Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes (10 page)

muscle, but with skin stretched directly over bone. His

hand was cool in hers, and the other bled a chill into the

small of her back. She shivered.

“You are cold,” he said in his too- soft voice. “Let me

warm you.”

She didn’t resist as he drew her close in his arms. Her

heart thumped faster in excited delight. Her destined

true love was holding her in his arms. Could anything be

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more perfect? She rested her cheek against his chest with

a contented sigh.

It was cold.

She was pressed full against his body, but instead of

the comforting warmth she’d expected, he was icy from

head to toe. Pulling away from him, she looked up into

his face.

And screamed.

“You simpleton, wake up.”

Leah sat bolt upright with a gasp, her eyes flying

open. Sarah and the other girl were dressing across the

room, the light from their candles dancing crazily as they

chatted and giggled. Henrietta stood beside the bed,

glaring down at Leah. In her hands was the blanket. No

wonder Leah had dreamed about being cold.

“You will be late if you do not hurry. I shouldn’t care

if you were, but Mrs. Harper bade me wake you.”

“Oh my gosh,” Leah moaned, gripping her head.

It ached with a thumping pain. What a freaking weird

dream. But she didn’t have time to analyze it. She swung

her feet off the side of the bed and winced at the chilly

touch of the wooden floor. Without a word to Leah,

the other three girls left the room. If she hadn’t been so

absorbed in her own headache, it might have bothered

her. As it was, she could barely stagger over to the drawer

in the bureau that had been designated as hers.

The predawn sky was lightening slightly, but even

with a candle it was tough to dig her way through the

drawer. Finally her fingers closed around a small leather

pouch she’d secreted in her skirt before making her

journey through the mirror. She opened the zipper with

relief and spread the contraband on the windowsill.

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A toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. Tampons. A

bottle of Advil and a box of throat lozenges for the cold

that had been threatening her since last week. A bar

of her favorite vanilla and coconut soap, and a stick of

deodorant. A picture of Pawpaw, smiling as he worked

on an ancient tractor. She popped open the bottle of

Advil and swallowed two dry. Looking down at the

picture, she said, “Morning, Pawpaw.” She traced the

photo with a fingernail. She’d ridden on that tractor

many times as a child, her grandfather holding her

securely in his lap. Things were so much simpler then.

Shaking off her reverie, she brushed her teeth with

water from the pitcher and made quick work of washing

off as best she could with a rag and her soap. She donned

her uniform, wincing at the still- damp fabric. It couldn’t

be helped though. By the time her hair was all tucked

beneath her cap, her stockings were on, and her boots

were laced, the black of night had faded to the hazy gray

of early dawn on the horizon.

She gathered up her treasure trove and replaced the

pouch in the drawer beneath her dress. Her headache

was starting to fade around the edges a little, and gratitude flooded her as she descended the stairs to the servant’s

hall. If nothing else, Jamie’s journey had prepared her to

rough it here in the past. It wasn’t going to be easy, but

she was sure she was up to the challenge.

Well, she thought she was until she discovered just

how much a pain in the ass being an underhousemaid

could be.

“Good morning.” Leah smiled at Mrs. Harper as she

descended the stairs.

The white- haired housekeeper scowled at her. “You

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are very nearly late again, Ramsey. Granville House

servants are expected to be prompt at all times.”

Fighting the urge to protest, Leah scrambled to her

seat at the dining table. Nobody else seemed to be there

for breakfast yet, but clearly Mrs. Harper had risen from

the wrong side of the coffin. No use fighting that kind

of bad attitude. Clearly this woman needed to roll a solid

plus five to positivity.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Harper’s nostrils flared.

Leah put on her best contrite look. “Aren’t we

having breakfast?”

The housekeeper looked at her as if she’d shat in His

Grace’s boots. “You must work to earn your breakfast,

girl. Now follow me.”

Blowing out an exasperated breath, Leah rose and

trudged after the housekeeper. Was she ever going to

stop screwing up? It hadn’t seemed like being a servant

should be this hard. Hopefully she’d just polish a few

pieces of silver and then have a good breakfast to make

up for her lack of sleep. Longing for the coziness of her

memory- foam mattress, she followed Mrs. Harper down

the dim hallway.

“Attend me, Ramsey.” Mrs. Harper’s heels clicked

on the polished wood floors, and Leah hustled to keep

up with her. “These tasks are to be done every morning

upon rising. The house must be cleaned and aired, all

superfluous articles put into their proper places, the

fireplaces and hearths brushed up. The hearths all washed

with soap and water, then carefully wiped dry with linen

cloth and new fires laid.” Leah hurried into a sitting

room behind Mrs. Harper, who didn’t slow down at all.

The woman opened the curtains and kept moving as she

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spoke. “Sweep all the carpets, then turn up the corners

to sweep away the dust upon the floor. Dust the window

sashes, and once or twice a week shake out the window

curtains and hangings. Are you attending me?”

All Leah could do was nod her head numbly. Her

brain throbbed, her headache having returned with a

vengeance. The enormity of her new job pressing in on

her, she followed Mrs. Harper through room after room

as the housekeeper pointed out different tasks for her to

complete. Why hadn’t she smuggled a vacuum and some

Magic Erasers through the mirror with her? This was

going to take forever.

“Attend to His Grace’s dressing room, and the dressing

rooms of any guests we have in residence. Empty the

slops, replenish the ewers with fresh water, clean the

fireplaces, brush the carpets, sweep the room, and make

ready for the valet to attend His Grace’s dressing. Once

these tasks have been completed, you may then, and
only

then, come down to your breakfast.”

Leah stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, her

jaw working soundlessly. Mrs. Harper had just listed

about two weeks worth of housework, and she was

supposed to get all this done before breakfast?

“I’m sorry,” Leah said, surging forward to intercept

the housekeeper before she could launch into another list

of duties. “I don’t think I heard correctly. I thought you

said all this had to be done before breakfast.”

Mrs. Harper’s mouth pursed. “That is what I said, yes.

It is the duty of a maid in your position to assist in all

these tasks. You are capable, I trust?”

“Of course,” Leah said hopefully.
Assist
was a good

word. There were other maids, so maybe that giant list

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the old bat had just rattled off was to be divided among

them all. If not, Leah probably wouldn’t be eating break-

fast for a few days. Weeks, maybe.

“Now then,” Mrs. Harper sniffed, “go along with

your duties. Henrietta and Sara are attending to the

breakfast room, so you may proceed to His Grace’s

dressing chambers. Once you have put them to rights,

come down and attend to the library. I shall direct your

movements thereafter.”

After shoving a coal scuttle and cleaning rags into

Leah’s hands, Mrs. Harper shooed her toward the duke’s

dressing rooms.

Timing her footsteps with the throbbing in her head,

Leah mounted the stairs, trying like hell to figure out

where this adventure had gone so horribly wrong. She

had a terrifying idea that
empty
the
slops
meant
take
care
of
the
chamber
pot
.

She hadn’t planned on cleaning the man’s toilet before

she’d even had the chance to say hello.

i

Avery rolled to his side on the thin mattress, his breath

hitching as his injured ribs caught with the movement.

Dropping his feet to the chilly floor, he rose, gritting his

teeth against the heavy pain of his bruises. A deep breath

blew the worst of the pain away, and he was able to bend

and light the candle at his bedside.

Dashing chilly water against his face, he made quick

work of his morning ablutions, careful of his healing skin.

Much as he hated to admit it, his wounds were not as both-

ersome as they could have been, thanks to Miss Ramsey’s

attentions. The rough cotton towel scraped against throat.

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Miss Ramsey. Leah. The memory of the strange and

beautiful girl stirred feelings that it should not. But the

concern on her face, the tender way she’d bandaged his

ribs, the sweet scent of her…

He bit back a curse. He should not think of her, no

matter how kindly she’d treated him. The girl wanted to

repay his kindness in helping her gain a position in the

house. Ascribing any more importance to the gesture

would be the folly. He did not have the luxury of court-

ship, and even were he so inclined, she was destined for a

much more advantageous match than with a man such as

he. Whether or not she would wed the duke, a woman

that beautiful deserved a mate who was her match. And

Avery was certainly the farthest man from that.

He dressed quickly, having wasted much more time

considering Miss Ramsey than he could afford. Avery

set his jaw and proceeded down the stairs to His Grace’s

dressing chambers. His duties would not wait for his

dreams to end.

As he neared the dressing room, hissed curses met his

ears. Quickening his stride, he arrived at the door just in

time to discover the source of the commotion.

Leah stood with one slipper toeing His Grace’s

chamber pot across the polished floor, her skirts caught

high against her thighs and her fingers pinching her

nostrils shut. The lid slipped and clanged as she prodded

the pot gingerly with her toes, her whispered oaths

coming fast on the heels of each clatter.

“Miss Ramsey,” Avery choked out, pointedly ignoring

the delectable length of leg her indecent show displayed,

“whatever are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get this out of here.” She punctuated

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her statement with a particularly hard shove of her slipper

on the upper portion of the receptacle. Only Avery’s

quick thinking and faster movement prevented the

chamber pot from tipping over and spilling its contents

over the costly carpeting.

He set the pot upright, then lowered his brows into a

glower. “You must be silent, or you’ll wake His Grace.

Take this down to empty into the slops jar outside the

house. The night soil man collects it there.”

She didn’t release her nostrils, speaking in an odd,

nasally tone. “I can’t touch that.”

“Whyever not?” Frustration ran rampant through his

brain, and he fought to keep a civil tongue.

“It’s someone else’s shit. Literally. I can’t possibly carry

that without some kind of sanitary protection. Rubber

gloves, a hazmat suit, a bomb shelter, something.”

Avery tamped down the urge to throttle the beautiful

chit. It was a very near thing. “You requested a position

in this household. You informed me that you were

capable of a housemaid’s duties. Are you now saying that

you misled me to acquire the post?”

An angry blush climbed her cheeks, only managing to

make her look lovelier. “You know I didn’t lie to you. I

told you, I can do this job. But listen, I have zero desire

to die of some horrible disease because of a cavalier atti-

tude toward human excrement.” She crossed her arms.

Even in her plain, high- necked gown, her chest rounded

with the pose.

His mouth went dry, and he nearly choked as he tried

to swallow. Though he was irritated, his desire for her