“You are. If you don’t stay for my betrothal ball, then you are punishing me.”
Leona looked up at her, then shook her head at the ceiling before looking at her again. “Lucy, I cannot stay under the roof of a man who has no respect for me.”
“That’s just running away. Hiding.”
Suddenly Leona felt the room rushing away from her as memories from the library poured into her mind. Deveraux had accused her of hiding, of cowering. He had said she was ready to fight another’s cause but not her own. Was that true? Was all herstrength some weak illusion that when the battle raged too close faded into nothingness?
She turned her head slowly to look in the mirror. What kind of person was she that she must only live her life through duty to others? Was it possible that she also held a duty to herself? A duty that she had previously ignored?
She was an empty husk. She was so busy tending to everyone else that she spared no time for herself. But then, why must she always be the one to look out for others? she wondered plaintively. Wasn’t there anyone to look out for her? Deveraux did.
The simple answer knocked the breath from her. Deveraux looked out for her. Oh, not perfectly, not wisely, not easily. But he tried. She wanted to laugh. All this time, she’d been looking through the wrong end of the telescope! It was ludicrous, but suddenly she felt free.
A crooked smile kicked up the corners of her lips. The problem with Deveraux, she decided, was he tended to be heavy-handed. He lacked her years of practice looking after others. He’d been managing this estate for less than a year. Before that, he’d avoided onerous duties because they were the province of his brother Brandon, and he would not intrude or give cause for comparisons with his older half-brother.
Lucy tentatively touched Leona’s shoulder. “Leona . . . Leona, are you all right? Do you wish me to get Maman?”
“Pardon? Oh, I’m sorry, Lucy. Something you said set my mind wandering. I’m sorry. But I’ve decided you’re right. It would be running away if I left before your ball, and I’m certain Maria would never forgive me if she had to miss it.”
“You’ll stay? You promise?”
Leona laughed. “Yes, I promise.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I was hoping. . . Well, I also wondered if you’d care to dress in my room that night. Jewitt can doyour hair. She is a wonder with hair. And I guess the truth is I’m a little nervous. I never had a London season, what with Brandon’s illness.”
“I haven’t either.”
“That’s right, I forgot.” She paused and sighed, then she bent down to hug Leona. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“Piffle.”
“I’d best be going now. I have to take my turn entertaining Mr. and Mrs. Sharply. Will you have a tray in your room tonight?”
Leona glanced in the mirror. The puffiness under her eyes was fading. She took a deep breath. Now was the time to start as she meant to go on. There would be no more hiding, cowering, or running away. “No—No, I don’t think so. I’ll be downstairs. I’ll not let you all suffer alone.”
CHAPTER 10
To Leona's amusement, during the evening, and the whole of the next day, there was a conspiracy on the part of the Deveraux family—with the help of Mr. Fitzhugh and Maria Sprockett—to keep George Sharply away from her. When she was in the same room as Sharply, one or more co-conspirators endeavored to engage him in conversation. At dinner, she and Sharply were seated at opposite ends of the table, shielded from direct sight and discussion by a large silver epergne that appeared—quite inexplicably—as the table’s centerpiece.
Through it all, Deveraux tried to catch Leona’s eyes, his asking forgiveness. She ignored him.
With a heady feminine recklessness previously unknown to her, she decided that Deveraux still needed to be punished. A little. Though she now felt she understood his motivation, he needed to learn the difference between a steel gauntlet and a velvet glove. He wasn’t in the army any longer. Orders given in the military were obeyed, or else the punishments meted out were severe, sometimes permanent. That was not the case in family life. Or with friends. Or lovers.
Or lovers.The thought sent shock waves ricocheting through her body. Her knees felt weak, her breasts tingled, and a gnawing hunger grew low in her stomach. Scandalous! Her cheeks pinked in embarrassment.
Suddenly she couldn’t avoid him any longer—she did not want to avoid him. She decided to let him know—in whatever way necessary—that she no longer wished for pistols at ten paces.
The next evening she hesitantly lifted her eyes and met the burning intensity of his across the drawing room where they gathered before dinner. He must have seen something in her eyes, in her expression, that called to him, for almost instantly he was at her side.
“Leona.” Her name was a caress gentler than the light touch he gave her hand when he raised it to his lips. “Are you through with the punishment?” he asked whimsically, with a crooked smile.
“Punishment?” she repeated, smiling up at him. Staring into his brilliant blue eyes full of unexpected understanding, the coiling traces of another deep, heady emotion that she dare not name rose in her. She couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help her smile widening to a silly grin.
“Witch,” he growled, but without heat. “I do owe you an apology which I’ve been waiting to extend this last day and a half,” he drawled, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at her.
She laughed. There was a time when she’d been wary of those narrowed eyes. No longer. She invited him to sit down on the sofa with her.
Gravely thanking her, he tossed back the long tails of his coat and sat down next to her. It was a black coat, and Leona could not help but think how striking he looked in black.
