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. Nop
e. 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.”
D
espite 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.
Gina Lamm Page 4