Gina Lamm - Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes

She grinned. “Let’s do it.”

Besides, who wouldn’t jump at the chance to visit Regency England? Not this girl .

The scuff simply refused to budge from the duke’s favorite Hessians. Avery Russell sighed and resumed polishing the expensive leather boots. His Grace would be quite put out if these weren’t presentable in time for the next morning’s calls.

“Russell, are you about? I must speak with you.”

Avery didn’t look up from his work at the butler’s supercilious tone. “I am here, Mr. Smythe.”

The butler stepped into the dressing room and shut the door behind him. “Mrs. Harper has dismissed Fannie, the underhousemaid. Until a suitable replacement can be found, you shall attend to the sweeping up and tidying of His Grace’s chambers.”

Avery refused to raise his gaze from the boot. He bit his bottom lip to keep in the retort that first sprang to mind. Smythe could take that sweeping and shove it up his— “Are there not more than enough maids to attend to that? I have many other duties.” In any other household, a valet would never be found doing the maid’s work. But ever since Avery had come into the duke’s household, Smythe had tried him to no end.

“The maids cannot be spared from their responsibilities,” Smythe replied. “Mrs. Harper has divided the rest of Fannie’s work amongst them. You shall attend to this, or I shall see to it that you are dismissed from His Grace’s service.”

The threat in Smythe’s tone was clear. Avery set his jaw and swallowed his response. He had to mind his place. This position was much less hazardous to his well-being than his previous employment had been. The Duke of Granville had pressed the bounds of propriety in even hiring Avery for such a high position, and the rest of the servants knew it. Smythe was the biggest voice of dissent. Avery adjusted the boot before finally glancing up. “So be it.”

Smythe nodded, looking down his nose at Avery, his forehead wrinkled—whether in frustration or in sheer dislike, Avery couldn’t say. He’d simply have to continue doing his best to please the duke and hope that the servants fell into line. But after nearly a year as the duke’s valet without change, his hopes were fading.

“I shall leave you to it then. Have a care with the grates, Russell. Though you have but come to service lately, your actions reflect upon this whole house. I will not allow our reputation to be blemished.”

Without another word, Smythe turned and left the room. Avery resisted the impulse to curse beneath his breath. It would serve no purpose, none at all.

The door opened again. “Russell, His Grace’s new bureau has arrived. Though I should like to direct the placement of it myself, a matter has arisen in the kitchens that must be dealt with. You shall have to do.” Smythe disappeared again and was quickly replaced by the grunts and groans of the men as they strained under the furniture’s weight.

Frustration tightening his jaw, Avery left the boots and entered the bedchamber with quick strides. If the workmen left a smudge on any of His Grace’s things, Smythe would be sure to blame Avery. Damn and blast . Perhaps he should have remained in the boxing mills after all.

“Mind the doorway, lads,” Avery said as he lifted the corner of the bureau that was drifting dangerously close to the polished floors. “Steady. Place it just here.”

All four men blew heavy breaths of relief as their burden descended to the corner of the Aubusson carpet in the duke’s massive bedchamber. Avery straightened his simple black waistcoat as he stood.

“Well done. Please, make your way down to the kitchens. I am sure that Cook can spare you a cup of tea.”

With muttering thanks and doffing caps, the workmen departed, closing the chamber door behind them.

Avery eyed the bureau. A fine Chippendale piece, it had previously belonged to the Earl of Dunnington. After apparently boarding a ship for the colonies, his lordship would have no further need for his fine furnishings. Avery ran a hand along the polished wood, yearning filling his chest. If he had the coin that had purchased this fine bureau, he could support her for a year or more. His hand fell away, then curled into a fist. Useless. He turned away with a sigh to resume his duties in the dressing chamber.

Settling back on the stool with the scuffed Hessian, Avery tried to focus on the boot instead of his lot. Many others had lives much worse than his. He’d do well to mind his business and not waste time dreaming.

A solid thump from the bedchamber interrupted his musings. What the devil? Setting the Hessian aside, Avery turned, warning prickling through him. Was someone in the room? Had the duke come back early? Usually His Grace wasn’t due back from his club until well past the evening hours.

“Your Grace?” Avery called, his deep voice echoing back to him in the dressing chamber. He stood and entered the adjoining bedroom. “May I be of service?”

The sight that greeted his eyes was nothing less than extraordinary. Skirts, voluminous black skirts, hung from the mirror, and delicate booted feet kicked wildly beneath the fabric. The rest of the form, if indeed there was one, was completely obscured by Avery’s reflection in the bureau’s mirror.

“Bloody hell,” Avery breathed, unable to credit what he saw.

She continued to wriggle free, sliding farther and farther down the bureau’s slanted front. A trim waist exited the mirror, followed quickly by a lean back, flailing arms, and a tumble of yellow curls. She would have fallen to the floor had Avery not stepped forward and caught her just in time.

“What the devil is this?” Avery set her on her feet and quickly stepped away. “Explain yourself, madam.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re perfect.” She laughed, her face as shiningly pleasant as her tousled hair. Her accent was flat, smooth, and slow, like honey dripping onto a scone. “Sorry, I know this is sudden. Hello, I’m Leah Ramsey.”

Avery shook off the whisper of interest that flicked in his brain. Remember your place, my lad, and do not be taken in by a pretty face. “The name means nothing to me, miss. What are you doing in these bedchambers?” He kept his countenance grim. It was no wonder the men had struggled so with the bureau. She must have been hidden away inside it.

Her conspiratorial smile struck him dumb. “It’s going to sound weird, but I’ll tell you.” She gripped his arm and leaned against him to whisper in his ear, “I traveled through time to find my true love, and I’m pretty sure, Your Grace, that it’s got to be you.”

The ease with which the overly familiar gesture came was no less startling than the intimate press of her body on his. He stepped backward as if burned, staring at her in shock.

A devil with an angel’s face is sent to torment me .

Leah’s heart fluttered with excitement. He was absolutely perfect—everything a duke should be. Well, except for the silvery scars on his knuckles and slight crookedness of his nose. And maybe the height. Shouldn’t dukes clear six feet? He couldn’t be more than an extremely well-muscled five foot ten. And his outfit was plainer than she’d imagined for such a high-ranking aristocrat. But his broad shoulders and slim hips more than made up for any height deficiency. At five foot seven herself, anything taller than her was tall enough.

She’d made a big faux pas right off the bat, though. Drawing in a shaky breath, Leah smiled apologetically. She hoped that slack-jawed look on his face was more intrigued interest than shocked disgust. Tough call. “Sorry, I was just excited. I mean, look at this place. Look at you. I can’t believe I’m actually here!”