The Geek Girl and the Scandalous Earl Read Free Page A

only sign that he wasn’t as cool as he appeared. “Madam, I can assure you, if your intention is to acquire a new protector, I am hardly likely…”
    “What is it with everybody assuming I need protection? I’m completely capable of taking care of myself.”
    His nostrils flared, and he stood up even straighter. She hadn’t realized that was possible. She was face-to-buttons with a very nice waistcoat until she tilted her chin upward to look him in the eye.
    He looked down at her, disapproval clear in the corners of his downturned mouth. “You may have heard that I gave Collette her congé , but I assure you I am not in need of a mistress at the moment. And breaking into my home is not the best way to garner my favors.”
    “Mistress?” Her jaw went slack. “You think I’m a hooker?”
    He shook his head, a perplexed expression on his face. “I do not take your meaning.”
    Jamie crossed her arms in exasperation. “Listen, who are you?”
    “I am Micah Axelby, Earl of Dunnington, as you well know since you managed to infiltrate my home without my servants’ knowledge.”
    “I didn’t know whose home this was. How could I know where that fricking mahogany monstrosity would spit me out? And seriously, who has servants?”
    He looked over his shoulder when she pointed at the bureau again. When he looked back at her, the disbelief on his autocratic features was almost comedic. “Are you daft?”
    “No, I’m not daft. I’m pissed. I don’t want to be here, and it’s cold, and I don’t know why you’re giving me the fifth degree about every damn thing! Ugh, I really need to wake up soon.”
    The earl sighed and looked at the ceiling. She couldn’t stop the little thrill in her chest at the sight of his lean throat. Why’d he have to be so damn good-looking?
    “Let us begin again. Your name, please?”
    “I’m Jamie. Jamie Marten.” She stuck out her hand.
    Instead of shaking it, as she anticipated, he turned it and bowed over it. His hand was warm, his long fingers strong but gentle as they gripped hers. The courtly gesture left her feeling warmer inside, but her uneasiness grew. This is a dream, right? Then why does he feel so damn real?
    He released her hand and clasped both of his behind his back. “Well, Miss Marten, it is quite odd for a young lady to have the name of a man, and odder still for her to appear in my bedchamber.”
    “Mike, do you mind telling me where I am exactly?”
    He arched a supercilious brow at her. “I beg your pardon?”
    “Where are we? It’s not a hard question.”
    He raked a hand through his dark hair, a delicious chaos taking the place of the formerly ordered strands. “We are in my townhouse, in Grosvenor Square, in London. I trust you know where London is?”
    Her knees turned to Jell-O again, and she sank back down onto his bed. Whoo boy. London? England London? As dreams went, this was the most vivid she’d had. It was making her feel ill.
    “Okay, so I guess your accent is legit. What’s with the costumes, though? Do you do historical reenactments or something?”
    “Costumes?” He shook his head in exasperation.
    “So those are what you wear every day?” A chill ran through her, one that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. “Mike, what year is it?”
    He blew out an angry breath. “Have your wits indeed gone begging? As you well know, it is the year of our Lord 1816.”
    “Oh shit.”
    She bent over and threw up on his extremely shiny boots.

Three
    Edgars, Micah’s valet, would have an apoplexy when he saw the state of those boots. Edgars prided himself on his abilities, spending no less than a half hour polishing each boot every morning of his employment. Micah was no dandy, but he loved these damn boots, and the wench had just ruined some very expensive Corinthian leather. Besides, since Edgars had buggered off to avoid the scandal last season, the task of cleaning the boots would fall to his poor elderly butler.
    Being a