Gina Lamm - Geek Girls Don’t Date Dukes

“Jamie, go get the nurse, please.” Leah turned back to her grandfather, grateful tears tracking down her stinging cheeks. “Pawpaw, you have to leave that on. You need the oxygen.”

Pawpaw reluctantly stopped pulling at the mask and instead settled his steely gaze on Avery. “Who are you, son?”

“My name is Avery Russell, sir.” Avery bowed deeply, the courtly maneuver making Leah’s heart swell with pride. “I love your granddaughter, sir, and I ask for your blessing on our marriage.”

Pawpaw didn’t say anything for a long moment. His gaze raked Avery up and down. Though he was flat on his back in a hospital bed, he was clearly the one in control. Though Leah longed to slip a reassuring hand in Avery’s, she stayed still. This was between her two favorite men on earth, and if they didn’t like each other, life was going to be pretty freaking difficult.

Several seconds later, her grandfather nodded. “I’m not against the idea, but I need to get to know you first.”

“Pawpaw, you know I don’t need your permission to get married, right?” Leah’s dry tone covered her complete excitement that he hadn’t dismissed Avery’s request outright.

Avery spoke up before Pawpaw could respond. “It is only right that we apply for his blessing. It is clear that you are precious to him.”

Pawpaw laughed, the sound slightly muffled by his oxygen mask. “I like this fella, I do.”

Jamie pushed through the door, a nurse right on her heels. At the nurse’s insistence, they cleared the room and let her check Pawpaw’s vitals. In the hush of the hallway, Leah turned to Avery, winding her arms around his neck.

“What do you think of Pawpaw?”

Avery smiled, rubbing her lower back gently. “It is easy to see where your adventurous spirit originated. I like him very much.”

“I just hope he’s okay.” Leah pressed her head against Avery’s chest, breathing him in.

Only half a heartbeat later, the nurse pushed open the door. She smiled at the tense group around her.

“He seems to have turned the corner,” she said. “It’s kind of miraculous, actually. I’m going to call his cardiologist and get him down here soon. In the meantime, try to keep him quiet.”

Leah hugged Avery in relief as the nurse walked away. Ella, Jamie, Micah, and Mrs. Knightsbridge went back into the hospital room, leaving the two as alone as a pair can be in a hospital hallway.

“I didn’t know I could be this happy,” Leah whispered. “What did I do to deserve so many good things?”

Avery smiled and bent his head to kiss her. Just before their lips met, he said, “My love, you have brought light into my darkened life. I cannot hope to make you as happy as you have made me.”

Leah’s heart soared as her valet kissed her. He wasn’t Mr. Darcy, he wasn’t a duke, he wasn’t a fairy-tale hero.

He was so much better than that.

Ella chewed her bottom lip as she held her pencil tighter. The cape just wasn’t right. Something about the way the fabric curled and flared against the hero’s muscular bum didn’t make her happy.

Carefully adding more shading didn’t help. Using the corner of her gum eraser to fade it a bit didn’t either. The clock ticked loudly, and she glared up at it.

“For chrissakes, I know it’s late. Nagging me isn’t going to help.”

Her pencil descended to the board again.

“I wasn’t nagging you. I just wanted to see if you needed anything.”

Ella screeched as her pencil went skittering over the drawing, leaving a jagged line in its wake. The studio’s owner, Anthony, stood in the doorway of her office, grinning at her. His dark hair fell over one eye, clearly gelled to stay there.

“Holy crap, Anthony, you scared me.”

Anthony proceeded into the room, flopping onto the ratty couch that occupied the opposite wall. “Sorry. I just wanted to see if you needed anything. It’s not like you to hang out here this long.”

“I’m okay, really. Finishing up now.”

Steadfastly ignoring Anthony’s presence, Ella stared down at the line drawing. There. It wasn’t perfect, but it would be good enough, she hoped. Whisperwind Comics’ offer was an incredible break for her, and if she could land the lead artist spot on Admiral Action she’d have a steady paycheck for at least twelve months. A nice setup in this business. Being a comic artist, her lifelong dream, wasn’t exactly the most stable of careers. But she’d loved Admiral Action since she was old enough to tie her dad’s blue bathrobe to her back and zoom around the living room. She couldn’t screw this up. It was too important.

Mentally crossing her fingers, she wrapped the board and carefully slid it into her portfolio with the others. She’d have to hand-deliver these to the inker.

“Hey, Ella?”

She looked up from packing her messenger bag. “Yeah?”

Anthony sat up on the couch, eyes narrowed in thought. His leg trembled a little bit, and Ella stared. “Are you okay?

“Yeah,” he laughed, an unfamiliar, nervous tremble in his voice. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat.

Bemused, Ella shouldered her bag, grabbed her portfolio, and went over to Anthony, who was still struggling to speak. She sank down on the couch next to him, careful to perch on the edge.

“What is it?”

He didn’t look over at her. “I just wondered, um, I mean…”

Ella shoved her black braid over her shoulder. “Anthony, can you spit it out? I need to get to Max’s before he cuts out for the night.”

Anthony slammed his eyes shut and the words shot out of him like fizz from a shaken-up Dr. Pepper. “Would you go out with me?”

Ella froze. She hadn’t heard that right. One of her eyebrows had climbed all the way to her hairline, and it simply refused to let go. Her other eyebrow seemed to be twitching a bit. She searched for the right words, the ones that would indicate that she had zero interest in the poor guy without crushing him. She didn’t need a romantic entanglement right now. Her career was finally taking off, and the last thing she wanted was to screw that up with a boyfriend. Anthony was nice, but he wasn’t her type. At all. He tried too damn hard, with his skinny jeans and ironic lens-free glasses. When she jumped back into the dating pool, she wanted it to be with somebody who wasn’t ashamed to be who he really was.

“I mean,” Anthony’s laugh climbed even higher. “If you’re not interested, that’s cool. I know it’s weird, since I own the studio and you sort of work for me. We’re friends. I mean, we should just be friends. Probably.”

“No, I mean, yes we’re friends. And you’re right, it’s kind of odd. Listen, I should probably get this to Max. I’ll see you later.” She grabbed her bag and her portfolio and bolted out the door before she could pry her eyebrow back to an acceptable level.

Slumping against the side of her rusty yellow Jeep, Ella blew out a heavy breath. That had been a way-too-narrow escape. Anthony had been after her to go out with him for a while, but he hadn’t actually come out and stated it so clearly until now.

Ella glanced up at the rapidly darkening sky. The cloud cover was too thick to see any stars, but she wished anyway.

“I just want to be happy,” she whispered to the sky. “I think this job will do it, but if not? I’m sort of clueless. So if anybody’s up there, I could use a little luck.”

Maybe someone upstairs had heard her plea. Maybe not. Either way, she was determined that her life was about to start.

April 2nd, 1820

Patrick Meadowfair, third Viscount Meadowfair, smiled tightly as he bowed his farewell to the young debutante. Turning on his heel, he wound his way through giggling debutantes and avaricious mamas. His toes ached inside his boots. Damn chit was possessed of two left feet, and that quadrille had seemed interminable.

Almack’s was becoming more and more like a slaughter, and gentlemen of his age and circumstance were the preferred victims. If not for Amelia, he’d never show up there again.

The young lady in question waved him down before he could claim his greatcoat and make his escape into the bitter night. It was unseasonably cold for April, and the chill ran down to his bones. He had the sneaking suspicion that the shiver had less to do with the weather than it had with the company. Chaperones lined the walls like hungry vultures.

“Meadowfair,” Amelia called him over with another desperate wave of her gloved hand. “You must come and meet Mr. Cuthbert. He’s ever so amusing.”

Patrick smothered his irritation and made his way to her side. He’d known Amelia Brownstone since he was a young man of eleven, and he’d been thrown from his pony on her family’s property. The tiny girl had announced that he was her prisoner, and marched him nearly half a mile to Brownstone manor. Thinking she was amusing, he’d played along at the time. Things hadn’t changed much since then.

“Mr. Cuthbert,” Patrick said smoothly after Amelia made the introduction.

“Your lordship,” Cuthbert said with a bow and a bob of his shiny bald head. He grinned broadly at Amelia, who winced. “’Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Such a fine lord as you, yes. I was just telling Miss Brownstone here about my new cattle. A beautiful matched pair of bays, you see, with…”

Just then, the orchestra began again, and Amelia grabbed Patrick’s arm. “Oh, do excuse us, Mr. Cuthbert. The viscount had reserved this dance ages ago, and I mustn’t disappoint him.”

Before the surprised Mr. Cuthbert could respond, Amelia and Patrick had maneuvered their way into the crowd of waltzing couples.