Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes

But he must be quiet about it. If anyone were to see him…

No. He’d not dwell on that.

Rounding the corner of the landing, he waited for Henrietta and Sarah to pass by.

“She won’t last out the week,” Henrietta’s snide remark caught his ear. “Mrs. Harper should never have hired her on. I could have taken Fannie’s position, and that’s the truth. This girl cannot possibly do the job.”

“What can Mrs. Harper be thinking, allowing her to serve at the dowager’s rout?” Sarah followed Henrietta, the coal scuttle banging softly against the older maid’s skirts. Avery stood aside and allowed them to pass. They did not acknowledge his presence at all. It was as if he was simply a stick of furniture. Don’t trip on it, mind you, but certainly don’t bother making conversation with it.

The cut had long ago ceased to bother him.

Continuing on his way, Avery mounted the stairs slowly so as to hear Henrietta’s reply.

“I am glad that she shall serve. The stupid girl will anger the dowager, we’ll make sure of that. This afternoon I am to instruct her how to go on. What a job I shall make of it!” Henrietta’s giggles echoed in the stairwell.

Avery’s stomach dropped. Damn and blast. Redoubling his speed, he mounted the stairs two at a time. He must keep Henrietta from ruining Miss Ramsey’s chances of succeeding on the morrow. It really was too bad that he could think of but one way to keep her from her sabotaged lessons.

* * *

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to come with you?”

Miss Ramsey’s voice floated over his shoulder as he led her through the streets. They’d left the fine parts of the West End many minutes ago and were now nearing St. Giles.

“There was no choice,” he said patiently, holding an arm out to stop her from crossing in front of a hack. “The dowager’s rout is tomorrow evening, and if you’re to know how to go on, I must instruct you. Do not worry. Mrs. Harper has been told you’ve been sent on an errand for Cook.”

They continued across the street, and Avery tried not to notice the growing concern on Miss Ramsey’s face as she took in their surroundings. The fine homes had given way to crowded hovels, filth and garbage littering the streets. The warmth of Miss Ramsey’s body soaked into him as she pressed close to his side. He repressed his desire due to her proximity, though it was a damned difficult thing to do.

“Mrs. Harper said she’d have somebody tell me what to do. God, what a stink. Where did you say we were going again?” Miss Ramsey’s gloved hand pressed over her mouth and nose, and her forehead wrinkled in distaste. How strange that such a repugnant expression could look so lovely.

“We are going to my aunt. She is ill.” He stopped to allow a tradesman’s cart to pass before continuing. “But as for the rout, Mrs. Harper intended for Henrietta to show you how to go on. Henrietta wanted Fannie’s position for herself. She made it quite well known that she’d be most happy if the dowager found you unsatisfactory.” He bit back the part about prison. No reason to frighten the girl.

Their footsteps squished through the muddy streets as they entered St. Giles. To distract her from the worsening conditions in the streets, he began reciting a litany of advice for the morrow.

“The dowager is His Grace’s mother. You will need to be most careful while in her presence. Mind how you go there.” He steered her away from a pile of filth in the street. “She does not tolerate mistakes from her servants. You’ve one chance to impress her, and once lost, you shall never have another.”

“So, no pressure,” Miss Ramsey said dryly, tucking an errant blond lock behind her ear. “Not only is my future mother-in-law a former duchess, she’s also a terrifying dragon lady. Good thing I brushed up on my dragon-slaying etiquette.”

She fell silent, and Avery let her take in the scene of the square.

It was familiar to him. After all, once his mother had passed on, he and his father had come to live here, in one of the shanties by the church. The foul odors, the calling curses loud in the air, the crowded conditions were all as native to him as breathing. He turned, and his throat closed at the shock on Miss Ramsey’s face.

“Your sick aunt doesn’t live here, does she?” Her words were thick with horror.

An odd mixture of shame and offended pride filled him. “It’s not such a bad place. There’s a roof over her head and enough food to fill her belly. If I had the means, she would make her home in a more comfortable situation.”

She turned to him, biting her lip before speaking. “Avery, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

He dismissed her apology with a wave. “No matter.”

“You used to live here, didn’t you?”

Her insight nearly felled him. He drew himself up taller. “Yes, I did.”

Her small hand curled around his arm. “No wonder you’re so tough. You had to be, growing up here.”

He cast a glance over to her. She was looking into his face, without pity, without any sign of condescension. She simply stated a fact, but there was a light behind her eyes, one that made him wonder if she esteemed him for overcoming his former hardships.

Though he longed to reach out, bathe himself in that light, he cleared his throat and continued. “Follow me, if you please.”

Despite his longing at having her so near, he made sure to remain as close as her shadow as they wound their way through St. Giles toward his aunt’s one-room hovel. Guiding her toward the next corner, he pulled down his hat and prayed as he passed the Wolf and Dove public house that no one would notice him. The first time he’d gone to a mill, which had been against his will, was at the insistence of the proprietor, Benedict Turpin. He’d won half a crown, as promised, but had made the acquaintance of Thomas Prachett in the bargain.

“Quickly now,” he said in a low voice to Miss Ramsey, hustling her past the door.

“Russell, as I live and breathe,” a cackle came from the door of the pub. The man leaning against the door spat into the street, then smiled with a mouthful of rotten teeth at Avery. It was Turpin, of course. One of Prachett’s men. The one who’d introduced them.

Avery’s stomach, having changed into a sack of lead, plummeted.

Then again, luck never had been much on his side.

Eleven

“Fancy meeting you here, you old devil.” The man’s accent was thick, making it hard to understand him.

Leah turned toward the voice, curiosity momentarily overtaking the nerves that had been ruling her brain. She’d been to some scary places in her day. Hell, once she’d had an overnight layover in Detroit. But even that hadn’t prepared her for the harsh reality of the London slums.

Avery’s shoulders, lined with tension before, tightened even further as he turned to face the one who’d addressed him.

“Turpin.” He nodded coolly. “No time to waste, I’m afraid. I’ve an appointment.”

The man stood half a foot taller than Avery, his brownish-white shirt splattered with stains across the front. His jacket was threadbare, the cheap fabric thinning in many places. “Come in for a pint, my lad, and tell us about the fine house you serve in. Fancy a bruiser like you polishing buttons and wiping a lordship’s arse!” He tossed back his head and laughed, and Leah turned her head away quickly from the sight and smell of his open mouth. Ugh, she should have brought a sack of toothbrushes with her through that damn mirror.

“Another time.” Avery turned on his heel and Leah stumbled in shock as he gripped her arm to steer her forward.

“At the Houndstooth tourney? You’ll be there, won’t you, lad?”

Avery didn’t slow, apparently pretending not to hear the question.

Leah moved on her toes, driven by Avery’s strong but gentle grip.

Shut up, she inwardly hissed to her fluttering heart. Anyone would think she’d been kissed passionately at the way her excited heart was thumping. She was apparently so desperate for human companionship that her upper arm had graduated to erogenous zone. At least, she tried to convince herself that it