Gina Lamm

by Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes

  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 Du
ke 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 Pra
chett 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.