Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes

There was no question of obeying Prachett now. No matter what it cost him. He’d do anything to keep Leah safe.

Even lose his own soul.

* * *

The carriage bounced along, making Lady Chesterfield’s ostrich feathers wave excitedly. Leah sat across from her, glumness hanging over her like Eeyore’s little black raincloud.

It had been almost two weeks since she’d seen Avery. Two freaking weeks. During that time, the duke had been their almost constant companion, showing up at every function she and Lady Chesterfield attended. He’d sat between her and Lady Chesterfield at the theatre, the two of them making The Taming of the Shrew much more about the societal tete–a–tete than it was about the performance. Leah despised people that talked during movies. Plays? Oh, her blood had bubbled like acid that night.

Too bad they hadn’t gotten her subtle hints. She couldn’t have been outright rude, or Lady Chesterfield would have either passed out or killed her, neither of which appealed to Leah.

Garden parties, balls, soirees—he was there for them all. It was probably a good thing, but Leah had a hard time viewing it that way. To hear Lady Chesterfield talk, the rest of the ton had had a much harder time swallowing the Leah-is-the-cousin-of-the-late-baronet story than His Grace had. The Duke of Granville’s attention had gone a long way in convincing the rest of society to accept Leah the way they had. Lady Chesterfield couldn’t be happier. She smiled, she laughed, she flirted with the duke. Leah was beginning to wonder why her patroness wouldn’t admit she was halfway in love with the duke herself. It was obvious to everyone except Lady Chesterfield.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of another large home. Leah bunched her soft-blue ball gown up in her hands to descend from the carriage. She didn’t remember who was throwing this shindig, or even what the hell day it was. It was just another night that she’d be expected to dance with His Grace, converse with His Grace, simper at His Grace. She considered shoving a finger down her throat so she could puke in the bushes and go home. Play cards with Muriel or scrub a chamber pot or two. It’d be less of a pain in the ass than being here, she was pretty sure.

“My dear Leah, come now.” Lady Chesterfield gestured with the fan.

Leah trudged toward the door, her heavy stomps sounding more like she was wearing combat boots than fine kid slippers.

“Stand straight, my dear. Good heavens, are your stays not laced snugly?”

Reluctantly Leah stiffened her spine. “No, it’s fine. I promise. Sorry.” If they tightened this corset any more, she’d need to be re-inflated when she took it off. She sighed as deeply as she was able to when she handed her wrap to a waiting footman. There were many long hours between now and that blessed corset removal.

“Amelia, darling,” an approaching woman cooed to Lady Chesterfield. “I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting your charming protege.”

Introductions, dancing, more introductions, more dancing, chatting, warm and disgusting lemonade, it was a carbon copy of almost every night she’d had since moving into Lady Chesterfield’s home. It was hard not to think of all the books she’d read, all the movies she’d seen. This wasn’t elegant; this wasn’t magical. It was a damned bore. Where was the romance of the whole thing? It seemed to have gotten trampled beneath expensive kid slippers and the feet of aristocrats.

Leah’s smile started slipping as she stood in a group of young people who were cheerfully gossiping about some countess she didn’t know. A longing glance at the clock revealed that it was approaching midnight. People were being nice enough to her, but she didn’t want to be there.

She wanted to be in an attic room, snuggled on a thin mattress with Avery’s strong arms around her.

“Miss Ram,” the high male voice intruded on her fantasy, and she jumped.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning to Granville. “I was daydreaming.”

“Dare I hope that I took part in your dream?” His teasing smile wasn’t as hopeful as his words.

“Oh, you,” she said, smiling tightly and thwapping him on the arm with her fan. She should have smacked him harder. “I’m pretty sure we both know better than that.”

“Would you take a turn with me about the room?” He held out his elbow to her. She gave a desperate glance to her conversation-mates, but there was clearly no help there. The two young gentlemen appeared completely in awe of the duke, and the ladies were all shooting daggers at Leah.

Just her luck.

“Yes,” she said, trying to make it enthusiastic. She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and the two of them moved toward the edge of the crowded ballroom.

“Quite a crush, is it not?”

“It is,” she agreed, opening her fan. The slight stirring of air across her throat helped, but it wasn’t enough. “It’s a very nice ball.”

“I had hoped to dance with you earlier, but I was detained.”

“Oh?” She scanned the crowd for Lady Chesterfield. A chaperone to run interference would make the conversation much easier.

“Yes,” he said, patting her fingers gently. “As a member of the Fancy, I attend many of the tournaments. There have been some exciting events of late, and our next bout promises to surpass them. Lord Charleston requested my assistance with a matter related to it, or I should have been here in time to claim my waltz.” He nodded to an acquaintance as they passed.

“Fancy?” she repeated, tilting her head toward him. The name was completely unfamiliar, and she had to admit talking about anything other than waltzing was a great idea right then.

“The Fancy. Ah, I forget that you have lived abroad for so long.” He smiled down at her like she was an ignorant child, which she guessed she was, to him. “Boxing tournaments, Miss Ram. But they are not a tale for such a proper young lady as yourself.”

“Oh, Miss Ram.” A young man with a rose-colored waistcoat came up to her with a smile. “I do beg your pardon, but I believe it is time for our dance.”

“Of course, Mr. Lowell.” She turned to the duke. “Will you excuse me, Lord Granville?”

“Quite reluctantly,” he said, bowing over her hand. “Perhaps afterward, I may again claim your attention? There is a matter that I wish to discuss with you.”

Crap, crap, and triple crap. She took a deep breath and put on her most polite act. “Yes, to be sure.”

As Mr. Lowell led her onto the dance floor, she worried the inside of her cheek. Her brain whirred like a wind-up robot toy. The duke and boxing matches. Avery’s bruises and muscles that were much too nice for a valet to have…Could Granville have been forcing him to fight? That didn’t seem likely. Granville was too nice.

She curtsied to Mr. Lowell as he bowed, and they began the quadrille. Fortunately, she’d been practicing Regency dances since she’d first planned to marry Mr. Darcy, so she only had to pay a minimum of attention to the steps.

Avery fought, and the duke was a member of the Fancy. What was she missing? Weren’t fights like that illegal? But there was something else, and she wished she knew what it was.

“You look quite fine tonight, Miss Ram.” Mr. Lowell nodded as he gripped her hand. They stepped together in a line with another couple, moving to the music.

“Thank you,” she said. Turning, they moved through the formation and took their place at the end of the line.

“If I may, Miss Ram.” He paused as another couple passed them. “I should like to drive out with you in the park if you are amenable.”

The thoughts of Avery and the duke and back alley boxing matches slammed to a halt. Oh, crap.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lowell, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh.” His face fell as they came together again for the last pass of the dance. “My apologies for being so forward.”

“Oh, no.” She stumbled a little through the step. He steadied her. “It’s nothing like that, it’s just…” She trailed off as the music ended. “I wish I knew what to say.”

He shook his head ruefully. “I understand, Miss Ram. I do wish you every happiness.”