Avery mounted the stairs to the duke’s dressing chambers, the burning pain in his muscles throbbing in time 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.

“How are you here?” Avery took a cautious step 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.

* * *

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 invitations to balls and teas and musicales, all with the express intent of wedding her charge to the Duke of Granville. She’d bought Leah dresses and hats, slippers and gloves. If Leah backed out now, she’d look like a scam artist hell-bent on fleecing a nice old lady. If nothing else, she wanted to prove that old bat Miss Stapleton wrong. She wasn’t a bad person.

Leah’s heavy breath fogged up the window. Pressing her forehead against the glass, she let her thoughts wander back home.

Was Pawpaw okay? He’d been so damn insistent that she find someone to marry. The old-fashioned notion wasn’t that out of the way for him, but the sincerity and demanding nature of his request had been. She drew a little heart in the fog of her breath on the glass. Her grandfather meant everything to her. She couldn’t imagine loving anyone more than the man who’d raised her, who’d shown her what family and loyalty and courage meant.

Courage. Leah’s eyes closed and the memory of Avery’s kiss came unbidden. It had been incredible, a kiss that she could replay a thousand times and never get tired of. The feeling that curled low in her belly and crept up to her chest was hard to define. There was lust there, a familiar and comforting friend. But there was something more. What the hell was going on with her?

Cupping her chin in her hands, she stared as hard as she could, trying to make out the street below her window. No use. The rain was coming down too hard. What a miserable day, and it fit her miserable mood to a T.

“Miss?” Muriel’s head poked through the crack in the door. “I’ve come to dress you. Lady Chesterfield said that you’re attending the Watersons’ musicale tonight.”

Leah yawned and stretched, shuddering as her joints popped like Rice Krispies. She’d been sitting here and wallowing too long, apparently. “Yeah, that’s right. She said they can’t sing worth a crap. This is going to be awful, isn’t it?”

“Oh no, miss.” Muriel pulled a gown, one of the many that Lady Chesterfield had commissioned for Leah, and yet another source of Leah’s growing burden of guilt, from the tall oak wardrobe. Shaking out the pale cream and lace, Muriel spoke matter-of-factly. “Graves has told me that His Grace has returned. He’s to attend tonight.”

“His Grace? Like, the Duke of Granville, that His Grace?” Leah wrinkled her nose in uncertainty.

“Why yes, miss. Lady Chesterfield is quite pleased.” The maid picked at a loose thread on the ivory gown. “Shall I help you to dress?”

Leah reached out and grabbed Muriel’s hands, forcing the maid to turn and look at her.

“Muriel, listen. I need to ask you something, and I need you to promise me you’ll tell me the truth.”

Muriel nodded. “Of course, miss.”

“Do you know anything about the duke? I mean, other than that he’s kind of old and a duke. Is he kind? A good man? What is he like?”

“I do not know, miss.” Muriel’s face was serious if a little sad. “He was married before, but the duchess passed away in childbirth. His Grace’s son is up at Eton. That is all I know, s’truth.”

Leah dropped Muriel’s hands. “He’s got a son?”

Muriel shook out the gown again. “Yes, miss.”

His heir. No wonder Miss Stapleton had said that. Leah wanted to smack herself on the forehead. Of course that was what she meant. Okay, a widower with a son. Wow.

Muriel sniffed, regaining her composure. “Now please, allow me to help you dress. Lawks, you shall be late if we do not hurry. Hannah is dressing her ladyship, so come.”

Leah followed directions numbly, not sure what else to do. Things weren’t going anything like she’d imagined. But what could she do at this point?

Muriel managed to get Leah dressed and ready by the time Lady Chesterfield descended from her room. Tonight, Leah’s patroness was outfitted in a brassy gold satin, pheasant feathers towering from a simple-looking hairdo. Lady Chesterfield smiled in a long-suffering way as she rounded the bottom step.

“I trust you know, dear Miss Ramsey, what a sacrifice it has been for me to allow you the use of my personal lady’s maid. My coiffure is much plainer than I would like, but that cannot be helped. But I must say”—she patted Leah’s cheek with a proud smile—“you look ravishing, my dear.”

“It’s thanks to you and Muriel.” Leah smiled back. “The clothes and hair are all you guys.”

“No matter, my dear. The beauty is all yours. Tonight, you take the ton by storm!” With that proclamation, and a trilling, birdlike laugh, Lady Chesterfield sailed through the front door, held open by a dour-looking Graves.

Shouldering her evening wrap, Leah smiled at the butler.

“Good night, Graves. Thank you.”

He acknowledged her words with the barest of nods. Oh well. He was a tough nut to crack. She followed Lady Chesterfield into the damp and drizzly night, wondering what the hell to do about the mess she’d made of this whole situation.

Eighteen

The Duke of Granville’s carriage rolled to a stop in front of Waterson Manor. A tiger jumped to the ground and opened the door only a moment before the duke stepped out, dressed elegantly in white pantaloons, a black coat, and crimson waistcoat. Once Lord Granville was escorted into the house by the Watersons’ butler, the boy resumed his position and the carriage rolled around to wait in the back of the manor.

“Pissin’ down, it is,” the tiger, Edmond, muttered as he jumped to the shiny wet cobbles. “Night not fit for man nor beast.”

“Mind your tongue, lad. ’Tis fine enough for the likes of you,” the coachman replied as he loosed the horses from their traces. “Oy, who’s with ye back there?”

“Oh, ’im?” Edmond rubbed his hands together. “It’s Russell.”

Avery tossed his hood back and jumped to the ground. Riding on the back of the carriage, Avery was sure his employer hadn’t noted his presence—exactly as he’d planned it. After all, how could he explain that he was there to assure himself of Miss Ramsey’s well-being?

A note had been shoved beneath his door sometime during the night, and the contents had frozen the blood in his veins.

Russell,

I am most displeased. Your mission was clear, and you failed to carry it out. Do not be surprised if those you care for come to sudden harm.

Be ready for my instructions if you’d like to protect them. You know what I can do.

Prachett

Harm to himself, he could stand. Pain was a familiar friend after all these years. His aunt was safe enough with Mrs. Comstock watching out for her. But even thinking about Prachett harming Leah made rage thunder through him. He’d had to make sure she was safe.

Rounding the back of the manor house, Avery found his way into the back garden. He peered through the windows of the house.

People milled about, dressed in their lesser finery for a smaller gathering. But even the poorest-dressed among them still shone like a polished gem. They chatted and laughed easily, the cares of the world as foreign to them as the colonies.