mouth and nose, and her forehead wrinkled in distaste. How strange that such a repugnant expression could look so lovely.

“We are going to my aunt. She is ill.” He stopped to allow a tradesman’s cart to pass before continuing. “But as for the rout, Mrs. Harper intended for Henrietta to show you how to go on. Henrietta wanted Fannie’s position for herself. She made it quite well known that she’d be most happy if the dowager found you unsatisfactory.” He bit back the part about prison. No reason to frighten the girl.

Their footsteps squished through the muddy streets as they entered St. Giles. To distract her from the worsening conditions in the streets, he began reciting a litany of advice for the morrow.

“The dowager is His Grace’s mother. You will need to be most careful while in her presence. Mind how you go there.” He steered her away from a pile of filth in the street. “She does not tolerate mistakes from her servants. You’ve one chance to impress her, and once lost, you shall never have another.”

“So, no pressure,” Miss Ramsey said dryly, tucking an errant blond lock behind her ear. “Not only is my future mother-in-law a former duchess, she’s also a terrifying dragon lady. Good thing I brushed up on my dragon-slaying etiquette.”

She fell silent, and Avery let her take in the scene of the square.

It was familiar to him. After all, once his mother had passed on, he and his father had come to live here, in one of the shanties by the church. The foul odors, the calling curses loud in the air, the crowded conditions were all as native to him as breathing. He turned, and his throat closed at the shock on Miss Ramsey’s face.

“Your sick aunt doesn’t live here, does she?” Her words were thick with horror.

An odd mixture of shame and offended pride filled him. “It’s not such a bad place. There’s a roof over her head and enough food to fill her belly. If I had the means, she would make her home in a more comfortable situation.”

She turned to him, biting her lip before speaking. “Avery, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

He dismissed her apology with a wave. “No matter.”

“You used to live here, didn’t you?”

Her insight nearly felled him. He drew himself up taller. “Yes, I did.”

Her small hand curled around his arm. “No wonder you’re so tough. You had to be, growing up here.”

He cast a glance over to her. She was looking into his face, without pity, without any sign of condescension. She simply stated a fact, but there was a light behind her eyes, one that made him wonder if she esteemed him for overcoming his former hardships.

Though he longed to reach out, bathe himself in that light, he cleared his throat and continued. “Follow me, if you please.”

Despite his longing at having her so near, he made sure to remain as close as her shadow as they wound their way through St. Giles toward his aunt’s one-room hovel. Guiding her toward the next corner, he pulled down his hat and prayed as he passed the Wolf and Dove public house that no one would notice him. The first time he’d gone to a mill, which had been against his will, was at the insistence of the proprietor, Benedict Turpin. He’d won half a crown, as promised, but had made the acquaintance of Thomas Prachett in the bargain.

“Quickly now,” he said in a low voice to Miss Ramsey, hustling her past the door.

“Russell, as I live and breathe,” a cackle came from the door of the pub. The man leaning against the door spat into the street, then smiled with a mouthful of rotten teeth at Avery. It was Turpin, of course. One of Prachett’s men. The one who’d introduced them.

Avery’s stomach, having changed into a sack of lead, plummeted.

Then again, luck never had been much on his side.

Eleven

“Fancy meeting you here, you old devil.” The man’s accent was thick, making it hard to understand him.

Leah turned toward the voice, curiosity momentarily overtaking the nerves that had been ruling her brain. She’d been to some scary places in her day. Hell, once she’d had an overnight layover in Detroit. But even that hadn’t prepared her for the harsh reality of the London slums.

Avery’s shoulders, lined with tension before, tightened even further as he turned to face the one who’d addressed him.

“Turpin.” He nodded coolly. “No time to waste, I’m afraid. I’ve an appointment.”

The man stood half a foot taller than Avery, his brownish-white shirt splattered with stains across the front. His jacket was threadbare, the cheap fabric thinning in many places. “Come in for a pint, my lad, and tell us about the fine house you serve in. Fancy a bruiser like you polishing buttons and wiping a lordship’s arse!” He tossed back his head and laughed, and Leah turned her head away quickly from the sight and smell of his open mouth. Ugh, she should have brought a sack of toothbrushes with her through that damn mirror.

“Another time.” Avery turned on his heel and Leah stumbled in shock as he gripped her arm to steer her forward.

“At the Houndstooth tourney? You’ll be there, won’t you, lad?”

Avery didn’t slow, apparently pretending not to hear the question.

Leah moved on her toes, driven by Avery’s strong but gentle grip.

Shut up, she inwardly hissed to her fluttering heart. Anyone would think she’d been kissed passionately at the way her excited heart was thumping. She was apparently so desperate for human companionship that her upper arm had graduated to erogenous zone. At least, she tried to convince herself that it could have been anyone, not just the strong, quiet man beside her that was making her heart turn cartwheels.

Or maybe it was just the fear of the environment. She made use of their proximity to grip his coat in nerveless fingers. What had that Turpin guy meant by “a bruiser like Avery”? And what tourney?

She opened her mouth to ask him, but her train of thought was derailed when they crossed the road. The smell was awful, even worse than it had been before. Mud stood in the streets, fetid pools that made her wonder if they were just dirt and water or something else. The buildings, if she could be so generous, looked about ready to collapse at any moment. But the thing that made her want to close her eyes and not open them until she got back home was the faces.

There were thousands of them. Young, old, decorated with visible dirt or wiped clean, it didn’t matter, they all held the same expression—hopelessness. It saturated their gaunt cheeks, their pointed chins, but most of all, it haunted their empty eyes. It was like walking through a horror movie. She caught herself praying that Avery had never been among their number, although she knew better.

She curled her fingers tighter into his sleeve. “Avery, are you sure we should be here?”

“We’ve arrived.” He pulled free of her grip and opened the door for her. Damn it, how did he sound so calm? And why’d he have to let go of her arm? She ducked through the low doorway into a narrow staircase. The smell wasn’t as bad here, and she breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Even her normally strong stomach had been close to losing it at the conditions outside. How had he come through a life in this place?

The stairs creaked beneath their feet. At the top, Avery produced an ancient key and pushed it into the lock of the narrow door.

“Aunt?”

The only answer in the dim room was a hacking cough from the bed in the corner. The heavy, cloying scent of sickness and unwashed human filled the room. Avery moved inside, and Leah stuck close to his back. She didn’t want to be here. She should have stayed back at the house. She could have figured out how to handle herself on her own, couldn’t she?

No way to fix it now. She was in the middle of England with no way of getting back to Granville House except the man who was bending over a tiny bed by the room’s single window.

“Aunt, I am here.” His gruff voice was as tender as she’d ever heard it. A soft moan was the only answer from the rail-thin form beneath the covers.

Leah leaned to the side to get a better look at the woman.

A lank braid lay on the pillow. Her cheeks were sunken, her skin held the sickly pallor of the nearly dead. Her lashes, long and thick, rested on her sharp cheekbones. Apparently, the moan hadn’t been in response to Avery’s greeting at all.

Leah shifted her weight anxiously. This had once been a beautiful, strong woman. Now she lay here in this tiny room, dying all alone? Worrying the inside of her cheek with her teeth, Leah looked at the rough floorboards. It really put her own life into perspective, and Leah didn’t care for the comparison. She’d been selfish and completely narrow-minded. But what could she have done differently?

The question seemed moot.

“How has she been faring, Mrs. Comstock?” Avery said as another woman entered the room behind them and dumped a bucket of water into the ewer.

“Millie is still breathing, Mr. Russell, but as to whether that’s a blessing or a pity I cannot advise ye.”

Leah watched as the thin, angry-looking woman wiped her hands with a rag. At least Avery’s aunt Millie had someone nearby.

Avery straightened. “I have brought more medicine for her.” He produced a small brown bottle from his jacket.

Mrs. Comstock took it from him and thumped the bottle. Leah bit her lip as the woman uncorked the top and poured a dose into a spoon.

“Mind yourselves,” she admonished as she bent over the sickbed. “You’ve no wish to be near when she swallows this draught, mark me.”

Avery turned away as Mrs. Comstock brought the spoon to his aunt. Leah reached for his hand, wanting to comfort him, but he pulled away.

Mrs. Comstock pried open the sick woman’s mouth and inserted the spoonful of medicine. Closing Millie’s jaw with one hand and massaging her throat with the other, Mrs. Comstock forced her to swallow the dose. Millie fought weakly, hands batting at Mrs. Comstock’s, but in her semiconscious state, there was no way for her to be a real deterrent.

The coughs began from deep within her chest, wet hacking sounds that made Leah wince. Once Mrs. Comstock was certain that she’d swallowed the medicine, she released the sick woman.

Then the real fight began.

Clawing at her throat, Millie heaved and hacked, almost seeming to want to vomit the dose back up. Leah took a step toward her, not knowing what to do but unwilling to stand by and watch the woman suffer, but Mrs. Comstock shook her head and held Leah back.

“She must bear it. It will be better soon.”

Now Leah knew why Avery had turned away so determinedly. There was no way to watch and not feel horrible at Millie’s condition. Taking her cue from him, Leah closed her eyes and wished with all her heart that the stranger’s suffering would somehow get better. In reality, though, she knew it was probably a lost cause. There was no real medical care here. Millie might have had something as simple as a cold, but it had obviously turned into something that could very well rob her of her life. Leah squeezed her eyes shut harder. She hadn’t wanted this. She’d wanted fun, an adventure, and if she found the love of her life, then great. She hadn’t wanted to stand at a stranger’s bedside as the stranger’s life slowly slipped away. The image of her grandfather popped into her mind’s eye, and she worked hard to keep from getting emotional. He was fine. There was nothing wrong with Pawpaw.

After long, tense moments, the coughing and gagging eased. Leah didn’t open her eyes, her lids glued shut with unease.

“There now, that’s better, isn’t it?” The sound of Mrs. Comstock’s movements drew Leah’s lids open. The woman moved around the small room, fetching a cool cloth and laying it on Millie’s brow.

“You can come closer now. The worst of it is over.”

Avery turned, and Leah followed him to Millie’s bedside. He knelt by the head of the bed, but Leah stood back, wanting to stick close to Avery for moral support but unwilling to interrupt what was obviously an emotional meeting for him.

“Aunt, I am sorry,” he whispered. He started to reach for Millie, but drew back his hand just before he made contact.

Leah looked away, swallowing hard. Her throat had gone curiously dry.

She stood in silence as Avery bowed his head at his aunt’s bedside. He must be praying again. He seemed to do that fairly frequently. She rubbed her damp palms across her skirt, blinking at the ceiling.

This was hard. This was damned hard—and unexpected. She wasn’t a religious person, not really. She had beliefs, sure, but they seemed inconsequential when she was faced with a situation like this.

What was she doing here, really?

Millie’s heavy breaths seemed to echo in the small room. Mrs. Comstock ducked from the room, saying something about broth for Millie.

Avery didn’t respond, just kept his head bowed with his fingers only inches from his aunt’s.

Leah took advantage of the silence to analyze him.

His shoulders were tensed as he hunched over the bed. His whole body seemed rigid, like he was fighting a large wave of emotion that threatened to suck him under. Following an instinct that she didn’t really understand, she stepped closer to him and rubbed his back gently. As if in response to the strength she sent him, he took Millie’s fingers in his own.

Maybe this was her destiny. Maybe, Leah mused as she blinked hard to shove back the tears, maybe she was being shown Avery’s hell to make her grateful for what she had. For the love of Pawpaw and of Jamie, and of the rest of her family and friends. Or maybe she was being shown this so she could help people like this when she became a duchess.

Of course! When she became a duchess, she’d have money and power in this society. She could enact change. Help people. She could do something for Millie, and for the other poor, hopeless people that lived here. Sanitation would be the first thing to tackle. No wonder people got so sick here; there was no real way to dispose of sewage. Then, she’d—

Avery patted her hand. “Miss Ramsey.”

Startled, she jumped and jerked her hand away. Mrs. Comstock passed them, bearing a tray with a bowl on it.

Leah fought the heat that climbed her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I was daydreaming. What is it?”

“If you’re quite ready, we can return to Granville House.” Avery rose to his feet, studiously avoiding her gaze. Had she embarrassed him? She sure as hell hoped not. She’d only wanted to help, but apparently she hadn’t.

Leah nodded and turned to follow Avery to the door, but a sudden thought made her pause. Shoving her hand into her pocket, her fingers closed around a small box she’d placed in there before they’d left.

Maybe she didn’t have to wait to become a duchess to help out a little.

“Mrs. Comstock?” She held the box out to her. “These aren’t much, but they may help her feel better. They’re lozenges. When she’s awake, put one in her mouth and let her suck on it. The medicine inside will help her throat feel better.”

Mrs. Comstock’s face was wary, but she took the box anyway. “Thank ye, miss.”

Avery looked at Leah briefly before turning back to Millie. “Good-bye, Aunt.” His voice was low, rough.

There was no response. Millie lay still as death, the slight rise and fall of her chest the only indication that she was still among the living.

With a nod to Mrs. Comstock, and the delivery of a small bag, clinking with what Leah assumed was money, they descended the stairs into the dank and dangerous streets of St. Giles.

The afternoon light was long, and Avery led her briskly through the streets. Leah guessed he didn’t want to be here after dark any more than she did.

She kept her questions to herself for several moments as they crossed busy streets and avoided begging hands. But as the neighborhood got cleaner and less frightening, and the sun sank lower in the sky, she found guts enough to speak.

“So that’s your Aunt Millie,” she said. “Do you know what’s wrong with her?”

Avery’s eyes were dark, and his strides lengthened. Leah had to hustle to keep up with him. “It is a wasting disease. There is nothing that can be done to cure her. We must make her as comfortable as possible.”

“How long has she been sick?” Leah stopped suddenly to avoid tripping over a young boy who was chasing a dog down the street. The mutt barked, and the boy yelled, and they both disappeared around the next corner.

“Three years.” Avery pointed, and Leah walked in the direction he indicated. “There is a medicine that eases her coughing fits, but it is very dear.”

“That’s the medicine you brought her, right?”

He nodded.

Leah took in a grateful breath as they left the line of shanties behind. The smell wasn’t good here, by any means, but it was certainly cleaner than in the depths of St. Giles. She looked over her shoulder and was unsurprised to see a wealth of emotion in Avery’s tight-set jaw.

“You really love your aunt, don’t you?”

He stopped, eyes flying open as if she’d punched him instead of asking him a simple question.

“We should be discussing the dowager’s expectations for the morrow.” He resumed walking as if she hadn’t asked him anything. “Now, your duties will be to assist in serving. The dowager likes things to be prepared just so, so be sharp, pay attention, and mind how you go. The guests will arrive…”

He kept chattering, and even though Leah wanted to find out more about his past and his poor aunt Millie, she knew she’d have to do well at the rout tomorrow in order to keep things on track. She really did think things happened for a reason. And if her hunch was right, and she became a duchess, the first stop she’d make was the slums of St. Giles.

Avery had done the best he could, but if she could help Aunt Millie too, she’d do it in a heartbeat. Anything to keep him from bearing such a burden alone. That’s what friends do, right?

* * *

The rest of the way to the house, he kept up his long string of to-do’s for the party. She nodded, she asked questions, she kept from tripping on the long skirts of a tall-hatted woman, but Avery’s insistence and seeming nervousness grew the closer they got to Granville House.

On the third time he’d reminded her not to speak unless spoken to, she kind of blew up.

“All right, fine, I get it.” She threw her hands in the air as she stomped after him. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know. You can stop treating me like I’m stupid any damn time now.”

He sighed. She nearly crowed in relief at the sight of Granville house in the distance. The lecture would have to stop soon.

“I know that you are not stupid, Miss Ramsey. But the dowager…” He trailed off, lifting his hat to shove stray strands of his honey-colored hair back from his face. Leah tried really hard not to notice how golden it looked in the fiery light of the setting sun. They continued down the street, Avery’s steps heavy and plodding, Leah’s lighter and excited at the prospect of sitting down. And dinner. Her stomach was growling.

“The dowager will murder me if I screw this up.” She finished the sentence for him.

He laughed uncomfortably. “That is closer to the truth than you think.”

She bit her lip in consternation as he descended the stairs to the servants’ entrance.

“Avery?”

He stopped before opening the door. “Yes, Miss Ramsey?”

“Thank you.” Leah bowed her head. “For everything.” The words weren’t enough, but she didn’t have anything else to offer him.

Avery didn’t answer. He just gave a solemn nod and held the door open for her.

She passed him, wondering exactly what to make of the afternoon. There was a crap ton to sift through, that was for damn sure.

Avery disappeared up the stairs after making sure the coast was clear. Apparently, he didn’t want anyone to know he’d spent the afternoon with Leah. She tried really hard to be irritated about that, but she couldn’t. She unbuttoned the cloak she’d been given as part of her uniform and hung it by the door with a sigh. He’d been through a lot today, and despite that, he’d still made sure she knew what to do tomorrow. Her jaw cracked as she yawned. Besides, she was too freaking tired to be upset. Maybe later.

Mrs. Harper came around the corner in a white-haired cloud of irritation.

“Oh, Ramsey. There you are. Please take this tray up to His Grace’s study.”

Screw being tired. She’d just been given a ticket straight to ducal town.

“No problem.” She bobbed her head to Mrs. Harper and took the tea tray.

“Mind your speech, my girl. His Grace and an associate are in the drawing room. Be quick now.”

Leah walked carefully in the direction of the drawing room. Fortunately, she had a pretty good sense of direction. She’d had to develop one, because Jamie’s was totally hopeless. After the third time getting lost in Jamie’s neighborhood, she’d consciously developed the habit of paying attention to her surroundings.

Let’s see, door, hallway table, portrait of the guy who looks like Jabba the Hutt, another door, another door, aaaaand drawing room.

She stared at the door. It was closed. She stared at her hands. They were full of tea tray, pot, cups, scones, cookies—well, biscuits—and all. She looked back at the knob and pursed her lips.

“Well, damn,” she whispered.

Looking longingly at the floor—it’d be so easy to set the tray down just for a second to open the door—she instead turned and walked back the twelve feet to the hallway table. Setting the tray atop it, she trudged back to the doorway and opened the latch. Pushing it open only a couple of inches, so as not to disturb the duke, she crossed back to the tray.

The click of the latch hit her like the bite from a fire ant.

“You freaking son of a bitch,” she fumed. Damn drafty houses.

Stomping back toward the door, she opened it further this time. She’d just returned with the tea tray, ready to push through the still-open portal, when the duke’s guest came through it.

“No need to ring, Granville, I’ll show myself out. Have a pleasant evening.”

With a polite nod to his host, and not so much as a glance at Leah, the short, round gentleman headed toward the front door of the house.

“Your…Your Grace?” Leah poked her head into the drawing room. “I have your tea tray. Do you still want it?”

“Yes, thank you. Set it down, please.”

The duke stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back as he looked out into the darkening night. His silvery hair seemed to glint like the moon he studied so thoroughly. Being careful not to let the expensive china clatter, Leah set the tray down on the table. With the duke’s back turned, she allowed herself a long look at him.

His fingers were long, pale, perfectly manicured. Leah smiled to herself. Pawpaw had always said you could tell a lot about a man from his hands. Of course, he’d never met anyone like the duke.

“Ramsey, your timing is impeccable.”

Leah jumped at the sudden statement.

“I’m sorry?”

“You have impeccable timing,” the duke repeated, turning toward the room without really looking at her. “If you’d been a moment earlier, that idiot Waterson would have stayed another half hour.”

“Glad I could help, Your Grace.” Leah bit her lip and sank into a curtsy, wondering if her cheeks were as nuclear red as they felt.

“Be off with you.”

She lifted her head in time to see that beautiful smile again. This time, it was accompanied by a mischievous wink. Holy shit, the man was stunning. Age difference? What age difference?

Quicker than her stunned brain could process, he’d taken his cup of tea and stood by the window again, an enigma of a nobleman looking out into the boundless night.

Leah left the room, trying like hell to keep her head and to memorize every word he’d said. This was going to turn into an excellent play one day, she just knew it. Or maybe an action-RPG adventure. Or a romantic comedy.

Shakespeare had nothing on the star-crossedness of Leah and her duke.

Twelve

Avery descended the stairs in a fog. Picking up the sack of scraps Cook had left by the door, he slipped out into the now-chilly evening.

He didn’t bother glancing upward toward the stars as he trudged toward the hounds’ enclosure inside the stables. Even though he’d spent a long time praying for his freedom, he was convinced it would never come.

And, if he were honest with himself, what man who’d killed his mother deserved a better lot?

The heavy stable door swung closed behind him. A whinny of greeting sounded from the left side of the room, where the horses were kept, but he didn’t pause there. He continued through the building until he reached a largish pen, filled with about a score of hounds. They jumped up on the fencing, tails wagging in greeting.

He reached over the gate to pet one of the hounds.

“Evening, Russell.”

The sarcastic greeting, slurred from what was likely a bottle of cheap brandy, came from inside the tack room. Avery ignored it and doled out the scraps from the bag to the ravenous greyhounds. The excited yips and barks quieted as the dogs enjoyed their treats.

Tucking the empty sack into his pocket, Avery turned to leave. With any luck, he’d escape to his training room without further delay. The stable master was hardly one of his allies in the house, and he had no wish to be burdened by a discussion that could have no good effect.

“Off to the Houndstooth Tourney, I hear.” Lachlan Mackenzie sauntered toward Avery, stumbling ever so slightly.

With a deep, steadying breath, Avery replied, “As His Grace wishes.”

Mackenzie spat into the straw at Avery’s feet. Lifting one grizzled eyebrow, the older man smiled mockingly and closed the gap between them. Avery stood his ground, knowing that to back away would be to invite conflict.

“Well, our lord varlet, how about a demonstration of your talents?”

The fist flew at Avery’s face without warning. Relying on his years of fighting instincts, Avery ducked, spinning below the drunk man’s blow and throwing his fist upward. His knuckles connected with Mackenzie’s chin with a sharp crack, spittle flying at the force as the stable master stumbled backward and landed on his ass in the straw.

“You ruddy fool, you’ll pay for that,” Mackenzie slurred. Leaning on the hound pen’s wall, he tried to gain his feet. His legs failed him, buckling beneath him and dumping him at Avery’s feet.

Avery stared down at the drunken man, keeping his face pointedly blank. “Feel free to try again when you’re not too foxed to walk.” He shook out his hand and turned to walk away.

“Got your eye on that new maid, don’t you, Russell?”

Avery whirled at the pointed slur. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

Mackenzie drew a hand across his mouth, leaving a bright red smear from his split lip. “Saw you walking with her. A pretty piece she is, all golden hair and smiles. She’ll make a good toss. I’ve a mind to show her how ta’ treat a man.” His vulgar laugh echoed against the ceiling beams.

Avery wasn’t sure how it had happened, but suddenly he had Mackenzie pinned up against the tack room door by the throat. The man’s pale brown eyes bugged out and he gagged, looking for all the world like a desperate toad. Which, Avery reasoned, was not far from the truth.

“Mark my words, Lachlan Mackenzie: that maid is none of your concern, nor mine. You’ll keep a civil tongue in your head about her, or I’ll give you a sound thrashing that you won’t forget for many a fortnight to come. Understand?”

Mackenzie nodded, feet drumming against the stable door uselessly.

“Good.”

Avery let the stable master drop to the ground. Without another word, he left the horses, dogs, and drunkard behind for the relative privacy of his training room.

He tried like hell to empty his mind of all thoughts of Miss Ramsey as he removed his shirt for his exercise. With the soft light of the lantern, and the thin slivers of moonlight that shone through the high window, he could make out the pile of sand that his attackers had made of his last bag. Removing the mostly-empty sack, he replaced it with another and began the tedious job of scooping the sand into the fabric chute.

The repetitive motions did nothing to keep thoughts 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 wasn’t that just what he’d been doing his whole life?

* * *

The next day dawned bright and sunny, the perfect weather for a proper British party, Leah thought.

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, the 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 hummingbirds 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.

“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. Avery 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 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.

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 dancer. 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 group blind 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 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?” Leah 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.

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 decorated 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.

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, Leah dusted furiously. Whoops. She’d almost forgotten her charade. She’d have to be more careful when the dowager appeared. Speaking of which, where was the esteemed old dragon?

As if her thoughts had conjured the lady up from the underworld, the woman herself descended the staircase.

“Wymond, my dear sweet boy,” she crooned in a deep voice that made Leah jump. Holy shit, it was an eighty-year-old Bea Arthur with a British accent. Leah smothered her surprised laugh with a half-choked cough. The dowager was tall, with a long face, pursed lips, and jowls, just like the Golden Girl—down to the mostly-salt-and-barely-pepper hair and everything. But who was Wymond?

“Mother,” a soft male voice responded.

When Leah turned to see who had spoken, she dropped the Dresden shepherdess she’d been pretending to dust. The resulting clatter brought everyone’s eyes to her, but she was still staring at the man who stood at the bottom of the staircase.

Holy shit, it was the duke. The duke’s name was Wymond. How could such a beautiful man have such a dorky name? It was hard to tell which had shocked her more: the fact that his name was so unfortunate, or the fact that she’d called him a boy. He had to be pushing sixty.

She forgot about her supposed love’s unfortunate name when the dowager rounded the bottom stair and glared at her.

“You stupid, thoughtless chit,” the lady snarled, her formerly regal face now something that looked more like Emperor Palpatine about to shoot lightning bolts into Leah’s body. “You shall regret that.”

Oh, holy crap.

Thirteen

The clatter of porcelain on wood slammed a hush over the entry hall, servants and masters alike. Miss Ramsey winced and righted the figurine she’d dropped, but the damage was already done. Avery’s anxious fingers crushed the fabric of the greatcoat in his arms as if he could crush the mounting tension in the room. If only it were that easy.

How could she be so careless? He’d thought she understood the importance of staying unnoticed in front of the dowager.

Stealing a glimpse of Her Grace’s face, Avery stopped breathing. The dowager’s papery cheeks were flushed, her brows lowered, and her knuckles white on the banister. This did not bode well.

She descended the last stairs and rounded the corner toward Miss Ramsey with pure murder in her bearing. Avery didn’t know what she’d do, but he knew it would not be pleasant. He had to act—and swiftly—if Miss Ramsey were to outlast the encounter.

With only a small amount of regret, he extended his leg toward a passing Tunstall footman. With his burden of gentlemen’s coats and hats, the poor soul never had a chance to avoid the obstacle. With a surprised squawk, he went flying and launched his burden directly at the duke and the dowager.

Chaos reigned.

A dark blue greatcoat settled over the dowager’s head like a net, trapping her beneath it. Frantic cries came from beneath the billowing fabric as she fought to free herself.

A cane struck His Grace’s nose before clattering to the floor. The nobleman clapped a hand to his face and screwed his eyes shut in discomfort. Maids and footmen, Avery included, rushed to assist the beleaguered pair. Miss Ramsey, Avery was relieved to note, disappeared into the sitting room during the confusion. At least the chit had the good sense to run.

“Who is responsible for this?” The dowager’s voice echoed in the hallway once her maids had freed her from the predicament. “I demand that you speak up at once!”

“Your Grace, my apologies,” the poor footman stuttered. He was pale as fine bone china. “’Twas an accident. I stumbled…”

The dowager’s rage was thankfully curtailed by the duke’s interruption.

“Mother, your guests are waiting.” He sniffed, pinching the bridge of his injured nose. “Come, let us go in.” He dropped his hand and offered his arm to her.

With a scornful look at the hapless assembly of servants, and an especially dark glare toward the unfortunate footman, the dowager allowed her son to escort her into the sitting room.

Avery sagged with undisguised relief. What a near thing that had been. Despite his careful tutelage, Miss Ramsey seemed determined to worry him senseless.

A quick glimpse at the sitting room reminded him that the evening had only just begun, and that his self-appointed charge would have many more opportunities to offend tonnish society. With a long-suffering sigh, he ducked inside the sitting room door. If he were lucky, perhaps another rescue would be unnecessary.

He tried not to imagine the next scrape she’d find herself in.

Taking up a position opposite another footman, he stood like a soldier at his post, hands clasped behind his back, waiting to be called on. Scanning the room, he exhaled a calming breath when he caught sight of Miss Ramsey, who was, for once, exactly where she should be.

She, along with four other maids, was attending to the spread of scones, biscuits, jams, and assorted other refreshments on a long side table. Appearing to take her cue from the well-trained Tunstall maids, Miss Ramsey’s movements were slow and methodical as she set a new pot of tea on the end of the table. She nodded to Harold, another footman, as he fetched a sherry for a guest.

Avery took heart at the sight, stiffening his spine against the sitting room wall. She’d avoided certain disaster already today. Surely she could manage to stay out of trouble now?

Gales of feminine laughter from her corner of the refreshment table drew his attention. He gripped his hands tighter behind his back. Damn and blast. Whatever was she doing, speaking so animatedly to Lady Chesterfield? He must prevent her from another catastrophe. Making a quick decision, he lifted a discarded teacup as a pretense and crossed the crowded room toward them. The Baroness of Chesterfield was known throughout the ton for her mischievous, capricious nature. Best for him to stand at the ready, in case of unforeseen circumstances.

If he survived this hellish afternoon without the chit causing herself irreparable damage, it would be a miracle sent straight from God himself. No one else could have a hope of accomplishing such an impossible task.

* * *

Oh, she’d really fricking done it now. Leah clutched the teapot as if she could yank the steaming brown liquid back by sheer force of will. No such luck. It soaked into the shiny green satin of the woman’s skirt, a large stain that would probably never come out. Ever.

She didn’t know what had happened. She knew it wasn’t really the maid’s job to serve, only to see to the table, but when the woman had asked her for a cup, she’d agreed without thought. One minute she’d been pouring a cup of tea that the lady held out to her, and then suddenly the cup was three inches further to the left than it had been. The steady stream of tea had gone straight down, splattering against the woman’s skirt like rain pouring from a rooftop.

“Oh my God,” Leah moaned. “I am so, so sorry.” Her hands shook as she put the pot back on the table and searched wildly for a towel, a cloth, something she could use to try to make this better.

The duke would kill her. His mother would kill her. And if there were anything left after those two were done, Avery would kill her twice. He’d tried so hard to keep her from fucking this up.

The woman laughed aloud, a sound that shocked Leah to the core. What the heck?

“Oh, look at what I’ve done! I’ve spilled tea all over my gown, what a clumsy fool I am. Dear, would you mind accompanying me so I can put myself to rights?”

She held her hand out toward Leah.

Stupidity gummed up the thought gears in Leah’s head. What?

“Dear, can you assist me?” The woman smiled at Leah, the ostrich and peacock feathers atop her hat quivering sympathetically.

“Oh, oh! Yeah, I mean yes, of course.”

The conversation around them resumed as Leah followed the lady through the room, past a shocked-looking Avery, and into an unoccupied parlor across the hallway. The woman shut the door behind them with a click, then turned a serious look on Leah.

Sweat broke out along Leah’s forehead, and she stumbled backward a step. Better get talking quick, girl, or you’re screwed.

“Ma’am, I am very sorry. I only looked away for a second, and the cup was—”

“Hush, dearie. We must speak before anyone follows us in here.” The lady sat on the chair in the corner, completely ignoring her damp and stained skirt. “I am Amelia Florin, Baroness of Chesterfield. I noticed that you have an odd accent. Where were you born?”

“Um.” Leah fought the urge to shove her hands into the pockets of her apron. Show no fear, Ramsey. Play your role. “I’m from the colonies.”

“Stuff and nonsense. The truth, dear, we’ve no time for prevarication.” A fan suddenly appeared in the woman’s hand, and she opened it with a snap.

Leah gulped. “I’m from North Carolina.”

“And when, precisely, are you from?” She started fanning herself, never letting her steely gaze wander from Leah’s eyes. “I shall know if you lie to me, dear.”

The sweat spread from Leah’s forehead to her cheeks and chest. She wanted to pull the tight neck of her gown aside to get some air, but Lady Chesterfield’s gaze kept her frozen like a tonnish Medusa.

“Twenty thirteen,” Leah mumbled.

The woman rose, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “As I suspected.” She made a circle around Leah, who stood ramrod straight, confusion locking her muscles in place.

“How…how do you…”

“My lady’s maid is a most unusual girl. She used to serve in an earl’s household as a parlor maid, if you can believe it. A certain Micah Axelby, Earl of Dunnington. When he supposedly ran off to the colonies, she came to be in my employ.” Lady Chesterfield patted Leah’s cheek. “Muriel has told me the most fantastic stories about a woman named Jamie Marten, and you know, I am inclined to believe her. A young woman who traveled through a bureau’s mirror in order to find her true love. A bureau that has recently been purchased by the Duke of Granville. Now quickly, before they know we are missing. Are you also here to search for your true love, as Jamie was?”

Hope and relief slammed into Leah’s forehead, and she swayed unsteadily. Her yes came out half gasp, half laugh.

Lady Chesterfield grabbed Leah’s hands and held her steady. “And do you need assistance in that quest?”

“Holy crap, yes. It’s tough to land a duke without any help. But why would you want to help me?” Even though Leah desperately wanted to grab Lady Chesterfield’s help with both hands and take off running, possibly do some parkour down St. James’s Place, she couldn’t help but be worried that this might be too damn good to believe.

But the woman’s smile was as sincere and kind as any she’d seen. “Because I’ve had my own dear husband, and he was everything to me. Now that he’s gone, I can amuse myself as I damn well please. And I like you, dear. You remind me of a very young Amelia Florin, and that’s the truth.” She pressed a delighted kiss to Leah’s forehead. “Now, we must plan. Presenting you into society will not be easy, but we can do it if we are careful. Here’s what you must do to avoid suspicion.”

As Lady Chesterfield outlined her plan for the next twenty-four hours, Leah’s excitement grew. Firstly, no more chamber pot emptying. Lady Chesterfield laughed when Leah offered to be a parlor maid in her house too. Leah didn’t hide her relief at that. Everyone knew she wasn’t cut out for the domestic servitude life.

After sponging off Lady Chesterfield’s skirt with a damp cloth, they returned to the party. Leah was careful to keep her face calm and her hands steady as she tended to the refreshment table, but damn was she dancing inside. This was it! This was the way she’d imagined her trip into the past. She’d go to balls and routs and teas and soirees and masques and house parties and hunts and rides in the park…

“Ramsey.”

She jumped. “Yes?”

“Fetch a fresh pot of tea,” Mrs. Harper sniffed. “Silly girl, whatever you are dreaming of I can never know.”

Damn skippy, Q-tippy, Leah thought with an internal snort. They didn’t have drugs good enough to give Mrs. Harper a dream this awesome.

And in just a little while, Leah would be living it.

The rest of the evening proceeded uneventfully, fortunately. After two near disasters, Leah was petrified that the third time would be the charm. She managed to keep quiet and out of the way of the other servants and guests. But it was kind of tough to stay away from the duke. Now that she knew she’d get a chance to meet Wymond—holy shit, his name was Wymond ?—on equal ground, she had to avoid him as much as possible. Their only time together so far had been so brief and unmemorable, at least for him, that Lady Chesterfield thought it would be best to keep their real introductions for society. After all, if anyone figured out that Leah was a servant, the duke wouldn’t look at her twice—certainly not to figure out if she was good enough to marry.

So despite her desire to get to know him, Leah kept her distance while the party wound down, and he and the dowager said farewell to their guests. When there were only a few old women left, he kissed his mother on the cheek and took his leave.

Leah sighed in a mixture of relief and disappointment. Oh well. It’d all be worth it in the end.

She was hefting a tray toward the kitchens when she passed Avery in the hallway.

“Hey,” she said, pausing for a second. “I didn’t embarrass you too bad, did I?”

He gave a half smile. “Get about your duties, Miss Ramsey. No time to be dawdling now.”

She smiled back, curious at the heavy twinge in her chest as she turned and walked away from him. Avery. She hadn’t thought about leaving him at Granville House. He’d been so kind to her, the only real friend she’d had in this time before she met Lady Chesterfield. And honestly, she wasn’t sure how she’d get along without him.

She set the tray in the bustling scullery and stepped out into the area to catch a breath of air. The late afternoon wind was chilly, and she shivered. Tilting her chin skyward, she closed her eyes and filled her lungs. Things were so odd here. Everything, not just the lack of electricity and the ridiculous workload—the way she felt.

Back home, she knew what she wanted. She always acted first and thought later. But here she found herself second-guessing every move she made. What had caused this crisis of confidence? Could she fix it? Should she?

A bitter laugh escaped her. Well, her second-guessing wasn’t getting her out of any trouble. As it was, she had stepped in it way more often than not here. Avery would probably be glad to see her go. She’d caused him enough problems already.

She shook her head, straightened her apron, and headed back into the fray. She had a rout to clean up after, a bag to pack, and a resignation to give.

It was time for Leah to hurtle headlong into her future. And that was just the way she liked it.

Fourteen

Avery could not relax until the carriages rolled to a stop beside Granville house. Even then, after the hampers were unloaded, and the servants had gone about their final duties of the night, tension lined his shoulders and clenched his teeth. Miss Ramsey may have avoided the dowager’s wrath, but what could she have been doing so long with Lady Chesterfield? The woman was mischievous, clever, and as eccentric as any matron of the ton could ever hope to be. He did not know what she was about. How could he prevent Miss Ramsey from falling prey to a bored baroness’s scheme? Simple. He could not.

The duke had gone straight from his mother’s rout to his nightly amusements and would not be back until the wee hours of the morning. With his own duties completed and the preparations made for their departure on the morrow, Avery had nothing pressing to attend to, and his beleaguered brain made free reign of the lack. Pacing along the back edge of the dark garden, he set his mind to wander where it willed.

Miss Ramsey wanted the duke. She was beautiful enough for any man, he was quite sure. And compassionate—he’d seen that in the way she’d looked at his ailing aunt. Why did he long to see her looking upon him with compassion and—dare he think it—regard in her eyes?

Spinning with a soundless roar, Avery plunged his fist into the oak’s trunk. The tree shuddered, raining leaves down around him. His knuckles stung with the ache of fresh scrapes. The pain eased the anxiety that had built in his chest at the words he could not think.

He must not think them.

Shaking out his hands, relishing the numbing pain of them, he sank down onto a garden bench and looked up into the branches that had showered him with greenery. God could be so cruel. His father had taught him that.

In his mind’s eye, he had always pictured God with the face of his father, sitting on a throne and pointing down at Avery with a scowl on his face. No matter what Avery had done, it had never seemed to please either of them.

He dug his fingers into the stone bench on either side of him. And when he’d decided it didn’t matter and stood up for the one person in the world who’d loved him, she’d paid with her life.

He was not good enough to pursue Miss Ramsey. She had proved tonight that she was quick, clever, and strong enough to pursue the best in the land. And Avery was the farthest thing from what she deserved. He’d keep his distance, no matter the cost.

Shoving to his feet, he turned and walked toward the stables. Better to hit his training bag than an innocent tree anymore. If his dark thoughts were prone to destruction, then he should be in a safe place, away from living things that could come to harm because of him.

He’d just passed the entrance to the area when Miss Ramsey exited the kitchen door.

“Hey,” she said, her beautiful smile stretching her lips. Her hair wisped out from beneath her mobcap, and her cheeks were stained pink with excitement. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Even though he longed to smile back at her, he did not. He could not. Looking away, he spoke toward the stables.

“My apologies, but I must be on my way. I have duties…”

“Come on, Avery, even I know the duke is out on the town tonight.” He flinched as she laid a careless hand on his forearm. “I need to tell you something.”

Pulling free of her grasp as carefully as he could, he turned to face her. Her tone was much too serious to ignore, no matter how much he wished it were otherwise. He nodded toward the garden he’d just come from.

“If you must, then please speak in the garden. It is more private.”

She walked in the direction he indicated. Tapping his thigh with anxious fingers, he tried to ignore the sway of her skirts. She drove him mad with the simplest of movements. Although he’d been with other women before, none of them made his blood fire in his veins like she did. With tremendous effort, he restrained the growing interest in his loins.

When they reached the bench by the oak, Miss Ramsey sat down and stretched her feet out in front of her with a grateful sigh.

“Gosh, that’s better.” She bent down and removed her boots, wiggling her stockinged feet in the night air. “Holy crap, this feels good.” Propping her ankle on her knee, she rubbed her abused toes.

He averted his gaze. What a pitiful man he was, tempted by a slender female foot. Clearing his throat, he clasped his hands behind his back.

“You wished to speak with me?”

She dropped her foot and looked up at him, the vibrant blue of her eyes shining with excitement and just a tinge of regret. She opened her mouth to speak, but just then a voice called from the kitchen doorway.

“Ramsey,” Cook called. “Mrs. Harper is asking for ye. Look sharp, my girl.”

Miss Ramsey groaned and shoved her feet into her boots. “That housekeeper makes the Stormtroopers look soft and cuddly. Can I catch you later?”

Avery nodded. “Of course.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks, Avery. You’re the best.”

Worry grabbed hold of his spine as she walked away. Whatever she’d been about to tell him had been important. He did not know her very well, but he knew that she would not waste his time idly.

With a lingering glance at the setting sun, Avery set off toward the training room. Although he no longer felt the burning need to punish his body as he had before, the exercise would calm him.

And with the tempest roaring in his soul, that was a comfort he sorely needed.

* * *

When Leah’s head finally hit the pillow, she was beyond exhausted and was somewhere between La-La-Land and Completely Punchy. She fought the urge to giggle as she rolled to her side with a smile.

No more scrubbing chamber pots and toting ash buckets. She was going to be like a Regency era Eliza Doolittle, only without the slipper fetching for Professor Higgins. She nearly cracked her jaw with a yawn as Henrietta flopped into bed behind her. Leah rolled her eyes as a bony heel connected with her calf. And to think she’d actually wondered if the little demon would miss her.

“Oh heavens! A spider!” Henrietta screamed.

The bed jostled violently. Henrietta’s full-blooded shriek had Leah leaping out of bed and reaching for the nearest blunt object to defend herself with, in this case a heavy candlestick.

“Henrietta, where is it?” Leah brandished the metal object toward the room at large, searching wildly for the murdering eight-legged bastard as Sara and Teresa snorted with laughter. Wait, what?

“Oh,” Henrietta gasped, doubled over with mirth. “Your face, you should have seen…” She collapsed on the pillows in a heap of full-throated laughter.

A chill settled over Leah’s shoulders. The mocking laughter echoing in her ears, she set the candlestick down carefully and smoothed her shift over her hips. Slowly, methodically, she stepped toward the bed and the still-gasping-with-giggles Henrietta. Kneeling on the mattress with one knee, Leah leaned close to the young maid.

“You listen to me, and you listen good,” Leah said in a low tone. The girl stopped laughing, eyes widening slightly at Leah’s words. “I’ve let you off easy until now. But you’ve just messed with the biggest bitch you’re ever going to meet in this lifetime, and she’s had all she can take. Just remember that whatever’s coming? You asked for it.”

Henrietta wasn’t breathing, just staring at Leah’s face with the glassed-over look of someone who realized they’d stepped in a giant pile of trouble.

With a calm smile and a gentle “good night” to the room full of silent girls, Leah settled into her pillows once more with a happy sigh.

This was going to be so satisfying.

* * *

She had to get up early the next morning, but it was so worth it. Fortunately, her internal clock had been honed to a fine edge since college. Jamie had a nasty habit of forgetting to pay the electric bill.

All three of Leah’s servant roommates slept like the dead. She kept all her delightedly evil snickering inside, though. No need to tempt fate.

When she’d laid out her plans to the best of her ability, she stuffed her pouch of contraband into the brown leather bag that Avery had given her. With her nearly nonexistent packing completed she descended the back staircase with a happy sigh. All she had to do now was tell Mrs. Harper she quit and hit the road for Lady Chesterfield’s.

She’d be sorry to leave Avery and Cook, but the rest of them? Not so much. Lady Chesterfield seemed incredibly nice, and Jamie had told her all about the young maid, Muriel. She hadn’t expected to actually get to meet her, so this was going to be awesome. Spending her days with people that didn’t resent her? What a novel freaking idea.

She’d been sitting at the servants’ table for about twenty minutes when the screams trickled down the stairs. Smiling, she picked at her fingernails. Any minute now…

“You stupid, evil, horrid woman!” Henrietta flew down the stairs, dressed only in her shift with her face completely blackened with coal dust. The very ends of her braids were coated with tar, and left sticky black spots on the white cotton. “What have you done to me?”

Leah pursed her lips and examined her cuticles. “I told you last night. You’ve brought every bit of this on yourself.”

With a shriek of pure rage, the girl ran toward Leah with fingers curled into claws.

Leah didn’t move. She wasn’t concerned at all.

“Henrietta!” Sara descended the stairs, pale face wan. “Your clothes!”

“My clothes?” Henrietta whirled. “What is wrong?”

“They’re…they’re on the ceiling.” Sara’s voice trailed into a whisper.

“What? They cannot,” she turned to Leah. “You did not…”

“I didn’t what? I don’t remember asking to be scared shitless last night.” Shoving her chair back, Leah propped her hands on her hips and glowered down at the dumbstruck maid. “I didn’t do what I did to get even with you. I did what I did to teach you a lesson. Actions have consequences, and I don’t tolerate bullies. This is a little something called Karma. You get back what you put out. And so far, all you’ve put out is meanness. So here’s what you’re going to do.”

Henrietta sank into the chair Leah pointed to. Underneath all her shenanigans and bullshit, she was still just a young girl. Teaching her this lesson would be the best thing Leah could do for her if she did it right.

“You’re going to go wash your face. You’re going to clip off the ends of your braids, because that tar isn’t coming out. You’re going to get your clothes down from the ceiling beams, get dressed, and apologize to Teresa and anyone else in the house you’ve tried to scare into giving you your way. And then you’re going to not pull any of this shit again, or the next time something bad happens to you, it’s liable to be a lot worse. Karma’s a bigger bitch than you or I ever will be. Do you understand?”

Sullen tears tracked down Henrietta’s cheeks, leaving pale white strips in the coal. “Yes,” she whispered. She looked up at Leah with a pitiful frown. “I am sorry.”

Leah nodded. “Thank you for the apology. Go ahead upstairs.”

Sara followed a surprisingly meek Henrietta back upstairs, and Leah sank back onto the chair with a relieved breath. Hopefully the girl would think twice about her attitude from now on. Leah’s retribution was pretty tame compared to what Henrietta deserved.

Biting her lip, Leah toed the leather bag with her boot.

Yeah, she’d taught Henrietta a lesson, but she didn’t really feel good about it. The girl was young, and she’d had it hard, but that didn’t excuse the way she’d been acting. Leah sighed and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. She had done the right thing, she thought. Hopefully.

Footsteps on the stairwell drew her attention. She stood, grabbing her bag and holding it in front of her like a shield.

“Ramsey, whatever are you doing dressed in that manner?” Mrs. Harper looked down at Leah, wrinkling her nose as if she smelled something bad. Leah sniffed her armpit, she hoped subversively. Yeah, the basin baths hadn’t been the most thorough, but she’d done the best she could.

“I’ve been asked to take a position in another household,” Leah said, delivering the line Lady Chesterfield had given her with aplomb.

Mrs. Harper laughed aloud. “Whatever can you mean? Your service has been barely suitable in this home. Who could have…”

Leah smiled, biting back the snarky comments she wanted to fire back at Mrs. Harper. “Thank you for the kindness you’ve shown to me while I’ve been here. I won’t ever forget you.”

Turning on her heel, Leah marched toward the door. This wasn’t exactly how and when she’d planned to do this, but damn it, she didn’t want to spend another half hour here with Queen Q-tip. Ignoring the housekeeper’s protestations, Leah closed the kitchen door firmly behind her.

And stopped dead.

Damn it, it was only five in the morning and still pitch-black out. What a way to botch her grand exit.

With a sigh, Leah leaned up against the wall. If that wasn’t bad enough, she still hadn’t managed to say good-bye to Avery. Well, this was great. Peachy. Glancing above her, she counted the windows. The one at the top was glowing softly with candlelight. With a grin, she bent down and scooped up a pebble. There was more than one way to get a valet’s attention.

Fifteen

Tilting his chin skyward, Avery scraped the last of the shaving soap away. Wrapping his throat and cheeks in the soft, damp cloth, he sniffed as he wiped his skin clean. He tried not to think of the marks and bruises that this skin would very likely bear after the upcoming tourney. Tossing the cloth aside, he grabbed his breeches from the wooden chair by his bedside. He’d just buttoned them when a sharp pinging sound at the window drew his attention.

Glancing sideways with a bemused scowl, he picked up his shirt. Another ping rang through the room, followed by a third.

“Damn and blast,” Avery muttered, tossing his shirt aside and going to the window. He must make haste for the last-minute preparations for His Grace’s journey. This was a distraction he could ill afford.

Swinging the window open, he leaned forward to see where the projectiles were originating. A tiny pebble caught him on the bare shoulder, and he winced.

“Oh gosh, Avery, I’m sorry!” Miss Ramsey’s voice floated up to him as he clapped a hand over the stinging spot. “I was just trying to get your attention. Can you come out here? I need to talk to you before I go.”

“Go?” He suddenly forgot that he was only half-dressed in the unease her words draped over him. “Whatever do you mean?

She was barely visible in the predawn gloom, but when she glanced about, her blonde tresses whipped in the early morning breeze. He gripped the windowsill tightly, hoping that he’d misheard her.

“It’s kind of a long story, and I don’t want to yell it.”

“I shall come down to you,” he said, and shut the window. Jamming his arms through his sleeves, he made quick work of dressing, his thoughts all a-tangle as he did. How could she leave? Where would she go?

It did not signify. She did not know the dangers of this world. No matter her destination, he was determined to stop her. For how could he protect her if she left?

His footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell as he hurried toward the area. He did not have time for this. But how could he let her go?

Ducking past Cook, he slipped out the kitchen door.

There she stood on the steps that led up from the small area to the lane, one hand gripping the old leather case he’d given her, golden hair making a halo around her head. She gave him a small smile, and his heart thudded against his ribs. Steady on, my lad. He gripped his hands behind his back and stiffened his spine.

“I tried to tell you yesterday, but we kind of got interrupted.” She took a deep breath, shrugging her shoulders in an exaggerated manner. “Lady Chesterfield asked me to come live with her, and I said yes.”

“Lady Chesterfield?” he echoed incredulously. “Why has she asked this?” Avery’s nails dug into his palms.

“Last night at the dowager’s party, Lady Chesterfield told me that she knew about Jamie, my friend. She’s going to help me with the duke and make me into a lady, à la Eliza Doolittle, I guess.” Leah bobbed a grand curtsy with a grin. “Isn’t that awesome?”

Avery’s ire rose, bubbling in his gut like an overflowing river. “I do not know Miss Eliza Doolittle, but Lady Chesterfield is a bit of an eccentric. You should not accept her offer. You know nothing of her, nor she you.” He couldn’t control the hint of bitterness in his tone. She was leaving after all he’d done for her? “This is foolishness.”

“Seriously?” Leah’s blond brows crept high on her forehead. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. But I think I’m a pretty good judge of character, and this is a great opportunity. You’ve helped me a lot, and I appreciate that, but you’ve got to realize that I make my own decisions.” The determined set to her chin fanned the flames of his temper, and he could remain still no longer.

“Do you?” Dropping his hands from behind his back, he took a step closer to her. “You make your own decisions? Is that why you decided you were destined for a man you’d never met? Are you the arbiter of destiny now as well?”

Her eyes widening, she stepped backward, bringing the bag in front of her as if to shield herself from him. “I…I don’t…”

“Of course, my mistake, milady. Please. Do go and take up residence with these complete strangers. Of course, this is what you’d wanted all along, is it not? To be puffed up like some fine lady, to be able to court your duke on even ground? Ah yes. I can see by the expression in your limpid blue eyes that I am correct. I shall not importune you further, Miss Ramsey.” He swept an exaggerated bow, nearly choking on his own bile-filled venom.

“Avery, please. Don’t act like this.” When he straightened, she stepped close to him. Reaching her hand upward, toward his cheek, she whispered, “Listen, I…”

He knocked her hand away, staggering backward as if burned. “Do not touch me.” But that wasn’t what he really wanted. He wanted to pull her into his arms and press his lips to hers, but he could not ruin her, no matter how much he wanted her.

Her fingers curled into a fist, which she dropped down by her side. “Fine. Have a nice life, Mr. Russell.”

As she turned, the sweet, exotic scent of her tantalized him. She marched up the stairs toward the street.

“Miss Ramsey?”

She stopped but did not turn. “Yes?”

“I wish you well,” he said in a low voice.

She nodded and then was gone, taking Avery’s sense of peace with her.

A moment passed, then two, and with each heartbeat Avery’s regret grew. When the torment grew too much to bear, he sprinted up the stairs to chase after Leah.

Her back was rigid as she strode quickly down the lane. She was nearly at the corner now. He watched her walk away for a long moment, warring with himself. What the devil was wrong with him? He should be glad to see the back of her. She’d caused him no end of trouble. So why did he long to chase after her and apologize?

He shoved a hand through his hair, suddenly realizing he’d not secured his queue. Damn. She’d done more than upset the household; she’d upset his internal balance. Best to get back to it. He had a journey to prepare for and a mill to attend. As distasteful as both propositions were, what choice did he have?

He turned and reluctantly made his way down toward the kitchen door, but voices ground him to a halt. A man and woman arguing? The woman’s voice grew louder and more insistent.

“I told you, I’m not interested.”

Miss Ramsey.

Without another thought, Avery leaped up the stairs and sprinted after her. Adrenaline pounded through him, forcing his footsteps faster. She needed him. He’d been right to worry. She was unprepared and vulnerable and in no position…

He stopped suddenly, gravel crunching beneath his boots. Miss Ramsey stood over Lachlan Mackenzie, who was moaning and grabbing his crotch as he lay in a heap on the gravel.

“Maybe next time a woman tells you she’s not interested, you’ll take her a little more seriously.” She glared at the man and nudged him with the toe of her boot.

He would thrash Mackenzie. Later. For now, he directed his attention to Miss Ramsey. Her eyes were alight with anger, and her chest heaved with exertion and outrage. She was the picture of a warrior goddess, strong and decisive. The antithesis of a meek and demure female, but strangely he was drawn to her even more at the sight.

“Miss Ramsey, are you injured?” You simpleton, she is obviously not. But he could think of nothing else to say. If the stable master had laid a finger on her, Avery would not simply thrash him. He’d kill him.

She glanced over at him without losing her cross expression. “No, I’m fine. Just had to explain some basic communication skills to gropey-boy here.” Hefting the bag in her right hand, she sniffed. “Well, I’m going to try this leaving thing again. See ya.”

This time, when she turned, he reached out a hand and stopped her.

“Miss Ramsey.” No, that was too formal. “Leah.”

Her face softened slightly as she tilted her chin upward to look into his eyes. “Yes?”

I should not. I cannot. He must, and he did.

Stepping toward her, he closed the short distance between them. His hand trailed from her shoulder to the delicate curve of her neck, higher to tangle into the hair at her nape. Her lips, pink and pale in the breaking dawn, parted slightly on a breath.

“Avery?” The question was whispered, her eyes soft and confused as she looked up at him.

He let his actions answer. Bending low, he pressed his lips to hers.

Soft heat. That was the sensation of her mouth on his. His muscles trembled with the effort of holding himself still, of restraining the urge to draw her body tight against his and possess her completely. This was enough. It was more than he deserved and all he’d ever get. She was leaving here, leaving him, forever.

Her breasts just barely brushed his chest. He imagined he could hear her heartbeat, stuttering and thundering just like his own. She opened her mouth wider, and he let his tongue explore the wet recesses of her mouth.

God, she tasted so sweet. Like sugared mints, clean and delicious. He swallowed his groan and swept his tongue across her soft, full lips. No woman could be this perfect, this maddening, this…

A cough from the ground below them broke the spell, and Avery stepped back, reluctantly breaking the most incredible moment of his life.

He looked away from Leah, afraid of what he’d see in her face. He focused on the man lying in the dirt instead.

The stable master moaned and struggled to his feet. “You’ll pay for that, Russell.”

Avery moved between Leah and Mackenzie. The man was in no shape to threaten her further, but Avery would take no chances with her safety. Watching the stable master limp away, reality suddenly slammed into him.

Oh dear God, what had he done? If they’d been seen, she’d be ruined.

Shame filled him, replacing the fingers of pleasure that had warmed him at their kiss. “Miss Ramsey, I do apologize. I wish you much happiness.”

Without stopping to see if his apology was accepted, he turned and strode toward the house. He must get away, must separate himself from her. She was too good for him.

He should never have allowed himself to soil her so.

* * *

Leah stared after Avery, wondering what the hell had just happened. She pressed a trembling finger to her lips.

He’d kissed her.

Well, that had been unexpectedly incredible.

He’d been sweet, tentative, but demanding at the same time. She blew out a shaky breath, willing her knees to stop threatening collapse. She needed to get herself together.

It was only a kiss. She’d been kissed before.

Not like that, her subconscious whispered.

She mechanically picked up the bag that she’d dropped when he leaned down to her, and walked toward the street. Her thoughts flopped around like rapidly breeding Tribbles.

He’d never given her any indication that he was attracted to her. As a matter of fact, every time she’d touched him he’d backed away like his ass was on fire. How was she supposed to read signs that didn’t exist?

Had she completely screwed up this whole trip by chasing after the wrong man?

“Oy, watch ye’self!”

She staggered backward to avoid getting trampled by a horse and cart. The driver shot her a dirty look as he passed by. Walking around in such a daze was dangerous for more than herself. Shaking her head to clear it, she walked in the direction Lady Chesterfield had told her to go. Walk now. Think later.

She may not know exactly who she was here to fall in love with, but she did know she desperately needed a friend to talk to. Lady Chesterfield and Jamie’s maid Muriel were the best shots she had at some objective advice. But she had to make it there in one piece.

The sun had risen by the time she made it to Hanover Square. Setting her jaw, she marched up the steps to number four and knocked. The large door squeaked open slowly, revealing an ancient-looking butler. His long, hooked nose sported a sizeable mole, and his eyebrows, well, eyebrow, was composed entirely of curly white hair.

“The servants’ entrance is in the back of the house, miss.”

She had to hand it to him. He used that beak to his advantage, looking down at her over it as if he was the king of England. Before he could firmly close the door in her face, as she assumed was his idea, a trilling, cheerful voice floated down the stairs.

“Graves, do let the poor gel in. She is our guest, not a common kitchen maid.”

With a pained look, Graves stepped aside to let her in.

Lady Chesterfield, dressed in a flamboyant red robe, stood on the landing.

“Oh, my dear, how lovely to see you. Graves, take her things. Is that all you’ve brought? But of course it is, no matter. Come, come.”

With an emotion that could safely be labeled ridiculously heavenly relief coursing through her, Leah trotted up the stairs after Lady Chesterfield.

“I’m sorry it’s so early,” she said as the older woman bustled into a bedchamber almost as large as His Grace’s had been. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

Lady Chesterfield laughed as she pulled a velvet rope at the bedside. “No matter, dear, no matter. I shall rest when I’ve cocked up my toes. Now”—she clapped her hands together delightedly, eyes wrinkling at the corners as she smiled—“do sit down. Muriel shall bring us some chocolate, and then we shall make our plan of attack.”

Leah sank into the chair that Lady Chesterfield had pointed to, relaxing gratefully into the softness. She hadn’t realized how much tension she’d been carrying ever since she’d tumbled into Avery’s arms from that mirror.

Avery.

Oh God, what had she done?

She was saved from her mental swan dive into melancholy by a timid knock on the door.

“My lady, I have your chocolate.” A maid, probably about seventeen or eighteen, entered the room bearing a tray with a steaming cup atop it. Brownish hair curled around the bottom of her mobcap, framing her delicate, pale face.

“Muriel,” Lady Chesterfield said, “this is our guest, Leah Ramsey. You are acquainted with her dear friend Miss Jamie Marten, or should I say Lady Dunnington?”

The maid nearly dropped the tray in her excitement. “Miss Jamie?” She set the tray hurriedly on the bedside table and rushed to Leah’s side. “How is she? And my lord Dunnington? Mrs. Knightsbridge told me they were to wed. Was it lovely? I know it was the most beautiful ceremony, for they were so in love.”

Leah had to laugh at the maid’s excited outburst. “Muriel, you’re exactly like Jamie described you. Yes, it was a beautiful wedding, and they’re really happy.”

It was nice to think about her best friend instead of the mess Leah had made of her own life recently.

The maid turned her shining eyes to Lady Chesterfield. “How may I assist your ladyship?”

The woman propped her hands on her ample hips and smiled broadly. “Our Miss Ramsey here is destined to wed the Duke of Granville. And we, my girl, shall help her.”

“The Duke of Granville?” Muriel’s tone was surprised, but not in a good way. “But he is so old!”

Leah shifted uneasily in the chair. Muriel had just blurted out her biggest misgiving about this whole shebang.

“Yes, dear, His Grace, the Duke of Granville.” Lady Chesterfield sniffed. “And mind your tongue, Muriel. As you know, a gentleman’s age is of no real impediment to a match. I do not know His Grace personally. His mother is a harridan of the first water, I must own. Still, it is of no consequence. We shall see to it that our Miss Ramsey weds advantageously, you can be assured of that.”

“Lady Chesterfield,” Leah said, rising to her feet with only a slight wobble. “I might have been wrong about the duke. Mrs. Knightsbridge told me that my true love was in the Duke of Granville’s household, but she never actually came out and said it was the duke.” Unease swirled in her stomach as she looked at her hostess and the maid.

A quizzical smile appeared on the baroness’s face. “But there are no other eligible gentlemen in the household.”

Avery’s face popped into Leah’s mind’s eye, and she laughed awkwardly. “Well, a gentle man, but not a gentleman, if you get me.” Leah cleared her throat. “What I mean is, I kind of made friends with someone in the house. The duke’s valet, actually. And I’m wondering if I may have made the wrong assumption about the identity of the man I’m supposed to fall in love with.”

Pursing her lips, Lady Chesterfield paced in front of the wide hearth. Muriel looked on, fingers twisting her apron. The only sound for several long moments was the soft crackle and pop of the fire. Leah linked her fingers in front of her, willing her lungs to draw in oxygen deeply and evenly. Hopefully Lady Chesterfield could help her figure this out.

“May I be plain, Miss Ramsey?”

Leah nodded. “Please.”

Lady Chesterfield continued, “In your position as a temporary servant in the household, it is only natural that you would develop a tendre for another servant, as a presumed equal. But”—she crossed over to Leah and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder—“I cannot think that your Mrs. Knightsbridge wished for you to marry a mere valet. With my patronage, you will be welcomed into society. You need not settle for a commoner.”

Leah sank back into the chair as Lady Chesterfield continued.

“Is it not possible that your feelings were magnified by your difficult position? Should you not pursue what you had desired in order to discover its worth?” The woman grasped Leah’s hands. “I only wish to assist you, dear. And I would be very remiss indeed if I allowed you to set your cap for a valet when you could have snared a duke.”

Doubt began to creep into the edges of Leah’s consciousness. She’d really enjoyed Avery’s kiss, she knew that. But was it because she was so desperate for this to work? Was it because she was scared and lonely, and she’d mistaken his kindness to her for something else? Or was it because she was afraid to put herself out there and be rejected again?

Her grandfather would never let her relax if she settled for less than the absolute best. Only one way to know.

Her mind made up, Leah gave a tight nod.

“Let’s do this.”

Sixteen

The carriage rolled into the outskirts of Holborn, bearing Avery nearer to the mill. Avery rode up top with the driver, with His Grace comfortable on the inside of the conveyance. Breathing deeply, Avery looked down as the ground rolled along beneath the horses’ feet. He must clear his mind, make himself ready to face his opponent. He must win this match. There was no choice for him.

A playful breeze tossed his hair, at odds with the churning in his guts. Prachett would be at the tourney today. He’d be expecting Avery to spin the match to his specifications. Though Prachett had never paid Avery for his participation in the underhanded dealings, he had forgiven a portion of Avery’s debt.

But now that Avery owed Prachett nothing? He’d fight honestly. And, if all went well, he’d win.

The apothecary had sent a messenger around just before they’d left for Holborn. The medicine for his aunt’s ailment would cost more the next time around, as the ingredients were becoming scarce. It was more critical than ever that he win today’s purse.

They arrived by the ring much before Avery was ready. He disembarked from the carriage with thinly disguised trepidation. Prachett would be here soon. Avery’s needs didn’t matter to Prachett. He wasn’t after the purse; he was after the hundreds, if not thousands, of pounds to be gained from betting on the right man.

“Hoy, Russell,” Jenks, Avery’s bottle man, called from the corner of the roped-off square that would serve as their stage.

“Jenks.” Avery nodded a greeting as he stripped to the waist. The crowds were drawing closer to the ring, each man attempting to get the best vantage for the upcoming brawl. The shouts and raucous laughter did nothing to calm his nerves or fray them. He’d stopped thinking of them as humans. They were cattle, mindless animals that brayed and milled about while he did his duty.

He moved lightly back and forth on his feet, relishing the feel of blood pumping harder through his veins. As he moved, Jenks spoke.

“You’re to face Martin Peters, a young scrapper just come up from Brighton. He lasted near two hours in his last fight, and would have won had Lockston not tripped him so underhanded-like. He’ll be spoiling for a tough ’un, s’truth.”

Avery nodded. “Then we shall give him what he asks for.”

Jenks laughed, tossing a rag over his shoulder. “That’s it, m’lad. His Grace will be glad of that, and the rest of the Fancy too, I’ll wager. Becoming quite their darling, you are.”

Jenks walked away from him then, leaving Avery to his exercises.

The earth was damp beneath his feet. Fortunately the rains had stopped early the day prior, or his bout would have been a much colder, more inhospitable affair. As it was, his breath fogged from his mouth and nose as he stretched his limbs.

Closing his eyes, he bent forward to stretch his spine. As it always did, the image of his mother leaped unbidden to his mind. He did not try to stop the horrendous memory from playing out, as he used to. Experience had taught him that was a useless endeavor.

They’d been delivering a meal to an elderly woman in the parish. On their return, his mother had looked at him and smiled.

“Do you know why I love you so, Avery?”

He’d grinned, looking up into his mother’s face. “No, why?”

She’d laid a comforting hand on his back, rubbing softly. “Because you are kind and good. You help me to remember to smile.”

She’d hugged him close to her side, and he breathed her in deeply. He’d been so young then.

The brigand had come upon them only moments later. The wild-eyed man had grabbed his mother’s basket, spilling the food over the roadway. His mother screamed, grabbing for her young son. But Avery had ripped free of his mother’s grasp to leap upon the man and defend her.

She’d fallen so quickly. The sharp crack of her skull on the rock haunted him even now.

And here he was again, ready to fight another man. It seemed that he killed her anew every time he stepped into the square to fight.

But this time, his violence ensured his aunt’s survival. It was his atonement for his mother’s death. He could never bring her back, but he could keep his aunt, her only sister, alive for her.

A prickle of warning spread across his shoulders, and he turned. Of course. Prachett approached, flanked by two of his men. The menacing smile on Prachett’s face boded ill. Avery stood silent, filling his broad chest with air. Calm. He must remain calm.

“Russell.” Prachett’s voice slid over Avery like grease. “’Tis good to see you here.”

Avery said nothing.

“It has been much too long since you’ve been among us. Peters is a newcomer and lost his first. You know where the bets will fall today, don’t you, lad?”

Avery shook out his fists, wishing he could use them to pummel Prachett into the dirt instead of young Peters.

“The right people are betting against you. And you must make sure that they win.”

Avery stilled, spearing Prachett with a look. “I cannot throw the match. The purse is too—”

Prachett’s laugh cut him off. “Oy, Russell, you lost your purse when you refused to fight today. I had to pay my men to convince you. You’ll fight, and you’ll lose, and your life is the only prize you’ll claim.” Prachett stepped close, his men shadowing him. “If you wish to live, you’ll make sure to allow Peters the victory. If you do not…” The glint of a knife flashed, and a sharp prick lanced his side. Avery froze, impotent anger crushing over him. “Peters will win. And make it look good, lad. I have use for you later, so I should hate to leave your body for the dogs tonight.”

The knife disappeared, and Prachett and his lackeys walked away.

With a roar, Avery plunged his fist into the earth. The crowd cheered at such an expression of violence and rage. He ignored it, focused only on his impossible predicament.

He must win, for his aunt to survive. He must lose to keep his own life. Avery slammed his eyes shut and shoved himself upright. What a damnable mess. There was no answer, no way out of this conundrum.

“Russell?” The duke’s voice pierced his confusion. “Is all well?”

Avery dragged a heavy breath through his lungs. “Yes, Your Grace. My apologies.”

The elderly duke nodded. “Many of the Fancy are counting on you today, my lad. Give us a good showing.” He gave a smile, then strolled toward his private viewing box. The rest of the Fancy, tonnish ladies and gentlemen who supported and enjoyed the fights, were spread around him, all too eager to enjoy the bout with the Duke of Granville.

His employer wanted him to win. He needed to win. But Prachett would kill him for it. A dark grin spread across Avery’s face. He knew what he had to do.

All too soon, it was time for his match. Jenks and Tarley, Avery’s knee-man, huddled in the corner for a quick word.

“He’s favoring ’is right side as he moves. Mayhap an old injury. Pound him there and you’ll be home for an early supper.”

Thanking Jenks for his advice, Avery turned to his adversary.

The boy was young, a half-score years his junior. Tall and muscled, he was fairer than a day in June. Must have been of Scandinavian descent.

His young opponent spat in the dirt before offering Avery a respectful nod.

Avery returned the gesture, and both raised their bare knuckles into the traditional fighter’s stance.

The fight master called them to order, and then they were off.

Avery circled his opponent calmly, looking for an opening in the young man’s defenses. It was easy to discern from Peters’s movements that he’d been trained by Jackson, who was highly regarded as the master of fighting. A dark smile crossed Avery’s lips.

This boy may have been trained by Jackson, but Avery had been nursing hellfire in his soul. Letting his baser nature take control, he grunted at the impact of the boy’s fist. First blow was done.

Avery’s own knuckles connected.

Peters staggered backward as the throng roared. Regaining his feet, Peters rushed toward Avery again. The valet was ready for him and used his opponent’s forward momentum to deliver a blow to his midsection.

Peters coughed but returned a punch of his own to the side of Avery’s head, leaving his ears ringing like cathedral bells.

Avery shook his head as Peters staggered off him, gathering his senses. This would not be a simple fight, so he must collect his thoughts and plan.

The fight wound on, the combatants trading blow for blow, the crowd jeering and celebrating by turns, and Avery growing more and more weary.

He dodged a blow that Peters aimed at his face and laid one across the chin. Peters grunted in pain, spitting blood. His right arm sagged as he coughed.

Sensing his opening, Avery pounced. Right, left, one after the other, blows rained down on Peters’s right side. Across the ribs, the hip, the belly, the shoulder, Avery peppered his opponent with vicious jabs. Jenks had been right. Peters went down only seconds later.

Sides heaving with exertion, Avery stood over the man. The cheers surrounded him, yells and whistles of approval coming from all angles.

Except for one.

In one corner of the ring, Prachett stood silent, murder in his gaze.

* * *

Leah smiled so hard she thought her face would break. She had never felt so pretty in her whole damned life.

“Oh, miss,” Muriel breathed, face glowing with approval, “you look lovely!”

The creamy-white gown flowed down Leah’s hips, cascading in soft falls of muslin to the floor. Leah looked down, past the demure square neckline with just a hint of cleavage, past the empire waist to the lace-trimmed hem. Taking a deep breath, which was hard because of the whalebone and lace corset that Lady Chesterfield had insisted she wear instead of the modern Lycra and plastic one she’d brought with her, she smiled at the maid.

“Thank you so much, Muriel. Jamie told me so much about you, and it’s so good to finally meet you.” Leah hugged the girl, who stiffened in shock, but then relaxed into an awkward pat on Leah’s back.

It was just so great to be out of the hell of servants’ quarters that Leah kept hugging Muriel anyway.

“It’s my duty, miss.” Muriel pulled away with a self-conscious smoothing of her apron. “Now, Lady Chesterfield wishes for you to present yourself downstairs. Her sister, Miss Stapleton, will be joining you for tea.”

“Great,” Leah said. It’d be nice to meet Lady Chesterfield’s family if they were as great as she was. From the moment Leah had stepped into the house, she’d felt like an honored guest. It was a wonderful change from scrubbing fireplaces and emptying chamber pots.

Muriel led Leah down the hallway toward the stairs. As she passed family portraits, smaller than those in the duke’s home but no less impressive, she wondered about Avery. She’d overheard Mrs. Harper talking about the duke’s journey. Had Avery gone with him? It would be so much easier if she could just send him a quick text to check on him. Sighing to herself, she descended the stairs and entered the drawing room. She’d spent the last few days convincing herself Avery’s kiss was a fluke. She had a different destiny to chase…and Avery’s broad shoulders and warm hands weren’t part of it.

“Ah, here she is.” Lady Chesterfield rose in a flurry of rose-colored lace and feathers. Leah was beginning to wonder about all the poor little birds that were running around in the buff because of her patroness.

“Dearest Leah, this is Miss Alexandra Stapleton, my eldest sister.” Lady Chesterfield gestured to a woman dressed all in drab brown, who rose with a sour expression.

Leah bobbed a curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Miss Stapleton shot Leah a dirty look. “Amelia, whatever can you be thinking to bring such a creature into your home? Graves has informed me of her previous employment. You cannot present her into society. It would mean your ruination.”

“Oh, rubbish.” Lady Chesterfield plopped down on the cushions. Leah followed, grimacing inwardly while maintaining her polite smile.

“She is a quick study and infinitely clever. She shall take the ton by storm, you mark my words. And none shall doubt her origin once we’ve spread the tale of her relation to my dear Chesterfield.” Lady Chesterfield fluffed her feathered collar.

Leah toed a discarded fluff beneath the tea table, wishing she were a thousand miles—or a hundred and fifty years—away. What if she failed? What if everyone found out that only last week she was nothing more than a dishwashing, dust-clad domestic? She stiffened her spine and laced her fingers together in her lap primly.

Miss Stapleton sniffed. “How can a mere servant, with no position or breeding, possibly masquerade as one of her betters?”

Whoa, nobody discredited Leah’s acting skill. If they wanted to disparage the way she dressed? Fine. The extra weight she’d picked up after the shit with Kevin? Fair game. But her passion for acting was sacrosanct, and she’d be damned if she let a comment like that go without a fight.

“Alexandra, you must give Miss Ramsey a chance to prove herself. She is, well…” Lady Chesterfield took a sip of tea. “She is from a land much more advanced than ours. Also, she is an experienced actress.”

“An actress!”

Lady Chesterfield could have said Leah had shoveled shit for a living and gotten a less horrified response than that.

Miss Stapleton splayed a hand across her nonexistent breasts. “Amelia, how could you sully your home with a woman of her stamp?”

Stamp? Leah scanned her memory, trying to make sense of the overblown reaction. Wait, did this woman think she was a hooker?

Leah shoved to her feet. “Pardon me, madam, but you are grossly mistaken. I was invited to live with the incredibly generous Lady Chesterfield, and she has no problem with my past. I would hope that such a beloved relative would trust the baroness’s judgment.” Leah let her nostrils flare slightly as she looked down at Miss Stapleton. With her raised chin and solemn glare, she was sure she resembled an avenging monarch.

“How dare you imply that I do not trust my sister?” Miss Stapleton hissed. “You are a charlatan. I knew it.”

Lady Chesterfield sat forward and held up a calming hand. “Now, now, dearest sister, you misunderstand. Miss Ramsey is from a society much removed from ours. She bears no ill will toward me or you. I have seen to it.”

Leah eased back down onto the sofa, not losing the firm set to her chin. She kept silent. As much as she disliked the deception, she knew it was necessary. She hadn’t wanted to cause problems within Lady Chesterfield’s family. Damn it, this was more complicated than she’d thought it would be.

Lady Chesterfield handed her a cup of tea, and Leah sipped it slowly. More drinking, less talking. That would be her motto for the rest of Miss Stapleton’s visit.

Lady Chesterfield smiled winningly. “Now, I have asked you to come and to meet Miss Ramsey because we are preparing for her come-out.”

“Come-out?” Miss Stapleton held her cup of tea out for Lady Chesterfield to refill. “She is of rather an advanced age for a debutante, is she not?”

Leah gritted her teeth together so hard she feared they’d crack.

“Sister, look at her complexion. She is as beautiful as any young miss in their first season. With her figure and my clever Muriel’s coiffures, no one shall ever guess that she is past the first bloom of her youth.”

So she was both a swindler and old now? This little trip wasn’t doing a helluva lot for her ego.

“Well, if this is the course you are set upon, far be it from me to dissuade you. Do you have any gentlemen in mind for the chit? Mr. Rutledge, perhaps, or Sir Thomas Edwards?” Miss Stapleton brought her teacup to her lips.

Lady Chesterfield bounced in excitement, fluttering her feathers like a duck drying itself. “She is destined for a man much greater than that. None will do for our Miss Ramsey but the esteemed Duke of Granville himself.”

Leah didn’t know whether to laugh at Miss Stapleton’s near-perfect spit-take or to be even more depressed.

“The Duke of Granville?” Miss Stapleton’s hand shook as she set down her teacup and began daubing at the droplets on her gown with a plain handkerchief.

I don’t know why she bothers. They’re the same damn color. Leah hoped her eye roll went unnoticed.

“Of course.” Lady Chesterfield laughed. “Miss Ramsey is more than capable of capturing his attention.”

“It is not that,” Miss Stapleton said, giving up on her gown. “It is only”—she darted her glance back and forth as if afraid someone would hear them—“he is of such an advanced age. He has his heir, and though he may wish to marry again, I had rather thought, well…” She trailed off.

“Thought what?” Damn it, Leah hadn’t meant to say anything.

Miss Stapleton didn’t bother to look Leah’s way, keeping her gaze trained on her sister as she replied. “He might be searching for a different sort of woman. One with more experience in society, perhaps. The dowager duchess is rumored to be very demanding.”

Leah opened her mouth to reply, but Lady Chesterfield waved her hand dismissively.

“Rubbish. Utter and complete rubbish. He is a gentleman, not a child, and as such will make a perfect mate for our Miss Ramsey. Now, dear sister, have you spoken with Lady Oberlin of late?”

The sisters began chatting about people Leah didn’t know while the tea grew cold in her cup.

Their age difference was pretty damn obvious. But she’d thought that wouldn’t matter as much in this day and age. Had she been wrong? Miss Stapleton had stared pretty hard at her sister when she’d said that. Did Miss Stapleton have designs on the duke? An elderly spinster probably didn’t have many prospects in this time. Too bad eHarmony didn’t have a Regency England branch.

Leah stared into the patterned carpet, the rich colors seeming to swirl under her gaze. If Lady Chesterfield helped Leah with the duke, then found out later that her own sister had wanted him, would she resent Leah for stealing Miss Stapleton’s chance at happiness? Or did Miss Stapleton mean she thought Lady Chesterfield would be more suited to the duke? They had to be pretty close in age. But how could she abandon the possibility without even getting to know him? So he was older. That wasn’t a deal breaker, right?

With a heavy sigh, Leah lifted the cup to her lips and took a swig of cool tea. She grimaced at the taste. What a complicated trip this was turning out to be. She really wished she had a friend to talk to—someone who understood her or at least knew her a little better than Lady Chesterfield or Muriel.

Someone like…

She bit her lip. Maybe she’d go calling once the less-than-pleasant Miss Stapleton had gone.

Seventeen

He’d won the match, but if he weren’t careful, he’d lose his life. Prachett’s threat was not an idle one. Avery had seen other fighters defy the man before, and the results were never pleasant. But what choice had he had?

None at all.

Beside the coachman atop the carriage, Avery huddled in his coat as they wound through damp and dank streets toward Grosvenor Square. The rain and cold might be miserable, but they were infinitely preferable to remaining at the Houndstooth and facing Prachett again.

Fortunately, the duke was not interested in the other matches and had opted to leave before the crowds. His Grace had been curiously silent, not congratulating his valet on the victory. Any other victory would have had the duke clapping him on the shoulder, cheering like a lad. But today? Not a word had left his lips. Yet another worry to be added to Avery’s lot.

Avery shifted in the seat and winced as his muscles cried out in protest. It didn’t matter that he was battered and bruised. He had won, and he must plan now for a way to avoid Prachett’s anger. His aunt could not go without medicine. He’d bear what he must in order to protect his only family. He pulled his coat tighter against him as if it could keep out the coming trouble as well as the downpour.

The carriage pulled to a halt in front of Granville House. The coachman leaped down and opened the door for Granville while Avery clambered down slowly and painfully.

“Russell.” The duke spoke without looking Avery’s way. “You will attend me immediately.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Shivering with cold, wet to the bone, Avery hung his sodden coat by the front door. Smythe, who had taken the duke’s hat and cloak, cast a glance over at him. Avery thought he may have detected the slightest hint of curiosity in the older man’s gaze before the butler turned and walked away. As his footsteps echoed down the long hallway, Avery’s thoughts turned to Miss Ramsey.

How was she faring with the curious Lady Chesterfield? Had she made her debut during the week he’d been gone? Was she being accepted, or was she shunned because of her lack of connections?

The longing in his chest intensified as he entered the duke’s study. Wherever she was, whomever she loved, he wished her every happiness in the world. It was best that she’d gone. When Prachett caught up with Avery, he hoped that Leah would be miles, or years, away.

“Close the door behind you, Russell.” Lord Granville settled into the chair behind his large desk, primly tenting his fingers.

Avery obeyed. The soft click of the latch felt like the gates of hell closing him in. Swallowing hard and setting his jaw, Avery turned and stood tall while facing his employer.

The duke didn’t say anything for several long moments. His keen gaze raked Avery from the top of his head to the toes of his boots, missing nothing. The swelling and bruising on his body would go down in a few days, but for the moment, Avery knew he looked nothing like a duke’s valet should. Would Lord Granville finally realize Avery’s unworthiness for the position?

“I was approached at the tourney today by a Mr. Thomas Prachett.” The words were spoken softly, but that didn’t countermand their seriousness. “He said that you owed him a great deal of money, lad. What have you to say to that?”

Protests brimmed on Avery’s tongue, but he bit them back. He couldn’t tell the duke the depth of his involvement with Prachett. The fighting was one thing, but if Granville knew he’d been forced into throwing matches? He’d probably be out on his ear in a trice. He answered in as calm a tone as he could manage. “Prachett was my 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.”

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 Prachett.” 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 chambers, the burning pain in his muscles throbbing in time 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 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 smaller 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.

Well, damn.

Leah cleared her throat gently. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’d like some lemonade before the music starts up again.”

“Oh, Miss Ram, I would love to take you and your charming guardian for a ride through the park tomorrow if you are both amenable.”

Leah tossed a wan glance at Lady Chesterfield, whose eagerly nodding head reminded her of those creepy tree spirits from Princess Mononoke. She’d had nightmares for months after watching that movie.

“I’d be glad to,” she said quietly.

“Of course you may go, dearest. But I am afraid I have a prior engagement, so I will be unable to join you.”

The duke’s face fell almost imperceptibly. “I see. Well, Miss Ram, we are to be a pair. I look forward to it then. I shall come ’round and fetch you on the morrow.”

Taking Lady Chesterfield’s hand, he bowed low over it, brushing her gloved knuckles with a light kiss. He repeated the gesture with Leah, who winced a little at the intimate contact. It was like hugging someone else’s grandpa.

“I bid you good evening.” He smiled at them again as he straightened.

“Good evening.” Leah returned the expression despite the acid churning in her throat. Lord, what she wouldn’t do for a Tums right now.

Lord Granville left then, even though the evening had only just begun. Leah was confused, but not sorry to see him go. It didn’t look like the duke wanted Lady Chesterfield to shove Leah at him any more than Leah did herself. In fact, it seemed that the duke would much rather spend time with Leah’s chaperone than with Leah herself.

The rest of the musicale was sort of anticlimactic after that. The music wasn’t bad, and with everyone distracted, Leah was pretty much left to her own devices. She darted glance after glance out the window, hoping for a glimpse of Avery, an answer to why he’d acted so strangely and what had happened to him, but he was nowhere to be seen. She even sneaked onto the balcony once more, sprinting to the nearly naked Greek statue she’d seen him behind before, but he wasn’t there.

Sighing, she slumped against the cold marble.

What was with him? And for that matter, what was with her?

She looked up at the stars, brighter here than she’d ever seen them at home. It was strange that despite the advanced technology of her time, she hadn’t ever seen the heavens like they were here.

The twinkling lights above didn’t offer her any answers. Bastards.

“What do I do?” Her lonely whisper faded into the darkness. A raindrop kissed her cheek, then another her neck. She turned back to the house, her steps leaden.

How could she disappoint Lady Chesterfield? How could she let her chaperone push her toward the duke when she might have feelings for Avery?

The marble stairs were slick with raindrops, so she gripped the handrail tightly. At the top, she turned her palm over. Her glove was damp, dingy now with the dirt of the rail. His hand had been wet too, but with blood.

She let her lids slide closed and focused on dismantling the knot that had lodged in her throat. It wouldn’t budge no matter what she tried.

Nineteen

The next day dawned sunny and warmer, which should have made Leah happy. It didn’t. She paced in the drawing room, wearing a carriage dress of powder blue that matched her eye color almost perfectly. Even the gorgeous costume couldn’t pierce her melancholy armor. She glared at her reflection every time she passed the mirror behind the settee.

“You’re a coward, Ramsey. An ungrateful and idiotic bitch.”

Her “pep talk” didn’t do much for her self-esteem or her confusion, so she gave it up and flopped down sideways on a wingback chair in the corner, legs draped over the arm. Worrying the inside of her cheek, she stared at the ceiling and concentrated on breathing deeply. Maybe extra oxygen would clear the fuzz from her brain.

A noise at the door grabbed her attention. A dark-haired maid toting a bucket and a broom had entered the room and ground to a halt at the sight of Leah.

“Oh, I apologize.” The maid blushed as she stammered, hands fumbling on the broom handle. “I did not know you were here.”

Leah smiled encouragingly at the girl. Man, did she ever understand how the maid felt. “Don’t worry about me. Do what you need to do.”

“I couldn’t, miss. ’Tis no trouble.” She started backing out the door.

Leah’s feet hit the floor. “It’s cool, come on. I could use someone to talk to.”

Though her face was wary, the maid set her bucket by the hearth and began sweeping the ashes. Déjà vu slammed into Leah. Such a short time ago, she’d been in this girl’s position. How amazingly things had changed.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“Eliza, miss,” the maid said as she dumped a load of ash into the bucket.

“Can I ask you a question, Eliza?” Leah rubbed the brocade fabric of the chair arm as she spoke. The nubby texture was soothing somehow, and boy did she need something soothing. As soon as she got back home, she was going to book a two-hour massage.

“Of course, miss.” Eliza turned from the hearth, her face a giant question mark. It was probably weird for her to be approached like this.

Oh well, let’s get it done.

“If you were supposed to be with someone, but you weren’t sure about them, what would you do?”

Eliza shook her head, mobcap flopping. “I do not understand, miss.”

Leah stood and ticked off points with her fingers. “Okay. Say you’re part of an arranged marriage. Your parents, your guardian, everyone you know expects you to love this guy. But you know he’s not the right one for you. In fact, he’s perfect for someone else, but they don’t see it at all, and they want you to marry him too. What do you do?”

Eliza resumed her sweeping as she replied, “I shouldn’t want to disappoint everyone. I should wed him.”

Leah’s brows lifted. “Even if you thought you might have feelings for someone else?”

Eliza lifted the bucket full of spent ash and faced Leah with a matter-of-fact expression. “If I were so lucky as to be promised to a man of standing, then I should wed him. There are not many so lucky in the world, miss.”

Leah’s damp palms slid down her skirt. “I see. Thanks for your answer.”

“My pleasure, miss.” Eliza nodded. “May I fetch something for you before I go?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Eliza bobbed a quick curtsy and took her bucket from the room.

Leah’s heart thudded against her rib cage and she resumed her pacing. Okay. She could do this. Open mind, keen observation, and level head. For the moment, she had to play the part and get to know the duke. Lady Chesterfield would expect it. But while she did it, she’d be thinking, planning. She’d find some way to fix this.

She ground to a halt and glared at the ceiling. Damn it, why did Avery’s stupid face keep popping into her head at the most inconvenient times? Stupid, handsome, silent face.

“Oh, Miss Ramse…er, Miss Ram, there you are.” Lady Chesterfield fluttered into the room, trailing her obnoxiously purple shawl behind her. “Lord Granville has arrived for your turn about the park. Make haste, my dear.”

“I thought you had other plans today,” Leah said wryly as Lady Chesterfield dragged her toward the foyer.

“Oh do be quiet, girl.”

Feeling suspiciously like she was about to take a nosedive into the fang-covered pit of the sarlacc, Leah followed Lady Chesterfield into the foyer, where His Grace was waiting. He greeted her with a polite smile.

“Miss Ram, you are looking quite fine.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Leah said as she accepted her wrap from Graves. “You look very nice today too.”

He offered her his arm, and she took it. With a last glance at Lady Chesterfield, Leah walked with the duke toward the high two-wheeled carriage with its pair of black horses.

She didn’t say anything as he helped her into the carriage. She didn’t know what to say, or what to do even. It had been easier last night, while surrounded with other people and with music, albeit bad music, to distract her. And with Lady Chesterfield, who seemed to thrive on conversation with the duke. But here? They were alone, other than the maid who rode silently on the back of the phaeton to assure Leah’s respectability. Kind of a nerve-wracking turn of events. Leah swallowed hard and screwed a smile to her face. Hopefully it looked normal.

The duke smiled at her once he’d settled into the seat beside her. “Shall we be off?”

She nodded and pulled her wrap closer around her. “Yes.”

His head tilted and he furrowed his brow. “Pardon me, but have we met before? I know we were introduced last evening, but your face is somehow familiar.”

Leah laughed nervously. “Oh no, Your Grace. I only got here last week, and before that I lived far away. There’s no way we could have met.” She patted her hair self-consciously. Pull it together, Ramsey. Don’t blow it, or Lady Chesterfield might get in trouble because of you.

“I see.” He seemed to take her explanation. The reins flicked over the horses’ backs, and they were off toward the park.

He was quiet for a moment, and Leah used the time to compose herself. She had to keep it together and figure out a way out of this mess.

“Miss Ram,” the duke said as they turned into the park, “may I be frank with you?”

“Please,” she said, sitting up straighter. It’d be great to have someone tell her what the heck to do.

“I am not in the habit of squiring young ladies about.” His voice was soft, higher pitched than she’d have liked, but it wasn’t a girly voice. He was easy to listen to, actually.

“Then why are you taking me? Not that I’m not enjoying it, because I am,” she hastily corrected herself.

He glanced over at her. He was attractive, she had to admit. Maybe she was just intimidated by his age, position, and obvious wealth. Not out of the realm of possibility. Kevin had been rich, and she hadn’t exactly fit in with his family.

“That is the question, is it not?” He rounded a corner on the park’s path, and the scattered other carriages along the way had disappeared. She swallowed the sudden knot in her throat. They were alone.

“Yes. I guess it is.” She stared straight ahead.

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps it is best to admit the truth. I am entertaining the notion of marriage.”

Well, shit. She dropped any pretense of looking forward. “What?”

“I am not proposing marriage to you, Miss Ram.” He laughed, flicking the reins as another carriage rounded the bend. “I have my heir and am simply considering the matter.”

She smiled politely as he looked over at her. “Ah. Okay.”

He grew somber. “My first wife passed away many years ago. I had not realized how lonely I’d become.”

“I’m sorry,” Leah whispered. Reaching over, she laid a hand on his. Even through their gloves, she could tell how cold his hands were, and it sent a shiver through her. Poor man. Poor, lonely old man.

“It is of no consequence.” He patted her hand, and she withdrew. “Shall we continue?”

She nodded, and the carriage rolled on.

* * *

Avery pulled the brim of his hat lower over his eyes. He was dressed in a coat much too heavy for the finer weather of the day, but he’d had no choice. He could not be discovered.

He’d followed the duke’s phaeton to Lady Chesterfield’s manse. His hands had curled into fists when he saw his employer’s hands on Leah’s waist, handing her up to the high seat atop the conveyance. Jealousy seethed beneath Avery’s skin, but he tamped it down with effort. He could not afford the distraction. He must keep her safety in the forefront of his mind. Another note had come in the night.

Russell,

The Swansdown approaches. You will face Brookers, and you will lose. If you do not, she will pay. I have gotten some quite interesting information as of late about a lady you seem to care for.

Make no mistake, we know who, and where, she is.

Prachett

He followed them at quite a distance, making sure to keep the phaeton in his sights. Fortunately, the horse he’d secretly borrowed from his grace’s stables was quite well-mannered and even quick when needed. The nag was not of good stock, but he had spirit. And his nondescript color and markings were perfect to blend into the crowded lanes of the park.

He wished he could hear what they were saying. What caused Leah’s brows to lower as she responded to the duke or what caused her to smile, throw back her golden head and laugh.

Was she falling in love with him? That was what she’d wanted all along, from the moment she’d landed in Avery’s arms. But he could not resign himself to the idea.

Blessed hell. His hands tightened on the reins. What if she were to marry Granville? She’d be a duchess. And Avery would have to see her every day. He could look but never touch. When he pictured her lying in the duke’s bed, hair strewn about her with a lovelorn smile on her face, Avery inadvertently jerked the reins.

“Steady boy, ssssh,” he said in a low voice to the horse beneath him. He patted the gelding’s neck. “I’m sorry there, chap.”

He had to keep his wits about him. Prachett had many spies, many men who were more than willing to exchange information for the promise of coin. With difficulty, Avery pried his gaze from the pair in the phaeton and scanned the area. He did not have the luxury of remaining at her side to protect her at all hours, so he must be vigilant when he had the opportunity.

The phaeton turned about and headed toward him. Avery didn’t hide his open sigh of exasperation. The duke had to be returning her to Lady Chesterfield, and that meant Avery himself would be expected at Granville House very soon.

He steered the horse onto a half-hidden side path and waited. He’d let the pair pass by and then continue on his way.

The sound of wheels on the gravel pathway warned him of their coming.

“So that’s what you meant.” Leah was laughing as she spoke. Avery fought for control. He must not run after her and pull her atop his horse, riding hell-bent for Gretna. She was not his and never would be.

“’Tis true, I admit.” The duke’s voice was amused as well. The bloody bastard.

As the carriage rolled past the pathway, Leah adjusted her hat and turned toward the duke. Avery’s heart stuttered when he caught her gaze. Her blue eyes went wide, and her mouth formed an O, but he shook his head quickly and turned away.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing at all, Your Grace. Sorry.” She smiled at the duke and Avery’s rage climbed even higher. He was nearly shaking with it now, an anger so fierce that it threatened to burn him from the inside out.

He must breathe. He must retain control.

Though he wanted nothing more than to follow them and take Leah away from his employer, he stayed there, atop his horse on the forgotten path. His eyelids slammed shut and he fought to ease his tension.

She is not yours, lad. She is not yours.

He had to have her.

For he was quite certain that Leah Ramsey was his one shot at salvation. Without her, he’d drown in his anger, guilt, and loneliness for the rest of his days.

Twenty

He hadn’t meant to come here, but when he realized the route he’d taken, it was too late to change. Lady Chesterfield’s home loomed just ahead, and the temptation of seeing Miss Ramsey was much too difficult to ignore.

Berating himself with every step, he continued toward the home. He’d simply glance through the windows and ascertain if she’d returned in good health. Then he’d be about his business, with her none the wiser.

He dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby lamppost. It snorted and tossed its head as if to tell Avery how foolish he appeared.

“I know, lad,” Avery said in a low voice as he patted the horse’s neck. “I’ll return in but a moment.”

The afternoon shadows were growing longer, and Avery moved carefully to avoid being seen. This time of day was not the most active for the servants of the household, but there was sure to be someone about.

Each window he peered into revealed nothing more than empty furniture and the odd maid or footman. He grew more concerned when he looked through the window on the west side of the house. It was apparently the drawing room, and Lady Chesterfield sat alone, having tea as she wrote at a small table beside the settee.

Why was Miss Ramsey not there? His tension grew. Surely she’d returned from her ride with the duke by now. Had one of Prachett’s men accosted her?

He crept around the back of the house, careful to give the servants’ entrance a wide berth. A small garden lay before him, its plantings beginning to burgeon with life. He’d just risen to look through another window when a sound caught his ear.

“Pawpaw, what am I supposed to do?”

He whirled without a sound, kneeling behind a holly bush. He was careful of the leaves this time. Leaning to the side, he found the source of the voice.

Leah was there, her back to him as she sat on an old stump. Her attention was focused on something in her lap.

Relief flooded him. She was here, and she was alone. He’d remain a moment longer until he could verify her well-being, then he’d take his leave without her knowledge. He hoped.

“Maybe Mrs. Knightsbridge was wrong about all this.” She sighed, tilting her head skyward. A yellow curl kissed her cheek as it swayed with her movement. His breath caught as she was silhouetted in the sun’s dying glow. Had there ever been a woman so lovely, so perfect?

Without conscious thought, he was suddenly moving toward her, abandoning his hiding place. The inner voice that had kept him from seeking out her touch was silenced as if it had never existed. He only knew that he had to kiss her, and kiss her now, before she was lost to him forever.

The sound of his footsteps on the path grabbed her attention, and she looked up, surprise on her face. Her beautiful blue eyes were confused—and then excited.

“Avery,” she said, rising and turning to him. A small portrait was gripped in her hand, and he caught a glimpse of an old man with Leah’s eyes standing by a strange carriage. She must have been speaking to the portrait.

“Leah,” he breathed, and without another thought he pulled her into his arms. Stiffening with surprise, she froze at first, but then melted into him, her softness against his hardness fitting perfectly. Her soft lips parted on a breath, and he drew her in, deep into his lungs. His tongue traced the soft edge of her lower lip, and he groaned deep in his chest at the sweet taste of her.

His body stirred, his hands roaming the planes of her back, then lower to cup her buttocks. Blood surged to his groin as she returned his kisses, sucking on his tongue and tangling her fingers in his hair. He pressed his hips into hers.

She writhed, as if she couldn’t get close enough. His hand caressed up the curve of her waist to settle just beneath one of her breasts, its hardened nipple practically begging to be touched.

Leah erased any moment of doubt, pressing his hand against her breast. He released her mouth, but only to let his kisses trail down the column of her throat. She tilted her head back in abandon.

“Avery,” she whispered, hitching a leg over his hip. God, her core pressed against his erection now, so hot it almost burned. “I want you.”

The words were exactly what he wanted—no, needed—to hear.

He nipped at the tender flesh of her neck, wanting to mark her, claim her like an animal would. Her mewl of passion only spurred him on. Dipping his head, he trailed kisses down the delicate curve of her shoulder, to the neckline of her lovely blue gown.

The creamy swells of her breasts begged for attention, and he was loath to deny them.

Cupping one breast, he worshipped the other with his tongue and teeth, licking and nipping kisses on the tender skin. She pulled at his hair, ran her hands down to his hips, brushed the stiffness in his breeches.

God, it was not enough. He needed to see her, all of her. He needed to sink himself deep into her, feel her as she welcomed him into her bed and her body.

Into her life.

Forever.

Oh God, what am I thinking?

His eyes flew open. He staggered backward, dropping all contact with Leah. She swayed, nearly falling as he fought to regain his senses. He’d been dreaming. He’d been mad to do that to her. He could not be what she needed.

“Leah, Miss Ramsey, I…” He had no words. His manhood throbbed with frustrated lust, but he ignored it. “My apologies, Miss Ramsey.”

“Don’t stop. Please…” Her hand trembled as she pressed it to her swollen lips. Her eyes were wide, dazed, and wanting.

“I should never have forced myself upon you so.” Avery bowed deeply, cursing himself. “You have my sincerest apologies. It shall not happen again.”

“Wait just a goddamn minute.” She glared at him. “You didn’t force anything on me. Couldn’t you tell how much I wanted that?”

He glowered at her. “There is no need to prevaricate, Miss Ramsey. The fault is mine.”

She stomped toward him, mayhem plain in her gaze. “You’re going to answer some questions for me in a minute, but first you need to get something through your thick caveman skull. I wanted that. I want you. You didn’t trick me into kissing you, so get over yourself.”

His frustration and confusion battled for the upper hand. “Over…myself?”

She sighed. “Forget it. Did you get into a fight? Because no offense, but you look like hell.” Her brow furrowed as her gaze raked over his still-swollen cheek.

He set his jaw. “It is no concern of yours.”

She barked a bitter laugh. “The hell it isn’t!” She lost some of her vitriol as she pressed a warm palm to his cheek. “Listen, Avery. I’m not sure what’s between us right now, but I do know that I care about you. I can’t help if you keep shutting me out.”

He wanted so badly to turn his face into her palm and press a kiss there. To lay his head in her lap and tell her he’d put her in danger. To apologize for jeopardizing her chance at happiness with the duke.

“Miss?” A young female voice floated into the garden. “Are you here, miss?”

“Shit, that’s Muriel.” Leah tossed an irritated glance over her shoulder. “Can you wait here while I get rid of her?”

“I must go,” he said, disguising his relief at the interruption. He had to get away from Leah before he lost his head again. She wreaked havoc on his already tenuous control.

She looked at him, hurt in her gaze. His heart ached, but he stayed motionless.

“Okay. See you later, I guess.”

She walked away, leaving him alone by the stump of the old oak.

He’d bungled that properly.

* * *

Leah tried like hell to keep from crying as she walked away from Avery. The tears weren’t so much from sadness as they were from being frustrated, pissed, and straight up horny. The man had just left her with the feminine equivalent of blue balls. Blue ovaries? She sniffed and swallowed her emotions, pinning a pleasant expression on her face for Muriel.

“Sorry, I needed some fresh air,” Leah said to the maid. “What’s up?”

“Your new gowns have arrived from the modiste. Lady Chesterfield bade me fetch you.”

“More new gowns?” Leah pressed a hand to her forehead. A monster headache was starting to zoom around her skull like a Mario Kart party was going on in there. “But she already bought me a closetful.”

Muriel laughed as she led Leah into the house. “Miss, Lady Chesterfield would not dare to arrive at a ball in a previously worn gown, and she would not see her protégé do so either.”

Leah trailed after Muriel, trying to find some happy. Damn it, it wasn’t there. She was too riddled with anxiety to do anything but keep moving forward like a shuffling zombie. She’d have to do something drastic to clear these cobwebs, and soon. There were two men in her life, two very different men, and even though she was pretty confident she knew what, and who, she wanted, she had to do something to make sure.

An entirely wicked idea popped into her head, and she grinned. This was going to be delicious.

“Are you well, miss?” Muriel said, tilting her head.

“I’m fucking spectacular,” Leah said, then clapped her hand over her mouth with a laugh. “Sorry, Muriel! I’m good. I promise.”

The maid gave her an odd look but continued on her way. Leah had to fight to keep from skipping up the stairs. Tonight would answer her questions and ease her pent-up tensions. Oh, this was going to be incredible.

* * *

The night was so cold her breath fogged out in front of her. She wrapped her cloak around her tighter and kept on trucking. At least this is the ritzy part of town, she thought. If I had to walk through St. Giles in the dark alone, I wouldn’t make it fifteen feet.

Not that she actually owned anything worth stealing.

The streets were completely empty of people. A shiver skittered down her spine, and she walked faster. Maybe she should have begged Muriel to come with her. As soon as the thought popped into her head, she shoved it off with a laugh. Yeah, she should totally have asked the innocent teenaged maid to hold her hand as she hauled ass to seduce her man.

The thought warmed her as she spied Granville House ahead. Seducing her man. Avery. He’d bolted; he’d nearly driven her crazy by revving her up and leaving her wanting. But they’d finish what they’d started tonight. She refused to take no for an answer.

The servants’ entrance was locked tight. Damn it. She resisted the urge to thump her fist against the heavy door in frustration. It wouldn’t do any good.

She shoved herself upright and nodded. Time for Plan B.

The conservatory on the ground floor was her target. She hoped the room that Henrietta had locked her in—gosh, weeks ago now—would still have its window unlatched.

She found it without trouble, careful to avoid the stables on her way. She didn’t want to run into that asshole of a stable master.

She breathed a relieved sigh when she reached the window. Finally. Bracing the heels of her hand on the window, she shoved upward with a grunt.

The window didn’t budge.

She bumped it, trying to encourage the seal to break. The window didn’t so much as squeak.

“Damnit,” she hissed. “What the hell do I have to do to get in this place?”

The front door was out. Smythe probably slept on the damn welcome mat. She could probably go around the bottom floor and try all the windows, but what if someone saw her? They’d throw her into prison before she could explain.

She looked up at the stars. Maybe one of them would have mercy and grant her a wish.

The moon’s soft glow reflected off a shiny leaf of ivy.

Ivy.

The trellis!

She rubbed her palms together briskly. It couldn’t be much more difficult than climbing a tree, right? She’d been awesome at that when she was about ten.

Of course, that had been a long time ago.

She shook her head as she tucked the ends of her skirt up. No way. She could do this. She could do anything she put her mind to.

What about that time you got kicked out of Zumba?

“Shut up,” she muttered to herself as she gripped the trellis. “That instructor was a sadistic bastard.”

The wooden trellis creaked and groaned under her weight. The ivy was thick, and it was tough to figure out where her slippers would fit. But she kept her gaze locked on the windows of the top floor. She could get to him—she could. She had to.

She reached sideways, aiming for a thin spot in the foliage. Her fingers slipped, and she tilted dangerously. Pulling at the tendrils of vine, she pulled herself back toward the house. Her heart thumped and her breath came in little gasps.

“Damn, that was close.”

She looked toward the ground and gulped. She’d never been afraid of heights, and she wasn’t really afraid now. It was more the falling she had issue with.

No. She wasn’t going to fall. She was going to haul her ass up this trellis, make love to Avery, and if she ever got home, she’d invest in a rock climbing class.

Hey, you never know when shit’s going to come in handy.

Drawing even with the top of the trellis, she breathed a relieved sigh. Okay. Here she was. Now, which window was Avery’s? The trellis stretched wide, covering the bottoms of three top-floor windows. She could look down, see where the area was…A quick glimpse downward was enough to make her nausea rise. Nope, not looking down there anymore. Too damn scary.

She’d have to do it the hard way.

Moving to the closest window, she peeped above the bottom edge.

Several moments passed before her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness inside. She blinked several times before the vision cleared. Henry, one of the footmen, lay sprawled atop the covers, completely nude. Ugh. She hadn’t needed to see that. Fortunately, his roommate Oliver was fully clothed in the small bed across the room. Typical. The men got beds to themselves.

Hand over hand, foot over foot, she Spider-Manned it to the next window. When she didn’t think about the terrifying ground below, this was actually kind of fun.

With a whispered plea for luck, she lifted her head over the bottom edge of the window.

It didn’t take as long for her eyes to adjust this time. When she saw him, her breath caught.

Avery lay on his back, arm cast over his eyes to block out the beam of moonlight that highlighted his chest and face. He was gorgeous, dressed in nothing but his breeches. She couldn’t help but wish he’d been the one who slept in the buff. She might have been satisfied just hanging out here like George of the Jungle on a vine with a view like that.

Who was she kidding? She wanted to watch out for his tree.

A quick glance across his room confirmed her suspicions. Nobody else was in the room. She didn’t know why the other servants ostracized him, but it happened to be pretty convenient at the moment. Gripping the windowsill, she moved higher, stretching for the window latch. Thank God, it opened with the barest push. Third-floor windows were so much nicer than first floor!

She hoisted herself up onto the windowsill, tumbling into his room with a thump. Wincing, she glanced at him. Whew. He’d just turned over with the noise. Good to be a sound sleeper.

Her palms stung with the effort she’d used to grip the trellis, but she rubbed them against her skirt and ignored the tingling. What was a little discomfort? He’d obviously been through much worse in the past week or so.

Shedding her cloak, she moved toward him and knelt at his bedside. Her fingers trailed just above his chest, tracing the edges of greenish-yellow bruises. He’d been beaten severely, or had gotten in a bad fight.

Her throat closed, and her eyes stung at the thought of Avery in pain. God, what a hardheaded bastard. He got in trouble way more than he should. The memory of the time she’d bandaged him slammed into her. One man shouldn’t have to bear this much crap. But he did, and he’d never complained, not once.

It wasn’t pity or even compassion that moved her to lean over him and take his lips in a fervent kiss.

It was something much, much deeper.

Twenty-One

His lips were so warm. She lost herself in them, delighting in the stubbly texture of his five o’clock shadow against her chin. He shifted beneath her, and she curled her fingers into the muscles on his broad chest. The man was solid as a brick wall, and the feel of those firm muscles under her made her want to purr.

His mouth opened, and she capitalized on the opportunity. Her tongue slipped between his lips, tasting his warm mouth. She knelt on the narrow bed’s edge, wanting to lie atop him, stretch out, and feel every part of him touching her.

Way too soon, he pushed her away.

“Leah,” he rasped, eyes wide and confused with sleep. “What are you doing here?” He sat up. She made use of the extra space on the narrow bed, plopping down beside him.

“I came to finish what you started,” she said, hoping she sounded a lot more confident than she felt. She didn’t have much experience convincing men to sleep with her. Her list of conquests wasn’t nonexistent, but it was kind of on the short side. She leaned forward, hoping he’d take the hint.

“What do you mean?”

Well, shit. She bit her lip. Better to show than tell, right?

Crawling toward him, she braced her palms on either side of his lean, muscled abdomen. “This,” she whispered before kissing him again.

As kisses go, it wasn’t the best she’d ever had. Avery pulled away after their lips had touched for only a brief second.

“What’s wrong?” she said, raking her hair from her face in frustration.

“You must not…I should not…”

“Avery, please. I want you. Don’t say no.”

His face was tortured, beautiful even though the expression was heartbreaking and his injuries were plain. She had every intention of getting him to spill his guts about why he looked like the poster child for a new Rocky movie. But right now, there was something they both needed much more than conversation.

“Please.”

* * *

His brain lost every trace of sleep. He blinked, trying to clear the vision of Leah lying over him, hair falling like a curtain around them both. She could not be here. In his bed. Asking to lie with him.

But she was.

As gently as he could, he pushed her away.

“You do not know what you are asking,” he said, standing and lighting the candle at his bedside. She only looked lovelier in the dim light. “How can I ruin you?”

His muscles tensed, and he fought to keep their trembling secret. Excitement and willingness thrummed in his body, but he must deny it. He cared for her too much.

“It’s not ruining, Avery.” She unfolded herself and came to him. “I’m not a virgin, and I want you as much as you want me. And there are things that we need to settle between us, feelings that I need to explore.” She laid her head on his chest, and he did not resist the urge to fold his arms around her.

He rubbed her back and closed his eyes. All the reasons he should abstain pelted him. She was not of his time. She was not his wife. Prachett would use her against him, harm her.

But when he looked down into her open, honest, and beautiful face, he could not deny either of them.

“Leah,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. Their kiss was filled with her enthusiasm and his barely contained joy. She’d accepted him. She could not know what that meant to him.

Bending low, he scooped her against his chest, bearing her back to the bed. Her hands curled around his neck and she nuzzled his chest.

“You have the best body,” she said as he lay her gently on his mattress. Her eyes glowed with desire as she traced his chest with a finger.

He smiled. “I would like to return the compliment, but I cannot see as much of you at the moment.”

Her laugh warmed his heart as well as other parts of his body. She sat up with a wink. “Let’s fix that then, shall we?”

His mouth went dry as she turned and presented her back to him. “Can you help me out of this?”

He was no fool. He knew what he wanted from her and what she’d expect from him. But faced with the reality of a warm, laughing Leah in his bed, he found himself frozen with an emotion he could not name. Not fear, or anxiety either. More the sense that the world around him was changing at a lightning pace, and there was not a thing he could do to stop it.

If he wanted to stop it.

“Are you okay?” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Avery?”

He shook off the thoughts and moved close to her. “All is well.” His fingers moved sure and strong, deftly loosing the buttons that flowed down the back of her dress. He concentrated on the task, doing his damnedest to ignore the throbbing ache in his groin that needed to be sated.

He pushed the gown from her shoulders, and it pooled around her torso. His moan of frustration at the numerous layers of underthings that lay beneath the gown wrenched a giggle from her.

“I know. It’s a crazy amount of underwear. We’ll get through it together, though, right?”

He pressed a kiss on her shoulder. “I cannot wait.”

He pulled her to her feet, and together they removed layer after layer of frilly, womanly undergarments. He’d not thought he could grow so hard at such a simple act as undressing her, but she was irresistible. She teased and kissed by turns, stoking his fires by touching him whenever and however she could. By the time she stood barefoot, wearing only her shift, he was ready to toss her onto her back and plunge into her. Control. He must retain control.

“Well,” she said, running her fingers beneath the waist of his breeches. “I think we’re even here. What do you say we get rid of the last of these clothes on the count of three?”

“I don’t think I can wait that long,” he said, gripping her shift and lifting it over her head. His breath caught deep in his throat.

“Good Lord.”

She stood naked in front of him, her arms at her sides, not bothering to hide her exquisite nudity. He did not know whether to stumble backward to look his fill or to press her full against him.

She was so lovely. Her full, high breasts pouted and teased him with their erect nipples. Her waist sloped delicately, flaring out to beautifully shaped hips. He could happily stare at her all evening, but she clearly had other notions.

“It’s your turn,” she said, stepping close and unbuttoning his breeches. “I want to see you too.”

He didn’t move as she bent to lower his breeches. He couldn’t. He was transfixed by the sight of her delectable bottom as she bent over in front of him. It was too much pleasure for a man, it truly was.

“Oh, Avery,” she whispered, kneeling in front of him. “You’re beautiful.”

Before he could ask to what she was referring, her soft hands had wrapped around his manhood. She pressed a kiss to the weeping tip, and he fisted his hands at his sides. Control.

“Can I suck you?”

The image of her sweet mouth wrapped around his rod nearly drove him beyond the brink. He shook his head, his hair tickling his shoulders.

“I would not last if you did.”

“Later, then,” she whispered, and pressed another kiss to the swollen head. He titled his head back, throat working.

Her hands ran up his body, from his groin to his abdomen to his chest, winding at last around his back. Her nipples dragged across his chest, her belly pressed against his erection.

“Touch me,” she groaned against his throat. He was more than happy to comply.

Starting at her hips, he indulged his fingers in the direction they wanted to travel, upward toward her breasts. His hands closed over the sweet, soft mounds, lightly flicking over their erect tips. She pressed against him, smiling as he touched her.

“Like that,” she whispered, rubbing her hips against his.

Something in his lust-filled brain snapped, and he stopped thinking. He acted.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he directed. Once she obeyed, he cupped her buttocks and lifted. Obligingly, she wrapped her thighs around his waist. He nearly wept when her slick mound made contact with his erection.

He moved backward and sat on the bed, leaving her straddling his lap. In this position, it was easy to lean forward and capture one of her beautiful nipples in his mouth.

She tangled her fingers in his hair as he sucked, his tongue flicking against the bud, his teeth grazing it. Her hips writhed against him, bathing his hardness in her sweet slickness. It would be so easy to slip inside her this way, to claim her as his. But he wanted to make this last.

He moved to her other breast as her hands roamed his body. He forgot all his bruises, forgot all the reasons why they should not be doing this. None of that mattered when her hands wrapped around him again, moving up and down in a rhythmic motion that drove him mad.

“Leah,” he whispered after releasing her nipple from his mouth with a soft pop, “I cannot last much longer if you persist in that.”

“I can’t last much longer either.” She seemed winded, her eyes dark and lips swollen. “Feel me, Avery. See what you do to me.”

She slipped from his lap and stretched full-length on the bed.

Could there be anything so beautiful on earth?

“Please touch me, Avery.” She’d fisted her hands into his sheets, and her breath was coming much quicker. “The way you’re looking at me is driving me crazy.”

“How am I looking at you?” He could not resist asking the question, though he could empathize with her desperation.

“Like you want to devour me.” Her breath came in gasps as her eyes darkened.

He did. He wanted to taste her. Kneeling between her legs, he parted her folds and lowered his head to her. The scent was intoxicating, sweet and musky and womanly. He could breathe her in forever, but if he did that, he’d never know her taste. And that was a pleasure he’d not forgo.

He licked the lower part of her folds and moved his way up as her hips writhed against him. When his lips closed around that swollen nub at the apex of her mound, she gave a mewling cry.

“There! Oh my God, right there, Avery.” The sheets twisted in her grip.

“As you wish,” he breathed against her hot, wet flesh, and then complied.

Twenty-Two

Avery seemed determined to coax her to heaven with his mouth alone. But she wanted much more than his mouth.

She got a portion of her wish when his finger slid inside her. Her muscles spasmed around it involuntarily, and she let out a long, low moan.

“Are you trying to drive me crazy?” she panted.

He gave her a wicked smile as he inserted another finger. “Perhaps.”

“Please, Avery,” she whispered as she pinched her own nipples, wishing he was close enough to kiss. “Don’t make me wait.”

She lifted her arms to him and he stretched full-length atop her. Their mouths and hands were suddenly everywhere. They rolled and tangled, tasting, touching, licking, and sucking. Leah wrapped her legs around his hips and bit his shoulder.

“Now,” she said, tangling her hands in his long hair. “I need you inside me.”

He lifted himself above her, a fine sheen of sweat coating them both in the candlelight. “Are you sure?”

She gripped him and guided him to her entrance. “Yes, Avery.”

They moaned together as he slid slowly, inexorably home. Leah’s eyes flew open as he began a rhythm that tapped the deepest places within her.

She dug her nails into his hips as he drove into her. His deep breaths, mingled with almost animalistic growls, filled her with a deep sense of pride, want, and something else she couldn’t name.

He looked down at her for a moment, then their mouths connected. Leah took his tongue into her mouth, sucking it in time with his thrusts. His hands cupped her ass, bringing her higher and tighter, forcing his thrusts deeper into her.

“Avery,” she gasped against his mouth.

He buried his head beside hers and continued the rhythm that would either make her come or kill her with desire, and at this point, Leah didn’t really care which. He’d made her feel like a goddess, and now his thick heat lay hard in her channel, so deep she thought he touched her womb.

He reached between them and pressed against her clit.

She bit back her scream as her world exploded. Her inner walls gripped him as she kissed him, hard, trying like hell to make the moment last forever.

This was her man.

This was the one she’d been sent to find.

* * *

His body felt light, almost as if he could float away with no cares at all.

He was still sheathed within her heat. She held him so tightly, arms and legs wrapped around him as if she’d never let him go.

He held her tightly, bracing himself on his forearms so as not to crush her. He never wanted to let her go either.

“As much as I hate to make you move, I think maybe you’d better.” Her voice was thick, slurred against his chest. She pressed a kiss there before he lifted free.

“My apologies,” he said, running a hand down her leg. She was softer than linen, warmer than summertime. And she’d shared herself with him.

Before he could voice any of this, she reached out and traced a particularly deep bruise on his ribs.

“I don’t want to kill the mood, but I need to know.” She looked into his eyes, concern threading her words. “How did you get all these bruises?”

He looked down at his hands, knuckles scarred and callused. She’d shared her all with him. Could he deny her similar intimate knowledge of his own life? He slammed his eyes shut. Even now, after what they’d shared, he could spare her the pain of association with him. If she loved the duke, she’d be safe.

“Before I tell you, I must know.” He gripped her hands fervently. “What are your feelings for the duke?”

Her jaw went slack, her eyes wide.

“I cannot believe those words just came out of your mouth!”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, a flag of golden hair trailing behind her as she went.

“Well, I have a right to know,” he said, rising from the bed as he tried to tamp his anger. “Do you still intend to let him court you?”

She stilled, holding her petticoat in front of her like a shield. “You don’t really know me at all, Avery Russell.” She resumed her dressing, furious.

He had to stop her. He had to tell her. But would she spurn him?

In the end, it would not matter. He could no more have her than he could have the throne of England.

His words hurtled free like a bird escaping a cage. “I fight.”

Her movement ceased again. “What?”

“Pugilistic tournaments. Boxing, if you’d rather.” His palms were suddenly drenched with sweat. It was only when he tried to dry them on his breeches that he realized he was wearing none.

“But why?” She crossed to him, pressing her palm against his chest. “Don’t valets make enough money? Is it for kicks, like a hobby?”

He looked down into her wide blue eyes. Despite her bravado and knowledge of a world so foreign to him, she was really quite innocent of the harsh realities of his life.

“The medicine for my aunt,” he began, but a sharp rap on the door interrupted him.

Leah’s face lit with alarm.

“Behind the bureau,” he mouthed at her, motioning as he grabbed his breeches. “Quickly.”

She flew on silent feet, disappearing as a voice called out with another knock. “Russell?”

He lowered his brows as he opened the door. “Henrietta? Whatever are you doing here?”

She looked past him into the room, greedy eyes searching for something. “I was going to the kitchens for a light. Our fire had gone out.” She turned to him, a knowing smile on her face. “But I heard voices coming from somewheres over here. You wouldn’t know about that, would you, Russell?”

“You must be mistaken,” he said. “You know female maids are not allowed in this part of the house. Now please remove yourself from my chambers.”

Henrietta tried to push past him and enter his room, but he blocked her way with his body.

She delivered the killing blow with innocent aplomb. “I merely wished to greet my dear old friend Ramsey.”

His stomach sank, but he fought to keep his face neutral. “You are incorrect. Do not spread your lies further.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he shut the door in her face.

He fought the urge to slump against it. He must get Miss Ramsey away before Henrietta’s suspicions became convictions. Thomas Prachett was sure to have a spy hidden amongst the Granville House servants. With his ear pressed against the door, he sighed in relief as Henrietta’s footsteps disappeared down the hallway.

He rounded the corner of the bureau. “Leah?”

She had curled up in a tiny ball on the floor. Her hands covered her eyes, and she shook like she’d been beaten.

Heart lit with alarm, he bent low and scooped her into his arms. “What is the matter?”

She pointed with a trembling finger. “Spider.”

Guilt pummeled him straight in the chest. He bore her away as quickly as he could, depositing her on the bed.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered against her hair.

“Can you get rid of the spider first?” Her voice was thin.

Reluctantly, he rose from the bed and returned to the corner she’d been forced to hide in, swallowing her terror as he lied to Henrietta. Not only had he besmirched her name and reputation, he’d forced her to cower like a criminal as her fears overtook her. He was a bastard.

The spider was nowhere to be seen. After a thorough examination, and only a bit more regret at the deception he’d enact on her, he stomped softly on the floorboards.

“Did you get it?”

He nodded as he returned to the bedside. Though he desperately wanted to hold her again, soothe her fears and ease her worries, he knew he could not. He stood over her, looking down as her shivers eased.

This was no life for her. He was a servant, with no home or funds to support her. Every groat he wrenched from his hardscrabble life went directly to his aunt’s upkeep. How could he doom her to a life of wanting? Of domestic servitude, when clearly she was used to a life much more like that she’d enjoyed at Lady Chesterfield’s? And Prachett could not be held at bay forever. Though she hadn’t seemed disgusted at his former occupation, she would be at the dishonesty inherent in his dealings with Prachett. And once she learned that, she would then revile him as everyone else did.

He could not have her. Though the words lanced his heart with their brutality, he knew there was no alternative.

“You must leave. If you are discovered here…”

She sat upright with a cross expression. “Avery, we have to talk about that. Listen, I…”

He pressed a finger to his lips. Footsteps grew louder as they approached.

“Henrietta is returning,” he mouthed. “Be silent.” The hurt in her eyes almost did him in, but he hardened his heart and turned away. After three heavy breaths, he turned back.

She was gone, his window open.

He bolted for the casement and leaned out. She was halfway down the trellis already.

“Leah.” His whisper was rife with the anger he wished he could roar at the thoughtless chit. “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving. Isn’t it obvious?” She let out a small cry as her foot missed its hold, and he fought the urge to leap out after her. The trellis could not hold their combined weight, he was certain.

“Do not be so rash,” he said, gripping the hair atop his head in frustrated fear. “I never meant for you to—”

“I know that, you doofus.” She jumped the last few feet to the earth, stumbling as she righted herself. The roar in his ears quieted somewhat as she glared up at him.

“I don’t want to cause you any problems, but we have to talk. Soon.”

She turned and walked toward the street, her dark cloak quickly hiding her from his worried, watchful gaze.

“The little idiot,” he snarled as he threw his shirt and boots on, throwing open his door and bolting down the stairs after her. “To think she walked alone in the streets and climbed the damned trellis three stories up. I’ve a mind to throttle her.”

But as he threw open the kitchen door and sprinted after her, he knew that while there were many, many things he’d like to do to her, throttling her was not one of them.

Thoughtless, beautiful fool.

Twenty-Three

Leah kept looking over her shoulder all the way back to Lady Chesterfield’s house. She had the odd feeling that someone was following her. But even though she kept watch, she could never see anyone.

It was probably Avery, wishing he could kick her ass for sneaking into his bedroom and nearly getting him caught with his pants down.

It was pure pleasure to kick off her boots and flop into bed with a sigh. She stared at the ceiling, wondering what tonight had meant for Avery. Had it clarified the feelings in his heart the way it had for hers?

She rolled over onto her belly, bunching the pillow beneath her chin. When she was younger, she’d liked nothing better than getting lost in a book, a movie, a video game. When her life was more interesting, like when things with Kevin were heating up, she left her escapist life behind and enjoyed living in reality. But when things had fallen apart, she’d run to those comfortable old friends immediately, drowning herself in the distraction.

Avery was confusing but exciting. Would he get tired of her too? Would he want to come back to the twenty-first century with her? If not, she’d be back to burying herself in her apartment with nothing but Mario and Mr. Darcy for company.

Her dreams swirled with the worries she couldn’t leave behind even in unconsciousness.

* * *

Avery awoke with a sense of foreboding.

With a steadying breath, he rose to his feet and crossed the room. A small square of paper lay innocently by the crack at the bottom of the door. The plain, rough paper crinkled under his hands as he unfolded it. In the moon’s predawn glow, he read it.

Russell,

Your lady friend, or should I say Miss Ram, visited you quite late last night. Terrible things can happen to a young lady on the streets of London after dark.

The Swansdown is set. You know what to do.

Prachett

Avery gripped the note so tightly that the paper ripped.

There was no question of obeying Prachett now. No matter what it cost him. He’d do anything to keep Leah safe.

Even lose his own soul.

* * *

The carriage bounced along, making Lady Chesterfield’s ostrich feathers wave excitedly. Leah sat across from her, glumness hanging over her like Eeyore’s little black raincloud.

It had been almost two weeks since she’d seen Avery. Two freaking weeks. During that time, the duke had been their almost constant companion, showing up at every function she and Lady Chesterfield attended. He’d sat between her and Lady Chesterfield at the theatre, the two of them making The Taming of the Shrew much more about the societal tête–à–tête than it was about the performance. Leah despised people that talked during movies. Plays? Oh, her blood had bubbled like acid that night.

Too bad they hadn’t gotten her subtle hints. She couldn’t have been outright rude, or Lady Chesterfield would have either passed out or killed her, neither of which appealed to Leah.

Garden parties, balls, soirees—he was there for them all. It was probably a good thing, but Leah had a hard time viewing it that way. To hear Lady Chesterfield talk, the rest of the ton had had a much harder time swallowing the Leah-is-the-cousin-of-the-late-baronet story than His Grace had. The Duke of Granville’s attention had gone a long way in convincing the rest of society to accept Leah the way they had. Lady Chesterfield couldn’t be happier. She smiled, she laughed, she flirted with the duke. Leah was beginning to wonder why her patroness wouldn’t admit she was halfway in love with the duke herself. It was obvious to everyone except Lady Chesterfield.

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, placing 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 that 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.

He kissed her deeply, mastering her mouth with sweeps of his tongue. With his free hand, he lifted the fine satin of her skirt. Silk stockings covered her legs, but he knew the fine fabric could not match the beautiful flesh between her legs for softness.

She moaned her passion into his mouth when his hand parted her wet folds. Her thighs fell open, and he settled between them eagerly.

“Avery.” She’d torn her mouth from his, gripping the length of his hair in both hands. “Please, please take me.”

He couldn’t. Not yet.

Releasing her hands, he rose on his knees and lifted her hips to his face.

“Oh God!”

Her cry was muffled by the yards of satin and lace that covered his head. Her taste was as incredible as it had been those weeks ago. He spread her petals wide, licking and sucking every part of her most precious flesh.

Her movements quickened, becoming frantic.

“Avery, please!” Her high, thin plea broke through to him, and he relented.

Entering the well of her body with two fingers, his lips closed on her fluttering, swollen bud.

She screamed.

He held on as the spasms wracked her, coming slower and slower until she stilled. He unearthed himself from her skirts and smiled down at his beautiful, dazed-eyed angel.

“More,” she whispered, holding her arms up to him.

He needed no second invitation.

Falling atop her, he kissed her mouth with all the fervor he’d shown to her tender flesh only moments before. She quickly matched his intensity, gripping his shoulders and moaning as he probed at her entrance.

“Are you ready?”

“God, yes,” she cried.

He plunged into her, high and hard. They cried out together as her warm sheath welcomed him home. Avery trembled as he held his upper body aloft, hips moving instinctively.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered as he thrust. “Leah, oh, Leah.”

Her name was a litany, a prayer that was necessary to his continued life. Her throaty cries quickened his movements as he strained for that peak, for the both of them.

He grew harder within her as her channel grew wetter, more swollen around his length.

She buried her face in his shoulder as her pelvis moved to meet his.

It felt so wondrous, so completely incredible, he wanted it to go on forever.

But then he reached between them to fondle her swollen button. Her explosion took him along with her.

They came together, her body wringing every last drop from his. He shook with the effort of holding himself upright. He must not crush her, but he wanted to remain there, sheathed in her warmth forever.

His world, in that moment, was perfect.

A nearby whinny caused them both to laugh, but it broke the spell of the moment. Reluctantly, Avery rolled to the side and gathered a panting Leah against his chest.

She pressed sweet kisses against his chest. “You’re pretty damn good at this.”

He laughed. “You are exceptionally skilled as well,” he said, toying with a blond curl. “An admirable trait for the woman I love.”

The admission surprised him, but once the words were uttered, he was glad of their release. He did love Leah Ramsey. She was altogether too headstrong and impetuous for her own good, but she was also selfless, caring, and compassionate.

His love could not change their circumstances, but that did not negate its value.

“Oh, Avery,” she whispered, and brought his mouth down to hers.

Their lips had met for the briefest of seconds when the creak of a door sounded.

“Miss Ramsey?” a young maid’s voice called. “Are you here?”

“Hi, Muriel,” Leah called in a shockingly calm voice as she smoothed down her skirts. Avery picked straw from her hair as she continued, “Sorry, I was just playing with some kittens I found in here. Go ahead, I’ll be right up.”

“Are you sure, miss?”

Avery swept Leah into his arms for one last kiss. With a regretful sigh, she pulled free of his arms.

“Here I am.” She left the stable with Muriel, not looking back in his direction.

Once he’d dressed, he picked up her discarded lace fan and tucked it into his coat pocket.

He’d tumbled her in a stable. What a common, lowly beggar he was. But try as he might, he could not regret what had passed between them. He could only resolve to abstain from future lapses.

But that conviction, as he left the empty stable behind, was shaky at best.

Twenty-Five

Leah peered out her bedroom window as unobtrusively as she could. Even though her bedroom overlooked the stables, she never saw Avery leave. He’d probably followed her out, the high-handed, ridiculous, sexy bastard.

Muriel picked pieces of straw out of Leah’s skirts, her scolding comments about young ladies who play with kittens in ball gowns going right over Leah’s head. She was too sodden with afterglow to give a crap about ruining an expensive dress.

Avery loved her. The confession had come in a roundabout way, sure, but he’d said it all the same. In a fog, Leah lifted her arms over her head at Muriel’s command. While enveloped in the column of her beautiful dress, a sudden thought struck her.

She hadn’t told him that she loved him too.

Well, shit.

He had to know that, right? She hadn’t had a chance to say the words, but he had to have gotten the gist of her feelings by the way she jumped him like a bullfrog in heat. Wait. Do bullfrogs go into heat?

Muriel’s yawn startled Leah as her nightgown settled around her.

“I’m sorry, Muriel. I didn’t mean to keep you up so late. Go ahead to bed, okay?” Her swift hug must have startled the maid, because she jumped.

“If you have all you require, then I shall see you in the morning.” Muriel pulled away with a tired smile and headed for the bedroom door.

Leah sank onto the edge of her fluffy, comfortable bed.

Muriel probably had to get up at o’dark-thirty, just like Leah had during her brief stint as a maid. It had to be after two in the morning. While Leah had been wound up in Avery, the poor girl had been stuck waiting for her, probably wishing she could just go to bed.

When had she become such a self-absorbed bitch? After Kevin, she’d thought she learned what it felt like to be used. She’d never thought she might be thoughtlessly using people herself.

Lady Chesterfield and Muriel would both be getting a sincere apology tomorrow, she promised inwardly as she sank into the covers.

And Avery would get his return declaration of love as soon as she saw him again.

She smiled as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Her eyes opened only a brief second later. Sunlight streamed through the window, making her soft peach bedroom glow. She stretched luxuriously, relishing the tenderness of her thighs.

“Avery.” She couldn’t help but say his name aloud. The sound made her feel warm, safe, and loved. What a man she’d found, and she hadn’t had to slay any dragons to do it.

A soft knock on the door drew her into a sitting position.

“Come in.”

Muriel appeared with a tray.

“Good morning, miss. I’ve your chocolate here.”

Leah grinned. “Great. Bring it over.”

Muriel cocked her head curiously as Leah held her hands out for the tray. “You want the tray in bed with you, miss?”

“Hand it here.” Leah set the tray on the foot of the bed and scooted over. “Now here. Sit with me.”

“Oh, miss, I couldn’t.” Muriel shook her head, but an embarrassed smile was beginning to spread across her face. Leah patted the spot next to her.

“Come on, I don’t bite unless you ask.”

Muriel giggled and settled on the edge of the bed next to Leah.

Picking up the cup of chocolate, Leah smiled at the maid. “See? I’m not so scary.” She took a deep whiff of the chocolate in the cup. It smelled like heaven, but she passed it over to the maid anyway.

“Here.”

Alarm crossed Muriel’s face as she took the cup. “But it’s yours, miss. Is it not to your liking? Shall I have the cook make a fresh cup for you?”

Leah grabbed Muriel’s arm to prevent the maid from running to the kitchens and overhauling them to produce the most perfect cup of hot chocolate the world had ever seen. “It’s fine, you goof. But I want you to have it.”

Muriel settled back down as Leah smiled wryly and continued, “I haven’t exactly been the most courteous houseguest. I kept you up way too late last night. You’ve been so wonderful to me the whole time I’ve been here, and I’ve taken you for granted. And believe me, anyone who can empty chamber pots for a living really deserves much more of my gratitude. So thank you.”

Muriel’s head bob nearly spilled the chocolate gripped in her eager hand. “It was my pleasure, miss.”

“Drink up.” Leah’s flop into the pillows wrenched a giggle from the maid. “We can chat and relax for a few minutes before you go attack whatever dust bunnies and dirt devils are on your list for the day. I can even help if you want.”

“It wouldn’t be proper, miss.” Muriel’s eyes closed in bliss as she took a sip of the hot chocolate.

“You haven’t known me too long, but I promise that I can be improper with the best of them.” Leah winked.

They fell quiet for a moment as Muriel sipped the chocolate. A memory sparked in Leah, about a story Jamie had told her.

“Muriel, wasn’t there someone you were interested in? A footman or something?”

The maid’s cheeks went red. Leah hastened to fill the gap.

“Sorry if the question is rude. I just wondered if the two of you were still together.”

Muriel stared down into the cup. “He became a sailor, miss. He’s in the Royal Navy. I’ve not heard from George for nigh on a year now.”

Leah didn’t know what to say, so she rubbed Muriel’s back. “I’m sorry.”

Muriel drained the rest of the chocolate. “Never mind that, miss. When he returns, we’ll wed. I’m sure of it.”

Leah nodded and smiled. “That’s the spirit.”

* * *

Leah didn’t get the chance to make good on her offer of housecleaning assistance, because Lady Chesterfield called for her only half an hour later. Muriel helped her dress, and Leah descended the stairs feeling a little more at peace with the world.

Only one more apology to go through, then she’d start focusing on the future. Rounding the bottom of the staircase, she laughed to herself. How would Avery take to life in the twenty-first century? The thought of him on a motorcycle was definitely appealing. As was the thought of him in full armor as he jousted at the Renaissance Faire. For that matter, she couldn’t think of a situation that he wouldn’t be sexier than Magic Mike to her.

“Good morning,” she greeted Lady Chesterfield with a smile. The lady was seated at the head of the dining room table, a plate of breakfast in front of her. She nodded to Leah, her smile unusually subdued. For that matter, she was only wearing a few feathers in her hair today. A frown wrinkled Leah’s brow as she helped herself to the breakfast spread on the sideboard and took her seat at Lady Chesterfield’s side. Something was clearly bothering her patroness, and Leah had more than a sneaking suspicion that it was probably her own fault.

“Are you feeling okay, Lady Chesterfield?”

The older woman cleared her throat. “I am well enough, my dear. But when I woke this morning, Graves informed me that a missive came for you.” She picked up a folded paper that Leah hadn’t noticed before. “It is from the dowager Duchess of Granville. Naturally, as your guardian and chaperone, I read it.”

“Naturally,” Leah agreed drily. Privacy was a luxury she hadn’t realized she’d miss so much.

“Her Grace has decided that you are entirely unsuitable for marriage to her son.” A little tear formed in the corner of Lady Chesterfield’s eye. “Oh dear Leah, whatever can you have said to give rise to this opinion? I only hope you have not lost your chances with him.”

Leah’s fork clattered to the table. “I’m so sorry, Lady Chesterfield. But listen. The duke isn’t really interested in me at all, he wants—”

“Never mind that, my dear. We may yet have a chance to set things right. I shall ask dearest Granville to accompany us to Ranelagh Garden in two days.” Lady Chesterfield’s eyes glowed. “You shall apologize for whatever it is you have done to anger the dowager. I am certain that in such a romantic setting, dear Granville must come up to scratch, no matter what the dowager feels.” With that, Lady Chesterfield patted her feathers. A self-satisfied smile spread across her face.

“No, I don’t think you understand. I don’t love the duke.”

Lady Chesterfield stared at her, brows climbing in question. “But of course you do not, my dear. Love is what occurs between a husband and wife after many years of marriage. You will come to love him.”

Her chair scraped back and she stood to go. She gave a little pat to Leah’s cheek. “Your world of the future must be quite different from this. But you must trust me, dear. I know how you are to go about things in this society. I’ll not lead you astray.” She turned to leave, but before she reached the door, she looked over her shoulder at Leah.

“My dear, I shall never forgive myself if you do not marry advantageously. You are too precious to squander yourself on anything less than a peer of the realm.” She disappeared through the door, leaving Leah’s jaw hanging open. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite convince it to shut.

So much for her apology. So much for laying things out on the line, thanking Lady Chesterfield for her kindness but firmly stating her feelings for Avery. So much for planning her exit ASAP.

She munched on a piece of bacon dejectedly. It appeared that she had another couple of days to figure out exactly how to get Lady Chesterfield to realize that she was perfect for Granville, not Leah.

Why hadn’t she stayed home and started collecting cats or something?

Twenty-Six

He’d never been a dreamer. Though his realities were not always pleasant, they were better than being caught unawares. His beliefs had not changed, but his dreams were much stronger than they’d ever been in the two days since he’d seen her last.

Several times, he’d shaken himself to regain control of his mind from the memories that replayed through it over and over. Leah smiling up at him, straw in her hair and laughter in her eyes. Leah’s kisses, passionate and fervent. Leah sinking to her knees…

He dropped the brush he’d been using on His Grace’s coat. The clatter of the heavy object on the polished floors brought some clarity to his foggy mind. Scowling, he picked up the brush and resumed his brushing on the sleeve of the duke’s fine, blue coat. He must hurry and finish his duties so that he could watch out for her.

That night in the stable had not changed his station, nor had it magically gifted him with the means to support a wife. He’d revealed his feelings to her, but he should not have. She had come to land a husband, not ensnare herself with a boxing valet, his bedridden aunt, and a puppet master named Prachett.

Avery’s strings would be jerked again on the morrow. He was to face Emersen in the Jackford. Their match was sure to be the biggest draw in years. The underdog, Russell the bruiser, against the as-yet-undefeated Emersen? With Prachett’s careful planning, the odds were stacked against Avery. If he were to win, Prachett and his cronies stood to make thousands of pounds.

“Bloody fool,” he hissed under his breath. He was an idiot for forgetting reality for that night in the stables—and for nearly every minute since then.

The door opened behind him.

“Your Grace.” He turned and bowed without looking up. “You have returned early. Is everything well?”

Instead of his employer’s gray-haired form, Prachett stood in front of him. A self-satisfied smile crossed his face, an expression so unpleasant that it tensed Avery’s spine.

“What are you doing here?” Avery nearly spat the words, clenching his fists at his sides. “How did you get in?”

* * *

Ranelagh Garden wasn’t at all what Leah had expected. She and Lady Chesterfield arrived and were shown to His Grace’s private table in the Rotunda. An orchestra played somewhere nearby, their soft refrains a sharp counterpoint to the boisterous crowd around them. Lords and ladies of the ton filled the Rotunda, but more normal people were scattered along the various paths through the garden.

“Are we early?” Leah wasn’t sure why she was bothering to talk to Lady Chesterfield. The woman hadn’t bothered to listen to a word Leah said for the last two days. She’d tried to reason with her. She’d yelled; she’d even mustered up a tear or two. But nothing she said could convince her patroness that she wasn’t, and never would be, in love with the Duke of Granville.

“Oh pish-posh,” Lady Chesterfield said. “You look ravishing.”

Yup. She didn’t hear a word.

Leah lowered into her chair carefully. She didn’t want to crush the silver gown that Muriel had taken such care stuffing her into like a Thanksgiving turkey. Lady Chesterfield started babbling about the fireworks that would happen later, but Leah didn’t really pay attention. She kept scanning the crowd for a familiar handsome face, one that didn’t belong to a duke.

Of course, why should she expect Avery to show up tonight? This place was huge. It wasn’t like he could hang out by a window and keep an eye on her. She tried to get mad about the high-handed way he’d been watching her, but she couldn’t. He made her feel safe and loved.

And honestly, what more could she want out of life?

“Miss Ram, here he is. Good evening, dear Granville.” Lady Chesterfield’s excited curtsy nearly pitched her forward into the duke’s thighs. Fortunately, she righted herself without toppling, the green feathers of her bodice trembling as she fluttered her fan coyly.

“Thank you for coming. Our Miss Ram has been beside herself with joy since you agreed to meet us here.”

Though Leah’s Bullshit! went unsaid, she hoped it was clear in the intense height of her eyebrows. If anybody was thrilled, it was clearly Lady Chesterfield.

“It was my pleasure, indeed.” The duke smiled and offered his arm to Lady Chesterfield. “Should you care to take a turn about the gardens?”

“Oh, I cannot,” Lady Chesterfield said with all the sincerity of a zombie pledging to give up eating brains. “But do take dear Miss Ram for a turn.”

* * *

Prachett ignored the question, pulling off his gloves one finger at a time. “Do you know why I picked you, Russell? Out of all the boxers, do you know why I selected you as the man to beat Emersen?”

Avery stood rigid, mind ticking quickly. There was no such thing as a simple query from a man like Prachett. Every word he spoke was calculated, designed to give him the upper hand. But why would he risk so much as to enter a duke’s household? His Grace would not return until late this evening. Avery had been about to leave himself, in order to watch out for Leah.

“I do not.” Avery ground out the words. “But I have done as you’ve asked. The last two fights were lost on your demand, so you can have no quarrel with me.”

“I chose you, dear Russell, because you’ve forgotten.” Prachett ran a finger along the duke’s bedside table, lifting a heavy brass candlestick lovingly before replacing it. “To think that you, a vicar’s brat, fight barefisted in the mills like the very hounds of hell are nipping at your heels. Though you left us, you still belong to us. And to see you like this?” Prachett gestured at Avery’s solemn clothing, perfectly respectable for a servant of his rank. “You forget who you are.”

“I know who I am. But you are trespassing, and you must go. Now, Prachett.” Avery set his jaw firmly as he gathered the discarded cane and coat. The conversation was turning into a dangerous one, and he must keep his wits about him. “His Grace will return at any moment.”

* * *

Leah reluctantly stood and took the duke’s arm.

“We’ll be right back,” she promised Lady Chesterfield.

“Do take your time, and enjoy the air.” The older woman simpered as she looked up at the duke. “His Grace will ensure your well-being.” She fluttered her lashes like a preteen at a boy band poster.

Leah’s teeth hurt, she clamped them together so hard.

She didn’t waste any time. Once they’d exited the Rotunda and found their way onto a dimly lit path, she spoke.

“I’m really sorry about this. I’ve tried to tell her that you’re not really interested in me, but she’s not having any of it.” Leah kicked a leaf off the gravel pathway. “She’s like a damn dog with a bone.”

“Amelia is quite determined.” Granville patted Leah’s hand on his arm. “She does want the best for you.”

“I know.” Leah sighed. “But her idea of the best and mine aren’t really even on the same planet.”

Granville smiled as the orchestra grew fainter behind them. “Her tenacity is one of her most admirable traits.”

Leah couldn’t stand the lovelorn look on the duke’s face. “Listen. Why don’t you go back there? Have some time alone with her, and tell her how you feel.”

“I should not leave you alone.” Granville looked back longingly.

“I’ll be fine.” Leah laughed. “Go. Seriously. I’ll stay on the path right by the box.”

“I should not. It is not safe for a young girl.”

“I’m older than I look,” Leah grated. “For crap’s sake, go talk to the woman.”

She nearly had to shove him into the box, but the delighted sound of Lady Chesterfield’s voice assured her that she’d done the right thing.

Dragging in a deep breath, Leah smiled at her surroundings. Here she stood, in nineteenth-century England, in one of the famous pleasure gardens. She was dressed like a princess. All she had to do now was find her valet.

Picking a path at random, she whistled as she walked. It was a beautiful night, and her man was here somewhere. She knew it.

* * *

“Tell me,” Prachett said, ignoring Avery, “what do the other servants think of Russell the bruiser?”

“That is not any of your concern.”

“Ah.” Prachett stood tall as he towered over Avery, his thin chest heaving and his eyes glowing with a strange light. “I see. And your Miss Ramsey. What is her opinion?”

The words were soft, but the threat therein was unmistakable—as was the knife that was suddenly pressed against his ribs.

“Stay away from her.” Avery growled the words as he planned his move. He could disarm Prachett if he stepped into him, threw his elbow, and…

Three of Prachett’s men entered through the duke’s dressing chamber.

Prachett stretched out a finger and drew it across the valet’s throat, pausing for a moment over the pulsing vein there. Avery fought the urge to swallow and kept his gaze locked firmly ahead. Blast and damn.

“You’ll face Emersen tomorrow, lad.” Prachett leaned close, whispering the words in his ear. “And do you know to what lengths I shall go to ensure your victory?”

Avery kept the image of her locked in the forefront of his mind, abandoning all attempts at pretending she did not matter to him. Leah. His angel. The only bit of heaven he’d see in this life or the next, he was certain.

“Your lady is in my keeping. If you lose tomorrow, she will die.” Prachett’s words may as well have been a bullet, for they shot Avery straight in the heart.

* * *

The gravel crunched beneath her slippers. She shivered, rubbing her arms briskly. The night had turned chilly.

“Avery?” she called him in a quiet voice. “Are you there?”

She’d probably gone too far. The strains of the orchestra and laughter of the partygoers was hard to hear now. She’d passed the last lamppost a few minutes ago. Reluctantly, she turned to go back.

A twig snapped close by.

“Avery?”

Something went over her head, and she dropped into fight mode without hesitation. Her elbow connected with soft flesh, probably someone’s belly. She kicked viciously, but her toes bent backward as she hit someone’s shin. Pain arced through her foot. Stupid flimsy slippers. That kick had hurt her more than her attacker. Her struggles were ineffective as the sack tightened around her. Before she knew what was going on, she’d been tied up and was being toted like a Christmas tree atop a Bronco.

Her screams for help were just warming up when a blow landed on her skull and everything went dark.

* * *

Avery’s knuckles had gone numb nearly an hour before. That didn’t stop him. Keenly aware of Prachett’s presence on the other side of the cottage door, he kept up his movements. Every blow, in his mind’s eye, landed straight in the man’s face.

How dare the bastard go after Leah? How dare he use her for his own gain? Avery grunted as he gave the sand bag a body blow.

And is that any different from what you’ve done to her?

“I love her.” His words were lost in the sound of the ropes overhead creaking wildly as the bag swung.

He loved her, but he could not protect her. Gripping the bag, he rested his head against it, his breaths coming quick and heavy.

Prachett had her. If Avery lost to Emersen in the morning, he’d kill her. Steel lined Avery’s backbone as he stood. He could not let that happen.

Damning the consequences, he pulled his shirt over his sweat-dampened skin. Prachett and his men had brought him here to fight, and so he would. He would fight, and he would win, no matter the cost. His body would suffer, but that did not matter.

Leah mattered.

He lay on the narrow straw mattress and stared at the ceiling. Though he wanted nothing more than to break through the door and go to find her, he knew that would only cause her more harm.

He’d play this game to win, and once he had her safe, he would break the men who’d dared lay a hand on her, bone by bloody bone. And Prachett? Prachett he would kill.

* * *

Sounds swirled around Leah, penetrating the painful haze that surrounded her brain. She groaned and tried her best to put her hand against her aching head. It felt like she’d drunk about three cases of beer and then had a Dance Dance Revolution competition. She hurt everywhere, and dammit, why couldn’t she move her hands?

Oh. She was still trussed in some kind of burlap sack. Lovely.

“Help!” Her scream was only half the volume she’d intended, because the sound of her own voice echoed through her skull with a ricocheting pain.

“The liddle bird’s awake.” A rough male voice with a coarse accent came from somewhere above her. She scowled in the darkness of her cloth prison. Of course the shitheads were still there. She’d be smart about this and be quiet and obedient until they untied her. Then she’d go all Kill Bill on their asses.

Leah bit her lip and moaned as another pain speared her head. What had they hit her with, a freaking bat?

“Oy, darlin’, you can’t be comfortable like that. Let me ’elp.”

Her gorge rose as a broad, sweaty hand rubbed up her calf to rest behind her knee. This wasn’t happening. There was no way she was tied up and helpless. Nothing bad would happen to her.

Even though she tried her damnedest to block out the reality, the touch on her leg became more and more insistent. She pulled away, but her bonds made moving more than an inch or two nearly impossible.

Another voice joined the first, and then Leah knew real fear.

“Untie ’er, then we can ’ave us a lark.” The sour smell of cheap alcohol drifted through the weave of the bag, and Leah coughed. Drips of the stuff trickled down her nose and chin.

“You bloomin’ idiot, don’t lose all me brandy!”

“The chit was thirsty,” the second man laughed. “Untie ’er legs, at least. I’ve a mind to get between ’em.”

Leah gagged.

The hand drifted down to her ankles, and the first rope loosened. She fought the urge to stretch, to help restore the circulation in her feet. She had to keep still until they untied her more. Her chances wouldn’t be good then, but they’d be a helluva lot better than they were at the moment.

The knot on the next rope must have been tangled, because it took them several moments to loosen it. Leah used the time to think.

What had happened to Lady Chesterfield and the duke? She should be really pissed at herself for wandering down that dark path in the garden, but right then, all she could think about was getting out of there and seeing Avery again. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as pain needled the bottoms of her feet. The circulation’s painful restoration opened the floodgates, and her silent tears quickly changed to sobs.

She’d fucked this up. All of it. From the minute she’d fallen through that mirror, she’d been determined to go about things her way. And she’d been wrong every fucking time. When was she going to learn to think before she tossed herself face-first into everything? Life wasn’t a storybook adventure, and bad shit happened. Pretending otherwise hadn’t done her any favors.

The rope knotted at her knees finally loosened. Panic welled in Leah’s throat, and even though her feet and legs still prickled with the pain of the fresh blood flow, she kicked out as hard as she could. She could cry later. She had to live now.

Her heels connected with someone’s face. The sharp crack of the blow made her smile.

“You goddamn bitch.” Something hit the floor. She hoped it was a mouthful of his teeth. Bastard.

A blow glanced off her shoulder, and she jerked in pain. She didn’t regret her rebellion, though. She’d do it again. She wouldn’t stop as long as there was breath in her body.

Four hands rubbed along her legs as she kicked out. They gripped around her ankles, stilling her motions. Panic sped her heart and she thrashed as hard as she could. But there were two of them, and only one of her. It didn’t look good.

“What are ye doin’?” An angry voice with a Scottish sounding accent rang through the room. It was kind of familiar, but where had she heard it before? The grip on her legs disappeared, and she clamped her thighs together as tightly as she could.

“Havin’ a bit of fun, s’all,” the first man mumbled. The second man’s reply was garbled, sort of far away. Leah strained to understand it, but the bag muffled her perception.

The conversation continued on the other side of the room, and Leah huffed her frustration to cover her fear. She’d rather be pissed than scared. After her one lapse into desperate sobs, she wasn’t interested in trying that again.

A few minutes later, a door slammed shut and silence reigned. Relief soaked through her. Inwardly thanking the weirdly familiar Scotsman, she pulled at her bonds. They held fast.

Time dragged along like a two-legged dog. The tingling in her feet and legs abated finally. The alcohol dried on her face. The sharp ache in her head reduced itself to a dull throb centered just above her left ear. She was hungry. She had to pee. The hope that someone had followed them to wherever the hell they were dissipated as the minutes—hours? days?—passed.

She had a lot of time to think, and she used it. She thought of Muriel and Lady Chesterfield and their many kindnesses to her. She thought of Jamie and Ella back home, and wished she could give them big hugs and giggle at Monty Python movies again. She thought of Pawpaw, and the tears flowed fast and freely. Would she ever see him again? Would she ever be able to tell him about Avery?

And the valet who’d chased her down and stolen her heart? She thought of him most of all.

If she survived this, the first thing she’d do was tell him she loved him. It couldn’t wait another second. He had to know that he meant everything to her.

Twenty-Seven

The next day dawned grim and gray, like Avery’s mood. He rose early, energy humming through his muscles. The sooner he beat Emersen, the sooner he could rescue Leah.

Leah.

She was in danger because of him.

His anger simmered just below the surface, fueling the fire in his muscles as he stretched in the ring. Prachett’s men, including one Lachlan Mackenzie, stable master to the Duke of Granville, milled nearby. Avery gave Mackenzie a dark smile. He knew where the betrayal had come from now and would recompense him accordingly once Leah was safe again.

The crowds came. Fine lords and ladies, common laborers, the young, the old—they filled in the gaps at the sides of the square, elbowing and crowding to get closer to see the bouts. The first match lasted nearly two hours. Cribb and Gulley pounded one another until the blood flowed like wine. Cribb was the victor, when Gulley lay in the dust and did not rise.

All during the long match, Avery kept a watchful eye on his jailers, waiting for an opening. One never came. He’d have to fight his way out through his opponent.

“Emersen’s a tough ’un,” Jenks said as Gulley’s men cleared the unconscious man from the ring. “His guard is high, and he’s lightnin’ quick. Best to hit him low and often if you’re to have a chance, lad.”

“Aye, and mind your feet. Be light and fast, he’s no’ used to that,” Tarley chimed in. “Won’t be easy, but you can win if you pull your head from your arse.”

Avery took the jibe without comment. Jenks and Tarley didn’t know about Prachett’s manipulation of both Avery and the matches. They only knew that Avery had lost two matches he could have easily won.

“I will do my best. You have my word.”

Avery stepped into the ring to the hisses and jeers of the crowd. Emersen was the clear favorite. That was what Prachett counted on.

Avery stood at the line and nodded to his opponent. Emersen, a ruddy beast of a man, stood over six feet tall. He towered over Avery, thicker, stronger, in every way his superior.

Avery widened his stance and raised his fists. There was no force on earth that could stand between him and Leah. Not even this beast of a man.

They came together like two leviathans, with a crash. The noise was deafening as the crowd cheered at every landed blow.

Bruises and blood, fists and grunts flew as they pummeled each other. Round for round, blow for blow, they were as perfectly matched as any pair of combatants could be. As the hours dragged on, and the warriors slowed, only one thought kept Avery moving.

Leah was in danger, and it was his fault.

This man kept him from rescuing her.

In the twenty-third round, with Avery’s vision clouded by blood, his fists swollen, cut, and aching, bones broken and head spinning, he saw his opening. A quick stumble, a simple misstep, and Avery laid into Emersen without mercy. Right and left, over and over, he let his rage pour through his fists.

The crowd went silent as Avery stood. Emersen moaned but did not rise.

The victor did not waste a moment on the loser. He only had eyes for one man, the man standing in the corner of the ring, gloating at his victory.

Prachett.

The distance between them melted away as if it were nothing. Avery grasped Prachett’s coat, shaking the man as if he were a dog with a bone.

“Where is she?”

Prachett coughed, clawing at Avery’s hands. “Let me go.”

Avery lowered Prachett to the ground, but he did not release him. “Damn you, you perfidious cheat, where is she? I lost the matches as you told me, and won this one, now I’ll have her back.”

Murmurs ran through the crowd.

“Cheat?”

“Wot did he say?”

“He lost purposefully?”

A shrill voice penetrated the fog of anger surrounding Avery. “Thomas Prachett has been manipulating the fights for his own gain!”

The crowd surged around them, carrying Prachett away from Avery in a tide of outrage.

“Where is she, Prachett? Damn you, answer me!”

There were too many people between them. He cast about for another answer.

Prachett’s men had scattered, unwilling to be caught with their master now that the scheme had failed. But one was not as fast as the others.

“Mackenzie.” Avery caught the stable master by the neck. “You will tell me what I need to know, and you will tell me now.”

* * *

Shouts woke her, though she hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep. Angry male voices—it was hard to tell how many—arguing and cursing one another. The sharp crack of gunfire made her jump, and she struggled to sit up. Her body groaned and protested, but she managed to prop herself against a wall. She pushed against the wall with her bound hands behind her and struggled to her feet.

Damn it, if only she could freaking see! She could run while they were distracted if she just had a peephole. But while the weave of the bag was loose enough to allow oxygen to flow to her, it wasn’t large enough in the dim room to give her a clear line of vision.

She had to do something. She was tired of lying here and waiting for someone to either kill her or rape her.

Her scream was so loud it nearly pierced her own eardrums. She stumbled but pressed back against the wall to steady herself. Let them ignore that if they could.

* * *

Avery was nearly out of his head with worry by the time he located the secluded hovel in the woods that Mackenzie had confessed was Leah’s prison. His horse had pulled up lame, and he’d had the devil of a time finding another. She’d been in their custody for nearly a full day. Anything could have happened to her. How could he know the brigands Prachett had hired would leave her unharmed?

Blackhearted devils. If they’d hurt her, he’d kill them all with his bare hands. Gladly.

He circled the area, making the best of the fading daylight. There were no lookouts posted. Of course, Prachett knew that Miss Ramsey was not really of the ton and therefore had no powerful allies to come to her aid.

Cold rage had replaced the angry passion of the morning, and Avery was glad of it. He could examine the situation much more clearly and rescue her that much sooner.

The mare picked her way over a thin stream, and Avery dismounted once they’d reached the other side. He tightened the makeshift bandage on his forearm, wincing as pain blossomed. There was very likely a broken bone, but he had no time to tend to it. There would be time enough once Leah was safe.

The reins rasped softly against the branch of a young willow as he tied them. With a whisper of gratitude to the black mare, he crept through the twilight woods toward the cabin. He moved swiftly and silently, taking care to step on damp earth. Bodies milled by the door of the cabin, and he crouched to better count his opponents.

He’d only counted four of them when angry shouts echoed through the woods and a shot rang out. Leah’s bloodcurdling scream pierced his heart.

His feet pounded against the earth as he bolted for the cabin. Had she been shot? Oh God, had he come so close only to lose her like this?

The duke’s voice ground him to a halt at the last ring of trees before the building. “Oh my darling, are you harmed?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Her voice rang clear, though her tone was thin.

Leah. Avery sank to his knees in relief at the sound of her voice. She was whole. A strange sensation pricked at his eyes, but he rubbed it away. He staggered to his feet, ignoring the nerveless feeling in his legs. He must go to her. He must assure himself that she was unharmed.

He rushed past the duke’s carriage but pulled up short at the sight inside.

His Grace’s arms were around Leah, locked in a passionate embrace. Her beautiful lashes dusted her cheeks as her arms were wrapped around his neck in the picture of perfect pleasure.

Avery’s heart crumbled to dust in that moment.

He waited for a breath or two, hoping, praying that the vision was false. When the duke murmured to her softly, Avery slammed his eyes shut and staggered backward.

She hadn’t stopped him.

He turned and strode for the horse, ignoring the looks of the men who milled around the front of the cabin.

He’d been too late. Much, much too late.

The sight of their embrace seared itself into his brain, a throbbing reminder of what he’d lost. A dark laugh escaped him as he freed the black mare from the willow. Had he expected Leah to throw over a duke for the love of a valet? A poor man with no home, no coin, and a past that put her in mortal danger?

He’d been so stupid. So very stupid.

* * *

The journey back to London was a long and lonely one. Along the way, he recounted each and every one of his sins in the past few months. The list lasted him until he reached the outskirts of Town, and even then he was certain he’d forgotten a few.

He must return to Granville House and claim his meager possessions. Then find employment somewhere. He was certain he’d get no reference from His Grace after the way he’d declared his participation in Prachett’s scandal. The lack would make things more difficult, to be sure, but he’d as soon never speak to His Grace again after the embrace he’d witnessed. The man had rescued Leah when he had not, and that made him a better mate. She deserved nothing less than a duke.

Avery slammed his eyes shut as the pain locked its grip about his heart again.

“Leah, why?”

The whispered question was unanswered, as he’d expected. A man such as he did not deserve answers.

He’d failed her. He’d allowed her to come to harm. How could he blame her for choosing the duke?

He dismounted at Granville House’s stables, rubbing down his horse and returning the tack to its proper place. The young stable lad eyed him curiously but kept his distance.

His steps were leaden as he moved toward the house. He could not remain at Granville House with Leah as its mistress. Though his sins were many, and his punishment justly deserved, that was a pain he could not endure.

The chatter in the servants’ hall died as he entered the room. Scents of boiled mutton and cabbage greeted his nostrils, but he paid no heed to the growling in his belly. He could not stomach any more derision from his fellow servants, even to satisfy his hunger. With a polite nod to the gaping maids and dumbfounded footmen, he walked toward the stairs.

“Russell.”

Smythe’s voice stopped him. Avery shut his eyes but did not turn.

“Yes?”

A chair scraped back and a gentle, fatherly hand lay on Avery’s shoulder. “Sit. Eat. You must be weary.”

Avery waited a heartbeat for a blow to fall. It didn’t. “May I ask why?”

The hand disappeared, but Smythe did not. The man’s voice was gentle as he spoke. “Mackenzie left not long ago, raving about Prachett, the mills, and your involvement. We had assumed the worst about you, and Mackenzie fostered that bad opinion. We’ve wronged you, my lad, and we would make it right.”

The kindness nearly felled him. He took a deep breath and faced Smythe.

“I thank you, sir.”

Smythe held his chair out for him. Mrs. Harper brought a wet cloth for him to wipe his hands and face, and Cook served him a double portion of mutton. Teresa promised to tend to his wounds once he’d finished his meal, and Henrietta looked at him as if he were an avenging warrior returning home.

The delicious food was tinged with both acceptance and bitterness.

He’d found his place only to have to leave it behind.

Twenty-Eight

Leah was limp. There was no strength left in her body. It had all been wrenched away by a euphoric glee that stemmed from not being tied up and smothered by a burlap bag anymore. When the duke had removed that barrier between her and the world, she’d been so overcome that she’d hugged him.

He’d patted her back, comforting her. He really was a good man.

“Thank you so much for saving me,” she said. “I don’t know why they took me, but I’m so grateful you came.”

“It is my fault, dearest Miss Ram.” He patted her hand. “I should never have allowed you to wander the paths alone. It was foolishness.”

“Yeah, it was pretty stupid of me.” She rubbed at her wrists, taking in her surroundings. “Granville, what men do you have with you?”

His brows arched curiously, but he answered, “My driver, the tiger, and two footmen.”

She couldn’t help but be disappointed. Where the hell was Avery? “I’m sorry, I’m feeling a little faint. Can you take me back to Lady Chesterfield’s?”

“Of course,” Granville said tenderly, and snapped his fingers. A man leaped forward and fetched the carriage, which had been parked just out of sight.

Granville handed her into the carriage, and she settled herself on the plush seat. As soon as the conveyance rumbled to a start, she lay her head back against the cushions.

This wasn’t right. None of this was right. Why had those guys taken her? She didn’t have anything they could want.

Avery’s absence wasn’t the only thing that smelled funny. That Scottish accent had been really familiar. She frowned. Wasn’t the stable master Scottish? The one that had tried to get fresh with her that time?

Mackenzie—that was his name. Could his have been the voice that had stopped the jerks from violating her? On the one hand, she was really grateful he’d stopped them. But on the other, what was he doing there at all?

The carriage’s sudden stop scared the crap out of her. She jumped, clutching at her thundering heart to keep it from leaping out of her chest. Sunlight streamed through the carriage windows.

Oh. She’d been asleep.

“Why have we arrived at Granville Place?” The duke’s expression was cross as he called up to the driver.

“My apologies, Your Grace. I had thought…”

“We must return Miss Ram to Lady Chesterfield’s.” Granville turned back to Leah. “I do apologize, my dear. However, since we’ve arrived at my home, is there anything that you require?”

Leah shook her head quickly. “No, thank you, Granville. I need to get back to Lady Chesterfield. I’m sure she’s really worried.”

Granville nodded. “Of course. But allow me to fetch a horse for the return journey. I must go and speak with the magistrate as soon as possible regarding this matter. Those responsible will be punished.”

“O…kay.” He had descended the carriage before she could get the whole word out.

She watched as he entered the house. A glimpse down the street caught an unexpected sight.

Avery, wearing a coat and hat and bearing a leather bag similar to the one he’d given her, was walking away from Granville House.

She’d hit the pavement before her brain caught up. Hauling her wrinkled and dirty skirts up, she took off running toward him.

“Avery,” she called, heart pounding with more than exertion. She hadn’t realized how desperate she was to see him. He was her sanity in this freaking crazy world. “Avery, wait!”

He didn’t turn, only walked more quickly away from her.

“Oh, the hell you are,” she snarled and put on a burst of speed. She caught him as he rounded the corner, grabbing his arm and pulling until he stopped.

“What is wrong with you? Didn’t you hear me?”

He didn’t look her in the eyes, just kept staring straight ahead.

“My apologies, Miss Ramsey.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Her heart thumped even louder now. Something was wrong—horribly, horribly wrong.

“That is none of your concern.” His soft reply pierced her through.

She stared up into his face, trying to understand what was going on. But no matter how she framed it, it didn’t make any sense.

“You owe me an explanation.”

He laughed bitterly. “I have done enough to you. You have made your decision, and I was a fool to ever think otherwise. I wish you a wonderful marriage.”

He bowed curtly and walked away before she had a chance to form a reply.

“Avery,” she whispered. No, no, no! What was she doing? How could she let him walk away?

She picked up her skirts to run after him again. “Avery!”

Her shout was drowned out by the hoof beats of an approaching horse. She glanced over her shoulder, and the sight brought her to a halt.

The carriage and the duke were there behind her. “Come, my dear. Amelia is beside herself with worry.”

With a reluctant glance toward Avery, Leah allowed the duke to help her into the carriage.

* * *

Lady Chesterfield clucked like the chicken she’d probably murdered to have such a fluffy feathered gown. The duke left after entrusting Leah to her doting chaperone’s care, promising to call on them tomorrow.

“I have never been so worried in all my days, dear Leah. Are you harmed in any way?” Genuine concern threaded the woman’s words.

“I’m fine.” Leah sniffed. “I’m just tired. Do you mind if I have a bath and go to bed?”

Lady Chesterfield’s pudgy hand patted Leah’s cheek. “Of course, my dear. But I must say how dashing the duke appeared carrying you into the house!”

“Yup. Totes dashing.” Leah’s dry tone sailed right over Lady Chesterfield’s head.

Leah trudged up the stairs, looking forward to no less than thirty-six hours of total oblivion. And then she’d figure out how the crap to get back into Granville House and activate the mirror to get her home.

Man, she was going to need weeks of therapy to get over this so-called adventure.

Hushed voices from inside Leah’s bedroom piqued her interest. She slowed, reaching for the door handle but hesitating as she tried to place the voices inside.

Muriel was there, but that other voice…so familiar…

“Ella!” Leah threw open the door and hugged her friend tightly. “Oh my God, I am so incredibly happy to see you.”

Ella pulled away long before Leah was ready to let her go. But then Leah saw her face. Her cheeks were tear-stained, her eyes red. Ella wasn’t a crier. Something was up.

Leah’s chest tightened to a near-unbearable level. “What’s wrong?”

She knew it before the words left Ella’s mouth.

“It’s your grandfather. He’s bad, Leah. It was a heart attack, and they don’t think he’s going to last much longer.”

And with that, Leah crumbled inside. The last reserves of strength that had held her upright, had dared her to believe that she and Avery would reconcile, that she could take him home and they’d be happy and Pawpaw would feel better and not have to worry about her, melted away. The world shimmered, and she stumbled.

Ella grabbed her shoulders and looked into Leah’s face. “Come on, don’t do this. He needs you to be strong.”

“How?” Leah whispered, tears already burning her cheeks. “How can I be without them both?”

Ella shook her head, confused. “I’m sorry, sweetie. We have to get back to the mirror as soon as we can. Mrs. Knightsbridge is having trouble keying into the right times now, and if we don’t hurry, we might end up in ancient Egypt or something.” Ella pressed her forehead to Leah’s. “Come on. Keep it together for me, okay?”

Leah nodded numbly. Ella and Muriel flew around the room, making preparations for their hasty departure.

How had things gotten so bad?

* * *

Avery’s heart, which had hardened over his last night in Granville House, had grown cracks since he’d seen her again. Even on the duke’s arm, she’d still been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She made him want to believe he was wrong about what he’d seen.

His stride shortened, and he stopped. Tilting his chin skyward, he searched the beautiful blue sky for answers.

There were none.

A nearby park beckoned, offering sanctuary from the crowded street. Avery sank onto a bench not far from the entrance.

He had bungled things. All of them. He’d not been there for her when she’d needed him. He’d not protected her from that blackguard Prachett. And now he was running away like a beaten dog with its tail between its legs.

Anger stirred in his belly.

How could he be such a coward? How could he abandon her with no word of apology? He loved her, damn it! He loved her and he’d fought for her. He loved her and he’d take revenge on the man who’d dared lay a hand on her.

He shoved himself to his feet and took off for Granville House at a dead run. The duke would help him. He must help him. If he felt even half of what Avery did for Leah, then he’d tear hell apart with his bare hands to get revenge on Prachett.

The meek valet had disappeared, but Prachett had finally woken the sleeping monster that had lain dormant within Avery for so long.

Twenty-Nine

Smythe answered Avery’s knock on the area door.

“Russell.” A smile stretched the butler’s lips. “You’ve returned?”

“Only for a moment, Smythe.” Avery set his bag down by the door and removed his coat. “I must speak with His Grace. Is he at home?”

Smythe shook his head. “No, he has not yet returned from Lady Chesterfield’s home. I have not yet informed him of your decision to leave us.”

“Thank you, Smythe. I will speak with him myself.” Avery mounted the stairs.

The door to His Grace’s bedchamber squeaked softly as it opened. Avery stepped inside, his spine straight and his heartbeat steady. He wasn’t surprised to see Prachett rise from a seat by the fireside.

“You have ruined everything,” Prachett said in a surprisingly calm voice.

Avery prowled closer to him, his knuckles tingling with the need to plow themselves into the man’s jaw. “You deserve to be ruined. How dare you lay a finger on her?”

The rage rushed over Avery, and this time he relished the power it brought. He leaped onto Prachett’s back, bringing the thin man to the ground with little effort. His fist connected with the man’s head. He pulled free as Prachett rolled to his back, snarling.

Avery ducked as Prachett threw a punch of his own. From his lower position, Avery shot forward, his shoulder landing in the man’s midsection. The two tumbled to the Aubusson carpet, trading blows. Avery’s were practiced and punishing, Prachett’s were well placed and cruel. Rolling to the side to avoid a vicious right, Avery grunted as his lower back connected sharply with the foot of the bureau. Pain rippled through him, but he ignored it, pushing to his feet.

“I’ll have you killed,” Prachett snarled. His face was a mask of crimson, a cut on his forehead seeping blood. “You dare to touch me? I’ll see you gutted for this.”

“If I die for such a righteous cause, I have not lived my life in vain.” His calm answer covered his approach. Pulling back his arm, he smiled. “This is for Leah.” Avery’s left fist met Prachett’s jaw with a sickening crack. The man stumbled backward, both hands clapped to his now-broken chin. “And this is for me.” Avery’s right fist shot outward, finding its mark in Prachett’s soft belly.

The man doubled over with a cry and then collapsed against the cupboard at the bedside.

Shaking out his stinging knuckles, Avery turned to walk away. He was finished.

The mindless shriek of rage behind him was the only warning Avery had. Ducking instinctively, he managed to avoid the bullet as the shot rang out. Glass rained over him, glittering shards falling like spring rain onto the blood-spotted carpet.

The sting of gunpowder burned his nostrils as he raised disbelieving eyes toward Prachett. The dueling pistol still hung from the man’s fingers, smoke curling lazily from the barrel.

“I said you’d die,” Prachett whispered, smiling with his ruined mouth. He dropped the empty pistol and reached upward into the halfway open drawer. The glint of metal caught Avery’s eye as the man drew a matching gun from the cabinet. “Now do it, worthless brat.”

Avery should have been filled with regret, with sorrow for his actions that had brought him to this untimely end. But as Prachett leveled the pistol at him, all the valet could think of was her.

Leah. His angel.

She’d freed him of his torment after all.

Even as he turned to run, he knew it was futile. At this range, the man would not miss twice. When the shot rang out, Avery let himself fall forward.

“I love you,” he whispered into the floor. “Leah, I love you.”

* * *

Leah stopped suddenly, causing Ella to plow into her. She clutched at her chest, trying to steady the ragged thumping of her heart. Something was wrong. Something horrible had happened.

“Pawpaw,” she whispered, tears tracking down her cheeks. “No.”

“Leah,” Ella said. “My phone is gone. It was here a second ago.”

“Did you drop it?” Leah tried very hard to concentrate, but her head was in a fog of distress. God, if it wasn’t Pawpaw, what had happened? It was almost like someone was breakdancing on her grave.

“No, I didn’t. My thumb drive’s gone too.” Ella swayed, clutching her temples. “I’m sorry, but I feel so freaking weird right now. I’m dizzy, kind of sick.”

“I am too.” Leah’s stomach dropped. A sudden thought speared her, and she dug in her bag for the leather pouch she’d brought with her. It was gone. But she’d placed it in the bag only moments before they’d run from Lady Chesterfield’s house, so where could it be?

Her fingers grazed over a glossy paper in the bottom of the bag. She snagged it and brought Pawpaw’s picture into the sunlight. It faded into nothingness in her hand, as if it had never been there at all.

“Shit. Ella, what the hell is happening?” Leah tried to keep hysterics out of her voice, but she wasn’t that successful. Panic ruled her brain. “Everything we brought with us from home is gone. What does it mean?”

“The mirror,” Ella whispered as she absently rubbed at her pocket. “Something must have happened to it.”

They looked at each other for a split second, then took off at a dead run for Granville House. Leah tried not to think of what it all meant. She tried not to imagine the worst. She tried to keep a level head as she and her friend wound their way through streets crowded with horses, carriages, and pedestrians.

She failed miserably.

People stared at them as they ran. Some shouted, others cursed, but none stopped them, a fact for which Leah was incredibly grateful. After all, two unescorted women running headlong in the nicest areas of London was a sight that nobody was used to. Damn it, if only Avery were with her! She could take all this shit if she knew that he’d be there for her.

But he wasn’t. And he wouldn’t ever be again because he thought she’d chosen the duke over him.

“Slow down,” Ella gasped behind her. “I can’t breathe.”

The ache in Leah’s side intensified, and she slackened her pace to match her friend’s. The air burned in her lungs as her slippers pounded against the cobbles. Ella’s too-large slippers, borrowed from Leah’s closet, as was the gown she wore, caused her to stumble. Leah grabbed her friend’s arm and the two rounded the corner to Grosvenor Square.

“There,” Leah panted, pointing. “That’s Granville House. Third one on the right.”

The last few feet seemed interminable, but they finally descended the steps to the servants’ area. Leah pounded on the door as Ella bent over, trying to catch her breath.

“Cook! Mrs. Harper!” Leah’s hand stung with the blows she landed on the door. “Please, somebody open up!”

Nobody came. Leah kept pounding, but eventually Ella grabbed her arm. “Nobody’s answering.”

Leah shoved the door open and led Ella through the empty kitchen. There were pots on the stove, bubbling away. The whole place looked like it had been deserted suddenly. What the hell was going on?

Leah shook her head and kept moving. They had to get upstairs to the duke’s bedchamber and get to the mirror. Either they had to get through it and back home so she could say her good-byes to Pawpaw, or the thing was broken and they were totally fucked.

The house was unusually quiet for midday, and the silence worried Leah. There should have been servants everywhere, going about their normal daily duties. But they’d wound their way through the back stairs, the length of the hallway, and made it to the duke’s chambers before they saw anyone.

“Leah, look.” Ella pointed.

Leah squinted down the main stairs. Smythe’s back was to her, and he and two of the footmen were carrying something large down the stairs. A rolled-up rug? She shrugged.

“Quiet,” she told Ella. “Follow me.”

Leah pushed open the duke’s bedchamber door. She clapped a hand over her mouth to cover her desperate cry.

The mirror had been shattered, and most of the pieces were missing.

She and Ella were stuck in 1817.

Thirty

The mirror’s broken pieces clinked softly in the sack across Avery’s back. Wincing, he pulled the stallion up, forcing the beast to slow from a headlong gallop to a walk. Even though he must hurry or risk capture, he could not afford to damage the mirror further.

He’d never expected for the last hour to proceed as it had.

When he’d landed on the Aubusson carpet of His Grace’s bedchamber floor, he’d believed himself to be dead. It had taken several heartbeats for him to realize that he’d not been struck by the bullet.

“Russell.” The duke’s voice, tremulous but triumphant, wrenched Avery upright. His Grace stood by the doorway, a smoking derringer in his hand. Prachett had slumped to the floor, blood pooling out from the wound in his skull.

Avery’s legs trembled as he pulled himself upright. “Your Grace. Why?”

The duke dropped the gun and wiped his hands on his waistcoat as if to remove the invisible blood from their surface. His eyes, though aged, were clear and untroubled. “Did you think that I’d allow him to harm you any further? Lad, you have borne too much for too long.”

Avery took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. “My apologies, Your Grace.”

“None are necessary. I only wish that I could have stopped his evil before it progressed as far as it did.”

Gesturing to the corpse on the floor, Avery said, “What are we to do now?”

“You must go.” His Grace pulled the bell rope. “After the altercation at Jackford, they will suspect you first, being a fighter yourself. I shall rid us of the body and inform the other servants of the need for silence.”

Moved beyond words, Avery bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace.” He tilted his head toward the shards of glass behind him. “May I have the broken mirror? It is very important.”

The duke laughed. “Have whatever you like, lad, but be quick about it.”

Avery had gathered as many pieces of the mirror as he could before stealing away on one of the duke’s horses.

He entered the outskirts of St. Giles with both relief and trepidation. Such a fine horse would surely draw attention in this part of the world, but he had no other choice. If he were to have any chance of restoring Leah to her true home, he must see Mrs. Comstock as soon as possible.

The horse snorted as Avery pulled back on the reins. He tossed them and a coin to a nearby lad with the promise of more if the beast was still there upon his return. Carrying the sack as gently as he would a newborn babe, he ascended the stairs to his aunt’s chambers.

“Mrs. Comstock?” His soft-voiced question floated through the close room. “Are you about?”

The woman rose from his aunt’s bedside, a basin in her hands and a cross expression on her face.

“What’ll you be wantin’? She’s no better, if that’s the word you’re after.”

“Mrs. Comstock, may I be plain?”

She nodded, setting the basin aside and drying her hands on her apron. “I prefer it.”

Avery set the sack gently on the rough wooden table. “I have need of your talents, Mrs. Comstock. Your magical talents.”

The woman’s scowl deepened. “I’ve no more dealings in the Old Ways.”

“It is of vital importance.” He’d beg if necessary. Leah must be allowed to return home if it was her desire.

Mrs. Comstock sighed and gestured to the bag. “Show me.”

When the pieces of the broken mirror were revealed, her countenance darkened. “This is strong magic, this is. Not only time magic, but love-findin’ magic as well. A true sorceress did this.”

“But can it be repaired?” The question was more of a prayer.

She pursed her lips and shoved her straggly hair from her forehead. “I will do me best.”

A wave of relief crested over him. “Thank you, dear lady.”

“Do not thank me yet. I’ve no guarantee it can be repaired, but I’ll do me best.”

* * *

Leah and Ella took their time on the way back to Lady Chesterfield’s. After all, they had no reason to rush anymore.

They’d be living the rest of their lives in this century.

Leah kept her mind blank. She could not afford to think of Pawpaw or Avery or of the way she’d cost her friend her future. One slipper in front of the other. Don’t look right or left. Don’t think of the fact that Avery is probably in Scotland by now, and Pawpaw is probably…

She tripped and sprawled in a sobbing heap on the walk in front of Lady Chesterfield’s house. Ella knelt beside her, pulling her up into a sitting position. It was several minutes before Leah could breathe enough to speak.

“Come on. Let’s get inside.”

Ella nodded numbly, and together they made their way into the house.

“Leah dear!” Lady Chesterfield’s voice floated down the stairs. “Whatever has gone on? Muriel has been frantic since you departed so hastily.” She drew up short when she saw Ella.

“Lady Chesterfield.” Leah fought to keep her voice steady despite the tears that wouldn’t quit. “This is Ella Fowler. She came to take me home because my grandfather is very sick. But…the mirror…” Leah stared at the polished floor beneath her feet, struggling to regain control of herself.

“Oh. Oh, my dears.” Lady Chesterfield gathered them both to her feathered bosom. Leah clung to her gratefully, despite the gray feathers that tickled her nose.

The baroness took them into the sitting room and ordered a big pot of tea. Muriel brought it in and she and Ella stepped into the hallway to talk in hushed voices. Leah stared down into the cup of tea she clasped in both hands, wondering how to make sense of this.

“I must apologize to you, dearest.” The settee sank as Lady Chesterfield settled herself beside Leah.

“For what?” She didn’t look up from her teacup. Little rings of tea spread out from the tear that fell into her cup.

Lady Chesterfield laid a warm hand on Leah’s back. “I did not consider many things in the way I assisted you. I assumed that you were as other young ladies of my acquaintance are—in search of a husband of rank and means. But I was quite wrong.”

Leah’s glance wandered upward. “No, you were doing what you thought was right. And I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, so I just went along with it. I should have told you that I had feelings for Avery before I even got here.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Plucking the teacup from Leah’s hands, Lady Chesterfield gathered her into her arms again. “There is no need for it. In the end, my dear, all I have ever wanted was to be a part of your success. The tale of your friend Miss Marten sparked my imagination as nothing has since I dreamed of fairy tales in my youth.”

“You’ve been amazing, Lady Chesterfield.”

As Leah hugged her patroness, she closed her eyes. Nothing had gone the way she’d thought it would, but she had been really lucky to find such a generous and kind friend. She just hadn’t wanted to move in with her. She’d sort of thought she would bring her true love home with her.

The fresh memory of Avery’s rejection wrenched a sob from her.

“My lady?” Muriel appeared in the doorway. “You and Miss Ram have visitors.”

“We are not receiving,” Lady Chesterfield said calmly as she patted Leah’s back.

“But it’s His Grace, the Duke of Granville, and a servant. A male servant, miss. And he said something about the mirror.”

Leah’s heart leaped. “Does he have light brown hair tied in a ponytail? And hazel eyes and scars on his knuckles?”

Muriel’s head had only dipped in half a nod before Leah was running into the entryway. Completely ignoring the duke, she ground to a halt the moment she saw Avery holding a large object wrapped in brown cloth.

“Avery,” she whispered, the words seeming to emanate from her bruised heart. “You came.”

He set the object on the entryway table, slowly and carefully. The duke and Lady Chesterfield withdrew to the sitting room.

Leah fisted her hands at her sides to keep herself steady. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself at him and bury her face in his broad chest, but considering the way they’d parted last, she wasn’t sure she’d be welcomed. And another rejection from him might just break her beyond repair.

But then he turned, though his face was bruised and battered, and opened his arms to her.

With a glad cry, she ran to him. She clung to him as though they were adrift at sea and he was the only thing that kept her from sinking. It wasn’t really that far from the truth.

“Leah, my angel, Leah,” he said in a rough voice between kisses that he dropped on her hair. “I am here, I am sorry, I love you.”

“I love you too, Avery.” She turned her face up to him and accepted his kiss eagerly. For a moment, her hellish reality slipped away in the wonderful feeling of his body pressed firmly against hers, his lips and mouth possessing her, his arms holding her tightly. She tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him with all the desperate passion she felt.

All too soon, he raised his head.

“I must speak with you,” he said seriously, though he never stopped touching her. “It is important.”

“If you’re here to tell me about the mirror, I know. It’s broken. Ella came to tell me that Pawpaw is really sick, and when we tried to get back, it was gone.” Darkness returned to blanket her, though it wasn’t nearly as dark as it had been before with Avery beside her. But even the presence of her true love didn’t change the fact that her grandfather lay on his deathbed and she couldn’t go to him. She pressed her cheek against Avery’s chest, taking comfort in the firm beat of his heart.

“Yes, it was broken when Prachett…” He trailed off. Leah looked at him darkly but let it pass. “But Mrs. Comstock and I have done our best, and we’ve managed to piece some of it back together.”

The words rumbled through her, and she raised incredulous eyes to his face. “What?”

He pointed to the flat object on the table. “I gathered up as much as I could and took it to her. It is not a large portion, but it should be sufficient for you to pass through.”

“Ella too?” Leah pulled back enough to gesture toward her friend, who stood beside a silent, staring Muriel.

Avery nodded in greeting. “That should be manageable.”

Relief sapped her, and she nearly fell backward, grabbing Avery’s muscled arm in just enough time to prevent it. “Oh, thank goodness. You’re coming too, right?”

Hope and bitter disappointment crossed his expression right after one another. He looked downward, avoiding her gaze. “I cannot.”

Her fingers curled into his shirt. She wanted to yell, to throw a fucking fit. It was either that or cry, and she was so tired of being soggy. “Why not?”

“Muriel, come in here with me, okay?” Ella’s voice barely registered in Leah’s mind, as did the soft click of a closing door behind them.

Avery tossed a glance toward a pointedly staring Graves. “Is there not somewhere we can be more private?”

Leah took his hand and led him up the stairs, ignoring the huff of disapproval from Graves. Damn it, if this was the last time she saw her Avery, she was going to make the most of it.

She led him into her bedroom and closed the door. In the soft, comfortable room, he appeared even rougher, wilder, more masculine. His clothes were rumpled, his cheeks had stubble, and his eyes were dark and wild. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she patted the space next to her. “Sit with me. Tell me the whole story—what happened when you left me, how the mirror broke, and why you can’t go with me.”

His smile was dark, but he sat beside her. He took her hand and spoke softly.

“I owe you an apology, Leah. I saw the duke embrace you, and I let myself believe that you would choose his rank and wealth over anything you felt for me.”

“It’s okay,” she said, laying her head against his bicep. “I’ve done stupid shit too, and I can’t blame you for getting the wrong idea. What made you change your mind?”

His fingers burned a trail along her throat. “I could not allow anyone to harm you without retribution.” Avery sighed and lifted her chin. “I must tell you that I am responsible for your abduction.”

She gasped. “What?”

“A man named Thomas Prachett. Many years ago, I accepted a loan from him. I needed the money to secure a place to live for Aunt Millie. In return, he demanded that I cheat in the mills.” Avery looked away, as if the words were distasteful to him. “When he decided he had need of me again, he used you to ensure my cooperation.”

Everything clicked into place in Leah’s head. “I thought I heard Mackenzie, the stable master, while I was being held in the cabin. Was he one of Prachett’s goons?”

Avery nodded.

She paused, enjoying the small circles Avery drew along her collarbone. “If I ever meet Mr. Prachett, I’m going to kick his nuts into his throat.”

Avery’s fingers paused. “You will not meet him. He is dead.”

Leah drew back in horror. “You didn’t kill him? Oh God, tell me you didn’t. He might have been a bastard, but I don’t want his blood on your hands.”

Avery’s quick head shake reassured her. “No, I did not. I did thrash the blighter, but he drew a dueling pistol. I ducked and the shot hit the bureau’s mirror. His Grace came to my aid, and his shot killed the man.”

Somewhat relieved, Leah settled her head against him again. “Good. It was self-defense then, not murder.” She laid a hand across his broad, muscled thigh. “But if you and Mrs. Comstock fixed part of the mirror, why can’t you come with me? I’m sure they’ll be looking for someone to blame for Prachett’s death, so it’d be best if you got out of here, right?”

He gathered her close to his chest, whispering into her hair. “It is not my choice to remain here, love. But the mirror is not large enough for me to pass through.”

Leah’s heart dropped through the floor. “You’re kidding.”

He held her tighter as she fought the tears. “I am sorry, Leah, more sorry than you know. But it is for the best. My aunt is worsening, and I cannot allow her to languish without care. You belong there, and I…” His voice dropped out. He cleared his throat as her tears soaked the cotton of his shirt. “I must remain here.”

She wanted to scream, to curse the Fates for being so damned cruel. She’d been through so much to find him, and now he was being ripped from her forever?

“I’ll stay with you.” She rose on her knees, cupping his face with both hands. “I’ll stay here with you and we’ll be together.”

“I may well be hanged for murder. I have no money, no home, nothing to care for you—”

“I don’t care!” She pounded his chest with her fists. “I don’t have anything if I don’t have you! Don’t you fucking get it? I love you!”

He took her lips in a desperate kiss, and she clung to him tightly, their mutual sorrow burning into passion. This would be the last time they’d be together, and she clung to each second as if she could burn it into her memory.

After all, those memories would have to last her a lifetime.

Thirty-One

Avery sensed his own desperate need to possess her in her passionate caresses. He knew what she was feeling because it was the same searing pain that beat in his chest.

His anger at their impossible position would do no good. His need to rail at God would gain him nothing. But he could give her his love, himself, to carry with her on her journey.

And he would.

He covered her body with his own, their mouths meeting and parting, delving deep and nipping lightly. Her hands roamed his body, playing along his broad shoulders, down the arms that held him suspended above her. Pulling his shirt upward, she arched her back.

“Please, Avery.” She pressed a kiss to his throat. “We don’t have much time.”

Her words were no less true than they were painful. Rising on his knees, he pulled his shirt over his head. Her fingers fumbled on his breeches.

“Let me, my love.”

She nodded, eyes darkening as he removed the last barrier and released his erection. He knelt beside her, hand delving beneath her skirts as her own soft fingers wrapped around his length.

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” she said as he lifted her skirt to reveal her soft, white thighs. “I love to touch you.”

His hand trailed across the dark blond hair that crested her most secret flesh. “There cannot be a woman as lovely as you are to me.” He looked into her eyes, and his next words came without his forethought. “I would love nothing more than to have you as my wife.”

Tears sprang into the corners of her eyes, and she shook her head vehemently. “Stop talking. Come here and love me.”

She held her arms out to him, and he covered her body with his own. His tongue explored her mouth as his hands explored her body, loosening the buttons of her gown to release her breasts from their confinement. She gasped as his hand covered her pebbled nipple through the thin barrier of her shift.

“Avery, please,” she begged as she wrapped her thighs around his hips. “I don’t want to wait. I want you inside me.”

Though his body roared to claim her, he resisted the urge. He must make this last; he must carve this moment into his very being. Ripping her shift away, he bared her breasts to his hungry gaze. Her stays forced the beautiful orbs higher, and he took advantage of their perfect frame.

He bent his head and captured the tip of her puckered nipple between his lips.

Her fingers tangled in his hair and her hips thrashed as he flicked the tight bud with his tongue. He clasped her soft, round buttocks with both hands as he loved her breasts. Her body was made for him, though she’d had lovers before him, and would in all likelihood marry someday…

Growling, he refused to think of the future. This was their moment, and it was their forever.

He covered her breasts with his kisses, and he ravaged her body with his touch. His fingers delved between her folds as he kissed the pale column of her throat, lightly sucking the pulse that fluttered there.

She was so wet, her silky skin parted easily to allow his fingers entry. One, then two, slid within her heat, and she gasped.

“Avery,” she moaned, raising her hips to force him deeper. “Don’t make me wait, please.”

Though he wished he could draw their encounter out for hours, days, their lifetime, he knew that he could not. Kneeling between her parted thighs, he lifted her hips to receive him.

Poised at her entrance, her wet heat beckoning him, he hesitated. Looking down into her wide eyes, as blue as a summer’s day, he smiled.

“You are mine, Leah. My own angel.”

And he slid home.

There was nothing like that moment. Even in the times they had come together before, he had never known such pleasure as sinking himself into her heat. Holding her close to his chest, he stilled himself for a moment, letting himself sink deep into the cradle of her body.

“Oh please,” she panted. “Please.”

He moved against her in a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. Breathing her in, he smiled. Her scent would forever be burned in his mind, that sweet exotic perfume that he had never smelled before and never would again.

Their bodies strained together, soft cries and intimate touches building in intensity until Avery thought he’d die from the pleasure. Her heat thrummed through him, almost as if they were connected in more than body. She buried her face against his chest, pressing kisses wherever she could reach.

When her cries grew more desperate, and her movements more frantic, he reached between them and found the hidden place, the one that seemed to call out for his touch more than any other part of her exquisite body.

She exploded and, a second later, so did he. He muffled his hoarse shout as he poured himself into her, shuddering as her body wrung every last drop of his response from him.

He stayed there for several ragged heartbeats, waiting for the world to stop swimming about him. When it did, he rolled to the side, gathering his bedraggled, half-dressed, and well-loved angel to his chest.

“I love you, Leah,” he whispered. “I shall never love another as I love you.”

“Oh, Avery.” She closed her eyes. “I love you more than anything, and I always will.”

They dressed quickly but with more kisses and touches than were wise. Though he’d just had her, he wanted her again. He wanted to chain her to his bed and never let her go. But she needed more than he could provide, and though the thought broke his heart, he’d let her go.

They descended the stairs, hand-in-hand, only a few moments later.

The duke and Lady Chesterfield sprang apart when Leah opened the sitting room door. Avery wanted to laugh at the obvious blushes on their faces, but such an expression was beyond him then.

Ella and Muriel entered the room behind them. When Avery would have released Leah’s hand, she gripped him tighter. He could not help but be relieved. Her touch was a commodity that would be ripped from him all too soon.

“Everyone,” Leah said. “This is Avery. I love him.”

Ella nodded pleasantly. “It’s great to meet you, Avery.”

“He and Mrs. Comstock repaired as much of the mirror as they could, but it’s only big enough for you and me to pass through.”

He could not help but be proud of the way her voice remained steady though her hands were shaking like leaves in autumn.

As Ella and the young maid carefully lifted the mirror and brought it into the sitting room, Leah stepped into his arms.

“Are you sure you can’t come?”

He tangled his hands in her yellow curls, holding her tight. “Even if the mirror were large enough, I cannot abandon my aunt.”

“I know.”

Their last moments together passed too quickly. Ella touched Leah on the shoulder, a compassionate look on her face.

“Leah, are you ready?”

His angel pulled free of his embrace, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Yeah.”

“Wait,” he said, and she turned. He swept her into his arms, kissing her with all the love and longing that lay in his broken, bleeding soul. She returned it with equal fervor, clinging to him desperately.

Too soon, he lifted his head.

“You must go.” His voice was broken—but so was his heart.

Ella stepped through the mirror first, squeezing through the small opening with a fair amount of struggle. Leah went after her, dipping her slipper through the cracked glass. It disappeared as though she were stepping into a pond instead of solid glass.

“Love me forever?” Her tears glittered like jewels on her reddened cheeks.

“As you wish,” he whispered as she disappeared.

* * *

Leah thumped to the floor of Jamie’s house, narrowly missing landing on Ella’s head. She rolled to the side to avoid crushing her friend.

“Are you okay?” Ella asked, coming to her feet.

“No, but it doesn’t matter.” She clamped the lid on all thoughts of Avery. Pawpaw was her focus right now. Once she’d seen him and demanded that he feel better, she could fall apart the way she was longing to.

“Come on, let’s get to the hospital.”

Fortunately, Leah’s suitcase was still there from her aborted housesitting trip. She threw on some jeans and a T-shirt, yanking her hair into a ponytail and scrubbing ineffectually at the tearstains on her cheeks. Within ten minutes, the pair was on their way to Concord Memorial Hospital.

Ella tried to draw her out in conversation a couple of times on the short drive, but Leah couldn’t really respond. Casual conversation was completely beyond her right then. She was starting to realize how Jamie had felt when she’d had to leave Mike behind. This was a pain that she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy.

When they finally arrived and checked in at the visitor’s desk, they sprinted up the stairs to the second floor. When they got to the closed door of room 217, Leah ground to a sudden halt.

“Are you okay?” Ella asked, concern in her voice.

“Do you mind going in first?” Leah wrapped her arms around her middle as if she could stop the anxiety from knotting itself around her guts. “To see if he’s okay?”

“Sure.” Ella nodded and pushed the wide door open.

Leah slammed her eyes shut, unable to face the hospital room. What if they hadn’t made it? What if she’d left Avery behind and lost Pawpaw too?

“Leah, come in,” Jamie called softly.

With a deep breath that didn’t do jack to steady her nerves, Leah entered the room.

Pawpaw, that strong and capable man who was always moving, always laughing, always looking out for her, was lying pale and still as death on the hospital bed. Leah covered her mouth in distress. There were so many monitors, IV bags, cords, and tubes. She could only see half of his face because of the oxygen mask.

She rushed to his side, taking his hand as gently as she could. Mike and Jamie moved from their seats at the bedside to make room for her, and Ella stood in the corner while Leah looked down at the man who’d raised her.

“Pawpaw, can you hear me?” She rubbed at his callused fingers. “It’s me, Leelee. I’m here now. I’m sorry I was gone when you got sick.” She looked down, trying to get a handle on her emotions. “But I’m here now. And I found that man, you know. You would love him, Pawpaw. He’s amazing and strong and kind, and he loves me.”

The only response Pawpaw gave her was a slight wrinkling of his brow. She squeezed his hand tighter.

“I promise you’ll love him. But you have to get better so you can meet him, okay?”

Mike and Ella left the room, and Jamie laid a warm hand on Leah’s shoulder.

“The doctor came by. The tests aren’t looking as good as they’d like. But don’t give up hope, okay?”

Jamie hugged Leah from behind, wrapping her arms around Leah’s shoulders. Leah’s eyes fluttered closed as she took solace in Jamie, grabbing her friend’s forearm with her free hand. The world had crashed down around her, and though things couldn’t get much worse, her best friend was there for her.

“Love you, James,” Leah sniffed.

“Love you, Leah,” Jamie replied, tears in her voice.

They stayed that way, Jamie holding Leah, and Leah holding Pawpaw’s hand, for long moments, until a soft knock on the door drew Leah’s attention.

“Come in,” she called as Jamie straightened.

Ella came in first, a curious smile on her face. “Leah, Mrs. Knightsbridge is here to see you. She has something for you.”

Leah stood reluctantly. She didn’t want to let go of Pawpaw, but Jamie patted her hand.

“I’ll stay with him. Go ahead.”

Jamming her hands in her pockets, Leah moved past Mike into the hallway. Mrs. Knightsbridge, dressed in plain cotton dress with white sneakers, was standing by the door and smiling widely. To her left stood a broad man, not too tall, with long, light-brown hair, the color of dark honey. Hazel eyes, a crooked nose, and muscles that were clearly defined in the tight black T-shirt he wore.

Leah’s heart stopped.

“Avery!” Her cry was much too loud for a hospital, but she didn’t care. She launched herself at him and wrapped her arms around him. “How are you here?”

Mrs. Knightsbridge laughed as Leah kissed him, not giving him a chance to answer the question. “I believe I can answer that. He and the duke replaced the mirror, so why did you not think I could bring him to you afterward? The time stream is becoming more stable again, so I was able to time his arrival much more advantageously. It is some of my best work.” She preened as Leah turned, keeping a death-grip on Avery’s hand.

“Mrs. Knightsbridge, you are amazing.” Leah hugged the woman, who laughed again.

“It is no trouble, no trouble at all.”

Sobering, Leah turned to Avery. “I’m beyond thrilled that you’re here, but what about your aunt?”

His expression darkened and Leah’s heart fell.

“She lasted but a day after you’d gone. Her illness had progressed so much that she could not eat.”

Leah pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m so sorry.”

He cleared his throat. “She is free of pain now. How is your grandfather?”

“Pawpaw’s not so good. Can you come with me?”

He nodded. “I will do whatever you wish of me.”

Leah threaded her fingers through his and led him into the darkened hospital room. Mrs. Knightsbridge followed.

“Avery, this is my Pawpaw, Milton Ramsey.”

Leah held tight to Avery’s arm and closed her eyes. Things should be so perfect now. This was what she’d wanted, right? To feel whole, to be loved, to have Pawpaw satisfied that she’d have someone to lean on. Why did the last piece of the puzzle have to be such a tough one? Why couldn’t she flip a switch and make her grandfather whole again?

A terrifying series of beeps screamed through the room, ripping Leah’s eyes open. “Pawpaw!”

Pawpaw was sitting up, pulling at his monitors and tubes. “Get these blasted wires off me. Man can’t breathe wrapped up in all this mess.” He stopped, blue gaze trained on Avery. “Who in the sam hell has his paws all over my Leelee?”

Adrenaline flooded Leah and she grabbed her grandfather’s hand. “Pawpaw! Are you okay?”

He coughed and pulled the oxygen mask away from his bearded chin. “Can’t stand this plastic over m’face. Leelee, get this thing off me.”

“Jamie, go get the nurse, please.” Leah turned back to her grandfather, grateful tears tracking down her stinging cheeks. “Pawpaw, you have to leave that on. You need the oxygen.”

Pawpaw reluctantly stopped pulling at the mask and instead settled his steely gaze on Avery. “Who are you, son?”

“My name is Avery Russell, sir.” Avery bowed deeply, the courtly maneuver making Leah’s heart swell with pride. “I love your granddaughter, sir, and I ask for your blessing on our marriage.”

Pawpaw didn’t say anything for a long moment. His gaze raked Avery up and down. Though he was flat on his back in a hospital bed, he was clearly the one in control. Though Leah longed to slip a reassuring hand in Avery’s, she stayed still. This was between her two favorite men on earth, and if they didn’t like each other, life was going to be pretty freaking difficult.

Several seconds later, her grandfather nodded. “I’m not against the idea, but I need to get to know you first.”

“Pawpaw, you know I don’t need your permission to get married, right?” Leah’s dry tone covered her complete excitement that he hadn’t dismissed Avery’s request outright.

Avery spoke up before Pawpaw could respond. “It is only right that we apply for his blessing. It is clear that you are precious to him.”

Pawpaw laughed, the sound slightly muffled by his oxygen mask. “I like this fella, I do.”

Jamie pushed through the door, a nurse right on her heels. At the nurse’s insistence, they cleared the room and let her check Pawpaw’s vitals. In the hush of the hallway, Leah turned to Avery, winding her arms around his neck.

“What do you think of Pawpaw?”

Avery smiled, rubbing her lower back gently. “It is easy to see where your adventurous spirit originated. I like him very much.”

“I just hope he’s okay.” Leah pressed her head against Avery’s chest, breathing him in.

Only half a heartbeat later, the nurse pushed open the door. She smiled at the tense group around her.

“He seems to have turned the corner,” she said. “It’s kind of miraculous, actually. I’m going to call his cardiologist and get him down here soon. In the meantime, try to keep him quiet.”

Leah hugged Avery in relief as the nurse walked away. Ella, Jamie, Micah, and Mrs. Knightsbridge went back into the hospital room, leaving the two as alone as a pair can be in a hospital hallway.

“I didn’t know I could be this happy,” Leah whispered. “What did I do to deserve so many good things?”

Avery smiled and bent his head to kiss her. Just before their lips met, he said, “My love, you have brought light into my darkened life. I cannot hope to make you as happy as you have made me.”

Leah’s heart soared as her valet kissed her. He wasn’t Mr. Darcy, he wasn’t a duke, he wasn’t a fairy-tale hero.

He was so much better than that.

Here’s a sneak peek at

The Geek Girl and

the Reluctant Rake

by Gina Lamm

Ella chewed her bottom lip as she held her pencil tighter. The cape just wasn’t right. Something about the way the fabric curled and flared against the hero’s muscular bum didn’t make her happy.

Carefully adding more shading didn’t help. Using the corner of her gum eraser to fade it a bit didn’t either. The clock ticked loudly, and she glared up at it.

“For chrissakes, I know it’s late. Nagging me isn’t going to help.”

Her pencil descended to the board again.

“I wasn’t nagging you. I just wanted to see if you needed anything.”

Ella screeched as her pencil went skittering over the drawing, leaving a jagged line in its wake. The studio’s owner, Anthony, stood in the doorway of her office, grinning at her. His dark hair fell over one eye, clearly gelled to stay there.

“Holy crap, Anthony, you scared me.”

Anthony proceeded into the room, flopping onto the ratty couch that occupied the opposite wall. “Sorry. I just wanted to see if you needed anything. It’s not like you to hang out here this long.”

“I’m okay, really. Finishing up now.”

Steadfastly ignoring Anthony’s presence, Ella stared down at the line drawing. There. It wasn’t perfect, but it would be good enough, she hoped. Whisperwind Comics’ offer was an incredible break for her, and if she could land the lead artist spot on Admiral Action she’d have a steady paycheck for at least twelve months. A nice setup in this business. Being a comic artist, her lifelong dream, wasn’t exactly the most stable of careers. But she’d loved Admiral Action since she was old enough to tie her dad’s blue bathrobe to her back and zoom around the living room. She couldn’t screw this up. It was too important.

Mentally crossing her fingers, she wrapped the board and carefully slid it into her portfolio with the others. She’d have to hand-deliver these to the inker.

“Hey, Ella?”

She looked up from packing her messenger bag. “Yeah?”

Anthony sat up on the couch, eyes narrowed in thought. His leg trembled a little bit, and Ella stared. “Are you okay?

“Yeah,” he laughed, an unfamiliar, nervous tremble in his voice. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat.

Bemused, Ella shouldered her bag, grabbed her portfolio, and went over to Anthony, who was still struggling to speak. She sank down on the couch next to him, careful to perch on the edge.

“What is it?”

He didn’t look over at her. “I just wondered, um, I mean…”

Ella shoved her black braid over her shoulder. “Anthony, can you spit it out? I need to get to Max’s before he cuts out for the night.”

Anthony slammed his eyes shut and the words shot out of him like fizz from a shaken-up Dr. Pepper. “Would you go out with me?”

Ella froze. She hadn’t heard that right. One of her eyebrows had climbed all the way to her hairline, and it simply refused to let go. Her other eyebrow seemed to be twitching a bit. She searched for the right words, the ones that would indicate that she had zero interest in the poor guy without crushing him. She didn’t need a romantic entanglement right now. Her career was finally taking off, and the last thing she wanted was to screw that up with a boyfriend. Anthony was nice, but he wasn’t her type. At all. He tried too damn hard, with his skinny jeans and ironic lens-free glasses. When she jumped back into the dating pool, she wanted it to be with somebody who wasn’t ashamed to be who he really was.

“I mean,” Anthony’s laugh climbed even higher. “If you’re not interested, that’s cool. I know it’s weird, since I own the studio and you sort of work for me. We’re friends. I mean, we should just be friends. Probably.”

“No, I mean, yes we’re friends. And you’re right, it’s kind of odd. Listen, I should probably get this to Max. I’ll see you later.” She grabbed her bag and her portfolio and bolted out the door before she could pry her eyebrow back to an acceptable level.

Slumping against the side of her rusty yellow Jeep, Ella blew out a heavy breath. That had been a way-too-narrow escape. Anthony had been after her to go out with him for a while, but he hadn’t actually come out and stated it so clearly until now.

Ella glanced up at the rapidly darkening sky. The cloud cover was too thick to see any stars, but she wished anyway.

“I just want to be happy,” she whispered to the sky. “I think this job will do it, but if not? I’m sort of clueless. So if anybody’s up there, I could use a little luck.”

Maybe someone upstairs had heard her plea. Maybe not. Either way, she was determined that her life was about to start.

* * *

April 2nd, 1820

Patrick Meadowfair, third Viscount Meadowfair, smiled tightly as he bowed his farewell to the young debutante. Turning on his heel, he wound his way through giggling debutantes and avaricious mamas. His toes ached inside his boots. Damn chit was possessed of two left feet, and that quadrille had seemed interminable.

Almack’s was becoming more and more like a slaughter, and gentlemen of his age and circumstance were the preferred victims. If not for Amelia, he’d never show up there again.

The young lady in question waved him down before he could claim his greatcoat and make his escape into the bitter night. It was unseasonably cold for April, and the chill ran down to his bones. He had the sneaking suspicion that the shiver had less to do with the weather than it had with the company. Chaperones lined the walls like hungry vultures.

“Meadowfair,” Amelia called him over with another desperate wave of her gloved hand. “You must come and meet Mr. Cuthbert. He’s ever so amusing.”

Patrick smothered his irritation and made his way to her side. He’d known Amelia Brownstone since he was a young man of eleven, and he’d been thrown from his pony on her family’s property. The tiny girl had announced that he was her prisoner, and marched him nearly half a mile to Brownstone manor. Thinking she was amusing, he’d played along at the time. Things hadn’t changed much since then.

“Mr. Cuthbert,” Patrick said smoothly after Amelia made the introduction.

“Your lordship,” Cuthbert said with a bow and a bob of his shiny bald head. He grinned broadly at Amelia, who winced. “’Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Such a fine lord as you, yes. I was just telling Miss Brownstone here about my new cattle. A beautiful matched pair of bays, you see, with…”

Just then, the orchestra began again, and Amelia grabbed Patrick’s arm. “Oh, do excuse us, Mr. Cuthbert. The viscount had reserved this dance ages ago, and I mustn’t disappoint him.”

Before the surprised Mr. Cuthbert could respond, Amelia and Patrick had maneuvered their way into the crowd of waltzing couples.

“You know I cannot rescue you again tonight, Amelia. This is our second waltz. The dragons would have us wed.”

Amelia thumped his shoulder surreptitiously. “Do be quiet, Patrick. I cannot think with your preaching.”

Patrick’s eyebrows winged high. “Preaching? Dear girl, you were the one who summoned me like a fishwife hawking her wares. I believe that I’m entitled to a bit of friendly advice.”

“I suppose,” she blew out the words like they tasted foul. “Thank you for rescuing me from that wretched bore. Mother insisted that I meet him.”

“Is your father still determined to see you wed this Season?”

Amelia nodded, biting her lip in consternation. “He still refuses to believe that I love George as I do. He’ll never let me marry a poor clergyman, Patrick. Since Father has no heir, he’s determined to see me well settled.”

She turned her face up to him, and his heart softened at the pain in her light blue eyes. “What am I to do? He’s threatening to force me to wed the next man to ask for my hand. I couldn’t bear being separated from George forever.”

He considered as their feet moved through the swirling patterns of the waltz. It was a knotty problem.

As much as Patrick cared for Amelia, he knew better than to offer for her himself. She’d drive him mad with her machinations and schemes. And besides, he was only nine-and-twenty himself. Much too young to be leg shackled.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll think of something. You always do, more’s the pity.” He mumbled the last bit.

She laughed, and the sound made Patrick smile.

“I suppose you’re right. If only you were more of a rakehell, Patrick. Then we could plan a scene that painted George as my rescuer.” She sighed dreamily, but Patrick’s innards twisted. This did not bode well. He knew her lovesick little brain was churning, and he was quite certain that whatever plan she’d make would be singularly dangerous to his…

“I’ve got it! Patrick, I know what we must do.” She gave a gleeful hop just as the violinist’s string popped and the song ended.

“I have a definite feeling that I’m not going to like this plan,” Patrick said as he escorted her from the floor.

“You’ll adore it! All the ladies will flock to you afterward, you’ll see. Women do so love a rake. Meet me in the park tomorrow at dawn, and I shall lay down what we must do.”

Patrick made his bows, and escaped into the chilly night.

Coming Spring 2014

Acknowledgments

This book tried to kill me. It tried its best, but in the end, me and my army of love won over!

To Commander in Chief (and husband) Scotty. Your unshakable faith in me is quite undeserved, but it keeps me moving! I love you more than marshmallows.

To Co-Generals Mom and Dad. Your constant questions about the state of the book kept me working when I wasn’t motivated. Thank you!

To Sergeant Frog, I mean, Sister. Heather, you’re a great source of comfort and kick-assery. I can’t do this without you!

To Private McBoing-Boing. Jason, I’m so proud of you. Keep working on being the best guy you can be!

To Princess Dawn. The first, the incomparable, the best beta reader. Thanks for nagging me to give you something to read!

To Empress Denise. Your friendship is invaluable to me. If not for you, this book might not have gotten started. If not for you dragging me to the beach, there’s no way I would have finished on time. I owe a TON of this one to you. Thanks for always being there. I love you bunches. To the careers!

To the Medical Corps, led by Stephanie. You’ll never know how much you, Dave, Jodi, Gabe, Keith, and even crazy Lee have meant to me. Just hanging out with you guys gives me strength! Mario Party next week?

To my dancing ladies who’ve never forgotten me. This is to Shell, Jenn, and Krysti! May we all wiggle in the same space soon.

And to my special ops team. Without these ladies? There is no book. Frances Black and Jennifer Mishler, my kick-ass agents, and Leah Hultenschmidt, the bestest editor ever. You guys make me want to be a better writer. I can’t tell you how much I value your opinions. I live in fear of disappointing any of you, and I hope that you’ll allow me to continue bringing smiles, entertainment, and spicy scenes into your lives! Thanks for all your wonderfulness!

About the Author

Gina Lamm loves geekery, but don’t let that fool you. She’s also an overly dramatic theatre rat with a penchant for reading scary books too late at night. She belly dances too much, tweets too often, and lives her life with a passion that could be considered foolish. She’s addicted to stories and loves nothing more than penning funny, emotional tales of love, lust, and entertaining mishaps. Married to a real-life superhero, she lives with her beloved family in rural North Carolina, surrounded by tobacco farms, possums, and the occasional hurricane. When not writing, you can usually find her fishing or playing World of Warcraft. Badly. Visit her online at www.ginalamm.net anytime.

Content

Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes
Geek Girls 2
by
Gina Lamm

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Here’s a sneak peek at The Geek Girl and the Reluctant Rake by Gina Lamm

Acknowledgments

About the Author