The Geek Girl and the Scandalous Earl (17 page)

Stretching atop his bedcovers, he stared at the ceiling, wondering what the morrow would bring. His definite plans suddenly seemed diffuse as a cloud. It was a long time before sleep claimed him, and even then, he did not rest.

Muriel didn’t comment on the fact that Jamie’s buttons were already undone when the maid came up to help her dress for bed. Muriel had to know something was up though, even if Mrs. K hadn’t spilled the beans. Jamie hadn’t grown any extra arms to help do it herself, after all.

It wasn’t until later, when Jamie was curled up next to Baron in bed, that she realized Mike hadn’t said he loved her too.

She sat upright, staring at the flickering light in the fireplace. He hadn’t said he loved her. Did he? Or was he being polite by postponing his engagement to Felicity until he could prove to her that they’d never work out? If that was his game, then why’d he kiss her?

Ugh
. She flopped back onto her pillows, causing Baron to raise his head in alarm. Why were things so damn complicated?

Well, one thing was certain. She couldn’t leave now. She had to find out if Mike loved her too, if he was changing his mind about that whole can’t-marry-for-love thing. If Mrs. K kept her promise and had Wilhelmina reopen the portal, she wouldn’t go through it, not yet. Mrs. K would probably be over the moon about the whole thing anyway. Meddling busybody of a matchmaker.

Baron got tired of her tossing and turning. She let him out when he sat at the door and whined. She didn’t blame him. She wouldn’t want to be with her confused and sleepless self either if she had a choice.

When the sun finally came up, she got cleaned up and dressed as well as she could on her own. She couldn’t wait for Muriel. She had to get out of this room. The lemon-yellow walls were crushing her. She needed room to breathe, to think, to make some decisions. A plan of action, a way to tear down Mike’s defenses and see how he really felt about her. She needed a strategy.

You
don’t run into a big fight, spells blazing, after all
, she thought as she trotted quickly down the stairs.
You
send
in
your
tank
first. Someone to draw the enemy’s fire, their focus. That way the rest of your party can chip away at the boss’s defenses without being slaughtered so quickly.

She had a fairly good idea of exactly who her tank would be. He was strong, sweet, and, above all, Mike was crazy about him.

Jamie found Baron in the kitchen, begging Jean Philippe for scraps.

She lured the hound into Mike’s office with a small chunk of ham. She fed him tiny bits at a time, trying to keep him calm and quiet. If this was going to work, then Baron would have to be okay staying in here with her and Mike while they talked. If her tank walked, she was done for.

Fortunately, Mike rose early too. Jamie heard him talking to the butler as he walked down the hallway. He stopped at his open office door and looked at her curiously.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. Baron, bless his bony little heart, trotted right up to Mike for attention. Mike’s face broke into a smile as he rubbed the hound’s silky ears.

“Hello there, good lad.” Mike looked at her without stopping his petting. “Good morning, Miss Marten. I trust you slept well?”

“Yeah, it was okay.” She’d slept well at some point in her life, and he hadn’t been specific about which night. “I wanted to talk to you, if you’ve got time.”

He stood, pursed his lips, and nodded. She sat in the chair across from his desk.

“Last night,” she began, then her throat closed off. She coughed to clear it, bit her lip, and continued, “Last night, you might have heard me tell Collette that I…that I…” Damn frogs. Always lodged in her throat at the worst possible moment.

Baron picked that moment to trot away from his master, disappearing into the hallway. “You are such a crap tank, Baron,” she muttered under her breath.

“I beg your pardon?” Mike said in a confused voice.

“No, that was my brain. In my head. Not for out loud.” She wanted to smack herself in the forehead to shake the thoughts loose. “Let me start again.”

Mike crossed the room and took the seat next to her. She wasn’t sure if she preferred that to him sitting behind that giant desk or not.

“Please, continue, Miss Marten.”

She nodded, glad that his tone was patient and kind. She didn’t know if she’d be able to take proud asshole Mike this morning or not.

“Last night, I told Collette that I loved you.”

The words came out rushed and squished together. She could almost smell her own terror in the air. She continued quickly, deathly afraid she would lose her cool.

“I was wondering if you had any idea how you felt about me in return. I’m not asking if you love me, because we haven’t known each other all that long, and I’ve done tons of stupid things that you should probably hate me for, but since I’m living here and you postponed your engagement for me, well, not really for me but because of me, anyway, I was wondering if you maybe felt something for me?”

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut, wishing a hole would open in the floor and swallow her up.

When long seconds went by with no reply, she peeked through one slitted lid at Mike.

He stared at her, his lips barely parted. Was that shock? Surprise? Was he wondering how to let her down gently?

“Just say something,” she blurted out.

“Miss Marten.” He stopped, cleared his throat. “Jamie.”

When he gently took her hand, she stopped breathing and opened her eyes. He shook his head, his forehead furrowed slightly.

“Jamie, I do not know what to say. There is much, much that I would say, but I have not the words. You have…”

He trailed off. Her heart stuttered. “I have what?”

“You have made me think…differently. The truths that I have held as sacred for years are now being called into question. I do not know…I do not know.”

“You don’t know what?” She slapped her hand down on the desk. “Spit it out, for chrissakes!”

He let out a confused chuckle. “I do not know anything anymore. Louisa…I thought I loved Louisa. She was very special to me. When she became ill…I swore that I would never feel that way about a woman again.” His eyes became desperate, his shoulders tense. “But since I have known you, as maddening, irreverent, and outspoken as you are, I have realized I did not love Louisa as I had thought I did. Last night, beneath the balcony…” He trailed off again. She bit her lip when he continued, “I cannot be without you, Jamie.”

“So,” she drew the word out. “Where does that leave us?”

He shook his head again, clasping her hand tightly. “I do not know.”

“Well.” She looked down at their twined fingers. “Why don’t we try to find out?”

He sighed. “There is much to consider. The earldom, my responsibilities, the duties to my name…”

She waved her free hand in the air. “Mike, listen. Let’s forget about all the reasons we shouldn’t be doing this for a while, okay? Let’s just be.” She reached up and pushed a wayward curl from his forehead. His hair was so soft, almost baby fine.

He let his eyelids slide closed. Feeling slightly bolder at his unspoken acceptance, she trailed her palm down his cheek. It was smooth with the feel of a fresh shave. She traced the cleft in his chin with a finger, smiling to herself when she touched the lace at his throat.

“Jamie,” he whispered, slitting his eyes barely open. He leaned toward her, and she met him halfway.

When their lips met this time, it was new, delicious, and different. There was none of the surprise that the rest of their kisses had carried. This one was quieter, sweeter, and somehow more passionate for its expectedness.

When he leaned back, severing their contact, she sighed.

“Time. We will give this time, if you are amenable.” He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look pissed either. His eyes were soft, and his mouth was a straight line.

“I think we can do that,” she said slowly.

“Good.” He stood and paced agitatedly in front of the fireplace. He looked like there were fire ants crawling under his skin.

After watching him for a few seconds, she stood. He clearly needed some time alone to think some things through.

“I’ll leave you alone,” she said quietly, and turned to go. A warm hand on her arm stopped her.

“Jamie.” His voice was pained, and his eyes were troubled. “I…”

She smiled at him, putting her hand against his cheek. “It’s okay, Mike, really. I understand. Take your time. I’ll be here.”

A small half smile crept over his face, and this time when she turned to go, he didn’t stop her.

She passed Baron in the hallway. The big gray dog was gnawing on a hambone he’d evidently suckered out of Jean Philippe.

“Traitor,” she hissed at the dog, but without any real venom. She didn’t blame him. If she could have run away from that awkward conversation, she would have too.

She found herself heading into the music room, sinking down onto the bench, and allowing her troubled fingers to find a tune.

So Mike cared for her. Not loved. Cared for. Deeply cared for, but not loved. What did that mean for them? For her?

Time. Give it time, Jamie.

As luck would have it, she ran into Mrs. Knightsbridge in the hallway outside of the Lemon Room. The housekeeper took one look at Jamie’s face and hustled her into the privacy of the yellow bedchamber.

“Good heavens, dearie, whatever is the matter?” Mrs. K set her armload of linens down beside Jamie’s prone body where she lay flopped on the bed.

“Okay. Say there’s this woman. And she’s in love with the complete wrong guy. The guy is interested in her, but they’re completely wrong for each other in every single way. And then, the guy’s ex-girlfriend finds out something about the woman and the guy that might kill whatever chance they might have had at a relationship that was probably doomed in the first place. What would that woman do?”

Mrs. K’s face was one great big giant question mark.

Jamie sat up with a sigh. “I love Mike. He said he ‘cares deeply’”—she made air quotes—“for me. At the ball last night, he might have let slip that I was living here. Collette said that if I didn’t move out she’d make me pay. It sounded like she’d tell all of society about it.”

“Mercy,” Mrs. K whispered. Her round face went Clorox white.

“Yeah.” Jamie tried to swallow the knot growing in her throat. “What do I do?”

After a moment or two of stunned silence, the housekeeper started pacing by the trunk at the end of her bed. “Well, Miss Jamie, there is but one thing to do.”

“What’s that? Go forward in time, grab Drew Barrymore, and tell her to take over for me?”

The housekeeper didn’t even bother to acknowledge her smart-assedness. She turned to Jamie, drew herself up to her full height of five feet one inch, and looked straight into Jamie’s eyes as she said, “You must seduce him.”

Stunned silence was all Jamie could muster for several long moments. She stared at Mrs. K, trying to see the punch line, but the woman seemed to be completely serious. Out of all the things that Jamie had ever thought she’d hear coming out of Mrs. K’s mouth, seduction was definitely not on the list.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Mrs. K sat next to Jamie, and her voice took on a motherly tone. “Miss Jamie, you must understand. This is for his lordship’s own well-being. Without our intervention, he will never discover the wonders of true love. If you seduce him, then he will do the right thing, the only honorable thing, and wed you. Now, I trust you are a virgin?”

“Wait just a fricking minute!” Jamie rocketed to her feet. “I am not going to force Mike into bed or into a relationship with me. I wouldn’t be any better than that bitch Collette if I did that.”

Mrs. K, bless her heart, had the sense to look a little ashamed. “I can understand your reluctance. But what are we to do otherwise?”

Jamie crossed her arms over her bodice and chewed her lip thoughtfully. Mrs. K was right. This wasn’t an easy problem to solve. How could she help Mike make up his mind about her? And what the hell would they do if he decided that he loved her back? She certainly didn’t want to spend the rest of her life without a shower, that was for certain.

“I really don’t know. Maybe we should lay low for a while, give it more time,” Jamie said to the housekeeper. She looked up at Jamie like she’d stolen her favorite sewing needles. “Seriously. I’ll stick around here, and hopefully Collette won’t make good on her threat. Mike needs some time to figure some things out. And honestly, I do too.”

Mrs. K shook her head. “So be it.” She gathered up her armload of linen and turned to leave. “I do not agree with your method, Miss Jamie. I must, in all fairness, tell you that I intend to forward his lordship’s progress by whatever means necessary.”

Jamie sank down on the bed, flopping against the cream-colored pillows. “Be my guest, Mrs. K. If you can help him make up his mind about stuff, then I can get home sooner.”

Jamie realized, as Mrs. K let the door softly click shut behind her, that was probably about the dumbest thing she ever could have done. Jamie had basically handed a relationship junkie a loaded syringe.

When Muriel came upstairs to dress Jamie for dinner, she figured out that the loaded syringe on the loose was the least of her worries.

Jamie pegged the thin girl with an open-mouthed stare.

“What do you mean Mike’s here for dinner? He’s only eaten dinner with me once in the whole time I’ve been here! What would make him stay here tonight?”

Muriel shook her head and held out a cream-colored silk gown for Jamie to put on. “Mrs. K didn’t see fit to let me know, miss. She said to make sure you were looking your finest. Now, please, allow me to do up the buttons.”

Shaking her head incredulously, Jamie turned and allowed Muriel to work.
Man
. When Mrs. K made up her mind about something, she really went balls to the wall. It was sort of inspiring, actually. If she believed in Jamie and Mike that strongly, maybe there was something worth chasing after all.

Muriel finished up Jamie’s buttons and seated her by the dressing table so the maid could do her hair. Jamie watched her in the mirror as she worked. Tonight, she’d settled on piling the hair in loose curls around the crown of Jamie’s head, leaving a few tendrils to curl temptingly down the length of her neck.

Muriel produced a small glass vial from her apron and removed the stopper. With a gentle finger, she applied a tiny amount of the substance to the nape of Jamie’s neck, her wrists, and behind her ears.

“What’s that?”

“It’s tincture of roses, miss. It will make you smell like a beautiful garden. His lordship won’t be able to resist.”

Jamie rolled her eyes and turned to face the maid. “Mur, does everybody in this house know about Mike’s and my, um, interest in each other?”

At her nod, Jamie wished she could melt into the floor. Jean Philippe, the kitchen maids, Thornton, George the footman, even the stableboys knew she had a crush on the earl? Oh Lord. This was worse than the time she’d accidentally put her sweatpants on inside-out before going to the gym. That had been the end of her brief foray into physical fitness. No less embarrassing than this particular moment, though. Too bad she couldn’t borrow a disappearance spell from Wilhelmina.

When Muriel left her, Jamie had a couple of minutes before dinnertime. She made her way down the hallway. Before she could reach the staircase, she stopped at the open door of Mike’s room.

A faint squeak drew her attention.

Gingerly, she poked her head through the door. The bedclothes were rumpled, and a large, bony body was curled up in the center of them. Baron’s yawn had apparently been what she’d heard because he smacked his lips a couple of times, gave her a look, and went back to sleep.

She started to back out of the room, but then the bureau in the corner caught her eye.

Had Mrs. K talked to Wilhelmina again? Or was the portal to her time still open?

Drawn by curiosity, she made her way across the dimly lit room to the tall bureau. The mirrors glinted in the dying rays of the sun that shone weakly through the window. She stood before the mahogany wood, arguing with herself.

Should she test the mirror? What if the portal was open, and it sucked her through? Could she take that chance? She’d never be able to return again if she did.

But what could it hurt, just to see?

Her hand lifted slowly, almost of its own volition. She watched her trembling fingers as they moved closer to the glass. Closer. Only a couple of inches away. In another heartbeat, she’d be touching the glass. Would it be solid, or would it pull her through again?

A high-pitched whine broke her trance. She whirled around. Baron had sat up on the bed, large eyes worried.

She crossed over to the hound, sat beside him on the bed, and hugged the hot, bony body.

“It’s okay, boy,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.”

As if satisfied with her promise, he gave her a gentle kiss on the nose before lying back down.

With a sigh, she stood and knocked blue-gray hairs from her silk gown. She didn’t look at the bureau again as she left the room. That had been a stupid thing to do.

When she got to the sitting room, only Thornton, the butler, was there. He smiled when he saw her and ladled a pink concoction from a cut-crystal bowl into a glass. Handing it to her, he said, “Miss Marten. His lordship will be down momentarily. In the interim, he asks that you have a drink of his special punch. An old Axelby family recipe.”

Jamie wasn’t fooled by the old man’s innocent smile for one second. Pegging him with her best bullshit-detector stare, she said, “Yeah, right. Mrs. Knightsbridge made this punch, didn’t she?”

The butler drew himself upright, looking offended. “Not at all, Miss Marten. I believe that Mrs. Knightsbridge has had the evening off. His lordship prepared this and bade me give it you when you arrived.”

The old man was staring her straight in the eye. His body was stiff, not moving a bit. It was hard to tell if he was standing that way because he was offended at her question, lying, or because he was a starched-up old butler. After a few seconds, when he didn’t move, break his gaze, or collapse in tears, Jamie sighed.

“Okay.” She took the glass he offered. If anyone was going to slip her a mickey, it wasn’t going to be sweet old Thornton.

He smiled and bowed. “Please enjoy, Miss Marten.”

“I’m sure I will.” She couldn’t help smiling back. When he left the room, she took a suspicious sniff of the glass. It smelled like lemons, sugar, and some kind of liquor.

“Bottoms up,” she muttered, and took a swig.

It was like an electric lemonade with rosemary, mint, and some fucking killer gin. THIS was a cocktail. The Axelbys apparently knew their way around a bar.

“
Slainté
,” she toasted the closed door behind Thornton, and downed the rest of the drink. Wow. Talk about liquid courage.

By the time Mike entered the room, she was pleasantly warm inside. She was working on her fourth drink, and the tips of her fingers were going a little, well, numb.

“Heya, Mikey!” She tossed back the rest of her cocktail and set the glass down on the table beside her with a solid thunk. Gosh, Mike had probably had a little too much Axelby punch too. He wasn’t walking too straight. He weaved back and forth as he crossed the room toward her. She giggled at the sight.

“Good evening, Miss Marten.” His eyes were bright as he sat beside her on the settee. She tried to check his pupils to see if they were dilated, but his head wobbled around too much for her to see clearly.

“Nice of you to have me for dinner. Whoops. Invite me to dinner, anyway. Or have dinner with me. Whatever.”

Her loss of the English language didn’t seem to bother Mike. “My pleasure. Shall we go in?”

“I’d love to.”

Well, she would have loved to if that damn cocktail hadn’t put gin where her kneecaps should be. Her first two attempts to rise failed miserably. Fortunately, Mike seemed to be a bit more sober than she was. He helped her to her feet, steadying her when she would have pitched forward too far.

“Thanks, Mikey.” She grinned. Impulsively, she threw her arms around him, pressing her face into his black evening jacket. “God, you smell good. Did you use some of Mur’s rose tincture too?”

Mike’s laugh rumbled through her cheek, and she snuggled against the soft vibrations. “Jamie, dearling, I do believe you are foxed.”

She yanked back, nearly giving herself whiplash in the process. “No! Well, maybe.” She checked her fingers, tapping them against each other. Nothing. She dug her middle fingernail into her thumb. Bupkes. She bit her thumb. No pain.
Oh
shit.

“Yeah, I might be drunk. Sorry.” She looked up at him, her forehead wrinkling as she frowned.

“Whatever have you been imbibing?”

She swatted at him, missing the arm she’d been aiming for completely. “It’s all your fault. Thornton told me about the punch. Family recipe, huh? That shit’s dangerous.”

Mike shook his head at her. “You are talking nonsense now. Best to get you to bed.”

A mischievous grin spread across her face, and she draped her arms around Mike’s neck. “Was that your plan? Get me into bed? You didn’t need to get me drunk to do that.”

She pressed her lips against his then. She wasn’t sure if his mouth had been open because he was about to say something else, or if he was really into the idea of kissing her. At that point, she really didn’t give a shit. Her libido had been working overtime since she’d figured out how she felt about Mike, and this alcohol-hazed make-out session was just what the hormones ordered.

Mike’s arms wrapped around her, his hands resting lightly on her hips. He responded to the bold forays of her tongue with passion. She moaned deep in her throat at the feeling of his tongue tasting the depths of her mouth. God, he was such an incredible kisser.

Feeling even bolder, she rubbed along his back, down to his ass. She pulled the firm muscles closer to her, craving the hard heat that she knew was between them. There was a good reason she despised these damn petticoats, and by gum, she was going to feel him tonight.

When he pulled his mouth from hers, she took advantage of the opportunity. She pressed her lips along his smooth jaw, kissing her way down to the cleft in his chin, then fumbling with the buttons of his waistcoat.

“Jamie,” he hissed in a whisper. “Whatever are you doing?”

“Getting you naked,” she said to his chest. “What’s up with these damn buttons?”

He grabbed her hands, stilling them. “No. You mustn’t…”

“Don’t keep telling me what to do!” She blew up at him, her frustrated lust and drunk brain obliterating whatever filter she had left. “You’ve been wanting me for a while. I want you too. You know I love you, so what’s keeping us from doing what people do?”

Mike looked at her for the longest time without saying a word. Her insides grew cold.

“Forget it.” She pulled free from his grasp and turned to head out of the room, doing her damnedest to keep from wobbling.

“Jamie, wait.”

She ignored him, focusing instead on trying to finish her exit without walking into anything. It was damn difficult, considering the floor kept moving on her.

“Jamie!”

She’d thought she’d been moving pretty quickly, but Mike caught her anyway. She tried not to notice how good his body felt pressed against the length of her back.

“What?”

His lips pressed to the column of her neck, giving her shivers. She tilted her head, lost in the sensation of his light, nipping kisses against the sensitive skin.

“I will accompany you to your room, if you wish. Only give me a moment.” His breath blew against her neck as he spoke.

“Okay,” she breathed.

He led her to the doorjamb, placing her hand on it to keep her steady. She closed her eyes while he was gone. Were they really going to do this?

“Jamie?”

She fluttered her eyes open. Wow, that was fast. “Hey,” she breathed, smiling like an idiot.

She let out a squeak as Mike scooped her up into his arms. “This may be safer than allowing you to walk up the stairs.”

“Probably.” She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck as they ascended to the second floor. He was so strong. He made her feel light and delicate and all womanly and stuff. God, he was handsome.

When they reached her bedroom, he let her down to stand on her own.

“Are we, I mean, do you want to come inside? Get comfortable?” Suddenly awkward, she wasn’t sure what to do next.

He shook his head with a sad smile, his hand hot against the small of her back. “It would be wrong of me to take advantage of you in this way. You are foxed. A gentleman cannot…”

“Fuck the gentleman,” she growled, and kissed him again.

He pulled away this time, not giving in to her demands.

Hot shame took the place of the bubbling lust in her belly. She looked down at the floor, eyes curiously filled with tears.