Avery wasn’t sure how it had happened, but suddenly he had Mackenzie pinned up against the tack room door by the throat. The man’s pale brown eyes bugged out and he gagged, looking for all the world like a desperate toad. Which, Avery reasoned, was not far from the truth.
“Mark my words, Lachlan Mackenzie: that maid is none of your concern, nor mine. You’ll keep a civil tongue in your head about her, or I’ll give you a sound thrashing that you won’t forget for many a fortnight to come. Understand?”
Mackenzie nodded, feet drumming against the stable door uselessly.
“Good.”
Avery let the stable master drop to the ground. Without another word, he left the horses, dogs, and drunkard behind for the relative privacy of his training room.
He tried like hell to empty his mind of all thoughts of Miss Ramsey as he removed his shirt for his exercise.
With the soft light of the lantern, and the thin slivers of moonlight that shone through the high window, he could make out the pile of sand that his attackers had GeekGirlsDontDateDukes.indd 115
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made of his last bag. Removing the mostly-empty sack, he replaced it with another and began the tedious job of scooping the earth into the fabric chute.
The repetitive motions did nothing to keep thoughts of Miss Ramsey at bay. He must think of something else, anything else.
His Aunt. Millie. She’d looked especially poor today.
Avery tightened his jaw as he watched the sand fall into the bag. Half full now.
The disease had been progressing faster these last few months. Surely the squalid conditions of her surroundings were of no assistance, but what could he do? With his wages from service and his winnings from the tourneys, it was all he could manage to keep her fed and in medicine.
The medicine.
He winced as he dropped the scoop back into its pail.
The medicine that helped her also made her ill when she took it. But Leah had tried to help, and failing that, Leah had reached for his hand.
Damn and blast!
He swung at the bag and smiled inwardly at the stinging satisfaction of his knuckles. Miss Ramsey, not Leah. And she was none of his affair. None at all.
The bag creaked against the ropes as he pummeled it again.
His work this night would be most satisfying. He’d exorcise the demons in his head by punishing his body.
And isn’t that just what he’d been doing his whole life?
i
The next day dawned bright and sunny, the perfect weather for a proper British party, Leah thought.
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Well, maybe not the typical British weather, but
beautiful anyway.
Leah tried to keep from yawning as she helped Cook load a basket full of her best scones. Apparently Mrs.
Dearborn, the Granville House cook, was better at scone making than the Tunstall Place’s own kitchen mistress.
And the dowager demanded the best for her events, as Leah had been reminded, oh, about a billion times since she’d descended the stairs in the predawn hour.
“Ramsey, tuck that cloth around the scones, and then the footmen can take this basket. Do be careful, girl.”
Leah wasn’t exactly sure how she could screw this up, but she tucked the cloth carefully anyway. The kitchen around her was a maddening mix of rushing maids and steaming pots, noise and mayhem almost like opening night of a musical. It was like everyone expected the queen herself to show up at this rout.
Leah frowned as she shut the basket. She knew there was a prince regent about now, but was there a queen?
She wasn’t sure. Renaissance history she was much clearer on, but nineteenth century? Not so much. She couldn’t remember one being mentioned in any of her favorite books placed during this time. She’d have to ask Avery later.
“Don’t dawdle, Ramsey, you must hurry. The carriages are leaving in a moment. Take that hamper.”
Mrs. Harper’s hands fluttered like deranged humming-birds as she shooed Leah toward the door.
Toting the basket, Leah hummed under her breath as she reached the fresh air and sunlight outside. The chaos she’d just left seemed far away, and she took a grateful, cleansing breath. Man, she’d needed that.
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“Good morning, Ramsey.”
A deep voice behind her made her jump. She turned to find out who’d spoken.
“Hello,” she said, smiling politely to the stranger. “Do I know you?”
“No’ yet,” he said in the lightest trace of a brogue.
“But I’d like to remedy that. I’m Lachlan Mackenzie, the stable master. May I take your hamper to the carriage?”
Leah smiled. What a gentleman. Her head tilted in the beginning of a grateful nod when the basket was lifted from her hands.
“I’ll take it. Get into the carriage.”
Leah wheeled on Avery, who now held the basket.
Around the handle, his scarred knuckles were white with tension.