Page 26 of A Sporting Chance (The Chances #8)

K athleen had no need for the pelisse being placed carefully around her shoulders, but she was hardly going to argue that, as Lord Leopold Chance was doing the placing.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, a smile that became a laugh as he bowed obsequiously. “You make a very fine footman.”

“I thought I would,” Leopold said blithely, the two of them ignoring a pair of the Seatons’ footmen as they stepped out of the hall and into the dark, fresh air. “Perhaps if I do not excel as an archer, I can always go into service.”

Their merriment echoed out into the almost-deserted street. Kathleen could hardly believe it, but there were still people apparently going about their business, even at this time.

A pie seller on the corner of the street was trying to tempt any passersby with their wares.

There was a pack of gentlemen, a little worse for wear, truth be told, just about managing to walk as they continued along the street, chattering loudly.

A carriage rumbled by in one direction, passing another, their drivers exchanging the understanding nods of those who worked and worked hard for their livings.

And yet the city was in many ways utterly silent. The carriages rumbled by and disappeared, the gentlemen turned a corner and their loud babble quietened then ceased, and the pie seller gave up their attempts as a bad job. To all intents and purposes, she and Leopold were now alone.

It would have been romantic, had Kathleen’s feet not hurt so much.

“I never expected to stay so long at the ball,” she said aloud, smiling nervously at the man beside her. “Perhaps dancing is an endurance sport.”

“Oh, I suppose it is like archery—the muscles it demands are quite unlike those one uses day to day, so one feels it all the more acutely,” Leopold said with a shrug.

“I thought I used my feet sufficiently, but evidently not.”

They were standing just a few feet from the entrance to the Seatons’ home. The ball was still in full swing, the musicians outdoing themselves and the guests clearly enjoying the late supper his wife had put on.

It had been Kathleen’s decision that had brought them outside. Well, had brought her outside. And he had followed.

“My sister will be waiting up for me, expecting me to return,” was what she had said.

She had uttered no words about requiring any assistance in departing, yet here Leopold was…by her side. As he had been since they had first danced.

Kathleen swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

And what a dance. There had never before been a moment when she had been so close to a person, so utterly sure of their intent, so aligned with their desires—until the dance had ended, and Leopold had bowed politely, and escorted her back to the side of the room, and… nothing.

Nothing.

Truth be told, it had not been what she had expected.

Precisely what she had expected, Kathleen did not know. A kiss had been out of the question—in public? In the middle of a ball?

Absolutely not.

The same could be said about a declaration of love. Oh, despite his intense declarations of dying without her, Leopold was not truly in love with her, Kathleen was certain of that. And even if he were, which he wasn’t, he would not do anything so riotous as to admit that in a ballroom.

Even if his eyes had lingered on her lips and he had brushed his hand more than once along her arm for no apparent reason…

“Your sister, yes. We should get you back to her.”

Kathleen smiled up at Leopold and wished, not for the first time, that her sister had never come to London. That Angela was not a cloud hovering over any interaction she had with Leopold. That, in short, her sister had not been ruined.

But then, if that had been the case, they would not come to London. She never would have met Leopold, there never would have been the chance for these feelings to flourish.

Oh, it was all such a puzzle.

“If you wait a moment,” Leopold said in a low voice, “I can find our carriage.”

She did not mean to do it. It was pure instinct that made her reach out a hand and grasp his arm. “No!”

“Ouch,” said Leopold lightly, looking at her hand clasped on his arm with a slight smirk. “You do not wish to be transported home in our carriage?”

“Absolutely not,” Kathleen said firmly.

The very idea of leaving the ball early with a duke’s son, entering his family’s carriage, traveling through London, just the two of them, in that secret and hidden vehicle…

Kathleen fought the instinct to change her mind. It was tempting, but that was precisely why it could not be allowed to happen. Did she not run enough of a risk, learning archery?

“My feet do hurt,” she admitted aloud, “but I will be quite fine walking.”

“I could order a hansom cab,” Leopold said softly, “if you would prefer.”

Meeting his eyes, Kathleen could see he understood her reticence about his family carriage. And yet still, he cared about her. About her feet, at the very least.

Was caring about feet a typical gentleman’s approach? Or was this…different? Special?

“Oh, no… No, it’s such nice weather.” Nice weather? What on earth was she talking about? It was pitch black! “I believe I will walk home.”

Kathleen’s feet immediately protested, and so did Leopold. “But you cannot possibly think to do so. You’re are miles from home.”

“What is a mile or two to a country girl?” Kathleen started walking along the pavement in the direction to her lodgings.

Probably.

“But—But—it’s the dead of night!”

As though to emphasize Leopold’s point, a church bell started to peal in the distance. It did not peal for very long.

“One o’clock! Kathleen, please, you cannot consider walking through London at this hour!”

Leopold had rushed forward to walk alongside her and she had to admit the experience was moderately gratifying.

He would act in such a way for any young lady walking home , a part of her reminded the rest of her.

And yes, that was certainly true. Though what other woman of her standing would be walking alone in Town without a chaperone, she could not say.

But he was not doing it for just anyone. He was concerned about her.

Leopold sighed heavily, took her hand without a single word of request, and placed it through the crook of his arm. “I shall accompany you.”

Kathleen glanced up through her eyelashes. “You will?”

She knew she was being a terrible flirt.

Not a mischievous, wicked one. An unskilled one.

Leopold’s cheeks appeared to pink in the darkness of the evening as he nodded. “Yes, I will. For three reasons.”

However you want to justify this , Kathleen wanted to say, but she did not have the courage to. Besides, having her hand in the crook of his arm was doing wonders for her feet.

“It is far too late at night, and you are a young woman without father or brother in Town to accompany you,” Leopold said decidedly.

Kathleen smiled. “And the third reason?”

“Because you are going entirely the wrong way,” he quipped cheerfully, wheeling her around to continue in the opposite direction.

Their laughter mingled and rippled out from around them in the otherwise-silent street. Mirth was tickling through Kathleen’s ribcage and she could not help but giggle as they crossed a deserted road.

“Serves me right for attempting to be clever and independent,” she said ruefully. “I always know where I am in the country, at least around the village where I grew up, but everywhere here looks the same to me.”

Leopold glanced about him and Kathleen took the opportunity to examine him.

He was worse for wear after the ball, it was true. His cravat was slightly lopsided and his hair was ruffled, as though he had pulled his hand through it a number of times, which he had. His jacket was unbuttoned and there was a crumpled look to his waistcoat.

In many ways, Leopold looked precisely as he did after an hour of archery. It was how Kathleen liked him best.

“I suppose most streets look the same in the dark,” he mused. “I suppose York, Edinburgh, Brighton could all look remarkably similar.”

“I suppose so,” Kathleen said brightly. “Never having been to any of those places, I would not know.”

No, she was hardly a well-traveled young lady—and here she was, promenading down a London street in the dark arm in arm with the son of a lord.

A gentleman she very much wished to kiss again.

Which was nonsense. Kathleen was fully aware that what she was doing right at this moment was wild and radical enough as it was. Should her father hear about such a thing…

Well, he would probably say that Angela’s influence had finally rubbed off on her. It was an unpleasant thought.

And a true one. Kathleen swallowed as they turned a corner, the warmth of his presence beside her comforting her as she cooled from the excitement of the ball.

Was this not how the whole trouble had started with her sister? Was this not the very same slippery slope she had encountered? Was she not allowing herself to be just as vulnerable, just as tempted, as Angela had been?

“You are lost in thought.”

Kathleen started, proving his point, and smiled weakly up at the man who was occupying far too many of her thoughts lately. “Yes, I am.”

“And just what are you thinking about, if I may be so bold?” Leopold spoke with a jesting smile, as though he had absolutely no fear of hearing the answer.

Perhaps he should have been leerier. It was on the tip of her tongue to admit that she…liked him. She had no additional words for such a sensation, this warmth curling around her heart, this eagerness to be with him, to be near him.

Thinking of those fiery kisses.

But of course, she could not say such a thing.

“I am thinking about you ,” Kathleen said before her mind could intervene.

Leopold grinned, seemingly unaware of the terrible faux pas. “Oh, you are? I suppose you are wondering whether your archery has improved. We shall have to practice tomorrow, see how you have been coming along.”

Her smile faded. “Yes. Yes, that is a most excellent idea.”