Gina Lamm - Geek Girls Don't Date Dukes

“Please tell Cook I shall dine at my club tonight.” His voice was softer than she’d imagined. Still masculine, but refined, almost the polar opposite of Avery’s deep and raspy male growl. He turned away from her with a polite nod. She stood rooted to the spot, confusion refusing to let her legs operate.

“At your club, Your Grace?” she repeated, just in the hopes he’d turn around. Notice me , she yelled in her head. Come on, you’ve got to turn around and look at me!

“Yes, thank you.”

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, not bothering to look up from the small wooden box he’d picked up on the bedside table. A gold ring glittered on his finger as he pinched, and a sniff sounded loudly in the room. Another pinch, another sniff. He tilted his head back and sighed, his longish gray hair swaying with the movement. Leah tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry.

“Very well, Your Grace.” Leah bobbed another unseen curtsy and let herself out of the room, closing the door with a soft click. Well, that wasn’t exactly the meeting she’d pictured. It was tough to measure chemistry when the guy wouldn’t even look at you. And he looks old! Totally wasn’t expecting that. She dismissed the thought with a heavy breath. It would just take some time.

A clock somewhere bonged the hour loudly, and Leah winced as she turned and sprinted for the stairs. She’d have to find Avery later. She had about thirty seconds to get to the servants’ hall and be seated for dinner.

But no matter how quickly she descended the stairs, she couldn’t outrun the twinge in her chest. Her feet grew heavier with each step, slowing her progress. When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she plopped down on the lowest step and cradled her chin in her hands.

She’d met her man. He was handsome. His voice wasn’t at all what she’d imagined. And—the thought of the snuffbox made her shudder—she hadn’t wanted a guy with any kind of substance dependencies. But the duke wasn’t what had slowed her, stopped her like a remote control car without any juice left.

She stood, turned, and ran back up the stairs as quickly as she’d descended them.

Pink-stained water dripped back into the basin as Avery wrung out the cloth. He dipped it again, letting the cool water soak the fibers. It was hardly the first time he’d tended to wounds here in his attic bedchamber, but he’d hoped that he’d finally left those days behind him. It seemed that he could not yet outdistance his past.

Wincing as he pressed the cloth to his swollen cheek, he blew out a breath. Prachett’s men had thrashed him thoroughly, bruising and breaking his skin. They’d not spared him, only relenting when he’d agreed to fight in the Houndstooth. Damn and blast . He’d sworn he’d not set foot in the ring again. But what choice did they leave him? If Prachett and his men killed him, then his aunt could not last out the month. There was no one to purchase her medicine or to pay for her lodgings and care but Avery. He could not abandon her, no matter how it cost him.

“Bloody hell,” he hissed as he draped the cool wet cloth across the welt on his upper arm. Drops of water ran in rivulets down his chest, dampening the fine spray of hairs on that side. He clamped the rag to his skin and set his teeth against the pain, squeezing his eyes shut. He blew heavy breaths from his nose, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat in each welt, each bruise.

After another moment, the pain eased somewhat. He lifted the now-hot cloth and dipped it into the basin again.

Leah’s anguished voice struck him like another blow from the crop. “Oh my God, Avery, what the hell happened to you?”

Vulnerability. That was the sensation that bubbled angrily through his veins, clenched his teeth, and closed his fists. The knowledge that he was exposed, bleeding and wounded, and she was seeing him in this state, turned him into more of an animal than a man. He didn’t turn toward her, keeping his gaze locked on the small window in front of him. He could not show her his weakness, his shame.

“Get out.” His voice was low and threatening.

The floorboards creaked with her steps. “Don’t be stupid, Avery. You’re bleeding. You look like you got hit by a pickup truck.” Concern threaded her words, lending them an almost tender sound despite the insult.

He closed his eyes, trying to get his rage under control. Water trickled and dripped into the basin beside him.

“This is going to hurt. I’m sorry.”

The cloth had barely grazed his shoulder when he gained his feet like a shot. Whirling, he glared at her. “I said for you to leave me be. I’ve asked for no favors from you. These chambers are mine, not yours. If you are discovered here, you’ll be turned out into the street immediately. Besides, I’ve no need of your assistance.”

He backed toward the corner and widened his stance unconsciously, staring at her beneath lowered brows.

She stood motionless for a while, the damp cloth still hanging from her fingertips like a dead creature. He mimicked her stillness, not letting his gaze leave her face.

Sighing, she let the cloth fall back into the basin with a fleshy plop.

“Okay, fine. So you don’t need my help.” She crossed her arms, and he struggled to focus on the throbbing pain in his ribs rather than the way her breasts rounded with the unintended frame. “I’ll just stay over here, quiet and out of the way.”

She flounced over to the only chair in the room and sat, keeping her blue eyes trained on his face.

They stood in silence, a pair of combatants unwilling to give the other quarter. Had she been a man, Avery would have been very tempted to give way to his baser instincts and thoroughly thrash the blighter. But this was Leah. Tall, beautiful, odd Leah, who insisted on helping tend the wounds of a nigh stranger. Despite his best efforts, he could not stay angry with her. Even though she’d invaded his private rooms, he could not ignore the selfless intention behind her reasoning.

“You can stand there and stare at me all you want. That’s fine with me, but it’s not going to stop that drip of blood that’s about to hit your waistband.”

He looked down. Blast it, she was right. He dashed the offending drip away, leaving a smear of blood to mat the curls of hair on his abdomen.

“Come on. Don’t be such a hard ass. If you let me help you clean up, it’ll go much faster, and we can both get down to dinner before Mrs. Harper throws a hissy fit.”

“Surely it is not time for the evening meal?” At her nod, Avery cursed beneath his breath.

She shrugged, looking unconcerned. “They’ll get over my being late. You were hurt.”

“You must go.”

She shook her head vehemently. “Nope, not while you’re still bleeding.”

He gritted his teeth in irritation. “You silly wench, go down to supper. If you’re discovered in a man’s chambers, you’ll be ruined and cast out of the house. Smythe and Mrs. Harper would never allow you to stay.”

Raising her brows, she crossed her arms. “Well, you’d better hurry up then, because I’m not leaving this room until your injuries are taken care of.”

Despite the prickle of unease across his throat, he crossed the room to the basin again. Gripping the rag, he wrung it out and placed it on his broken skin with a hissing breath. Even though he desperately wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, he would not give her the advantage of losing his scrutiny.

“There. My wounds are being attended to. Now you may leave.”

She laughed at him. “This is going to take forever. At this rate I won’t get there in time for dessert, and then you’ll be in trouble for helping me get this job.”