Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes (8 page)

When Leah didn’t respond right away, Cook gave

her arm a little shake. “Promise me, lass. I’ll not leave go

until you do.”

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“Fine, I promise.” The words spilled out reluctantly

and Leah pulled her arm free. The relief on the woman’s

red face was plain.

“Good. It is time to retire, so go up with the others.

Not a word of this conversation to anyone.”

Without waiting for a reply, Cook turned and left

Leah in the empty kitchen. Leah crossed her arms and

furrowed her brow. What conversation? As far as Leah

could tell, Cook had talked and Leah had listened, even

though she didn’t understand a word of it.

Why would Cook be so adamant about Avery? It

didn’t make any sense.

“Ramsey, as penance for your tardiness this evening,

you will finish the scrubbing up,” Mrs. Harper said when

Leah entered. In the few minutes she’d been with Cook

in the kitchen, most everyone seemed to have cleared

out. “You will find the scullery off the main kitchen

there. Straight to your bed when you’ve done, and you

are expected here for your tasks by five. I shall not be

so lenient with your punishment if you are tardy again.

Tomorrow you will learn your regular duties. Granville

House is one of the most respected homes in London,

and you must work to maintain that status with the rest

of us.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Leah said dutifully to the woman’s back

as she exited the servant’s hall, leaving her completely

alone. Man, they didn’t really go for friendly working

relationships, did they? Or maybe it was just Leah.

Maybe they could tell she was way more familiar with

the intimate workings of
The
Legend
of
Zelda
than with a broom. In any case, she thought as she wandered through

the dim kitchen to the smallish room on the side, she

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Gina Lamm

would be pretty damn happy to see the end of her stint

as maid, and she hadn’t even done any real work yet.

Pushing open the door to the scullery, Leah ground to

a horrified halt. “Oh,
hell
no.”

It looked like an episode of
Hoarders: Regency Edition
.

Sticky dishes were piled everywhere, layered with crusts

and molding bits of food. Large pots were stacked to one

side of a huge basin, which was filled with grayish water.

Flies buzzed gleefully around the whole mucky scene.

Leah slammed her eyes shut. “This has got to be a

joke.” Even without the vision in front of her, the smell

of old food was proof enough that reality had a really

cruel sense of humor.

What
do
you
want, Leah? You want true love? You want
to find a man that Pawpaw can feel good about you marrying?

Then here. Prove it. Do the best damn job you can. It’s the
only way you’ll get the chance to win the game.

With a dejected sigh, Leah rolled up her sleeves and

grabbed an apron. If she was lucky, she’d get this done in

two hours, which would mean a good six hours of sleep.

She could operate on that. She hoped.

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Seven

She wasn’t lucky. Not only was she not lucky, she

was almost completely sure that Mrs. Knightsbridge

had put some kind of curse on her before shoving her

through that mirror.

She
didn’t shove you. You practically dived face- first into
that bureau’s glass front. “Don’t worry, Pawpaw. I’ll go off
and have an adventure and find super- husband and everything
will be perfect!” Typical Leah. Idiot.

The dishwater splashed into Leah’s face as she

slammed the plate down into it. A drop hit her tongue,

and she nearly gagged. Wiping her face against her arm,

she sighed and resumed scrubbing.

It was after midnight according to the bonging she

heard from somewhere in the house, and she still had

three pots to scour. Her hands were pale and wrinkled

like raisins. Her nails were jagged, her mobcap was slip-

ping, and to make things worse, a large brown spider

was working in a dusty corner directly in front of Leah.

She had to stand as far away from the basin as possible to

avoid any chance of contact. Arachnophobia wasn’t one

of those things she could just suck it up and deal with.

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“I’ve got my eye on you, you eight- legged bastard,”

Leah said aloud to the spider as she worked at a

crusted- on bit of something. “If you move, you and I

are going to have problems. I’m talking major issues.

You should probably go ahead and pick out your

casket, because
EEeeeeeeek
!”

The spider moved. The pot clattered to the floor,

splattering dishwater all over Leah, the clean dishes,

and the spider, who skittered down the wall toward the

floor as fast as his many legs could carry him. Letting out

another bloodcurdling shriek, Leah ran for the kitchen

and collided with a solid, muscled, male body in the

scullery doorway.

“Help,” she gasped into Avery’s face, completely

uncaring that her voice was thin and panicked. “There’s

a huge spider, and it was too close to me, and it ran and

I don’t know where it went.”

He looked like she’d just grabbed an unexpected

handful of Mr. Happy, but she couldn’t do anything

about that. The irrational fear completely blocked logic

from her mind as she climbed Avery’s body like a well-

muscled ladder. Looking over her shoulder to make sure

the spider hadn’t followed, she twined her arms around

his neck and her legs around his waist and held on for

dear life.

i

He’d known the lass for less than a day, and she’d just

wound herself around him like the crust on a meat pie.

She wasn’t an overly fleshy girl, but she was surpris-

ingly heavy when she clung to him like a petrified and

hissing cat. Though his first instinct was to shove her

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away, breaking the unexpected and— if he was quite

honest, painful— contact, he repressed it with difficulty.

Spreading his feet apart to give him more balance, he

carefully began to peel her from his body, making sure

to move slowly and methodically, both to prevent

distressing her further and causing his bruised body

greater discomfort. Her panicked state would not facili-

tate his swift release.

“Stoppit, Avery, please. Holy shit, he’s coming this way!”

She clung to him tighter, burying her face in his

neck. The measured pace of his removal gave him ample

opportunity to feel the soft vice of her thighs around

his hips, the press of her breasts against his chest. The

scent of a sweet perfume invaded his senses, and tendrils

of yellow hair tickled his cheek. The heavy ache in his

bones accompanied a deep tingling of desire at the base

of his spine.

“Miss Ramsey, release me.” His voice was firm if

muffled by the mobcap she’d pressed against his cheek.

For every finger he removed from its grip at the back of

his neck, another grabbed hold. “Now.” He mustn’t be

seen with her this way; it would ruin her. His unease was

growing into a creature that resembled her panic at the

sight of the spider. He had to break their contact quickly.

He could not harm her reputation, not when she’d been

so kind to him.

“I can’t. Kill it, please.”

His voice was angrier than he’d intended, but he

could not temper his response. “How am I to kill

anything with you clinging to me like a vulture on a

rotted corpse?”

“Ugh,” she said, loosening her hold enough to look

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him in the eyes. Her delicate nose wrinkled in disgust.

“What a gross visual.”

With barely disguised relief, he grabbed her around

the waist and turned, pulling her free and setting her in a

chair with a soft thump. His security was tempered with

another, stranger sense of loss. How odd.

“Where is it? Did you kill it yet?” She peered around

his hip as if looking for a brigand to come despoil her

instead of a tiny spider.

“Wait there a moment.”

He turned away from her and straightened his

clothing. Scanning the stone floor beneath his feet, he

stepped slowly.

“There it is! Oh my God, there it is by that bag.”

Instead of examining the tiny spider that was making

its way up the side of a sack of flour, Avery looked over

his shoulder at Miss Ramsey. She’d clapped both hands

over her eyes, drawing her feet up beneath her as if to

keep them away from the slavering fangs of the blood-

thirsty spider. It would have been humorous had her fear

not been so real.

Taking pity on her, he knocked the spider from the

bag, onto a small piece of kindling, intending to usher

the blighter outside.

“Don’t take it on a transatlantic cruise, just squish it

for chrissakes!” Her choked voice chastised him.

Ignoring her, Avery walked slowly, turning the

kindling to keep the spider from falling or jumping

free. Shoving the kitchen door open with his knee, he

bent down and deposited the spider in the bush beside

the stoop.

“There, lad. Mind you, stay clear of the kitchen and

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Miss Ramsey. I’ll not be allowed to spare your life a

second time.”

He smiled as the small creature disappeared into the

darkened foliage. The door’s hinges creaked as he pulled

it shut.

She sat in the same position, feet tucked beneath her

and hands plastered over her eyes.

“Is it safe?”

“It is. He will trouble you no longer, miss.”

Avery watched as the tension slowly ebbed from her

fingertips, her hands, then her arms and shoulders. Her

feet slid to the floor, and her whole body melted like

warmed candle wax. The corner of her mouth turned

down, her cheeks were pale, and her demeanor was that

of one utterly defeated.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking down at the

floor. “Snakes I can handle. Mice are fine. I know it’s

stupid, I know, but those damn spiders scare the crap out

of me.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes shiny with

unshed tears. “I’m so sorry.”

His arms ached but not from the beating he’d taken.

He didn’t know why. Never before had he felt the urge

to do something, to ease her discomfort, to shelter her

by…holding her in his arms? No. The thought was

insupportable. She had come here for the duke, and he

could not stand in her way.

Abruptly turning away, Avery cleared his throat and

clasped his hands behind his back. “It is of no conse-

quence.” Keeping his gaze trained on a stack of bowls, he

fought to regain his composure. What had this woman

done to him?

“I hate to even ask you this.” Her voice was thin and

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small. “Would you mind checking the scullery? To see if

he had any, er, friends in there.”

Without comment, Avery turned and walked into

the scullery.

Pots and dishes were piled everywhere, mostly

clean but for a pile of largish pots to one side of the

washbasin. He stooped to pick up a half- scrubbed pot

from the stones of the floor. This must have been the

crash he’d heard when entering the kitchen. He set the

pot upright by the basin and examined the corners of

the room.

“There is no sign of any eight- legged compatriots,

madam. I should think you are safe.”

“Are you sure?” Her pale face peered around the

corner of the doorjamb.

“Quite certain.”

She entered the room slowly, eyes darting this way

and that, as if she didn’t quite trust his report. He said not a word as she moved with arms crossed tightly over her

middle to stand in the center of the room.

“Thank you.” She didn’t look up at him as she spoke.

“Again, I’m really sorry about that. I just can’t handle

spiders. I’m not normally such a wimp, so please don’t

think I can’t do this, okay?”

“What do you mean?”

She gestured to the mound of dishes. “I know you

and Cook are risking a lot by getting me this job. I can

handle it, I promise. I don’t want you to think because

I wigged out over a huge, monstrously awful spider that

I can’t hack this job.” She nodded and straightened her

spine. “I’m kind of a bad ass, when I need to be.”