Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes (15 page)

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

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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?

i

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.

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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 servant’s entrance.

“Avery?”

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

“Thank you.” Leah bowed her head. “For every-

thing.” 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.

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“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 asso-

ciate 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 sighed.

Looking longingly at the floor—

it’d be so damn

easy to sit 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.

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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.

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“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 ever 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.

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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

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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

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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

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made of his last bag. Removing the mostly- empty sack,

he replaced it with another and began the tedious job of

scooping the earth into the fabric chute.

The repetitive motions did nothing to keep thoughts