“But I cannot risk scandal in this household. It bears on everyone under this roof, to everyone who bears the name of my family. You must understand the position I am in.”
Damn you, Prachett. Rage bubbled in Avery’s chest, the red poison thrumming through his veins. He let his lids slide closed. Breathing deeply, he controlled the anger and desperation. “Your Grace, it has never been my intention to cause you harm.”
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Lord Granville rounded the corner of his desk, straightening his waistcoat as he did. “The Swansdown Mill is occurring soon. While it might seem best to avoid the bout, I am sure that the bounder would use your absence to poison your— and by extension
my— reputation. I believe it would be best if you put in a performance there. Your appearance there as my man should squash any rumor. I shall sponsor you, lad, and I trust that you are speaking the truth of your involvement with him.” The duke leaned heavily against the front of the ornate desk, looking older and more tired than usual.
“I have made no secret of the fact that you are my valet and a fighter. But while society has looked the other way, I believe that Prachett may change that if we are not careful.”
“Very well, Your Grace.”
Lord Granville turned with a wave of dismissal.
“Thank you, Russell.”
Avery’s shallow bow went unseen, and he left the room with his chin high, though his heart was heavy and his jaw was throbbing. Another bout? His bruises would be yellow and green, still tender. He had no doubt that Prachett would take his revenge for the loss today. Could he avoid the man?
He’d cost Prachett hundreds of pounds today. Prachett would kill for much, much less. He thanked whatever star watched over him that Leah had left the house before all this occurred. If she ran afoul of Avery’s past, she’d likely never be seen again. He’d find some other way to get medicine for his aunt.
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to his steps. He must see to the unpacking, and then he could retreat to his small room, shuck his sodden clothes, and lick his wounds in private.
When he opened the door to His Grace’s rooms, a strange glint caught the corner of his eye. The bureau’s mirror was shining oddly, almost shimmering like the surface of a pond in a rainstorm. Drawing closer, he reached out and pressed his palm flat against the mirror.
The glass was cold, and it sent a shiver through him.
Leah had fallen through the glass as if it were pure air. He’d caught her, pressed her intimately against him.
However inadvertent the contact had been at the time, he remembered it with longing now.
She’d laughed with him, smiled at him. She’d never treated him the way so many others had before. She was a woman unlike any other, and he’d allowed her to leave him without telling her so.
Turning, he slumped against the bureau’s slanted front, uncaring for the moment that his wet clothing pressed against the wood.
He’d wanted her. He realized that now. The way a man wants a woman, flesh to flesh and heart to heart. She wasn’t the first he’d wanted physically, but she was the only one that the hole in his chest seemed to scream for.
“Leah,” he whispered as he looked skyward. “Please be safe.”
“Of course I’m safe. Why wouldn’t I be safe?”
He whirled, eyes wide. She stood behind him, bold as brass. He almost didn’t recognize her, coiffed and clothed like a debutante.
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forward, his heart thumping wildly against his ribs. “It is impossible.”
She ran the few steps that separated them, throwing herself into his arms. Closing his eyes, he bent his head to kiss her.
Just before their lips touched, she said, “You’re right.
It’s impossible.”
He opened his eyes. He was still alone in the bedchamber.
Clutching his aching, pounding skull, he turned to his duties. It wasn’t the first time an opponent had nearly cracked his skull, but the cruel daydream was particularly painful.
She’d never run to him.
i
Raindrops ran down the windowpane of Leah’s borrowed room. She trailed her finger down the glass, chasing a droplet. Her reflection, wavy and dim, stared back at her.
Though she’d tried to leave after Miss Stapleton, Lady Chesterfield of course had other ideas. They’d gone shopping for, of all things, more feathers. The hole of Avery’s absence wasn’t healing as she’d hoped. It seemed to be growing wider and more jagged every day.
It wasn’t as if Lady Chesterfield wasn’t kind to her.
She was. She’d gone to the trouble of procuring invita-tions to balls and teas and musicales, all with the express intent of wedding her charge to the Duke of Granville.