Page 39 of A Sporting Chance (The Chances #8)

There were the butts. There were the racks of bows, the arrows.

They had all been set up in precisely the same way, fifty-five yards apart, and at one end, there were two men holding bows looking significantly smug with themselves.

It surely had something to do with the quivering arrows that had clearly very recently been sent flying into the targets.

The applause died down as one of the archers lifted an arrow up to his bow. The silence was palpable, strange to be found in a place like Hyde Park.

Kathleen discovered she was holding her breath, and she only let it out when the arrow flew through the air and hit the target.

A groan from the crowd. Evidently, it was not nearly so impressive.

“Y’here to see the lady archer?”

Kathleen started. A young woman with gleaming eyes had nudged her, her excitement obvious. “I-I beg your pardon?”

“Miss Annerly, the one who’s entered the archery competition,” said the woman in a conspiratorial whisper. “I never thought I’d see the day—a lady archer!”

It was all Kathleen could do not to freeze.

Keep breathing. Just remember to breathe.

Miss Annerly. It was surely a coincidence; there could easily be a Miss Annerly who was a passionate archer who had decided to go against all the expectations of Society and enter a public archery competition. Or…

“He wouldn’t,” she breathed.

“I would.”

She knew the owner of that voice long before she turned around. Kathleen’s heart had leapt, the tension in her shoulders had lessened, and in that moment, she knew.

It was therefore absolutely no surprise when Kathleen turned on her heels and saw Lord Leopold Chance standing but six feet behind her.

He was dressed smartly, his jacket missing but his waistcoat and cravat neatly matching.

They were paired with a most painful look on his face, a bob at this throat.

And Kathleen could have melted.

She didn’t want to. She wanted to stay angry with him, stay furious, shout at him, make him realize just what he had done to her. Make him see that he could have ruined her, and not in the delectable way they had shared, but in the court of public opinion, a court in which no judgment was fair.

But she couldn’t—not with Leopold, her Leopold, so close.

She was still hurt, yes, and the stares of those around them still weighed heavily on her shoulders. But there was nothing she could do to prevent the affection welling up.

He had hurt her. And she loved him. And she could not reconcile those two facts.

“You… You entered me in the archery competition,” Kathleen said weakly.

And then she was running, or close to running, and she had no choice because Leopold had taken her hand and was pulling her along with him—and she could not pull away or resist him because a part of her wanted to be touched by him, and the place where his thumb pressed against her wrist just above her glove throbbed like a burn.

“I know I shouldn’t have done it,” Leopold said, panting as he drew up in a copse of trees just out of sight. It was quieter here too, and Kathleen could hear the pain in his voice—pain she decided she was not going to notice. “But I had to.”

“You had to?” Kathleen repeated warily.

She did not see that there was that much ‘had to’ about it. One did not go around accidentally entering other people into archery competitions. Or betting pools.

The reminder dampened her enthusiasm and when Leopold met her eye, he looked rueful.

“I told you the truth, by the way,” he said.

Kathleen swallowed, her mouth dry. “‘The truth’?”

“I had nothing to do with that betting pool,” said Leopold earnestly.

“I mean, I knew it existed, but it was supposed to have been ended—and I originally thought it entirely about your archery skills, not… that unpleasantness. I’d thought it all finished.

I told them it was shameful, that it had to end. I was very clear.”

It was all she could do not to smile, even in the depths of her pain. Yes, she could well imagine Leopold being very clear. He was the sort of man who could be ignored by lesser men.

“But the idea was not mine. I would never—I could never—only a brigand would—”

“I heard you,” Kathleen said quietly.

There was not much strength to her voice, as she could not summon it—yet Leopold appeared to have found his own.

“You heard me attempt to tell Lord Graycott very sternly that he was wrong. It… It isn’t my forte, I’m afraid. Being stern.”

She knew that. She had seen it in him, the first moment they had met. The first time she had looked into his eyes and realized that this was a man who was kind. Who was honest.

Perhaps that had been why it had hurt so much, the betrayal. What she had thought had been a betrayal.

Because if Leopold could do this, of all the men she had ever met…then what was the point in trusting anyone again?

Maybe something of what she had thought showed in her eyes, for Leopold stepped forward gingerly, then took another step as she did not retreat. “Kathleen, I would never do anything to hurt you. I would never. It is incomprehensible to me to even consider such a thing.”

“I know,” Kathleen whispered.

And she did know. Where the certainty had come from, she was not sure, but she could feel it, deep within her.

“It still hurts,” she muttered, looking down at her hands, the intensity of his gaze too much. “To know that others would happily treat me that way. To know that the scandal is all over London.”

“It’s not all over London.”

“If a woman such as Lady Romeril is accosting you in the street, knowing all your history, you know it is all over London,” Kathleen said with a dry smile, lifting her eyes.

Leopold winced. “Ah.”

“ Ah , indeed,” she said, wishing he would step closer and close the gap between them, then wondering where on earth that thought had come from. “So you see, I am ruined.”

His smile did not fade, but there was a nervousness entering his eyes as he said, “You don’t have to be. If… If you still want to—”

But she could not let him ask her that question—not here, not now, not with the scandal of her name hanging over them.

No, if Lord Leopold Chance ever wanted to ask her that particular question again, and Kathleen rather hoped that one day he would, she wanted him to ask it because he wanted to, not because propriety demanded it.

“You entered me into the archery competition,” she said over him.

Leopold halted, his cheeks pinking, and beamed. “Does this mean you have forgiven me?”

Forgiven him?

Kathleen swallowed. “I… I do not think there was anything to forgive.”

Precisely which of them had rushed toward the other, she did not know. Perhaps they both moved. Perhaps it had been as painful for him to be apart as it had been for her.

All she knew was that she was in his arms and she could have shouted to the heavens for joy at the relief she felt at being clasped by his strong hands. His lips were passionate, eager, desperate and she gave him the kiss he wanted, one that parted her lips and welcomed him in.

Arrows of darting delight soared through her, aching along her bones, sparking eagerness for more, and Kathleen clung to him, clung to the man she loved, the man without whom she could not live.

Gentle applause did not interrupt them, but the piercing whistle did.

Leopold stepped back, his eyes bright and his grin wide. “We almost forgot about the competition—you’ll be up soon.”

“And the crowd. Forget a chaperone, if anyone witnessed that .” Kathleen laughed—and then halted laughing as she saw he did not join her. “You did not truly enter me in this competition.”

“Of course I did! What better test of your skill, and decider of our bet, than to enter you into the competition?” He chuckled.

There was such an innocence about this man, Kathleen decided, even after he had just kissed her senseless. It made it impossible, once she’d truly understood him, to stay angry at him for more than five minutes together—something she thought they would both benefit from.

“Under a fake name,” Kathleen said with a wry smile, slipping her hand into his as they started to walk back to the crowd. “It was probably a good idea, considering the numerous scandals my sister and I are managing to create.”

Her arm jerked as Leopold halted.

“False name?”

Kathleen nodded, turning back to squeeze his hand. “Yes, Miss Annerley, I heard one of the women saying.”

“I entered you under your own name,” Leopold admitted with a tilt of his head. “Miss Andilet. I see no reason to hide who you are. It’s a perfect name. You shouldn’t have to hide it.”

She stared, hardly able to believe him. “You did?”

He nodded with a look that clearly told Kathleen he was speaking the truth. Despite all the shame her name could easily bring, despite the fact that being connected with her was surely going to damage his precious Chance reputation, unless Sir Paul made things right with Angela…he had not wavered.

Lord above, this man. This wonderful, wonderful man.

“That’s not to say that I would not be adverse to you changing your name,” Leopold said, clearing his throat, but his gaze defiant. “If you found someone worth changing it for.”

Kathleen could not do anything but giggle. “I’ll bear that in mind. In the meantime, I think you’ll find I have an archery competition to win.”

His snort was not the most encouraging, but then, he was her competitor.

It was all she could do to keep her head high as she marched up to the shooting area. Lord Graycott was there, and he looked remarkably irritated to see her.

“ You .” He sneered, tapping a foot.

“Me,” Kathleen said, far more calmly than she felt. It was most unpleasant having to face him, but there was technically no law against being a cowardly, wicked brute. Not yet, at any rate . “I’ll take that bow, if you do not mind.”

Lord Graycott probably did mind, but Kathleen paid his mutterings no heed and marched past him to pick up the bow with which she had practiced. Leopold had slipped from her side into the crowd just to the left—still visible, but not taking up the attention of the crowd.

A flicker of devotion curled within her. He truly was the most remarkable man.

“You’ll need three bullseyes to win it,” murmured a broad-shouldered man wearing a London Archery Club badge as Kathleen removed her hat and gloves set them aside. “You just do your best, miss. Everyone’s a winner if they’re having a go.”

It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. Honestly!

A hush fell onto the crowd as Kathleen moved to the shooting spot, picked up an arrow, and nocked it into the bow.

Then the hush descended into a tidal wave of noise.

“A lady?”

“They can’t have a woman. What are they playing at?”

“—hardly strong enough to lift the bow!”

“Does that mean I can learn archery, Papa?”

And it was the final comment that made Kathleen lift her bow with pride, breathing slowly out. One day, little girls wouldn’t have to ask if they could do archery. They would just learn.

The air stilled. She was one with the bow. The arrow wanted to soar through the air, clean and true, and so she let it.

The applause erupted.

“A bullseye!”

“Now how does a lady manage that?”

“Did you see that?”

Kathleen looked at no one but Leopold, and he was smiling. He was beaming. He was glorifying in her success and she knew in that moment that she adored this man.

Misunderstandings aside, frustrations aside, he wanted her to excel—even if it meant beating him. That was a man to cling on to for the rest of your life.

The second arrow followed the first. The crowd cheered. Mutterings behind her grew louder and Leopold’s smile grew broader, and Kathleen knew, even before she had picked up the third arrow, that she had won.

The third arrow proved it. The crowd erupted. And the man who strode past all others, who was cheering her name and hugging her tightly before he accepted his rosette for another second place, was Lord Leopold Chance.