Page 4 of A Sporting Chance (The Chances #8)

Leopold fought down the impulse to crack his knuckles across Graycott’s nose and instead picked a second bow from the rack by his side. He did not look at the unpleasant man, but strode forward to offer the bow to his flushing cousin.

“Pay them no heed,” he murmured, taking the other bow from Samuel’s hands.

There was a hint of thanks in his cousin’s eyes. “Easy for you to say.”

It was not easy for him to say, but Leopold knew this was not the place to argue about it. What he had done—or in truth, what Society thought he had done—was hardly worthy of such displeasure, but there it was. That did not appear to matter.

When Leopold returned the unwanted and far-too-heavy bow to the rack, there was a noise. A voice—two voices.

There are two of them?

“What was that?” Graycott’s voice was sharp, as though Leopold had done something wrong.

Leopold turned hastily. Precisely why he wished to hide the presence of the ladies, he was not sure. “Nothing—I almost dropped the bow and muttered an oath. My apologies for disturbing the shooting.”

Graycott rolled his eyes. “And I thought you being a card sharp was bad enough.”

It was within him to bristle, Leopold knew. He had inherited his father’s sense of right and wrong, but sadly not his father’s ability to always be on the right side of an argument. Or a debate.

Or a hand of cards.

Still, he could hardly let that go without challenge. “I am not a—”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” said Graycott’s friend, a burly gentleman whose name Leopold would remember at any moment. “You lost a fortune, I heard. Your family’s fortune—your brother the new duke’s, apparently, though why your father would give up his title before death, I do not know.”

“The Chance family.” Graycott snorted. “They are…unusual.”

Leopold met his cousin’s eyes but said nothing.

“Well,” said Samuel briskly, “I am for St. James’s Park, I have a meeting there with a gentleman about a pair of pointers I may wish to purchase. Leopold, will you—”

A screech, the sound of someone running, someone shouting. Leopold could not prevent them from turning around this time.

“Dear God, is that a woman?”

“I’ll deal with it,” said Leopold before he could consider why he was saying such a thing.

It was a foolish thing to do. Now the raised eyebrows and muttered whispers were surely going to blow this, too, out of proportion, he could not help but think as he stepped toward the figure in pink who had attempted, poorly, to hide behind a tree.

The trouble was, she was…distracting. Before Leopold had another go at the butts, he had to know who this woman was, what her purpose was. She was infiltrating his mind, burgeoning curiosity that simply could not coexist with the calm required for a ruddy good shot.

So he would walk over, remind her that this place was for gentlemen only, and send her on her way. Easy.

It was only when he was a few feet away that he realized a few things.

Firstly, that she was facing away from him, hissing after someone who had clearly departed.

Secondly, that she was far more elegant than he had expected.

This wasn’t a woman who had crept out of her place of employment to gawp at her betters.

No, from the refinement of her poise and the quality of her clothes, this was a lady well- bred, and therefore, it was all the more astonishing that she was here, and unaccompanied, at that.

Well, unless the other person had been her chaperone.

Though he doubted a quality chaperone would encourage creeping about amidst the trees.

And thirdly, Leopold felt a warmth flooding through him that was most unaccountable.

“So,” he said, with no idea what he was going to say next.

The woman whirled around and stared boldly—with such a boldness that Leopold found his lips parting.

Then the shock of how she had been discovered seemed to reach her mind. The lady took some hurried steps away, careering into the tree, which halted her movements.

And Leopold smiled, and said the first words that came into his mind. “You’re the Peeping Tom. How intriguing to make your acquaintance.”

Precisely what he had expected her to say in return, he did not know. His sister was hardly the shy, retiring type, but she knew her place in Society and what was expected of her.

This woman, however… “Surely, I am a Peeping Thomasina?” she shot back with an arched eyebrow.

Leopold gave a laugh, hardly able to believe what he had heard. “I suppose so.”

She was bold—bold to be here in the first place, bold not to run after her companion, and bold to speak to a stranger like himself with such confidence.

It was…alluring.

Her companion.

Leopold’s stomach lurched. A gentleman, perhaps? Had he in fact interrupted what had been a… liaison?

The thought was most unpleasant. Not that he had a particularly strong view on liaisons in general—he’d had a few of his own—but he’d found the lack of connection rather trying. He hadn’t had a woman in his bed for over a year now.

No, it was unpleasant to think that this woman, this particular woman before him, had been engaged in such a thing.

Jealousy? Hell, where had that come from?

“What is your name?” Leopold asked quietly.

A genteel flush pinked her cheeks, as well it should have. It was not proper to ask such a direct question. They ought to be introduced, really, though precisely how he would orchestrate such a thing in a woodland on the edge of the London Archery Club, Leopold did not know.

He should walk away. He had enough problems at the moment with his reputation; he did not need Graycott or anyone else whispering that Leopold met ladies in woodland in broad daylight for activities far too outrageous to speak of.

But he could not.

She was…beautiful.

Not in the way most ladies in Society were.

She was not dressed in a day gown, but a blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt.

The two were precisely of the same color, a brilliant pink.

The color would have swamped most women, but somehow, her personality shone through it and seemed, somehow, rather enhanced by it.

Her eyes were brilliant, a blue he had never seen before. Her hair, a soft brown, blonde in the sunlight but nearing chestnut at the nape of her nape.

And her lips…

“I do not see why I should tell you my name.”

Leopold started. The woman was looking defiantly up at him.

Right, right, of course. Propriety . “My name is Leopold. Leopold Chance. Lord Leopold, actually,” he said without thinking.

The lady’s eyes widened. “I see.”

“And you are?” Leopold persisted.

Precisely why, he did not know. The woman was nothing to him, to be sure.

He could walk away at any moment, return to…

Well, not his friends, but his companions.

Perhaps he could accompany his cousin Samuel to St. James’s Park.

Perhaps he should call in on his club, attempt to combat the rumors that were growing apace.

Perhaps he should go home and try to explain it all to his father again.

Yet here he was, bound to the spot by a woman whose presence was so intoxicating, he could not move.

The lady thrust her chest out for a moment, but then her expression softened. “I…I am Kathleen. Kathleen Andilet.”

She spoke as though she were admitting some terrible crime. It was not a name Leopold recognized, not a common one.

“And are you new in Town?”

Miss Andilet’s mouth gaping softly suggested he should have known. “I—my sister and I… Yes. Yes, we are new in Town.”

The delight that had soared through Leopold at the word ‘sister’ was almost criminal.

He should not feel such delight at hearing that she had a sister, that perhaps the other figure had been her sister, he told himself, despite everything else in his body singing to the contrary. Why, she still could have been here with a man! You don’t know anything about—

“In fact, you just missed my sister,” said Miss Andilet, waving a hand behind her and solidifying all of Leopold’s delight. “She will be saddened not to have made your acquaintance, my lord.”

“And I hers,” Leopold said politely—before the question he really wished to be answered spilled from his lips. “Miss Andilet, what on earth are you doing here?”

Ah. I have been too forward. That was the trouble with having a sister like Maude; she was so direct, preferring bluntness to beating about the bush.

And she was older, five years. She had taught him about Society and the world, and Leopold had always looked up to her, always been encouraged to ask questions.

Which was all very well, when you were asking your sister at age seven precisely why gentlemen had to bow and ladies had to curtsey.

This was not the same, accosting a strange woman with such a direct question when she was entirely alone.

Alone except for him, naturally.

“Here?” Miss Andilet did not back down. “Talking to you, naturally.”

Leopold clamped his lips together. “Yes, I know, but I mean, why are you here in the first place? You and your sister, why did you come here? You must know this place is private.”

He did not expect her retort.

“You mean this place is closed to ladies,” Miss Andilet said sharply.

“Yes. Well.” Leopold was not sure what to say to that. “So you did know?”

“It is not permitted for a woman to archer here,” she said, tilting her head. “But as I was not archering, I am not sure why you are so concerned.”

Leopold opened his mouth. Then he closed it again.

She has a point. It was a point well made, one he had not considered. Why, if a woman wished to come here with a husband or a brother, to watch the archery…why should she not be permitted to do just that?

It was a thought that had never occurred to him, and now it was only in his mind because this Miss Andilet had put it there.

“And if it comes to that,” she continued, “why should a lady not be permitted to shoot? I would imagine archery is not that difficult, all told.”

Leopold laughed but immediately stopped as he saw her serious expression. “You cannot be serious.”

“Is it so preposterous that a woman would wish to learn archery?” Miss Andilet spoke confidently, without a single concern, apparently, in her mind that she was speaking so directly not only to a man, but a gentleman—the son of a titled gentleman.

He hardly knew what to say, save to scoff. “A woman simply could not—”

“Why?”

Leopold’s mouth was open again, and once again, he did not know what words to put within it.

Because , he wanted to say. Because a woman simply could not do it. Because a woman is incapable—she would not have the strength, nor the serenity of mind, to accomplish it.

Because that is not the way it is done.

“I don’t think you could teach me, anyway,” added Miss Andilet, a hint of challenge in her tone. “I am not certain you are sufficiently talented.”

And that was when Leopold quite lost his head.

“You think so?” he said quietly, stepping forward.

Miss Andilet clearly wished to retreat, but there was a small matter of a tree behind her, and that made it most difficult—near impossible. “Y-Yes, I think.”

“So you believe I could not teach you?” Leopold said, raising a hand to lean against the tree. He placed it just to the right of her face, leaning toward her.

He did not miss the way Miss Andilet swallowed, nor the way that she looked immediately at his broad chest before returning her gaze to his eyes.

She desired him, then—or at least, her body did. He could not exactly tell whether she was conscious of the way she leaned toward him, looking hungrily up at him as though she wished him to lower his head and—

Leopold managed to stop himself, just about. That is going too far.

“I do not believe you could teach me archery,” Miss Andilet said softly.

“I bet I could.”

“And I will take that bet,” she said smoothly.

Leopold’s eyes widened as panic flooded through him. “No, I did not mean—”

“I bet you could not teach me archery, and I will bet a…a florin.”

“‘A florin’?” he repeated.

A florin was almost nothing. It was an old-fashioned coin, to be sure, but it was an old-fashioned-style bet. A foolish one. One that could not be measured.

Aha, that is my escape.

“One simply cannot measure such a thing,” Leopold said smoothly, relief pouring through him. “As such, we cannot—”

“I am sure there is some sort of standard I should reach after a month of tuition,” Miss Andilet said airily, as though she frequently accosted men and challenged them to impossible tasks. “Let’s say that if you can teach me well enough to do an archery—”

“Shoot a bow.”

“Yes, to bow an arrow—”

“Shoot an arrow.” Leopold had not intended to interrupt again but had been forced to.

“—to shoot an arrow,” continued Miss Andilet blithely, “from a thousand feet—”

He had also not intended to laugh, but really— what nonsense!

“Fine,” Miss Andilet said, raising an eyebrow. “What do you consider a reasonable distance?”

He should not have fallen for it. Leopold knew better, except that he didn’t, not when he was standing this close to a woman who looked like that. “A novice, within a month? Fifty yards would be the most one could achieve, and that’s only if—”

“Excellent! So if I can shoot an arrow to hit one of those things from fifty yards within a month, you’ve won,” Miss Andilet said triumphantly. “If not, then I have won.”

Leopold could not do anything but stare. She was in earnest. She was truly in earnest! “But this bet is ridiculous. You could simply refuse to learn.”

“Oh, I promise to do my best. I always do,” said Miss Andilet blithely. “I am a quick learner, in the main, and it will be your teaching that is lacking.”

This was entirely out of hand. “But—”

“A bet is a bet, is it not?” Miss Andilet had somehow stepped out of his frame, away from the tree, and now looked remarkably happy with herself. “I would have thought a gentleman would keep to his word.”

His word? But he hadn’t—and he couldn’t, his reputation was already precarious as it was.

“You will teach me archery,” Miss Andilet said cheerfully, “or I will teach you the error of your ways. What do you say?”

What do I say?

Leopold knew precisely what he should say. That it was ridiculous. That he was not foolish enough to be drawn into such nonsense. That it was a tease and he was flattered, but he had his family to think of. His name. His own reputation, should it come to that.

And yet…

And yet, she was so alluring. Not just her beauty, but the fact that she was here.

What was a woman dressed so elegantly doing, spying on gentlemen like that?

Was her sister her chaperone, and what kind of chaperone abandoned their charge in the middle of the woodland?

Who was Miss Kathleen Andilet, and how could he know her better?

Why, by teaching her archery, naturally.

Knowing within every inch of his body that this was a mistake, Leopold nodded. “It is a bet. When shall we begin our lessons?”