The Geek Girl and the Scandalous Earl (9 page)

It wasn’t easy to avoid Mike for the next few days, but Jamie was determined. She stayed in her room until she saw him leave the house, hiding behind the curtains like a princess in a tower. Acting like a chickenshit wasn’t the best course of action, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t face him yet. Muriel smuggled books up to the Lemon Room for her, so she wouldn’t go bored out of her mind. Jamie started to get a newfound appreciation for Shakespeare. Those plays were as tawdry as any episode of
CSI
she’d ever sat through.

Mrs. Knightsbridge kept up the countess lessons, but Jamie thought the housekeeper knew that her heart wasn’t in it. Jamie didn’t tell her about the ill-fated kiss in the hallway, but it seemed kind of obvious that something had happened between the earl and his uninvited guest. After a few fruitless sessions of prodding Jamie for information, Mrs. K let it go.

But when it came to the dancing lessons, the diminutive housekeeper was as ferocious as an ogre. She forced Jamie down into the music room, talking her ear off all the while. Without regard to propriety or her fancy duds, Jamie flopped down on the settee beneath the window while Mrs. K chattered.

“Come now, you must do this. A proper countess must be able to perform the country dances, and it will be acceptable for you to waltz once you are wed…”

“Mrs. K, for the billionth time, there’s not going to be any wedding. Mike has zero interest in me. None. He can’t stand me, and the feeling is very much mutual.”

Jamie had never been the best liar, but she thought she delivered that pretty well. It didn’t stop the doubt from creeping over the housekeeper’s round face, though. She acted like Jamie hadn’t said a word and continued shuffling sheet music.

“As I said, when you are wed, then permission will not be a problem. Ah yes, here is his lordship now.”

The thudding footsteps in the hall confirmed her statement. Jamie jumped up from the settee, truly a feat since she was still stuffed into those damn unforgiving stays. “Wait a minute, you didn’t say he was going to be involved with this. I can’t dance with him. I can’t even be in the same room with him without someone attempting murder.”

There was an evil sort of twinkle in Mrs. K’s eye. “Well, how can you learn to dance without a handsome and capable partner? Your lordship, thank you for attending us.”

Mike didn’t even look over at Jamie as he entered the room. He looked, well, fricking fantastic in his dove-gray coat and tight fawn pants. His boots were so shiny she thought she could see her face in them if she bent down. Of course, he might kick her in the face if she tried. Jamie sighed inwardly. She’d really fucked everything up, once again.

“Yes, Mrs. Knightsbridge, I understand you needed my assistance?”

The housekeeper nodded happily, her round cheeks bright. “Yes. I will accompany you on the piano if you will be so kind as to guide Miss Jamie in the steps of the cotillion.”

The horror on Mike’s face would have been funny if it wasn’t so damn painful. His eyes flared wide, panic clear in their brown depths.

Am
I
really
that
bad?
Jamie looked down at the rose-colored muslin dress she wore and smoothed the skirt down self-consciously. These damn petticoats made it look like she had thunder thighs. Fashion back in her time was really more flattering to her figure. Maybe that would help Mike be able to tolerate her more.

“Cotillion? Mrs. Knightsbridge, I cannot—”

“Oh, do not be so modest, your lordship. You are a wonderful dancer.”

“That is not the issue. I simply—”

Jamie couldn’t take his namby-pamby avoidance of the issue anymore. If he wasn’t man enough to come out and say it, then she’d do it for him. “He doesn’t want to dance with me, Mrs. K. He doesn’t like me.”

You could have heard mice whisper in the walls if Mrs. Knightsbridge wasn’t such a great housekeeper. Mike and Mrs. K both stared at Jamie like she’d sprouted polka-dotted bat wings. She didn’t think it was possible to feel even more uncomfortable, but there Mike was once again, proving her wrong.

“Nonsense, Miss Jamie,” Mrs. K sputtered like an ancient engine. Mike continued staring at Jamie. “His lordship thinks very highly of you and will prove it by aiding in your dance lesson.” Mrs. K pinned him with a glare that dared him to deny it.

He shook his head slightly, composed his face, and drew himself up taller. “Of course, Miss Marten. I would be delighted to assist.” He offered Jamie his hand, and she stared at it, disbelieving.

He
doesn’t want to do this
. Every time they had ever touched, he’d disappeared immediately afterward like his ass was on fire. The only reason he hadn’t run this time was because Mrs. K had put his masculinity on the line, and as a “gentleman,” he couldn’t desert Jamie without looking like a total asshat. Jamie wished Mrs. K hadn’t put him on the spot like that. Forcing him to be with Jamie certainly wasn’t going to make him like her. But if Jamie ignored him, then she was the bitch, and she’d played that particular role more than enough lately.

Jamie steeled herself and took his offered hand. She wouldn’t pay attention to the strong warmth of his skin on hers. She would studiously ignore the fact that her heart fluttered being close to him again. She would not focus on the way her lips tingled, longing to touch his again. She would get through this damn dance lesson without embarrassing herself if it was the last thing she ever did.

“Excellent.” Mrs. Knightsbridge settled herself on the piano bench, a satisfied smile on her flushed face. As Mike led Jamie to the center of the room, she imagined creative ways to kill the housekeeper. Slowly. Thoroughly. Perhaps with the use of flesh-eating beetles.

“Now, Miss Marten, have you danced before?” Mike looked over at Jamie as they reached the open area of the room.

“Leah talked me into a belly dancing class one time.”

Mike arched a brow at her. “Belly dancing?”

Still holding his hand, Jamie executed a smooth hip circle. Mrs. Knightsbridge gasped with shock.

Mike’s other brow leapt to match the first in height, and his throat worked as he swallowed hard. He might have been fighting a grin. “Ah. Yes. Well, that is not exactly, well, hrm.”

Jamie couldn’t stop the smirk that climbed unbidden to her lips. “Guess that’s not what you were going for, huh?”

“Gentlefolk do not dance in that way, no.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

Mike cleared his throat and began to instruct Jamie in the steps of the cotillion. It reminded her of a complicated grown-up version of Ring Around the Rosie. Lots of skippy little steps and do-si-do-ing and such. She didn’t have the most coordinated feet in the world, but she paid attention, and despite her reluctance, she began to have fun, skipping and hopping and grabbing Mike’s hands at appointed intervals.

Mike was a great teacher, once he stopped acting like she had a contagious fatal illness. They paraded through the music room together, Mrs. Knightsbridge accompanying them on the piano. Jamie laughed aloud when she almost tripped over Mike’s foot. This was fun, the most fun she’d had since being sucked two hundred years into the past.

As Jamie skipped around Mike, she let her eyes linger on him. The strong breadth of his shoulders, the way his tight pants defined his legs, the now-pleasant twinkle in his eyes—they all drew her toward him. When she skipped too close and tripped over him, it was only a little bit an accident.

“Careful, Miss Marten!” He caught her, his strong arms around her middle. The tinkling tune from the piano stopped abruptly.

“Sorry.” Jamie laughed as she looked up into his face. His eyes were still bright with what she hoped was pleasure. Was it her imagination, or did he let his hands linger at her waist?

When Jamie was steady, Mike stepped back, putting distance between them. “Well, you seem to have grasped the basics.” He straightened his waistcoat and cleared his throat.

“Yes,” Mrs. Knightsbridge called in a bright voice. “Miss Jamie has done very well with the cotillion. Now, I think a waltz.” Without missing a beat, she began to play a sweeping song in three-four time.

Jamie stood there and stared at Mike. His face had lost its cheerful expression, and something darker and worried had taken the place of the twinkle in his eyes. He took a faltering half step toward her and stopped.

“You don’t have to waltz with me,” Jamie whispered to him. She didn’t know if he’d hear her over the piano or not. She hoped the disappointment that gripped her chest wasn’t obvious on her face. Why wouldn’t he want to dance with her? Was she really so horrible?

Jamie looked down at her slippered feet, trying hard to swallow the knot of self-loathing that had taken root in her throat. Maybe if she were different, Mike would want her. Maybe Logan wouldn’t have gotten bored with her and left. The only common factor between them was Jamie—and the fact that neither wanted anything to do with her.
God, what the hell is so bad about me?

A strong, warm hand suddenly took hers. She looked up through eyes that were curiously teary.

“Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a demand from a man that was completely used to having his own way. It didn’t bother her. She let him pull her toward him, and suddenly she felt like Baby in
Dirty
Dancing
. She was in her dance space, and he was in his, but the way that he looked into her eyes made her feel completely possessed by him.

Her heart sped at the way he guided her. His hand on the small of her back burned her. He led her through the swirling steps—one, two, three, one, two, three—spinning her in dizzying circles. Their eyes were locked, their hands clasped, and as she rested her other palm on his muscled shoulder, she didn’t know if she was Jamie Marten, songwriter and self-avowed geek girl from 2012, or Miss Jamie Marten, genteel and refined English miss from 1816.

If she was Miss Marten, and the music room was spinning around her while she was in the arms of a handsome earl, then she might be contemplating the idea of falling head-over-slippers in love with the dashing nobleman.

But if she was Jamie, and the music was winding down and the steps were coming slower, then she should not be imagining anything like that. No matter how delicate and beautiful he made her feel as they twirled like a couple on the top of a music box. No matter how strong his arm felt around her, no matter how her heart beat faster as he pulled her slightly closer to his warmth.

She pulled free from his arms as the last notes floated in the air.

“Thank you for the lesson, Mike.”

Without allowing him to respond, she turned and left the room.

***

“What the devil?” Micah whispered after she disappeared, watching the now-empty doorway as if expecting her to reappear at any moment.

“So sorry, my lord. I’ll go and see to her, shall I?” Mrs. Knightsbridge stood, smoothing her skirts as she crossed the floor.

Micah shook himself inwardly and stepped forward. “Wait, please.”

The housekeeper stopped at his commanding voice, looking at him expectantly.

With a sigh, he shoved his hair back from his forehead. “Did I behave poorly? To Miss Marten, I mean.”

Mrs. Knightsbridge gave a soft smile, her round, pink cheeks and eyes glowing. “No, my dear, I believe you behaved like a gentleman should. I’ll soon set her to rights. Do not worry.”

With no comment about her informal speech, Micah stepped aside and allowed Mrs. Knightsbridge to leave the room.

He’d forgotten.

While they were dancing that damned waltz, he’d forgotten all the reasons that he should stay far away from Miss Marten. It had felt good, to hold her thus. To guide her in the steps that were obviously unfamiliar to her, to steady her when she stumbled, to look into her smiling, laughing face and marvel at her clear skin, her thin nose, her full lips. To remember how it had felt to kiss her. And to anticipate doing it much more.

Micah slumped into the chair at the corner of the room. Nonsense. It was all a load of utter nonsense. Miss Lyons was his future, not some maid from the future with laughing eyes and no discernable manners.

He stood and strode from the room. Amberson should be there shortly, and he’d put the secretary to arranging the necessary details for his nuptials. It was time to put this bloody absurdity behind him.

***

Jamie paced through the little garden, Baron trotting at her heels. Her thoughts were swirling faster than she had been in Mike’s arms during the last dance. Why was she doing this to herself? She and Mike could never have anything together. He didn’t want her there. And she wanted to go home. She hadn’t felt clean in days. Her phone’s battery was nearly gone. She’d only turned it on for quick sessions of Fruit Ninja to stave off boredom anyway, but that tiny link to the future was almost extinct. She wanted her toothbrush, her shower, and her weekly stash of comics.

She wasn’t cut out for this world. She couldn’t survive here happily. The walls of the garden seemed to close in on her, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, almost like someone was watching her.

“Baron, what do I do?” She flopped down on the stone bench and let the greyhound lean against her as she scratched his ears.

“Miss Jamie, are you well?”

Jamie sighed. Mrs. Knightsbridge was rounding the bend in the path. Jamie should have known the housekeeper wouldn’t allow an escape from the nefarious dance lessons without a good explanation.

“Hey, Mrs. K. I’m fine. Just needed some air.”

Mrs. K motioned for Jamie to scoot over on the bench, and she did so reluctantly. She wasn’t in the mood for a heart-to-heart, but the little woman wasn’t going to take no for an answer apparently.

“He’s been hurt, you know.”

“Who? Mike?” A little thrill of fear shot through Jamie’s chest. “What happened? Did he fall or something when I left the room?”

“Oh no, not now, Miss Jamie. Before.”

“Oh.” Jamie felt stupid for the worried flutter in her heart. “What happened?”