Page 25 of A Sporting Chance (The Chances #8)

She probably said something else. She almost certainly did; Leopold could hear a vague sense of continued chatter in his ear, though it sounded rather like the words were coming through water.

Because there were other words demanding greater attention.

“—there he is, the rogue,” someone was muttering nearby them. “Lord Leopold. If he makes a break for the card room, we will have to drag him away, scandal or no.”

Muffled laughter.

“—surely won’t be foolish enough to attempt it,” came another voice. “The man’s reputation is in tatters. It’s bold of him to even be here.”

“—loan sharks, that’s what I heard—”

“—card room—”

“—Leopold—”

“Ignore them.”

Leopold blinked. Maude was standing before him now, not quite clicking her fingers before his eyes, but not far off. “Wh-What?”

“Ignore them,” his sister said firmly. “They don’t know you like I do.”

“The whole of Society thinks it knows me.”

“Well, it’s wrong,” Maude said with a sniff that was not unlike their father, though wild horses would never have dragged such a remark from Leopold’s lips. Not if he wanted to live. “Besides, the people who truly matter know the real you, don’t they?”

Leopold was about to nod and thank his sister for her support, he truly was—but his attention had been caught by someone else.

Kathleen .

He was not dreaming. At least, he was almost confident he was not, though there was a weakness to his knees and his hearing had gone most mysteriously vague.

The figure was right on the other side of the ballroom and she was walking, his view of her flickering between her, a gentleman in a blue waistcoat, her, a woman with feathers in her hair screeching with laughter—

“Is that not Miss Andilet?” asked Maude, peering forward. “You know, I think it is.”

It couldn’t have been—it just couldn’t have been. This ball was being hosted by a marquess and certainly not someone who knew the Andilet sisters. If they did, they would also have heard rumors of the scandal, whatever it was.

Either way, Kathleen would not have received an invitation.

“How pleasant for you.”

Leopold started and looked at his sister’s beaming expression with a lurch in his stomach. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, is not one of the most tiresome factors of a ball the fact that there is often no one of interest with whom to speak?” Maude said lightly, as though she were merely pointing out the obvious. “Now you have a friend.”

A friend. Yes, Kathleen Andilet was his friend. The fact that he wanted so much more did not appear to be important.

“I…I…” Leopold swallowed. There were words, words in his mind, words his tongue could say. He was sure there were. None of them appeared to be particularly obliging at the moment, however.

“She looks a little lost. Lost, Leopold.”

If he hadn’t been convinced that it was not in his sister’s nature to matchmake, Leopold would almost wonder whether she were being sly.

“Perhaps you should go over to her.”

“You’re as bad as Father,” muttered Leopold, trying not to smile.

His sister nudged him. “Probably. Off you go.”

It felt somewhat like being dismissed from a lecture.

Leopold found himself wandering through the crowd—the Seatons had certainly invited a great number of people—attempting not to meet anyone’s eye.

Not that he was ashamed of his intentions.

Far from it. No, quite to the contrary, he did not wish to become entangled in a conversation that would divert him from his ultimate goal.

Kathleen Andilet.

And she was real.

She looked radiant. Leopold was not one to follow ladies’ fashion; he was vaguely aware it existed, and that things changed over time.

There was a painting of his parents, taken from life two years after they’d been married, that showed his mother in a gown tight below the bust and flowing thence down, which was most definitely not what the young ladies were wearing now.

But Kathleen did not just wear a gown. It flowed around her, as though the silk were somehow a cloud. Every movement, and she still appeared to be walking away, caused her form to be revealed through the layers and caused his loins to lurch.

Not something he could think about.

Leopold’s pulse quickened as he pushed past a few gentlemen, his eagerness to reach her growing with every step he took. If he could just reach out—

His hand moved before his thought could be completed. His gloved hand found hers, hanging by her side as she faced away. He grasped her fingers.

Heat, and power, and shaking ground, as though an earthquake had befallen them. Sparks could have flown between the two gloved hands and Leopold would not have been surprised.

Kathleen halted, the whole room lost its sound again, and as she turned with a flushed expression, her mouth agape, her features then softened to see that it was he who held her hand.

Leopold melted.

How could he not? What gentleman did not wish to be looked at like that?

“Leo—Lord Leopold,” she amended hastily.

Her cheeks did not appear to be dimming in temperature, but that was all to the good, for Leopold’s were starting to match hers. At least, he thought they probably would. His burned, the presence of her here, in this unexpected place, doing something most unsettling to his pulse.

“Miss Andilet,” he said aloud, remembering just in time the proper address.

“I—I did not—hello,” Kathleen said with a smile, bobbing a quick curtsey.

Leopold returned her movement with a bow, and as he straightened realized he had absolutely no idea what to say to her.

Which was the best opening gambit for a conversation? I have missed you? I am sorry I sent you away to practice my archery? When I close my eyes at night the only person I see is—

“What a splendid ballroom,” Kathleen said, vaguely waving an arm around them.

Leopold almost choked as the words that had almost slipped from his mouth needed to be held back. “I—yes.”

“And the musicians. Very talented, I must say,” she continued, her cheeks still pink. “I…I did not think to speak with you here. At a ball.”

Precisely why, he was not sure—had he not mentioned the ball in passing? Mayhap he had not. It was certainly odd that she had not expected to see him here—it was a ball hosted by Mrs. Seaton, after all. The Chances were essentially obliged to attend. He certainly had been.

“And you are here,” Leopold said, hardly knowing what words were coming out of his mouth. A pair of gentlemen passed him, knocking into him, pressing him closer toward her. “At this ball. At any ball.”

It was not well done. Cursing himself for his oblique reference to her loss in social standing, Leopold tried to ignore the way her cheeks blazed even redder.

How was this so difficult? When the two of them were at the butts, conversation was easy. It became like breathing, something that occurred without a single thought required.

And yet here…

“I must let you get back to your friends. Or family, or whoever it was you came with,” Kathleen said quietly. “I would not wish to…to injure your reputation with mine.”

It was that which settled it. Leopold had considered it for one brief flash but had immediately discounted the idea as preposterous.

He could not dance with Miss Kathleen Andilet. Not in public.

Now he had to.

“Miss Andilet,” he said formally, straightening up and finding his ribcage most unaccountably tight. “Would you do me the honor of this next dance?”

Leopold did not know what response he had expected. Effusive thanks were probably off the cards, but just as unlikely was a stern rejection and a storming off. Something in the middle, then.

What he had not expected was for the flush on Kathleen’s cheeks to descend, rapidly, to her—

He jerked his focus back up to her eyes and tried not to think about the intensely heaving breasts he had just stared at.

“If… If you are certain,” Kathleen said in a low voice as the musicians finished their current piece and gentle applause rang out across the ballroom.

Certain? Leopold had never been more certain of anything in his entire life.

“But a woman with my reputation—my family’s reputation, I mean—and again, I am here without a proper chaperone—”

“I do not care about your reputation,” said Leopold, far more honestly than perhaps he should have. “I do not care about the chaperone. Society can go hang. I want to dance with you.”

Kathleen stared in wonder and only then did Leopold realize he was speaking the utter and complete truth.

He wanted to dance with her. And nothing would stop him.

Offering out his hand, Kathleen took it. The same sensations occurred again, heat and exultation, and Leopold swallowed hard as he led the woman he cared about far too much to the dance floor.

There were a number of couples already there. One of them contained his sister, though Maude looked a lot less happy with her partner than his own. It was poor old Sharnwick, a harmless enough, weak-chinned chap, but not someone most of the ladies could summon up much enthusiasm. There was also—

“Your parents are dancing,” said Kathleen with a bright smile, her nerves blatant in her eyes. “How pleasant.”

It was remarkably pleasant. Another Chance quirk—his fathers and uncles had never liked the idea that married couples were not supposed to dance with one another in public.

It was also convenient. Leopold gave a sigh of relief.

With their attention on their own dance, they would not be able to fixate on—

“Ah, Miss Andilet, how pleasant to see you again,” his mother called out across the ballroom.

Leopold groaned but managed to keep the worst of his irritation at bay. It was not difficult. The music started and Kathleen stepped into his arms and…

It was only a waltz. Only a dance. Only the opportunity to hold her in his arms before the entire world and declare that he enjoyed dancing with Miss Kathleen Andilet.

The flush on her cheeks and her décolletage remained, but there was a defiance in Kathleen’s eye that Leopold saw with delight. It was just the sort of look she had given him when they had first met.

“You’re the Peeping Tom. How intriguing to make your acquaintance.”

“Surely, I am a Peeping Thomasina?”

“You are beautiful,” he murmured, unable to prevent the words from slipping out.

Kathleen smiled, dropping her gaze as she replied. “Thank you. I borrowed the gown from my sister. She wanted me to—”

“I did not say that your gown was beautiful. I said that you were beautiful,” interrupted Leopold, his affections demanding that he speak. “You are beautiful, Kathleen.”

It was too forward, he knew. Too intense. Too intimate.

But what could be more intimate than this? Dancing arm in arm, her breasts pushed up against his chest, her pulse in her fingertips pressed against his own, her hips swaying as he moved her around the space…

Leopold could do nothing but look at her and dance.

That was all his mind could manage. She was so elegant, so refined, yet so bold.

Her desire to learn archery, the self-assurance to issue a bet with a gentleman she had just met, the way she had persevered even through the trying times when a good shot felt impossible.

She was beyond anything he could have ever imagined. And she was dancing in his arms.

“I had hoped to do this.”

Leopold blinked. “Dance?”

“With you,” murmured Kathleen, still directed toward his chest.

He squeezed her hand. Did she understand what he meant by it—did she understand her presence here was the only thing that made this ball worth attending?

Maybe she did. Kathleen looked up and her smile was nervous, yet it did not dim as she said, “Leopold.”

That was all she said. That was all she needed to say. He could quite happily dance the night away with this woman, this puzzle, this intricate and beautiful thing.

Not that he truly could.

“And I will expect each of you to dance thrice, although clearly no more than once with the same partner.”

His parents swung by behind Kathleen, still dancing together, as his father’s words rang through Leopold’s head.

His grip tightened on Kathleen’s waist. He did not want to let go—but he was not willing to pay the price.

Dancing more than once with the same woman at a ball…

It would invite speculation. It could invite scandal.

Far more obviously than Kathleen wandering around Town without a chaperone, than him meeting her alone for archery lessons with fewer witnesses than there were here.

And he would not do that. He was a Chance. He would not be a disappointment.