her thoughts had conjured him from thin air.
“Good morning. Where is Russell?” the duke said in a calm tone. “I have need of him.”
Leah gripped the fireplace brush tightly, jamming it hard into the hearth to make up for the Jell-O in her knees. He was there, and he was in his nightclothes. His grayish hair was tousled, his wrinkled skin pale, his long fingers tapping against his leg lazily. This was a decisive man used to moving, to getting what he wanted. He was like a perfect statue, he really was. Like George Clooney or Sean Connery. She could work with that, right?
“He’s just stepped out, Your Grace, to get something. He’ll be back in a minute.” She smiled, hoping her nervousness didn’t show. She was talking to the duke, finally! “Can I get anything for you?”
“No, thank you. Inform me when he arrives,” the duke said.
Her heart fell when he turned around and headed back toward the bedroom. Her hands shaking on the brush handle, she resumed sweeping out the ashes, trying like hell to keep her disappointment in check.
“Oh, there is one thing.”
Her heart stuttered. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“What is your name?”
He smiled down at her, and his entire being changed then. The haughty pride that had surrounded him before melted into a pleasantly warm friendliness that Leah was dying to wrap herself in. His too-thin face widened, his brows lifted, and she could picture how he’d look if he was about twenty years younger and his eyes shined with love for her. She nearly sighed aloud in relief.
“It’s Ramsey, Your Grace. And my first name is—”
“Thank you, Ramsey.” With a polite nod, the duke disappeared into his bedchamber, taking that beautiful smile with him.
The handle cut into her palms as she stared at the closed door.
Oxygen.
That was important somehow, wasn’t it?
What was it for again?
She dropped the brush and flew toward the stairs. Avery. She had to find Avery. The duke wanted Avery, and he knew her name, at least half of it, and he wanted his valet, so where the hell was Avery?
And if she got to rub the duke’s interest in the snarky valet’s face, then that was just a bonus.
“Where are you off to, then?”
Henrietta’s high-pitched voice thumped Leah in the back of her neck like a slap from a long-dead tuna fish. Stopping on the landing, Leah turned and faced the younger maid.
“I’m doing my job. What are you doing?”
The younger girl shoved her mobcap back, narrowing her eyes as she stared. “You were to be attending to His Grace’s dressing rooms, I was told.”
“Exactly.” Leah walked back upstairs, stopping by the doorway that Henrietta stood in. Her proximity forced the younger maid to look upward into Leah’s face. Stiffening her spine and raising her brows, Leah said, “And you’re supposed to be working in the breakfast room. So why are you up here?”
Henrietta’s mouth opened, but only a half-formed squeak escaped it.
“So how about this? You do your job, and I’ll do mine.”
Turning on her heel, Leah hurried downstairs after Avery. If that little devil Henrietta wasn’t careful, she’d get on Leah’s bad side. And considering how many times Leah had gotten the best of Jamie at that age, it was a pretty safe bet that Henrietta would regret it.
“Avery!”
The valet in question entered the door from what Mrs. Harper had called the “area.” He carried the thankfully empty chamber pot in front of him, the lid turned upside down. Leah jumped the last two stairs to get to him sooner.
“The duke is awake, and he asked for you. He smiled at me, and he said my name. I was right, this is going to work.” The words poured from her like rain from a summer cloud. It wasn’t so much to gloat, either. More to share her triumph with her friend. They were still friends, right?
Avery’s nostrils flared, but he remained expressionless other than that. “I shall attend him directly. You can replace the chamber pot now, I trust?” He offered it to her, but she stumbled backward, warding the disgusting object away with waving hands.
“Can you take it up, since you’ve got to go anyway?” She might sound pathetic, but damn it, hot water was hard to come by around here. And she didn’t even know if they’ve heard of bleach yet. “You’re already contaminated.”
He blew an angry breath. “I must attend to His Grace immediately. If you are capable of performing your duties, you must prove it now.”
Leah shifted from foot to foot, searching her boggled brain for an answer to this problem. Gloves! Wait, they didn’t have latex yet, did they. Maybe like, a towel or a rag she could wrap the pot in…
Avery didn’t give her a chance to realize her half-formed flash of brilliance. He plopped the chamber pot in her hands and headed directly upstairs.
“Oh my God,” Leah moaned, bolting upstairs after him as fast as she could. “I’m carrying a toilet.” Bile filled her mouth and she swallowed hard, nearly stumbling as she hit the landing and skidded.
“Careful there.” The thread of amusement in Avery’s words nearly made her chuck the damn pot at his head.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she hissed as they rounded the corner and entered the dressing chamber. “You think it’s funny that I might die of some horrible disease because of the lack of sanitation here.”
He rolled his eyes as he crossed to the bedroom door. “You shall not die. More’s the pity, you shall live to empty many, many more chamber pots.”
She didn’t have time to snap back at him because he disappeared into the duke’s bedchamber then.
Slamming down the chamber pot into the corner behind the screen, Leah stomped back to the fireplace and resumed brushing the ashes out with overly violent motions. God, that valet was such an asshole. Handsome as all get-out, but a real irritant.
She just had to stick it out that long, and things would fall into place. She hoped.
“There you are, lad.” His Grace’s voice floated from the corner of the room by the window.
“My apologies, Your Grace. I am here to assist you.” Avery stood with back straight against the wall, awaiting his orders. Though he’d been told time and again to relax in the duke’s presence, he could not. In his experience, most so-called gentlemen were not to be trusted. Even though His Grace had given him no cause for alarm, his instincts would not give over.
The duke rose from his seat by the window, where he’d been looking out across the early-dawn-covered Town. Avery didn’t take more than a single glance out of the pane. Something was not right. His spine prickled with warning.
“We shall ride out in two days’ time. The Houndstooth tourney has been arranged.” His Grace sank into the bedclothes, an eager smile on his face. “I’m told that you shall be the man to beat, Russell.”
Avery’s heart sank. He’d halfway hoped that the duke would refuse to allow him to fight. He should have known better. His Grace had discovered him in the mills, and though he’d been kind enough to give Avery a respectable position, he’d never made a secret of his continued support of the Fancy, those members of the ton who supported boxing. The other members would not take kindly to one of their favorites missing the famous Houndstooth, especially if Prachett was trumpeting about his supposed attendance.
“Very well, Your Grace.” Avery bowed low and turned to leave.
“Russell.”
Avery ground to an immediate halt. Turning, he watched as the duke’s smile faded. “Yes, Your Grace?”
The nobleman closed his eyes, a picture of long-suffering. “The dowager duchess is hosting a rout tomorrow evening, and she has need of more staff. See to it that Mrs. Harper provides her with everything she
