“You are cold,” he said in his too-soft voice. “Let me warm you.”

She didn’t resist as he drew her close in his arms. Her heart thumped faster in excited delight. Her destined true love was holding her in his arms. Could anything be more perfect? She rested her cheek against his chest with a contented sigh.

It was cold.

She was pressed full against his body, but instead of the comforting warmth she’d expected, he was icy from head to toe. Pulling away from him, she looked up into his face.

And screamed.

“You simpleton, wake up.”

Leah sat bolt upright with a gasp, her eyes flying open. Sarah and the other girl were dressing across the room, the light from their candles dancing crazily as they chatted and giggled. Henrietta stood beside the bed, glaring down at Leah. In her hands was the blanket. No wonder Leah had dreamed about being cold.

“You will be late if you do not hurry. I shouldn’t care if you were, but Mrs. Harper bade me wake you.”

“Oh my gosh,” Leah moaned, gripping her head. It ached with a thumping pain. What a freaking weird dream. But she didn’t have time to analyze it. She swung her feet off the side of the bed and winced at the chilly touch of the wooden floor. Without a word to Leah, the other three girls left the room. If she hadn’t been so absorbed in her own headache, it might have bothered her. As it was, she could barely stagger over to the drawer in the bureau that had been designated as hers.

The predawn sky was lightening slightly, but even with a candle it was tough to dig her way through the drawer. Finally her fingers closed around a small leather pouch she’d secreted in her skirt before making her journey through the mirror. She opened the zipper with relief and spread the contraband on the windowsill.

A toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. Tampons. A bottle of Advil and a box of throat lozenges for the cold that had been threatening her since last week. A bar of her favorite vanilla and coconut soap, and a stick of deodorant. A picture of Pawpaw, smiling as he worked on an ancient tractor. She popped open the bottle of Advil and swallowed two dry. Looking down at the picture, she said, “Morning, Pawpaw.” She traced the photo with a fingernail. She’d ridden on that tractor many times as a child, her grandfather holding her securely in his lap. Things were so much simpler then.

Shaking off her reverie, she brushed her teeth with water from the pitcher and made quick work of washing off as best she could with a rag and her soap. She donned her uniform, wincing at the still-damp fabric. It couldn’t be helped though. By the time her hair was all tucked beneath her cap, her stockings were on, and her boots were laced, the black of night had faded to the hazy gray of early dawn on the horizon.

She gathered up her treasure trove and replaced the pouch in the drawer beneath her dress. Her headache was starting to fade around the edges a little, and gratitude flooded her as she descended the stairs to the servants’ hall. If nothing else, Jamie’s journey had prepared her to rough it here in the past. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she was sure she was up to the challenge.

Well, she thought she was, until she discovered just how much a pain in the ass being an underhousemaid could be.

“Good morning.” Leah smiled at Mrs. Harper as she descended the stairs.

The white-haired housekeeper scowled at her. “You are very nearly late again, Ramsey. Granville House servants are expected to be prompt at all times.”

Fighting the urge to protest, Leah scrambled to her seat at the dining table. Nobody else seemed to be there for breakfast yet, but clearly Mrs. Harper had risen from the wrong side of the coffin. No use fighting that kind of bad attitude. Clearly this woman needed to roll a solid plus five to positivity.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Harper’s nostrils flared.

Leah put on her best contrite look. “Aren’t we having breakfast?”

The housekeeper looked at her as if she’d shat in His Grace’s boots. “You must work to earn your breakfast, girl. Now follow me.”

Blowing out an exasperated breath, Leah rose and trudged after the housekeeper. Was she ever going to stop screwing up? It hadn’t seemed like being a servant should be this hard. Hopefully she’d just polish a few pieces of silver and then have a good breakfast to make up for her lack of sleep. Longing for the coziness of her memory-foam mattress, she followed Mrs. Harper down the dim hallway.

“Attend me, Ramsey.” Mrs. Harper’s heels clicked on the polished wood floors, and Leah hustled to keep up with her. “These tasks are to be done every morning upon rising. The house must be cleaned and aired, all superfluous articles put into their proper places, the fireplaces and hearths brushed up. The hearths all washed with soap and water, then carefully wiped dry with linen cloth and new fires laid.” Leah hurried into a sitting room behind Mrs. Harper, who didn’t slow down at all. The woman opened the curtains and kept moving as she spoke. “Sweep all the carpets, then turn up the corners to sweep away the dust upon the floor. Dust the window sashes, and once or twice a week shake out the window curtains and hangings. Are you attending me?”

All Leah could do was nod her head numbly. Her brain throbbed, her headache having returned with a vengeance. The enormity of her new job pressing in on her, she followed Mrs. Harper through room after room as the housekeeper pointed out different tasks for her to complete. Why hadn’t she smuggled a vacuum and some Magic Erasers through the mirror with her? This was going to take forever.

“Attend to His Grace’s dressing room, and the dressing rooms of any guests we have in residence. Empty the slops, replenish the ewers with fresh water, clean the fireplaces, brush the carpets, sweep the room, and make ready for the valet to attend His Grace’s dressing. Once these tasks have been completed, you may then, and only then, come down to your breakfast.”

Leah stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, her jaw working soundlessly. Mrs. Harper had just listed about two weeks’ worth of housework, and she was supposed to get all this done before breakfast?

“I’m sorry,” Leah said, surging forward to intercept the housekeeper before she could launch into another list of duties. “I don’t think I heard correctly. I thought you said all this had to be done before breakfast.”

Mrs. Harper’s mouth pursed. “That is what I said, yes. It is the duty of a maid in your position to assist in all these tasks. You are capable, I trust?”

“Of course,” Leah said hopefully. Assist was a good word. There were other maids, so maybe that giant list the old bat had just rattled off was to be divided among them all. If not, Leah probably wouldn’t be eating breakfast for a few days. Weeks, maybe.

“Now then,” Mrs. Harper sniffed, “go along to your duties. Henrietta and Sara are attending to the breakfast room, so you may proceed to His Grace’s dressing chambers. Once you have put them to rights, come down and attend to the library. I shall direct your movements thereafter.”

After shoving a coal scuttle and cleaning rags into Leah’s hands, Mrs. Harper shooed her toward the duke’s dressing rooms.

Timing her footsteps with the throbbing in her head, Leah mounted the stairs, trying like hell to figure out where this adventure had gone so horribly wrong. She had a terrifying idea that empty the slops meant take care of the chamber pot.

She hadn’t planned on cleaning the man’s toilet before she’d even had the chance to say hello.

* * *

Avery rolled to his side on the thin mattress, his breath hitching as his injured ribs caught with the movement. Dropping his feet to the chilly floor, he rose, gritting his teeth against the heavy pain of his bruises. A deep breath blew the worst of the pain away, and he was able to bend and light the candle at his bedside.

Dashing chilly water against his face, he made quick work of his morning ablutions, careful of his healing skin. Much as he hated to admit it, his wounds were not as bothersome as they could have been, thanks to Miss Ramsey’s attentions. The rough cotton towel scraped against his throat.

Miss Ramsey. Leah. The memory of the strange and beautiful girl stirred feelings that it should not. But the concern on her face, the tender way she’d bandaged his ribs, the sweet scent of her…

He bit back a curse. He should not think of her, no matter how kindly she’d treated him. The girl wanted to repay his kindness in helping her gain a position in the house. Ascribing any more importance to the gesture would be folly. He did not have the luxury of courtship, and even were he so inclined, she was destined for a much more advantageous match than with a man such as he. Whether or not she would wed the duke, a woman that beautiful deserved a mate who was her match. And Avery was certainly the farthest man from that.

He dressed quickly, having wasted much more time considering Miss Ramsey than he could afford. Avery set his jaw and proceeded down the stairs to His Grace’s dressing chambers. His duties would not wait for his dreams to end.

As he neared the dressing room, hissed curses met his ears. Quickening his stride, he arrived at the door just in time to discover the source of the commotion.

Leah stood with one slipper toeing His Grace’s chamber pot across the polished floor, her skirts caught high against her thighs and her fingers pinching her nostrils shut. The lid slipped and clanged as she prodded the pot gingerly with her toes, her whispered oaths coming fast on the heels of each clatter.

“Miss Ramsey,” Avery choked out, pointedly ignoring the delectable length of leg her indecent show displayed, “whatever are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get this out of here.” She punctuated her statement with a particularly hard shove of her slipper on the upper portion of the receptacle. Only Avery’s quick thinking and faster movement prevented the chamber pot from tipping over and spilling its contents over the costly carpeting.

He set the pot upright, then lowered his brows into a glower. “You must be silent, or you’ll wake His Grace. Take this down to empty into the slops jar outside the house. The night soil man collects it there.”

She didn’t release her nostrils, speaking in an odd, nasally tone. “I can’t touch that.”

“Whyever not?” Frustration ran rampant through his brain, and he fought to keep a civil tongue.

“It’s someone else’s shit. Literally. I can’t possibly carry that without some kind of sanitary protection. Rubber gloves, a hazmat suit, a bomb shelter, something.”

Avery tamped down the urge to throttle the beautiful chit. It was a very near thing. “You requested a position in this household. You informed me that you were capable of a housemaid’s duties. Are you now saying that you misled me to acquire the post?”

An angry blush climbed her cheeks, only managing to make her look lovelier. “You know I didn’t lie to you. I told you, I can do this job. But listen, I have zero desire to die of some horrible disease because of a cavalier attitude toward human excrement.” She crossed her arms. Even in her plain, high-necked gown, her chest rounded with the pose.

His mouth went dry, and he nearly choked as he tried to swallow. Though he was irritated, his desire for her grew. How could it not? She was defiant, strong, and determined. The muscles in his legs tensed, readying him to cross the room to her. Instead, he bent down and lifted the chamber pot. Though he knew he should not, he could not resist a parting shot as he turned and crossed to the door.

“I shall remove the slops for you this time, Miss Ramsey. But perhaps you should rethink your decidedly unwomanly attitude before you meet His Grace.”

Her shocked gasp followed him down the stairs, and he let a small smile of triumph stretch his lips. It had been the most egregious lie, but it had been worth it to anger her. She angered and frustrated him to no end. Let her taste her own medicine.

Passing Henrietta on his way down the back stairs, he nodded a polite greeting and tried to ignore the young maid’s disdainful scowl. Even his fellow servant’s dislike could not temper his satisfaction at having spoken so to Miss Ramsey. She was far too idealistic, and if he could disabuse her of her starry-eyed notions before she followed them into trouble, then so much the better.

His personal satisfaction was simply a bonus.

Nine