Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes

The bag creaked against the ropes as he pummeled it again.

His work this night would be most satisfying. He’d exorcise the demons in his head by punishing his body.

And wasn’t that just what he’d been doing his whole life?

* * *

The next day dawned bright and sunny, the perfect weather for a proper British party, Leah thought.

Well, maybe not the typical British weather, but beautiful anyway.

Leah tried to keep from yawning as she helped Cook load a basket full of her best scones. Apparently Mrs. Dearborn, the Granville House cook, was better at scone making than the Tunstall Place’s own kitchen mistress. And the dowager demanded the best for her events, as Leah had been reminded, oh, about a billion times since she’d descended the stairs in the pre-dawn hour.

“Ramsey, tuck that cloth around the scones, and then the footmen can take this basket. Do be careful, girl.”

Leah wasn’t exactly sure how she could screw this up, but she tucked the cloth carefully anyway. The kitchen around her was a maddening mix of rushing maids and steaming pots, the noise and mayhem almost like opening night of a musical. It was like everyone expected the queen herself to show up at this rout.

Leah frowned as she shut the basket. She knew there was a prince regent about now, but was there a queen? She wasn’t sure. Renaissance history she was much clearer on, but nineteenth century? Not so much. She couldn’t remember one being mentioned in any of her favorite books placed during this time. She’d have to ask Avery later.

“Don’t dawdle, Ramsey, you must hurry. The carriages are leaving in a moment. Take that hamper.” Mrs. Harper’s hands fluttered like deranged hummingbirds as she shooed Leah toward the door.

Toting the basket, Leah hummed under her breath as she reached the fresh air and sunlight outside. The chaos she’d just left seemed far away, and she took a grateful, cleansing breath. Man, she’d needed that.

“Good morning, Ramsey.”

A deep voice behind her made her jump. She turned to find out who’d spoken.

“Hello,” she said, smiling politely to the stranger. “Do I know you?”

“No’ yet,” he said in the lightest trace of a brogue. “But I’d like to remedy that. I’m Lachlan Mackenzie, the stable master. May I take your hamper to the carriage?”

Leah smiled. What a gentleman. Her head tilted in the beginning of a grateful nod when the basket was lifted from her hands.

“I’ll take it. Get into the carriage.”

Leah wheeled on Avery, who now held the basket. Around the handle, his scarred knuckles were white with tension.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine. Is there a problem?” She glared at him, digging her toe into the gravel.

He leaned close to her as the Scotsman gave a mocking smile. Avery hissed the words into her ear. “Get into the carriage, and do not argue with me.”

Mrs. Harper opened the door to the area, stifling Leah’s retort. Ooooh, Avery was so going to freaking get it later. Glowering at him, Leah turned on her heel and half stomped to the plain black carriage that stood waiting outside the area.

What was Avery’s deal, anyway? The stable master had been nice to her. He definitely hadn’t been as macho-chest-beaty as Avery had. Avery was almost acting possessive of her.

That thought nearly made her trip on a cobblestone. Avery didn’t feel that way about her, did he? In a fog, she climbed into the carriage and reluctantly took the empty seat beside Henrietta. A knot started in her stomach, tension and nausea combined. He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t given any indication he was interested in pursuing her. And on that somewhat awkward subject, what was she feeling for him?

She looked down at her gloved hands. She was here for the duke, wasn’t she?

“Sara,” Henrietta said loudly. Leah tossed a hard glance sideways at the little devil maid, her bullshit-alarm throwing off some huge signals.

“Yes, Henrietta?”

“Did you know that the dowager especially likes it when servants speak with her in a familiar manner?” Henrietta smoothed her skirt nonchalantly. “I am told that she and her scullery maid have a nice little tete–a–tete every evening.”

Sara’s jaw dropped in clearly overdramatic shock. Leah rolled her eyes.

“Oh yes,” Sara nodded, her words wooden. She’d clearly practiced this hundreds of times. “The dowager does indeed like it when servants call her by her Christian name, Hyacinth.”

“Yes. And she is also quite fond of…” Henrietta trailed off as Avery and another footman entered the carriage. Once they were seated and the door closed, the carriage creaked to a start and jounced along the road toward Tunstall Place.

Well, at least Henrietta and Sara stopped giving me advice that’ll get me skewered by the dowager, Leah thought. Avery sat across from her, looking out the window. She took advantage of the silence to examine him and gauge her reactions. It was almost like a science experiment.

His hands folded in his lap, his jacket pressed and straight, his hair pulled neatly back into what he called a queue, his face solemn. His hazel eyes, clear and bright as they looked out on the slowly passing streets. His nose was crooked, and she caught herself wondering what had happened to disrupt the straightness. Her skin warmed as she took him in, and something in her chest loosened pleasantly.

They jounced over a rut, and she realized with a start that she’d been staring at him like he was a half- dressed Chippendale dancer. Heat climbed her cheeks and she looked out the window herself.

What the hell was wrong with her?

DUKE. She was here for the DUKE. Not for his manservant. Mrs. Knightsbridge had been clear. Well, sort of clear. And Avery had sworn that he was the last person on earth who could be meant for her. So she’d best get her brain in the game and start playing to win.

The carriage jounced along the busy and crowded streets, the air inside thick with tension.

Leah picked at the threads on her cloak. This was as awkward as a group blind date.

The footman beside Avery was checking out Sara, who was staring at the ceiling as if it was printed with the winning lotto numbers. Henrietta glared at Avery as if she could make him disappear for ruining her set-up of Leah’s failure. And Avery stared out the window, a crease marring his forehead.

Dump them in a big house with some video cameras, and there was reality TV gold right there.

Fortunately, the carriage ride only lasted about fifteen minutes. They rolled to a stop beside a beautiful manor that looked a lot like Granville House, only not quite as fancy. Avery offered his hand to assist her from the carriage, but Leah ignored it and hopped down to the gravel alone. Sure, it was a childish move, but damn it, he’d acted like a caveman with Lachlan earlier.

Mrs. Harper, who’d ridden in the first carriage, clapped her hands.

“Henrietta, Sara, Ramsey, attend me.”

Why do I get called by my last name? It was a stupid thing to let bother her, but it did. Just another way to keep her separated. She followed the other maids and stood behind them as Mrs. Harper doled out duties for the day.

The preparations took forever, but they passed by in such a whirl of activity that it was hard to really gauge the passing of time. There were tablecloths to be ironed, flowers to be arranged, china to clean, silver to polish, and enough other things to keep a platoon of Mr. Cleans busy for a good month. But with the army of maids and footmen from both Tunstall Place and Granville House, all of it got done in time for the party.

“Now,” Mrs. Harper said in an excitedly hushed voice, “we must be ready when the guests arrive. Henrietta, Sara, you remain in the entry hall to assist with hats and coats and the like. Teresa, you can assist with the trays when they’re rung for. Henry, George, do go and help Cook.” She turned to address the butler.

“Um, Mrs. Harper?” Leah hated to speak, but she was tired of being ignored. She’d been standing there for twenty minutes waiting for her assignment. “Where do you want me?”

“Oh, anywhere, girl, do find something.” Mrs. Harper dismissed her with a wave of her hand.