Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes (33 page)

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Authors: Gina Lamm

Tags: #Romance, #Literature & Fiction, #United States, #Regency, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Time Travel

he gathered the discarded cane and coat. The conver-

sation was turning into a dangerous one, and he must

keep his wits about him. “His Grace will return at

any moment.”

i

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.

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“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 surround-

ings. 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 some-

where. She knew it.

i

“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.

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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.

i

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 some-

one’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

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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.

i

Avery’s knuckles had gone numb nearly an hour before.

That didn’t stop him. Keenly aware of Prachett’s pres-

ence 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

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257

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.

i

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 course 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.

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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 on 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

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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’?” And 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.

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The conversation continued on the other side of the

room, and Leah huffed her frustration to cover her fear.

It was much easier to be pissed than it was to be scared.

After her one lapse into desperate sobs, she wasn’t inter-

ested 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

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