Four

“Thoughtless, foolish chit,” Avery snarled beneath his breath as he resumed his polishing. With all the fury he felt at the beautiful girl who’d waltzed into the room as if she belonged there, he rubbed at the scuff mark. That such a complete stranger had roused this much ire, and if he was honest, interest, made his blood bubble into an angry froth.

It was several moments later when the red fog of frustration left his brain that he looked down at the Hessian. Blinking in surprise, he realized he’d mangled it. The boot’s toe pointed toward the floor. A costly pair of His Grace’s boots had been ruined because Avery had not kept his wits about him. He’d allowed her to divert his focus, a lapse in vigilance that could have had unforgivable consequences.

Letting the boot drop to the floor, Avery looked up at the beamed ceiling. Drawing air deeply into his chest, he blew it out through pursed lips, concentrating on slowing the too-rapid thumping of his heart. The prayers that his pious father had beat into him at a young age ran through his head as Avery searched for a semblance of calm.

“Mr. Russell?”

The sweet, feminine voice with its altogether odd accent ran roughshod over his attempt at peace. His pulse surged, and he fought to maintain his focus on the wooden beams above his head.

“Mr. Russell, I’m really sorry about before. I was wondering if you could help me.”

He didn’t respond. Breathe in, hold it in…

“Oh, are you praying? I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll wait until you’re done.” She sat on the narrow bench beside him, her soft thigh pressing innocently against his knee. From the corner of his eye, he watched her bow her head and lace her delicate fingers together in her lap. Her long eyelashes fluttered closed.

She looked the very picture of piety, but it was impossible not to notice the way her breasts swelled above the neckline of her dress with each breath. The way her body bled heat into his. The way she smelled of sweet, exotic spices. All thoughts of calm and prayer forgotten, Avery leaned closer, trying to draw another breath of her into his lungs.

Her eyes popped open, and he jerked backward in surprise. “Oh good, you’re done.” She smiled, a genuine expression that made her brilliant blue eyes sparkle with inner fire. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier.”

He stared at her without a word. What more was there to be said?

“It was totally my fault. I really hope you can forgive me.” She looked down at her lap, and Avery fought the bolt of protectiveness that struck him when her smile faltered. “It’s just that I was so excited about being here and thinking I was meeting my perfect guy. I didn’t think about how it would affect you, especially considering I screwed up.”

Avery tried to swallow, but his throat was suddenly parched. His voice, when it came, was dry and cracked. “I took no offense. But you must realize how ludicrous this appears.” He wished he could bite the words back—her opinion was a commodity he hadn’t realized he valued—but once said, it was too late.

She picked at an imaginary thread on her skirt. He wished he could reach out and rub a finger across the fair skin of her wrist. A bitter laugh echoed in his head at the impossible thought. Despite how he was drawn to her, she was a beautiful stranger to him, nothing more.

“It was wrong, and I’m sorry. And I shouldn’t even ask, but you’re the only person I know here.” When she looked up at him, her eyes were as blue and guileless as a midsummer sky. “I need your help if you can forgive me.”

Before he could voice the protest that lay heavy on his lips, her small hand covered his scarred one. His heart stuttered in his chest as he fought to breathe, to keep his head, to not jerk away. She couldn’t know that hers was the first hand to touch him so gently since his mother had passed away all those years ago. But he knew, and her touch shook him to the core.

* * *

Leah wasn’t sure why Avery reacted so strongly when she touched his hand. The wary guardedness in his eyes intensified, and the tension lining his shoulders and spine increased. It was almost as if he needed to pull away but simply couldn’t. As gently as she could, she broke the contact. Did he have some kind of social anxiety or something?

Shaking off the concern, she tried to focus. Like it or not, at the moment, she needed his help. Nothing to it but to do it. Opting for honesty, she launched straight into her idea.

“I know this doesn’t seem like it’s possible, but I’m from the twenty-first century, from what you’d probably call the colonies.”

She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, scanning his features for disbelief. But, just her luck, Avery Russell had a poker face to end all poker faces. He was like a gorgeous statue with a slight bump in his nose. “It’s magic,” she said, and then immediately wanted to smack herself in the forehead. As if that would make it better.

“Of course.” His tone was dryer than South Texas in July.

She rolled her eyes and stood, needing to put some distance between them. “There’s no need to be sarcastic. I wouldn’t have believed it either if it didn’t actually happen to me—and my best friend, who’s now married to the Earl of Dunnington, by the way.” She hoped the name might mean something to him.

When he didn’t respond, her smile faltered, but she held her pose. Fine, she’d lay it all out there on the table—either he’d help her or not.

“So listen, here’s my problem. I can’t meet the duke without some kind of introduction. You and I both know I’ll need some help in order to meet him, let alone convince him we belong together.” She sat back down beside him and leaned close to lower her voice to its most convincing level. “You’re my only hope, Avery Russell.” She hoped her sincerity was clear in her face. There wasn’t much else she could think of to say.

The only clue that he wasn’t as composed as a sack of concrete was the slight flaring of his nostrils. It was almost like he smelled her perfume and liked it. Well, he could sniff her all damn day if he’d just agree to help her. And actually, there were a lot of things that could be worse than staying close enough to Avery to let him smell her perfume. The man really was magnetic, despite his attitude. Her gaze flicked to his full lips before she could stop it.

“It is madness, foolishness, and the worst sort of nonsense.” He sighed and looked down at his hand, the one she’d touched only moments before. “But it is not for me to judge you. If your course is firmly set, then I shall do my best to aid you.”

“Oh, Avery, thanks. You’re the best.” She flung her arms around his neck. His muscles trembled, and the slightly coarse fabric of his coat scratched at her cheek. She breathed in shoe polish and strong soap. But Leah didn’t care. She’d made her first friend, albeit a handsome and reluctant one, and he was going to help her get her true love. How much better could today get?

* * *

“And this is where you’ll sleep.”

The door swung open and Mrs. Harper gestured into the dim attic room. Leah closed her eyes, made a wish, and walked toward the open door to face her fate.

A haughty sniff came from her unwilling tour guide. The housekeeper, Mrs. Harper, resembled a disapproving Q-tip more than anyone Leah had ever met. Her tiny, stick-thin frame was crowned by a bushy cloud of stark-white hair, but a duchess herself could be no more stuck-up than Mrs. Harper was.

The grand tour for the new underhousemaid had culminated with this, the reveal of Leah’s temporary living quarters. She tried to contain her dismay as she looked around the tiny room, crammed with two beds and other people’s belongings.

“You’ll share this bed with Henrietta,” Mrs. Harper said. “Teresa and Sara sleep in the other. You’ll have one drawer for your things.” She gestured to a simple wooden bureau in the corner. “Your uniforms are already inside. Dress—mind you take care—and be down for supper at the hour.”

Mrs. Harper shut the door without another word, leaving Leah alone in the rapidly darkening attic room. She dropped the empty, beaten leather bag that Avery had produced to lend authenticity to her role as applicant for housemaid onto the floor beside her and crossed to the single, tiny window. After pulling it open, she ducked her head out to look at the city of London below.

She bit her lip, excitement thrumming through her veins. Carriages rolled down the cobbled streets, beautiful horses tossing their heads as Londoners called greetings to one another. Lamp boys scurried along, propping small ladders against the posts and touching their lit wicks to the lamp heads. A baker’s boy ran past, his arms loaded with golden-brown loaves. It was picturesque, beautiful, everything she’d imagined.

Her happy sigh echoed through the room. Who’d have thought that she’d be living such a dream?

“From the country, are you?”

Leah nearly swallowed her own tongue in shock at the high-pitched voice behind her. She whirled and smiled.

“Hello. Who are you?”

The girl didn’t answer at first, just tilted her head quizzically, causing her too-big mobcap to flop over one eye. She shoved it back with a motion that was clearly of longstanding habit.

“I’m Henrietta. You must be the new maid. Mrs. Harper sent me up to help you get settled.” The girl gave a small smile, revealing crooked front teeth.

Faint discomfort nestled at the back of Leah’s spine. This girl looked only a few years older than Leah’s drama students at Concord Magnet Elementary School. She couldn’t be more than twelve, thirteen years old, and she worked here? Reminding herself that child labor laws were still a work in progress, Leah nodded.