The Geek Girl and the Scandalous Earl (13 page)

“Welcome to my time. Well, as close as I could get it, anyway. Here, let me show you around.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the couch. When she flopped down onto it, he didn’t follow. He stood beside the covered settee, looking sort of confused and vaguely uncomfortable. She pulled on his arm.

“Sit.”

He eased his way down, perching on the very edge of the couch. Small victory won, she grabbed a tiny wooden portrait frame that she’d doctored up.

“That’s the television. This little thing in my hand is a remote control. I can change channels and watch different movies and TV shows. They’re like plays, but on that little glass screen.”

He smiled. “Like moving portraits?”

“Exactly!” She grinned at him, glad he seemed to be relaxing. She showed him the computer, the way the mouse would move a pointer on the screen, the way websites looked. They’d started talking about comic books when there was a knock on the open door.

“Miss? I am supposed to say ‘pizza delivery’?”

Jamie jumped to her feet and ran to Muriel, clapping her hands. “
Bravissima, bella
! Yes. That’s perfect. Jean Philippe really outdid himself.”

George came into the room after the thin maid and her large, circular burden, carrying a jug of ale and two glasses.

“Guys, this looks awesome. Thanks. Just set it on the coffee table and skedaddle.”

George turned to Muriel, his freckled face confused. “Does she always speak in that manner?”

Muriel rolled her eyes and nodded. Relieved of their deliveries, they both disappeared.

Jamie turned back to Mike with a huge smile. He was staring at the pizza with brows lifted, mouth pursed, and head cocked. She couldn’t help but laugh at his quizzical expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“What have you done with Jean Philippe? This is not his usual fare.”

“I know. I ordered it special for us. This is a pizza. And beer, or ale, if you’d rather. This is the kind of food that we would eat on a date if you were in my time with me.”

He lowered one brow. “A date?”

She gulped. “Yeah, that’s when friends hang out together.” Her nervous smile must have tipped him off because his nod was not all that trusting.

Once she’d explained the bread, tomato sauce, and cheese concept, Mike was less reluctant. When she cut him a slice and demonstrated the proper technique, he actually started to enjoy himself. The beer was way stronger than she was used to, and the alcohol went to her head pretty quickly. They sat next to each other on the couch, closer now than before. After she watched Mike drain his beer, she sighed and let her head rest against his shoulder.

He froze.

She snuggled closer, her insides warm from the beer and her outsides warm from, well, him.

“Miss Marten?”

“Nope,” she said, smiling against his arm. “Jamie.”

“Jamie,” he said, gently pulling away. “This is not…”

She put a finger against his lips. “Sssh. None of that, remember? This isn’t 1816, this is the twenty-first century. And in my time, do you know what I’d want you to do?”

“What?” he whispered against her forefinger. Before she could answer, he pressed his lips to her finger, his hand covering hers to keep her trapped against his mouth.

Whatever she’d been planning to say got sucked away in the delicious sensation of Mike’s mouth against her fingers. He didn’t stop there. He kissed the back of her hand so softly, lips pressing a path up her wrist, against the delicate blue veins when he turned her hand over.

She was frozen in place but burning all over. Her body responded to Mike’s kisses, warmth blooming in her breasts, her belly, and lower. His mouth traveled up her arm, soft but strong and insistent.

Was this really happening? Or was she having a post-concussion alcohol-fueled erotic daydream? Only one way to find out.

Shattering the ice prison that her body was encased in, she pulled her arm away from Mike. He looked up at her, brown eyes questioning, but she answered him with her lips pressed against his.

This kiss was even better than the one in the hallway had been. There was none of the soft, sweet touches of lips, questioning teases that let two people get to know each other. This was a willing mutual exploration.

Mike pulled her body against his, lying back on the settee enough to pull her slightly atop him. Their tongues tangled sweetly, tasting each other, wild in their mutual passion. Mike’s hands wandered over her back, starting at her bare shoulders, then down, caressing her shoulder blades, down the length of her spine. His warm, strong hands stopped at the curve of her hips, where he pressed against her intimately.

She gasped into his mouth when she felt his hardness pressing into her. She’d have been lying if she said she hadn’t wanted this, but she’d not expected it to feel so damn good. Too damn good. So damn good that she knew it was too good to be true.

With a huge sigh, she pulled her mouth from Mike’s. For a moment, she let herself stay there, staring at him. His eyes were dark, his lips were full and swollen from their kissing, and his hips still pressed into hers. She wanted him so much. But she didn’t want a quick fling with Mike. Anything between them had to be all or nothing because she wouldn’t be able to live with herself any other way.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him. She pressed another kiss to his lips, this time a chaste, innocent one. “I should probably go.” She didn’t miss the wanting gleam in his eyes as she got up and left the room. As much as it killed her, leaving him wanting more was probably the best option. Too bad cold showers hadn’t been invented yet.

On Saturday, only three days away from the make-or-break night of Mike’s (and quite possibly her) life, Jamie had a panic attack.

She’d tried to be as near Mike as possible while attempting to keep her head the last few days. It was so damn hard. Every minute she spent with him made her realize how much time she actually did want to spend with him. Namely, the rest of her life.

They’d taken walks together. He’d showed her how he kept up with his estate books and maintained the day-to-day operations of his many properties. She began to feel sorry for Amberson, the secretary. Poor bastard had never even seen a calculator.

But Saturday afternoon, her carefully constructed emotional barriers came crashing down.

She’d been out in the garden, playing with Baron. She tossed a stick for him, over and over and over, and the young greyhound had tirelessly chased and returned it. Jamie was exhausted way before the dog was. She was pleading with Baron to come inside with her and they’d go beg Jean Philippe for some snacks when Mike came through the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked her, a small smile on his lips.

“I’m pooped. Your dog is a slave driver.”

Mike laughed and bent to rub Baron’s ears. “Nonsense. He simply knows who is an easy mark.
I
do not allow him to sleep in my bed.” Mike winked at her, despite her bugged-out eyes and dropped jaw.

“Well…well…” she sputtered. “You entertain him then if you’re so special!”

“If you insist.” Another wink from him made her cheeks burn. She leaned up against the door and watched the earl as he proceeded to play with his dog.

A long pole was produced from a small lean-to shed. A string was wrapped around the end of the pole, making it resemble an extra-large fishing rod.

Mike unwound the string and tied his clean white handkerchief to the end of it. Baron jumped up and down, tail wagging and tongue lolling. He obviously knew what this strange setup meant, even if Jamie didn’t.

Mike walked to the open area on the left side of the garden, a wide patch of grass bare of other vegetation or shrubbery. Baron’s leaps became higher, and she could hear his jaws snapping excitedly.

“Please make sure to keep your distance. Baron can get very, ah, exuberant.” Mike smiled at her, and her heart tap-danced.

Mike threw the hanky straight out and began to turn in a circle, swinging the pole with its hanky-baited line. Baron took off after the hanky like a shot, body moving faster than Jamie could have imagined. His lean body curved and bent as he darted in a wide circle around Mike. Mike’s broad shoulders flexed as he swung the heavy pole around, eyes alight with joy at the sight of his dog having such fun. The sight of such shared happiness moved something inside Jamie, deep in her chest.

Mike’s laughter carried across the lawn to where she stood beside the house, a hand pressed against the swell of her breasts which were pushed up by those damn stays.

She had to face it. She was falling in love with a nineteenth-century earl. And for a twenty-first century girl, that was pretty damn terrifying.

The game lasted less than ten minutes, but at top speed, Baron was plenty exhausted enough to give up. Mike relented, and on the last swing of the pole, let the blue-gray hound catch the hanky.

“What a gentleman,” Mike crooned to his dog, untying the line from the hanky. Baron shook it like a dead animal, cheerfully strangling and dirtying the clean linen. “Excellent work, Baron. Good lad.”

Mike petted his dog, praising him for such a remarkable performance. The pleasure, pride, and love in Mike’s eyes as he looked at Baron were too much for Jamie.

She couldn’t watch anymore. Without another word, she waved at Mike and headed to the door of the house.

“Miss Marten?”

She pretended not to hear and ascended the steps to the door.

“Jamie?”

His use of her first name, combined with his boots crunching the gravel of the path behind her, stopped her in her tracks. She turned.

“Are you…” He trailed off. He swallowed hard. His cheeks were drawn, and his eyes had gone dark. He was in the grip of some strong emotion that she really wasn’t sure she wanted to identify.

“What?”

He cleared his throat and went on. “I would like you to have dinner with me this evening. Would you attend me?”

Jamie looked down at the brick steps beneath her slippers. Mike went out almost every night. When she’d asked Mrs. Knightsbridge about where he went so often, the housekeeper made comments about dinner parties, balls, routs, soirees, and numerous other entertainments. What that meant was, they’d only really had breakfast together regularly. The rest of the meals Jamie ate were either alone in the dining room or up in her room with a book.

She couldn’t make her answer come out. Her yes was stuck in her throat like a wad of stale pretzels. From her vantage on the second step, she was looking straight into his eyes. He took a step closer, and her arms ached to reach out to him. She could nearly feel the heat rising from his body, both from his exertion and, she hoped, their chemistry.

“Jamie?”

She tore her eyes from him, choosing to focus on Baron’s heaving sides instead. The dog was obviously elated with his handkerchief prize. If only things were that simple for her. “Yes. I’ll have dinner with you.”

He smiled at her then, an expression that sliced straight through the last shield she’d erected in front of her heart.

She walked with him back into the house, and even gave a polite good-bye at the bottom of the stairs. He went into his office, and she went up the stairs to hyperventilate in private. When she collapsed on the bed, flat on her back because of those stays, she faced reality.

Jamie loved Micah Alexander Axelby, Earl of Dunnington.

He was a guy that she should never even have met. She loved a guy that she would have to abandon her entire life to be with. Her friends, her house, her computer, her shower. Shower. Running Water. Toothbrushes. Those neat little personal hand-sanitizer bottles.

She threw an arm over her eyes.
What
the
hell
am
I
supposed
to
do
now?

Her heart pounded like that for an hour. She was too keyed up to sleep, too jittery to be around anyone, too anxious to focus on any sort of activity. An elephant sat on her chest, one that had nothing to do with the whalebone and lacing compressing her middle.

Eventually, when the logical portion of her brain managed to wrestle the rest of it into submission, she pushed herself off the bed and started pacing in front of the now-dark fireplace. The afternoon sun shone through the open curtains, and she focused on the familiar light that she passed through again and again.

She had some decisions to make. The rhythmic thudding of her slippers against the rug helped her focus her breath.
Calm. Focus, Jamie.

“Oh God,” she said aloud, hands braced against the wooden mantel, head bowed.

Could she do this? Could she lose the person she always thought she was in order to be the perfect countess for the man she loved?

A knock on the door told her she didn’t have time to make that decision then. Muriel skipped into the room, thin face alight with joy.

“Mrs. K said I was to help you dress for dinner with his lordship.”

Despite her inner turmoil, Jamie had to smile at Muriel’s adoption of her nickname for the housekeeper. “Mrs. K, huh?”

Muriel didn’t miss a beat as she pulled a peach satin gown from the armoire. She winked at her and said, “Yup. Sure did.”

Jamie laughed aloud at that. No matter what the outcome of her time here would ultimately be, at least she’d made a mark on someone.

Muriel didn’t comment on Jamie’s unusual reticence as she helped her bathe and dress. Normally, Jamie would have complained about the ridiculous amount of underwear, the aggravating nature of stays, and the crazy number of hairpins that were necessary to hold her highlighted mop off her shoulders. Jamie sat there without a word, watching the way her neck looked longer because of the hairstyle Muriel had chosen. The way her skin glowed against the peach satin. The way her eyes looked strange and frightened, almost like a hunted creature.

“You’re lovely, miss.” Muriel stepped back after placing the last curl in front of her ear. “A real treat.”

“Thank you, Muriel.” Jamie stood, completely unsurprised to find her ankles as shaky as Jell-O. She took as deep a calming breath as she could and forced a smile to her lips. Time to go downstairs and face the music—whether it was a symphony or thrashing death metal.

The staircase seemed way too short. The hallway even more so. She was at the door of the dining room hours before she was mentally ready to be. She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and looked in. Mike wasn’t there.

Oh.

She wasn’t a fainting flower. She really wasn’t one of those people that tear up at greeting-card commercials. But when she saw what she perceived to be Mike standing her up, she was suspiciously ready to cry. The table wasn’t even really laid for their dinner yet. Had he changed his mind only moments after speaking to her? Why didn’t he let someone know?

“Miss Jamie.”

She blinked, shaking her head from the disappointment before turning to George, the footman.

He smiled. “His lordship awaits you in the drawing room.”

Oh. Oh!

Could she stop leaping to conclusions for about twenty seconds? It would probably make her life much easier.

She followed the footman to the drawing room and was both relieved and astounded by the sight of the man standing by the window, peering out into the night.

The earl was dressed even nicer than usual, and that was pretty damn nice. He wore all black, save for the crisp white shirt points and snowy cravat at his throat. The stark contrast only served to emphasize broad shoulders that tapered down to his slim hips. The flickering firelight cast delicately dancing shadows on his strong jaw. He was gorgeous. Truly the handsomest man she had ever seen.

Her heart caught in her throat as she drank in the sight of him. Knowing how she felt about him now, how could she continue this way? Choosing to stay with him would be the hardest decision that she’d ever make. But could she honestly say that life in this day and age would make her happy? With or without Mike, she wasn’t sure.

“Miss Marten.” His voice was warm as he turned to her. “You look splendid.”

A wry smile twisted her lips. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He laughed, and the deep sound went straight to her belly like a body blow. He crossed to the sideboard and picked up a decanter with reddish-brown alcohol inside. When he asked her to join him for a drink, she didn’t hesitate. She crossed the floor toward him, knowing sink or swim, she was all in.

Her hand barely trembled as she accepted the glass he held out to her. She took a sip, savoring the warmth of the liquor. She tried her best to avoid eye contact. He’d know. If he looked into her eyes, she had no doubt that he would see the way she felt about him.

“Baron seemed to enjoy your sport with him this afternoon.” The polite tone of his voice helped her to tamp down some of her nerves. “He enjoys chasing sticks and things.” Liquid splashed into another glass as he poured himself a drink.

“Not as much as that greyhound-fishing-pole you rigged up,” Jamie said. She took another sip, keeping her gaze locked everywhere but on him. She couldn’t trust herself.

“That was an idea of Mrs. Knightsbridge’s. I think she’s more fond of the hound than she lets on.”

“I think we all are. He’s a pretty special dog.” Jamie toyed nervously with one of the curls dangling by her ear.

“Indeed.”

Mike fell silent then, and she chanced a sideways glance at him. He’d been watching her pretty hard. Was he thinking the same thing she was? Was he wondering about her, about the possibility of a future together?

It was fortunate that Thornton chose that exact moment to announce that dinner was ready.

“Permit me to escort you, Miss Marten.”

She couldn’t say no. She walked alongside him, desperately trying to ignore the feel of his strong arm under her hand.

He seated her, pulling out the chair for her as if she was a gentleman’s daughter or some titled personage. She ignored the flutterings of her heart. She had decided nothing, and she wouldn’t let that stupid organ rule her head until she did.

She managed to make it through the first three courses without making a complete fool of herself. Mike was more relaxed than normal, and that eased her nerves somewhat too. By the time dessert was brought in, she was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, they might be able to somehow make this work.

She poked at the sweet custard with her spoon. “So, what’s the latest gossip in the upper crust?”

He crooked a brow at her and swallowed the bite of custard he’d spooned between those sinful lips. “Gossip?”

“Yeah. What’s the newest scandal? Has Lady Folderol been seen without six layers of petticoats? Lord Fiddle-dee-dee got drunk and spilled punch all over Miss Whosit’s cleavage?”

“Nothing so interesting, surely,” he said with a smile. He took another bite of custard before answering, “No, the latest
on-dit
is of a more serious nature. But gentlemen do not gossip.”

Jamie snorted, and he looked at her with a crooked brow. “Don’t give me that. Leah’s granddad, Pawpaw Milton, is glued to
Entertainment
Tonight
every evening at seven sharp. Guys care just as much about gossip as girls do.”

He shook his head. “It is not seemly.”

“Oh, come on. I don’t know any of these people. It’s like an imaginary story to me.”

With a sigh, he complied.

“Lucas Humphries, the Baron of Easterly, eloped three days ago.”

“Oooh,” Jamie said, leaning forward slightly. “That is juicy!”

“He eloped with his mistress.” The expression on Mike’s face stopped her amusement in its tracks. All traces of his former mirth were gone, and in their place was a deep disapproval lurking in the corners of his downturned mouth.