Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes (3 page)

“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

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15

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 lord-

ship, 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 appropri-

ately.” 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?”

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Gina Lamm

“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 some-

thing’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 leapt through the floorboards and lodged

straight in her chest, making her heart beat 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 appreci-

ated 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
.

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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

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 house-

hold, 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.

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Gina Lamm

Geek Girls Don’t Date Dukes

“The maids cannot be spared from their responsibili-

ties,” 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

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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 he. He’d do well to

mind his business and not waste time dreaming.

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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.

“The 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.

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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
.

i

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!”

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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