After apparently boarding a ship for the colonies, his lordship would have no further need for his fine furnishings. Avery ran a hand along the polished wood, yearning filling his chest. If he had the coin that had purchased this fine bureau, he could support her for a year or more. His hand fell away, then curled into a fist.
Useless. He turned away with a sigh to resume his duties in the dressing chamber.
Settling back on the stool with the scuffed Hessian, Avery tried to focus on the boot instead of his lot. Many others had lives much worse than he. He’d do well to mind his business and not waste time dreaming.
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A solid thump from the bedchamber interrupted his musings. What the devil? Setting the Hessian aside, Avery turned, warning prickling through him. Was someone in the room? Had the duke come back early? Usually His Grace wasn’t due back from his club until well past the evening hours.
“Your Grace?” Avery called, his deep voice echoing back to him in the dressing chamber. He stood and entered the adjoining bedroom. “May I be of service?”
The sight that greeted his eyes was nothing less than extraordinary. Skirts, voluminous black skirts, hung from the mirror, and delicate booted feet kicked wildly beneath the fabric. The rest of the form, if indeed there was one, was completely obscured by Avery’s reflection in the bureau’s mirror.
“The bloody hell,” Avery breathed, unable to credit what he saw.
She continued to wriggle free, sliding farther and farther down the bureau’s slanted front. A trim waist exited the mirror, followed quickly by a lean back, flailing arms, and a tumble of yellow curls. She would have fallen to the floor had Avery not stepped forward and caught her just in time.
“What the devil is this?” Avery set her on her feet and quickly stepped away. “Explain yourself, madam.”
“Oh my gosh, you’re perfect.” She laughed, her face as shiningly pleasant as her tousled hair. Her accent was flat, smooth, and slow, like honey dripping onto a scone.
“Sorry, I know this is sudden. Hello, I’m Leah Ramsey.”
Avery shook off the whisper of interest that flicked in his brain. Remember your place, my lad, and do not be taken in by a pretty face. “The name means nothing to me, miss.
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What are you doing in these bedchambers?” He kept
his countenance grim. It was no wonder the men had struggled so with the bureau. She must have been hidden away inside it.
Her conspiratorial smile struck him dumb. “It’s going to sound weird, but I’ll tell you.” She gripped his arm and leaned against him to whisper in his ear, “I traveled through time to find my true love, and I’m pretty sure, Your Grace, that it’s got to be you.”
The ease with which the overly familiar gesture came was no less startling than the intimate press of her body on his. He stepped backward as if burned, staring at her in shock.
A devil with an angel’s face is sent to torment me.
i
Leah’s heart fluttered with excitement. He was absolutely perfect— everything a duke should be. Well, except for the silvery scars on his knuckles and slight crookedness of his nose. And maybe the height. Shouldn’t dukes clear six feet? He couldn’t be more than an extremely well-muscled five foot ten. And his outfit was plainer than she’d imagined for such a high-ranking aristocrat. But his broad shoulders and slim hips more than made up for any height deficiency. At five foot seven herself, anything taller than her was tall enough.
She’d made a big faux pas right off the bat, though.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Leah smiled apologetically.
She hoped that slack-jawed look on his face was more intrigued interest than shocked disgust. Tough call.
“Sorry, I was just excited. I mean, look at this place.
Look at you. I can’t believe I’m actually here!”
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His silence didn’t inspire much confidence. He stood there, scowling at her like Mr. Darcy in a room full of commoners. She had to play it cool. Drying her suddenly damp palms on her skirt, she breathed deeply. “Let me explain. Mrs. Knightsbridge— she’s Micah, er, the Earl of Dunnington’s housekeeper— well, she’s got some
pretty incredible talents. I asked her for help with my grandfather, but she sent me here instead. She said my true love was in this house, and she sent me here to meet you. Oh.” Cheeks burning, she suddenly remembered the rank of the man standing there. You couldn’t just run up to a freaking duke and make best friends. She sank into a low curtsy and whispered, “Your Grace.”
A firm grip surrounded her arm, flooding her with warmth. Gosh, he was strong. He pulled her upright, but the seriousness in his eyes stopped her smile in its tracks.
“Miss, you are mistaken. I am not your true love.” His deep, raspy voice sent a tingle down her spine as he let go of her arm.