Prachett ignored the question, pulling off his gloves one finger at a time. “Do you know why I picked you, Russell? Out of all the boxers, do you know why I selected you as the man to beat Emersen?”
Avery stood rigid, mind ticking quickly. There was no such thing as a simple query from a man like Prachett. Every word he spoke was calculated, designed to give him the upper hand. But why would he risk so much as to enter a duke’s household? His Grace would not return until late this evening. Avery had been about to leave himself, in order to watch out for Leah.
“I do not.” Avery ground out the words. “But I have done as you’ve asked. The last two fights were lost on your demand, so you can have no quarrel with me.”
“I chose you, dear Russell, because you’ve forgotten.” Prachett ran a finger along the duke’s bedside table, lifting a heavy brass candlestick lovingly before replacing it. “To think that you, a vicar’s brat, fight barefisted in the mills like the very hounds of hell are nipping at your heels. Though you left us, you still belong to us. And to see you like this?” Prachett gestured at Avery’s solemn clothing, perfectly respectable for a servant of his rank. “You forget who you are.”
“I know who I am. But you are trespassing, and you must go. Now, Prachett.” Avery set his jaw firmly as he gathered the discarded cane and coat. The conversation was turning into a dangerous one, and he must keep his wits about him. “His Grace will return at any moment.”
Leah reluctantly stood and took the duke’s arm.
“We’ll be right back,” she promised Lady Chesterfield.
“Do take your time, and enjoy the air.” The older woman simpered as she looked up at the duke. “His Grace will ensure your well-being.” She fluttered her lashes like a preteen at a boy band poster.
Leah’s teeth hurt, she clamped them together so hard.
She didn’t waste any time. Once they’d exited the Rotunda and found their way onto a dimly lit path, she spoke.
“I’m really sorry about this. I’ve tried to tell her that you’re not really interested in me, but she’s not having any of it.” Leah kicked a leaf off the gravel pathway. “She’s like a damn dog with a bone.”
“Amelia is quite determined.” Granville patted Leah’s hand on his arm. “She does want the best for you.”
“I know.” Leah sighed. “But her idea of the best and mine aren’t really even on the same planet.”
Granville smiled as the orchestra grew fainter behind them. “Her tenacity is one of her most admirable traits.”
Leah couldn’t stand the lovelorn look on the duke’s face. “Listen. Why don’t you go back there? Have some time alone with her, and tell her how you feel.”
“I should not leave you alone.” Granville looked back longingly.
“I’ll be fine.” Leah laughed. “Go. Seriously. I’ll stay on the path right by the box.”
“I should not. It is not safe for a young girl.”
“I’m older than I look,” Leah grated. “For crap’s sake, go talk to the woman.”
She nearly had to shove him into the box, but the delighted sound of Lady Chesterfield’s voice assured her that she’d done the right thing.
Dragging in a deep breath, Leah smiled at her surroundings. Here she stood, in nineteenth-century England, in one of the famous pleasure gardens. She was dressed like a princess. All she had to do now was find her valet.
Picking a path at random, she whistled as she walked. It was a beautiful night, and her man was here somewhere. She knew it.
“Tell me,” Prachett said, ignoring Avery, “what do the other servants think of Russell the bruiser?”
“That is not any of your concern.”
“Ah.” Prachett stood tall as he towered over Avery, his thin chest heaving and his eyes glowing with a strange light. “I see. And your Miss Ramsey. What is her opinion?”
The words were soft, but the threat therein was unmistakable—as was the knife that was suddenly pressed against his ribs.
“Stay away from her.” Avery growled the words as he planned his move. He could disarm Prachett if he stepped into him, threw his elbow, and…
Three of Prachett’s men entered through the duke’s dressing chamber.
Prachett stretched out a finger and drew it across the valet’s throat, pausing for a moment over the pulsing vein there. Avery fought the urge to swallow and kept his gaze locked firmly ahead. Blast and damn.
“You’ll face Emersen tomorrow, lad.” Prachett leaned close, whispering the words in his ear. “And do you know to what lengths I shall go to ensure your victory?”
Avery kept the image of her locked in the forefront of his mind, abandoning all attempts at pretending she did not matter to him. Leah. His angel. The only bit of heaven he’d see in this life or the next, he was certain.
“Your lady is in my keeping. If you lose tomorrow, she will die.” Prachett’s words may as well have been a bullet, for they shot Avery straight in the heart.
The gravel crunched beneath her slippers. She shivered, rubbing her arms briskly. The night had turned chilly.
“Avery?” she called him in a quiet voice. “Are you there?”
She’d probably gone too far. The strains of the orchestra and laughter of the partygoers was hard to hear now. She’d passed the last lamppost a few minutes ago. Reluctantly, she turned to go back.
A twig snapped close by.
“Avery?”
Something went over her head, and she dropped into fight mode without hesitation. Her elbow connected with soft flesh, probably someone’s belly. She kicked viciously, but her toes bent backward as she hit someone’s shin. Pain arced through her foot. Stupid flimsy slippers. That kick had hurt her more than her attacker. Her struggles were ineffective as the sack tightened around her. Before she knew what was going on, she’d been tied up and was being toted like a Christmas tree atop a Bronco.
Her screams for help were just warming up when a blow landed on her skull and everything went dark.
Avery’s knuckles had gone numb nearly an hour before. That didn’t stop him. Keenly aware of Prachett’s presence on the other side of the cottage door, he kept up his movements. Every blow, in his mind’s eye, landed straight in the man’s face.
How dare the bastard go after Leah? How dare he use her for his own gain? Avery grunted as he gave the sand bag a body blow.
And is that any different from what you’ve done to her?
“I love her.” His words were lost in the sound of the ropes overhead creaking wildly as the bag swung.
He loved her, but he could not protect her. Gripping the bag, he rested his head against it, his breaths coming quick and heavy.
Prachett had her. If Avery lost to Emersen in the morning, he’d kill her. Steel lined Avery’s backbone as he stood. He could not let that happen.
Damning the consequences, he pulled his shirt over his sweat-dampened skin. Prachett and his men had brought him here to fight, and so he would. He would fight, and he would win, no matter the cost. His body would suffer, but that did not matter.
Leah mattered.
He lay on the narrow straw mattress and stared at the ceiling. Though he wanted nothing more than to break through the door and go to find her, he knew that would only cause her more harm.
He’d play this game to win, and once he had her safe, he would break the men who’d dared lay a hand on her, bone by bloody bone. And Prachett? Prachett he would kill.
Sounds swirled around Leah, penetrating the painful haze that surrounded her brain. She groaned and tried her best to put her hand against her aching head. It felt like she’d drunk about three cases of beer and then had a Dance Dance Revolution competition. She hurt everywhere, and dammit, why couldn’t she move her hands?