The Geek Girl and the Scandalous Earl (6 page)

***

Micah sank back into his chair, not as happy at having bested her verbally as he thought he’d be. He felt, actually, rather disappointed in himself. Bracing his forehead in his palm, he groaned. He’d not intended that. But the letter from his ex-mistress, Collette, that had arrived that morning had eradicated his already thin patience. Miss Marten’s quite pointed barbs had shattered the last shreds of his control, causing him to fire back when he should have remained silent. Clearly his talent with the fair sex did not extend to his uninvited houseguest.

“That was a good job, wasn’t it, lad?” Micah said to Baron, whose nose was now propped on the earl’s knee. “How was it in her bed, then?”

The greyhound said not a word but gave a pointed look to his lordship’s plate. With a sigh, Micah laid the porcelain on the floor, so Baron could have at the scraps of his breakfast.

“You spoil that dog, my lord.” Mrs. Knightsbridge bustled into the dining room, smiling fondly down at the hound.

“As do you, Mrs. Knightsbridge.” Micah stood, rounding the corner of the table to block the housekeeper’s path. “Pardon me, but I’d like a moment of your time.”

She turned to him, head tilted slightly. “Of course, my lord.”

Micah clasped his hands behind his back and stood tall. “I should like to know what you think of Miss Marten.”

A slightly nervous smile crossed Mrs. Knightsbridge’s face. “Well, my lord, I think she’s a wonderful young lady. Quite spirited and beautiful, not at all in the common way.”

“Yes. A bit too far out of the common way,” Micah said with a bit of sarcasm. “Her tales are a bit fantastical, are they not? Colorful musical objects; traveling through a magic bureau from hundreds of years in the future?”

The housekeeper bit her lip and glanced away. “It is quite a tale. Do you know, I think I hear Cook calling me? Do pardon me, my lord.”

In any other household, with any other peer of the realm, a servant would never dismiss herself without leave. But Micah only quirked a smile as he watched the little round woman scurry from the room in the opposite direction from the kitchen. Mrs. Knightsbridge had always been more like a mother to him than a housekeeper, so he said nothing about her odd behavior. In truth, she behaved oddly more often than not.

Baron looked up from the now-clean plate and whined.

“You greedy cur, you have eaten more than your share.” Micah ruffled the dog’s ears as he rounded the end of the table and placed the plate back on it. He’d think about what Mrs. Knightsbridge had said. Perhaps he owed the uncommon Miss Marten an apology. She was obviously unfamiliar with his home and his time, whether or not it was through a fault of her own. He’d extended her his hospitality, and so far, he’d been a most ungracious host. If she left his home, what would become of her? As a gentleman, he could not, in good conscience, toss a young woman onto the mean streets of London. The thought was insupportable, and he chastised himself as he picked up his letters. One fluttered back to the linen tablecloth.

Grimacing, he picked up the missive from his ex-mistress and laid it atop his other correspondence. On the way from the room, he carelessly tossed the lot on the hall table. His secretary could deal with them when he arrived. Micah wanted nothing more to do with Collette. Her histrionics and frequently outrageous demands on him were done. He only wished he’d known her true nature before taking her as his mistress.

Shaking his head determinedly, he strode into his estate room, shutting the door with a satisfying bang.

“No.
No
way, Mrs. K. I am
not
his lordship’s best chance at love and he sure as hell…um, sorry.” Jamie rolled her shoulders, the stays digging into the undersides of her breasts with the movement. “What I mean to say is that I can’t stand him. He’s a…an apple. A rotten, wormy, grumpy apple. And his countess is in another castle. I don’t have any intention of tying myself to him.
Ever
. So you might as well have your sister send me back. Like, today.”

The housekeeper smiled at the crystal she was cleaning. “I am sorry, Miss Jamie, but I cannot do that. Now, you must not fret. Wilhelmina is never wrong. You simply must give him a chance. You will see in time.”

“Time? In time, I will commit murder. Seriously. Don’t you have any way to contact her now? Like a crystal ball or newt’s blood or something?”

Mrs. K shook her head.

Jamie slumped her shoulders as she leaned forward in defeat. If Mrs. K wouldn’t get her sister the witch to send Jamie home, she had nowhere to go. So much for her grand breakfast exit. “I’m not cut out for this.”

“Do not fret, Miss Jamie. We will soon put your worries to rest. Run along now. I must finish the crystal before we can resume our lessons.”

Jamie groaned. “Really? More lessons? Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill me now?”

“Shoo.” The housekeeper winked at Jamie. “I won’t be a moment, and then we will begin lessons in deportment.”

“Deportment? I’d like to be deported to America, circa the twenty-first century,” Jamie grumbled under her breath as she left the room. She wandered around the first floor aimlessly, not really sure what to do with herself. If she were at home, she’d have logged on an hour ago. She’d be happily questing through Mount Ujlek, racking up badges to turn in for her new helm. She liked that new helm. It was spiky and had some powers that Killaz could really use. It would also match her purple hair nicely. Jamie sighed. It was no use even thinking about what she was missing at home. She was here for the time being, and she’d have to make the best of it.

As she rounded a corner of the hallway, a sheet of parchment caught her notice. It slumped against the baseboard like a bum against a public building. As she stooped to pick it up, she recognized it.
The
letter
Mike
was
reading
at
the
table
earlier.

The paper was thick, its texture weird. Unable to resist the impulse to snoop, she unfolded it. Oddly curling handwriting met her gaze, and she had to squint kind of hard to make sense of it.

Micah,

I cannot help but assume that your lack of response bodes ill. Have you not received my missives? It is insupportable that you would continue to ignore me in this ill-bred fashion. I will not remain so patient with you forever.

Waites tells me that you are to propose soon to Miss Lyons. I must speak with you, dearest Micah, before this event occurs. It would be the gravest of errors on your part to propose to that young lady.

We are meant to be together. I care not a fig for position or wealth or any of that nonsense. But I must have you, my dearest one. If I do not, there is no hope for me. I shall die of a broken heart. The only death I wish is with you, my love. You must visit me as soon as you are able. We shall put this nonsense behind us and be happy as we once were.

I remain yours eternally,

Collette

With a stunned shake of her head, Jamie laid the letter with the others on the hall table.
Wow. Talk about clingy exes.
At least she’d let Logan go gracefully when he flew the coop. This chick needed some serious therapy.

Jamie opened the first door she came to and was pleasantly surprised by the sight that greeted her. A garden with high brick walls and the early blooms of spring surrounded her. She let the door fall shut behind her as she walked down the gravel path into the vibrant-hued sanctuary.

There was a slight nip in the air, and her arms were quickly covered in goose bumps beneath the thin fabric of her borrowed dress. Fortunately, all the layers over her middle kept her core warm. She started to enjoy her little stroll. Buttercups were out in full force, undaunted by the remnants of winter. The whole garden had an air of burgeoning life, a promise of wakefulness that the coming spring would deliver. She took a deep breath and surprised herself by smiling. This wasn’t so bad after all. She hadn’t really spent much time outside in the last couple of years. Life had been too busy, too hectic, first with Logan, and then with the gnawing depression his absence had left her with.

The path curved past a tree, and a stone bench was nestled there beside the mossy trunk, out of sight of the house. She sat down on it, the cold stone slightly damp. She didn’t care. She breathed in the crisp, clean air and enjoyed the scenery around her.

“Lovely, is it not?”

Her calm dissipated like smoke in the breeze, and she whipped her head around at the sound of that voice. Of course, it was Mike. He rounded the bend in the gravel path, his boots crunching on the small stones. So much for her solitary peace. No way could it withstand another verbal boxing match with Mike.

“Don’t you have someplace to be?” She didn’t bother to hide her weary tone.

He sat on the bench next to her, ignoring her question. “I often come to sit out here. It’s very tranquil, quiet. It helps to be alone with one’s thoughts sometimes.”

“I wouldn’t know.” She lifted a brow at him pointedly. He looked at the low-hanging branches beside him, examining the tiny green buds. A ball of nerves grew in her chest. Why was he there? He didn’t like her, so why was he sitting next to her? There was a good six inches between his leg and hers, so why did it seem like his leg was burning her through the tight linen pants he wore?

“I would often come out here last season, when things were not so pleasant. I took peace in the solitude, the lack of accusing eyes…” He fell silent, leaving her wondering what the hell he was talking about. He then cleared his throat and spoke again. “Miss Marten, I must again apologize to you. I had no intention of being rude to you at the breakfast table, but I did just that. I behaved like a boor. Please do forgive me.”

He was unbelievable. She searched his features, looking for the punch line, but all she saw was clarity in his face and in the set of his broad shoulders.

Jamie didn’t know what to say. Maybe he had been upset at breakfast by that letter. Maybe she should forgive him. She tried to ignore the fact that he was so close to her and so handsome and looking at her, but her stupid body wouldn’t cooperate. Warmth bloomed in the pit of her stomach, and she was suddenly very self-conscious. She tried to tear her eyes away from the strong line of his jaw, the way his hair curled over his ears, the way his nose was a little too shiny, but she couldn’t. Her brain was useless.

“Miss Marten?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. I…yeah. Sorry.” English had apparently deserted her with the sum total of her good sense.

“You are welcome to stay in my home as long as is needed.” The polite smile dissipated as he drew in a deep breath, and his eyes were troubled. “There are many dangers that can befall a female person in the streets of London.”

“Thanks,” she said lamely. She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, but of course, it was still perfectly smooth. The dress. It had to be this getup they’d stuffed her in. She wasn’t normally this twitterpated in the presence of a handsome guy. But then again, she thought as she straightened the skirt over her legs, she’d never really spent much time with a gorgeous earl.

“I should apologize too. I haven’t been the easiest person to get along with since yesterday. It’s hard because I don’t know what I’ve gotten into, you know?” She hadn’t really intended to be that honest with him, and it embarrassed her a little. She could feel her cheeks getting hot.

He nodded, not commenting on her blush. “I can imagine, if things are as you insist they are, that this must be incredibly difficult for you. I cannot fathom how a simple bureau could facilitate such a random act of magic, but it seems it must be so.” He grinned, staring straight ahead. “That, or I’m as addle-brained as the dowager Duchess of Ware.” Mike turned and looked at her, his confusion clear. “Do you still have that small box you brought with you?”

She shifted on the bench, uncomfortable and feeling like a fraud despite the sincerity of her situation. “It’s in the Lemon Room.”

“The Lemon Room,” he repeated, brows drawn down in confusion.

“Yes. The bedroom Mrs. K put me in last night? It looks like lemons.” She smiled. “It’s really pretty.”

“I am happy that it pleases you.” He cleared his throat. “What other things are different in my home than in yours? If that little device is any indication, there must be many other such things that I am unfamiliar with.”

“You have no idea. I miss my shower, my toilet, my toothbrush, my computer, my car…” She trailed off at the confused look on his face. “Sorry again. It’s hard to remember that none of that stuff exists yet. I should probably shut up.”

“No,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling. A thrill went through her when he reached over and took her hand. “Please. I would like to hear of them.”

His fingers were warm and strong, his skin a bit lighter than her own. Why was she letting him hold her hand? And the bigger question was, why wasn’t she able to stop him? She looked into his eyes again and realized she really didn’t care about answering that question. She had some others to take care of first.

“Well, the first and best thing is the shower. We have pipes that bring water into our houses…”

They sat there together on that chilly stone bench in the garden, and she told him about her life. He held her hand the whole time, no trace of the normal snobbery that seemed to follow him like a black cloud. She relaxed, comfortable to reminisce in the presence of the much-friendlier-than-normal earl. After she described the miracles of modern plumbing and cars and airplanes, they moved on to computers. She thought they were Mike’s favorite because his eyes danced with the same gleeful light she’d seen in them yesterday while he was playing with her smartphone.

“So, this web connects the entire world? And messages are sent within seconds? How extraordinary.” A light squeeze traveled from his hand to hers as he leaned closer. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her stupid heart from jumping out of her chest. She could almost forget that he made her want to shoot laser beams out of her eyes most of the time. If he kept this up, she might be in trouble.

“It’s pretty cool. And you can send more than emails. You can send videos, pictures, all sorts of things. You can buy and sell things, meet people, and even control satellites in space if you’ve got that kind of access.”

He shook his head incredulously. “How limiting and backward this time must be for you. When your life has consisted of speaking with those across the world, how can you be satisfied with being confined to my home?” His thumb traced a light circle on her knuckle.

She swallowed hard, eyes glued to the tempting curve of his lips. “It’s not been…so bad…”

Lord help her, she wanted to kiss him again. He was so near now, only inches from her. It wouldn’t take much—a quick lean forward, and their lips would be touching. Their mouths would connect, and she could let her tongue trace the fullness of his lower lip…

The scrabbling of claws on gravel should have warned her, but she was a bit too preoccupied with imagining kissing Mike to notice.

“Baron, no!”

Paws landed in her middle, knocking the little bit of oxygen she could breathe with those stays out of her. Overbalanced, she tipped over the back of the bench with a squeak. Her slippers stuck straight up in the air, and she landed solidly on her back in the dirt. The greyhound tangled in her petticoats and began a merciless attack on her face with his tongue.

“Baron,” the earl barked in a stern voice. “To me!”

After one last lick, Baron trotted away.

The dirt beneath her was cool and damp. She stared up at the branches of the tree, wondering how in the hell she was going to get up without embarrassing the shit out of herself. It was really too late, though.

“Miss Marten, I do apologize for Baron’s exuberance. He is still young, you see, and rather excitable.” Mike reached down and scooped her from the ground like she weighed no more than a doll. Her arms wound around his neck as he carried her back around the bench.

It was the adrenaline from the fall that made her heart beat that fast. It was only thankfulness that made her want to kiss Mike even more now than she had moments ago. But as he let her legs descend and her slippered toes touched the gravel, she couldn’t convince her arms to release their hold around his neck.

“Are you quite well?” he asked her softly. Concern raised his brows as he looked into her eyes.

“I’m fine,” she whispered.
Kiss
me,
she begged him in her head.
Come
on, Mike, please.

Two seconds, three, and she thought her subliminal message might have worked. He leaned down ever so slightly, narrowing the gap between them. One heartbeat, two, and she let her eyes start to slide closed. He was going to do it. He was going to kiss her…

And then he stepped away from her, gently breaking her hold on him.

“Please excuse me, Miss Marten.” He bowed, and with a command to Baron, they left her, Mike speaking to the dog in a soft voice the whole way.

She stood alone in the path, dress damp and dirty, arms empty and cold, and rejected for the second time in two days. When was she going to learn? Mike had no interest in her. Honestly, when he was being his normal, arrogant, jackass self, she didn’t have any interest in him. So why’d she keep trying to kiss him?

She half ran back up the path toward the house. She couldn’t get back home fast enough. It was time to fail some lady lessons.

***

Jamie thought Mrs. Knightsbridge was going to pass out when she saw the state of the dress Jamie wore. The housekeeper’s normally cheerful, round face elongated with horror.