worry.”
With a reluctant glance toward Avery, Leah allowed the duke to help her into the carriage.
Lady Chesterfield clucked like the chicken she’d probably murdered to have such a fluffy feathered gown. The duke left after entrusting Leah to her doting chaperone’s care, promising to call on them tomorrow.
“I have never been so worried in all my days, dear Leah. Are you harmed in any way?” Genuine concern threaded the woman’s words.
“I’m fine.” Leah sniffed. “I’m just tired. Do you mind if I have a bath and go to bed?”
Lady Chesterfield’s pudgy hand patted Leah’s cheek. “Of course, my dear. But I must say how dashing the duke appeared carrying you into the house!”
“Yup. Totes dashing.” Leah’s dry tone sailed right over Lady Chesterfield’s head.
Leah trudged up the stairs, looking forward to no less than thirty-six hours of total oblivion. And then she’d figure out how the crap to get back into Granville House and activate the mirror to get her home.
Man, she was going to need weeks of therapy to get over this so-called adventure.
Hushed voices from inside Leah’s bedroom piqued her interest. She slowed, reaching for the door handle but hesitating as she tried to place the voices inside.
Muriel was there, but that other voice…so familiar…
“Ella!” Leah threw open the door and hugged her friend tightly. “Oh my God, I am so incredibly happy to see you.”
Ella pulled away long before Leah was ready to let her go. But then Leah saw her face. Her cheeks were tear-stained, her eyes red. Ella wasn’t a crier. Something was up.
Leah’s chest tightened to a near-unbearable level. “What’s wrong?”
She knew it before the words left Ella’s mouth.
“It’s your grandfather. He’s bad, Leah. It was a heart attack, and they don’t think he’s going to last much longer.”
And with that, Leah crumbled inside. The last reserves of strength that had held her upright, had dared her to believe that she and Avery would reconcile, that she could take him home and they’d be happy and Pawpaw would feel better and not have to worry about her, melted away. The world shimmered, and she stumbled.
Ella grabbed her shoulders and looked into Leah’s face. “Come on, don’t do this. He needs you to be strong.”
“How?” Leah whispered, tears already burning her cheeks. “How can I be without them both?”
Ella shook her head, confused. “I’m sorry, sweetie. We have to get back to the mirror as soon as we can. Mrs. Knightsbridge is having trouble keying into the right times now, and if we don’t hurry, we might end up in ancient Egypt or something.” Ella pressed her forehead to Leah’s. “Come on. Keep it together for me, okay?”
Leah nodded numbly. Ella and Muriel flew around the room, making preparations for their hasty departure.
How had things gotten so bad?
Avery’s heart, which had hardened over his last night in Granville House, had grown cracks since he’d seen her again. Even on the duke’s arm, she’d still been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She made him want to believe he was wrong about what he’d seen.
His stride shortened, and he stopped. Tilting his chin skyward, he searched the beautiful blue sky for answers.
There were none.
A nearby park beckoned, offering sanctuary from the crowded street. Avery sank onto a bench not far from the entrance.
He had bungled things. All of them. He’d not been there for her when she’d needed him. He’d not protected her from that blackguard Prachett. And now he was running away like a beaten dog with its tail between its legs.
Anger stirred in his belly.
How could he be such a coward? How could he abandon her with no word of apology? He loved her, damn it! He loved her and he’d fought for her. He loved her and he’d take revenge on the man who’d dared lay a hand on her.
He shoved himself to his feet and took off for Granville House at a dead run. The duke would help him. He must help him. If he felt even half of what Avery did for Leah, then he’d tear hell apart with his bare hands to get revenge on Prachett.
The meek valet had disappeared, but Prachett had finally woken the sleeping monster that had lain dormant within Avery for so long.
Smythe answered Avery’s knock on the area door.
“Russell.” A smile stretched the butler’s lips. “You’ve returned?”
“Only for a moment, Smythe.” Avery set his bag down by the door and removed his coat. “I must speak with His Grace. Is he at home?”
Smythe shook his head. “No, he has not yet returned from Lady Chesterfield’s home. I have not yet informed him of your decision to leave us.”
“Thank you, Smythe. I will speak with him myself.” Avery mounted the stairs.
The door to His Grace’s bedchamber squeaked softly as it opened. Avery stepped inside, his spine straight and his heartbeat steady. He wasn’t surprised to see Prachett rise from a seat by the fireside.
“You have ruined everything,” Prachett said in a surprisingly calm voice.
Avery prowled closer to him, his knuckles tingling with the need to plow themselves into the man’s jaw. “You deserve to be ruined. How dare you lay a finger on her?”
The rage rushed over Avery, and this time he relished the power it brought. He leaped onto Prachett’s back, bringing the thin man to the ground with little effort. His fist connected with the man’s head. He pulled free as Prachett rolled to his back, snarling.
Avery ducked as Prachett threw a punch of his own. From his lower position, Avery shot forward, his shoulder landing in the man’s midsection. The two tumbled to the Aubusson carpet, trading blows. Avery’s were practiced and punishing, Prachett’s were well placed and cruel. Rolling to the side to avoid a vicious right, Avery grunted as his lower back connected sharply with the foot of the bureau. Pain rippled through him, but he ignored it, pushing to his feet.
“I’ll have you killed,” Prachett snarled. His face was a mask of crimson, a cut on his forehead seeping blood. “You dare to touch me? I’ll see you gutted for this.”
“If I die for such a righteous cause, I have not lived my life in vain.” His calm answer covered his approach. Pulling back his arm, he smiled. “This is for Leah.” Avery’s left fist met Prachett’s jaw with a sickening crack. The man stumbled backward, both hands clapped to his now-broken chin. “And this is for me.” Avery’s right fist shot outward, finding its mark in Prachett’s soft belly.
The man doubled over with a cry and then collapsed against the cupboard at the bedside.
Shaking out his stinging knuckles, Avery turned to walk away. He was finished.
The mindless shriek of rage behind him was the only warning Avery had. Ducking instinctively, he managed to avoid the bullet as the shot rang out. Glass rained over him, glittering shards falling like spring rain onto the blood-spotted carpet.
The sting of gunpowder burned his nostrils as he raised disbelieving eyes toward Prachett. The dueling pistol still hung from the man’s fingers, smoke curling lazily from the barrel.
“I said you’d die,” Prachett whispered, smiling with his ruined mouth. He dropped the empty pistol and reached upward into the halfway open drawer. The glint of metal caught Avery’s eye as the man drew a matching gun from the cabinet. “Now do it, worthless brat.”
