Gina Lamm - Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes

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.”

Avery should have been filled with regret, with sorrow for his actions that had brought him to this untimely end. But as Prachett leveled the pistol at him, all the valet could think of was her.

Leah. His angel.

She’d freed him of his torment after all.

Even as he turned to run, he knew it was futile. At this range, the man would not miss twice. When the shot rang out, Avery let himself fall forward.

“I love you,” he whispered into the floor. “Leah, I love you.”

Leah stopped suddenly, causing Ella to plow into her. She clutched at her chest, trying to steady the ragged thumping of her heart. Something was wrong. Something horrible had happened.

“Pawpaw,” she whispered, tears tracking down her cheeks. “No.”

“Leah,” Ella said. “My phone is gone. It was here a second ago.”

“Did you drop it?” Leah tried very hard to concentrate, but her head was in a fog of distress. God, if it wasn’t Pawpaw, what had happened? It was almost like someone was breakdancing on her grave.

“No, I didn’t. My thumb drive’s gone too.” Ella swayed, clutching her temples. “I’m sorry, but I feel so freaking weird right now. I’m dizzy, kind of sick.”

“I am too.” Leah’s stomach dropped. A sudden thought speared her, and she dug in her bag for the leather pouch she’d brought with her. It was gone. But she’d placed it in the bag only moments before they’d run from Lady Chesterfield’s house, so where could it be?

Her fingers grazed over a glossy paper in the bottom of the bag. She snagged it and brought Pawpaw’s picture into the sunlight. It faded into nothingness in her hand, as if it had never been there at all.

“Shit. Ella, what the hell is happening?” Leah tried to keep hysterics out of her voice, but she wasn’t that successful. Panic ruled her brain. “Everything we brought with us from home is gone. What does it mean?”

“The mirror,” Ella whispered as she absently rubbed at her pocket. “Something must have happened to it.”

They looked at each other for a split second, then took off at a dead run for Granville House. Leah tried not to think of what it all meant. She tried not to imagine the worst. She tried to keep a level head as she and her friend wound their way through streets crowded with horses, carriages, and pedestrians.

She failed miserably.

People stared at them as they ran. Some shouted, others cursed, but none stopped them, a fact for which Leah was incredibly grateful. After all, two unescorted women running headlong in the nicest areas of London was a sight that nobody was used to. Damn it, if only Avery were with her! She could take all this shit if she knew that he’d be there for her.

But he wasn’t. And he wouldn’t ever be again because he thought she’d chosen the duke over him.

“Slow down,” Ella gasped behind her. “I can’t breathe.”

The ache in Leah’s side intensified, and she slackened her pace to match her friend’s. The air burned in her lungs as her slippers pounded against the cobbles. Ella’s too-large slippers, borrowed from Leah’s closet, as was the gown she wore, caused her to stumble. Leah grabbed her friend’s arm and the two rounded the corner to Grosvenor Square.

“There,” Leah panted, pointing. “That’s Granville House. Third one on the right.”

The last few feet seemed interminable, but they finally descended the steps to the servants’ area. Leah pounded on the door as Ella bent over, trying to catch her breath.