His was not a request but an expectation, just as it had been those years ago on that fateful night in Calcutta. Their dance had set into motion a series of events that had led to another man’s death.
However, this time, her answer to his request was different. She reached up and slapped him across the face with all the force of her being.
She anticipated a loud, satisfying sound and a moment of vindication. Instead, his jaw was like hitting granite. Despite gloves, pain reverberated from her palm down to her arm. She grabbed her wrist to help the throbbing subside.
He blinked at her in surprise. An angry, red strike mark in the shape of her hand formed on the side of his face—so she hadn’t been completely ineffective—and Leonie had the distinct thought that now might be a good time to leave.
She took off running, shoving her way through the crowd.
Chapter 3
The good news was Leonie Charnock obviously remembered him.
Roman wasn’t quite certain what had caused such a strong reaction from her. But then, he’d never understood Leonie. Even at seventeen she’d been mercurial.
Nor was she some delicate English flower. That was one of the things Roman had always admired about her. She was the sort of woman who would carry on no matter what.
What he hadn’t known was that she had quite a bit of strength in her arm. He knew men who could not hit as hard.
Placing a hand against his jaw, his eye met that of a woman whose raised eyebrows and deep frown told him she’d witnessed Leonie’s attack and was quite shocked. No one else around him seemed aware of the contretemps. They were more interested in the newly named duke. They eyed him on the dance floor, commenting on his courtly grace and other such nonsense that no decent man would appreciate.
“Did you deserve it?” the woman asked.
“Does any man?” he countered.
A rusty laugh gave him her opinion but he didn’t linger to banter. He was off to find Leonie. He had an idea of where she was headed.
Working his way through the crowd, steadying a gent who’d already sampled too much of the punch, avoiding a lady who gestured wildly with her fan, and generally avoiding eye contact with everyone around him, Roman made his way to the card room.
Or at least he hoped she would run to her father. If she’d thought to escape to the women’s necessary room, he would have a devil of a time talking to her.
And it was as clear to him as the stinging burn on his jaw where she’d slapped him that they needed to talk, preferably without making a further scene.
He strode into the side room filled with tables of men and women playing cards. He quickly spied Leonie. Her father was still at the table where Roman had left him some fifteen minutes ago.
She hovered behind her father’s chair. She appeared desperate and greatly imposed upon but Roman and everyone else in the room knew Charnock wouldn’t have time for his daughter until his hand had been played.
Leonie caught sight of him in the doorway. Her chin lifted. Her nostrils flared and her eyes lit up, reminding Roman of nothing less than an angry mare ready to kick. Little did she know her defiance only enhanced her beauty—and she was lovely.
Maturity had added character to her face, but all the attributes Roman remembered—the generous mouth, the high cheekbones, the thick and glorious hair—all of those were the same. Well, save her breasts. They seemed larger, fuller, and certainly more enticing.
God, he was a fool.
Charnock played the last pair in his hand, throwing them on the table with a grand gesture and then quickly scooping the money toward him.
He had to crow a bit as he did, saying to one of the players, “I knew you were going to lose that round. You played the wrong cards, my lord. But thenIhad therightones.” He chortled as if he had been very clever.
Leonie’s gaze had never left Roman. As he approached the table, she tapped Charnock’s shoulder. “I would have a word with you, Father.”
He looked up from his winnings. “Not now. Can’t you see I’m busy? I have a run of luck.”
“Yes, now, Father.Please.” She leaned close to whisper furiously in his ear.
Roman stopped a few feet away, waiting.
He’d dealt with men like Charnock most of his military career, so he was not surprised when her father said petulantly, “Of course I know Gilchrist is here. And that is theformerLieutenant Gilchrist. He’s an earl now. Rochdale, an important title. Very important.”
Leonie shot Roman a look of such disbelief it was almost insulting. Her dark eyes took in every inch of his bearing. The downturn of her mouth said louder than words what she thought.
