The Geek Girl and the Scandalous Earl (25 page)

Most of the people around at that time of the morning were servants, tradesmen, and people who looked like they worked for a living. They hustled along the cobbled streets, not really even glancing in her direction. She loosed the frogs of the cloak and removed it with a relieved sigh. Bundling the thick blue wool over her arm, she rounded the corner of the street.

She was careful this time, making sure to keep track of every turn and step she made. She never strayed too far from the house. After all, she wasn’t interested in actually getting killed—only getting some air.

The sun rose higher in the sky, and a nagging worry wormed its way through her calm relaxed mood.

You
shouldn’t have left the house, Jamie,
her subconscious admonished.
Mike
will
be
so
hurt. He’s trying to keep you safe, and you ignore him this way? He’ll never forgive you for betraying his trust like this
.

She shook her head, trying to keep the doubts at bay, but they whispered insistently, stealing the peace that her walk had restored to her.

She turned and headed back the way she’d come.

She’d been really vigilant about her route this time, and it was much easier to find her way back home. She hurried, worried now that her absence would be discovered. She didn’t want to hurt Mike, not at all. It was so hard to convince him that she wanted to be his partner. This little stunt would probably ruin any chance she had of convincing him of that if he found out about it.

Jamie was within about six homes of Mike’s when a dark-haired woman caught her eye.

She was standing in front of an open window on the second floor of a beautiful house. The panes were open, curtains fluttering in the slight breeze. Her red lips formed a word, but Jamie was too far away to hear what it was. It looked like “you.”

Terror soaked Jamie’s limbs. She slung her cloak over her shoulders, yanked her bonnet down farther on her head, and hustled as quickly as she could for home.

What a complete disaster. Not only had she snuck out of the house like a troubled teen, she’d been seen by the one person on earth that would like for her to die a horrible, painful death. How much of an idiot could she be? Maybe Mike was right, and she wasn’t smart enough to be treated like an equal. Lord knows she’d acted like a complete idiot, running out in broad daylight when she was supposed to be hiding.

She stepped on a loose stone and rolled her ankle over, twisting it with a gasp. Her momentum pitched her forward. The sharp report of gunfire echoed in her ears as she fell.

Jamie had always had a pretty vivid imagination. Since she was an only child, her playmates were the cartoon and movie heroes of her time, swashbuckling characters from the funny pages. When the villain caught up to them and the hero was cut down by gunfire, the Amazonian princess and Jamie were the only ones who could save the galaxy. They were both grievously wounded but fought bravely, and they always eventually saved the day.

As Jamie hit the ground hard, it was a lot easier to focus on the distant past than the painful present. Back there, she was safe and comfortable. Here, she was lying facedown on the rough, hard cobblestone street. There, a serious injury would be completely healed when her mom kissed it all better. Here, agony screamed through her arm, a supernova of pain with its vibrant center in her upper biceps. There, the evil would always be defeated by bedtime. Here, if she couldn’t shake off the pain and shock of the idea that she’d really, truly been shot, Collette was sure to come down there and finish the job.

Lying prone on a stone sidewalk is actually not a bad place to take stock of injuries if you can get past the incredible discomfort of it. Her arm, of course, was screaming with red-hot streaks of agony, making it hard to focus on her other problems. Her shortness of breath was almost certainly due to fear and shock. Other than a tingling ache in the ankle that she’d rolled, she was surprisingly okay.

“Up, Jamie,” she said aloud, the sound of her own voice oddly comforting. “Time to haul ass.”

She struggled to her feet as fast as she could, gripping her injured arm tightly with her opposite hand. Hot blood filled her palm, a slow, seeping drip that was almost comforting.

No
spurts. That’s good. Should mean she didn’t nick an artery
.

Once Jamie stood, she didn’t wait for the world to stop swaying; she sprinted for Mike’s house, not looking back. Another pop sounded, kicking up shards of rock only feet from her. She didn’t slow down even though the ache in her ankle got stronger with every step. Her slippered feet pounded against the stones of the street as she kept that tall, stately town home in her sights.
Please
let
me
be
out
of
Collette’s range, please.

When she rounded the corner and hobbled into the alley toward the servants’ entrance, the sound of rapid footsteps reached her ears. She came face to face with Mrs. Knightsbridge only seconds later.

“Watched any interesting water-bowl TV lately?” Jamie asked, looking pointedly at the blood seeping out from between her fingers.

Mrs. K shook her head and led Jamie into the house.

***

Jamie sat on a stool in her bedroom, wearing only her corset, petticoats, shift, and bloomers. She winced as Mrs. K tended to the wound on her arm.

“
Ouch
. Careful, that arm is still attached. Well, it was before you got to it.”

“You were very fortunate, Miss Jamie. The bullet only grazed your arm. Had you not fallen when you did, it would be a very different outcome.”

“That’s me,” Jamie said glumly, hissing in a breath when Mrs. K applied some more of her mystical healing goop to her wound. “Luckiest bitch alive.”

Mrs. K wound strips of clean cotton around her arm, knotting the ends to keep it in place. “There. I shall change the dressing after your bath.”

Jamie nodded, examining the white bandage on her arm. It was harder now to speak to Mrs. K than it had ever been before. She’d liked the housekeeper, and more than that, she’d trusted her. But now, when her refusal to tell the truth had nearly cost Jamie her life again, she was less inclined to be so forgiving. Mrs. K started packing her healing supplies back into the large wooden box, and as Jamie watched her, she couldn’t help asking.

“Do you think maybe now you can tell Mike the truth about Collette?”

Her hands slowed as they placed a small jar of fluid back into its place in the box. She cleared her throat, and her fingers trembled as they reached for the lid of the case.

“I have told his lordship that I believe she is responsible.”

“Did you mention that you had actually witnessed it?”

The box’s latch squeaked as she fastened it. She smoothed her already immaculate brown and gray hair, eyes darting back and forth.

The dull throb in Jamie’s arm shortened her already tried patience. “That’s a no.”

Mrs. K lifted the case, not looking back at Jamie. “I must help Jean Philippe prepare the dining room for the evening meal.”

Jamie stared at the woman’s back, uncertain of what to say for several moments. It was only when Mrs. K stepped out of the room and the door was swinging shut that Jamie spoke.

“It’s his happiness or yours, Wilhelmina.”

The oak paused, then continued on its way until the latch clicked softly.

***

Mrs. K apparently didn’t tell any of the other servants about Jamie sneaking out or about her injuries. Muriel asked about the white bandage on Jamie’s arm as she helped her dress for dinner, but Jamie told the maid that she’d tripped and hit her arm on the piano. Muriel dressed Jamie in a rose-colored silk gown with sort of puffed, long sleeves that concealed the bandage completely.

Muriel piled Jamie’s hair on top of her head, taking extra care with it tonight for some reason. Maybe it was because Jamie looked so pale and worried. Jamie knew she could use the extra help that Muriel’s clever hairdressing hands could achieve. She placed a delicate chain around Jamie’s throat, the combination of the silver and the deep neckline of the gown making her neck look lean and long. Her cheeks were pale, the circles beneath her eyes plain. She turned from the mirror in disgust. Even Muriel’s considerable talent couldn’t erase the strain the last week had placed on her face.

Every night before, Jamie had wanted Mike to come to dinner. Tonight, as she slowly descended the staircase, favoring her bum ankle and listening hard for the sound of her earl’s voice, she hoped he’d be somewhere else. She’d have to lie to him about going out today and what had happened. The truth would hurt him too much. She hated to deceive him but confessing her near-fatal stupidity was even more impossible to face.

She thought she was home free when Mike wasn’t in the sitting room, but when Thornton announced dinner, Mike closed the office door behind him and joined her in the hallway.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” she said to him softly. She tried her damnedest to keep her stride even, equal, completely normal. It was nearly impossible, pain ricocheting up her leg with every step.

He took her hand and drew it through the crook of his arm. “My apologies, Miss Marten. I did not mean to give that impression.” His deep voice was so polite that it eased her tense nerves, but only a little.

Mike pulled out her chair for her, and as she rounded it to sit down, her ankle gave out. She gave a small gasp of pain, stumbling to right herself.

“Are you well?”

She nodded and gratefully collapsed onto the chair he still held for her. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about that. Twisted my ankle earlier today. Guess I’m just a klutz.” Her laugh came out high-pitched and nervous. She could have kicked herself if she was that limber—and if she had two working feet.

Jamie didn’t look up at Mike as he went to his own place at the table.

Each plate of food that was set in front of her had small bites removed. Jamie shook her head but didn’t complain. She knew it wouldn’t do any good.

The mutton and roast vegetables were really good, and Mike kept the conversation light, happy even. Her tension began to melt away, and she laughed at Mike’s tales of dowagers and debutantes. He smiled often, the dimple in his chin deepening and his eyes twinkling when he looked at her. It wasn’t until the plates were cleared away that his speech turned more serious.

“I want to apologize, Jamie.”

She gave him a confused half smile. “For what?”

He looked down at his hands, which were clasped together on the table. The snow-white linen of the tablecloth made the small hairs on his hands look darker, contouring the strong lines. “For making you feel less than you are. For treating you as if you have no sense, no thought for your own safety. I only sought to protect you, but in doing so I have made you unhappy. Can you forgive me?”

Oh
no.
She’d been shot all over again, but this time the word-bullet had found its mark straight through her stupid lies and into the middle of her heart.

Play
it
cool, Jamie. No blood, no foul. Well, only your blood, and it’s secret blood, and he doesn’t have to know about it.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it,” she said brightly. Her arm throbbed in time with her thumping heart, that organ seeming to scream
liar
with every beat. “It’s fine. You were doing what you thought was right. I don’t blame you for that at all.”

Mike rose to his feet, his face a perfect picture of tranquility and love. He came over to her and touched her shoulder lightly before pulling her chair out to let her stand.

When she did, he leaned forward, and his warm breath blew on the bare column of her neck. “I have missed you, dearling. Will you come to me tonight?”

The air in the room turned to methane. Swirling green clouds of putrescence that robbed her of the ability to think. She nodded, screwed a smile on her face, and let Mike escort her to the foot of the stairs.

“I have some matters to attend to, but I will meet you shortly, my love.”

He brushed a kiss across her numb lips and disappeared back into his office.

The stairs were steeper than she remembered. Of course, it could have been the huge load of guilt that she was carrying that made them seem that way.

***

The funny thing about brains is that they never freaking shut up. Not when you take off your rose-colored silk gown, not when you remove your petticoats, your stays, your shift, your bloomers. Not when you adjust the bandage over your bullet wound to pull on your night rail. Not when you brush out your curls in front of the flickering fire, and not even when you sneak down the hall to your fiancé’s bedroom. The whole time, the brain is yelling things like
How
could
you
lie
straight
to
his
face?
and
Do
you
honestly
think
he’s not going to notice that big white bandage?
And her personal favorite,
Silly
gamer, earls aren’t for geek girls. This whole shebang is about to come crashing down, and it’s all your fault, Jamie Kennedy Marten. Put that in your kazoo and blow it.

He wasn’t in his bedroom yet when she opened the door. Whew. Maybe she had a chance. She limped as fast as she dared over to the bed and scooted down underneath the covers. She lay on her back, turned her head to the side, and pretended to be asleep. Just in time, too. Only seconds later, the door squeaked open.

For several moments, the sounds of soft steps and rustling clothes were the only noise in the room. She began to wonder if he really bought that she was asleep. As desperately as she wanted to avoid confessing her stupidity to him, she desperately wanted him that much more. She was so torqued up and anxious that she wished he’d do something. The stress must have made her wiggle more than she should have because he softly brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.

She couldn’t stop herself from pressing her face closer to his hand. She wanted to be close to him. There had been so much fear, so much anger and strain between them for the past few days that no matter what, she was ready to be with him. Fuck the bandage and the truth. Fuck going home, fuck Collette, and fuck Mrs. K’s secrets. She wanted him. Micah. Right now.

When he bent his head down to her and took her lips in a soft kiss, she didn’t hesitate. She opened her mouth to him, tracing the line of his lips with her tongue. He matched her strokes with his own, and their mouths mated deeply. He pressed his body down atop hers, and when her hands rubbed up his arms and down his back, she realized that the rustling of his clothes had been to remove them all. He was nude as he lay on top of her, and even through the thick blankets and her nightgown, his erection was obvious.

She groaned softly as he kissed her, getting lost in the feeling of his body against her hands. His smooth, lean muscles made her palms tingle, and his kisses made her throb down low in her belly. One of his hands cupped the back of her neck, and the other rubbed the line of her shoulder beneath the nightgown, caressing it gently before drifting down to cover her breast. She arched her back, her hips twisting in supplication.

He lifted his head and stared down at her, the flickering firelight making dancing shadows across his strong jaw.

He rolled off her and pulled back the covers. His hands delved beneath the hem of her night rail, rubbing up the length of her legs. She shivered as his strong palms traveled up to her thighs, rucking the gown up to her waist.

“You are so lovely,” he said as he splayed his fingers over her hips. He looked over her body like he’d never seen it before. “I cannot tell you how looking upon you makes me feel.”

She smiled and reached for the hem that lay across her belly. Moving the fabric higher on her body, she revealed her breasts to him. His low groan sent a wave of heat between her thighs.

“Probably about as good as looking at you makes me feel,” she said, leaving the gown bunched up across her collarbone. She cupped her breasts, rubbing the taut points with her thumbs. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. His eyes darkened at the sight of her breasts being offered to him like a sacrifice.

“I want you,” she whispered.

His hands rubbed up her hips, to her waist, her rib cage, and finally to cover her hands where they touched her breasts. His palms dragged over the turgid points of her nipples, sending bolts of sensation straight to her core.