What would she say if she knew Paccard had left Roman a note that night bragging that he’d won her?
And that Roman had set out to prove him wrong?
“You rescued me,” she said. “If you hadn’t arrived when you did, I don’t know what would have happened.”
“Actually, you rescued yourself.”
She had rescued herself.
Leonie had never considered the matter that way.
At the time, all she had wanted was to stop Arthur from hurting her, and he had been going to do it again. She’d made a terrible mistake in trusting him. She’d wanted to go home but he wouldn’t let her.
When she had felt the small pistol that he’d usually carried in his coat pocket buried in the folds of the blanket, she hadn’t been thinking of murder. She had just wanted him to leave her alone. She had been trying to give herself room to think, and then everything had gone wrong.
Years ago, she had misjudged Arthur. Of the two men, Arthur and Roman, she’d believed Arthur to be the better. He’d had more polish, had been places she could only imagine, and paid more attention to her.
Roman had treated her as if she was seventeen and pretending a sophistication she didn’t have. He’d been right.
Once her family returned to London after spending most of Leonie’s life in Calcutta, she learned how little she knew about the world. Her life in India had been a protected one. As one of the few white women close to a marriageable age, she’d been the center of attention. She had assumed everyone had her best interests at heart. She’d been that naive.
Arthur had taught Leonie that there were dangers everywhere, even on the dance floor.
She reached out and touched the marquis’s heavy velvet drapes covering the window. “Was it hard for you in India after my family left? Father said that you would be fine. He said officers dueled all the time but I heard rumors with your name. And don’t say something noble such as you were happy to be of service or some other such rot. I know you were accused of shooting Arthur in a jealous rage.”
“I said he had issued the challenge. I could not back down. You and I were the only two there.”
“And I had left for London.”
He nodded, conceding her point. “I said I had no choice. It was self-defense.”
There was a tightness in his voice. She sensed all had not been as easy as he seemed to wish her to believe. “I wanted to speak at your hearing but my parents had me on the first ship out of India.”
“It was just as well you didn’t speak on my behalf. You wouldn’t have been invited to this ball.”
Heat flooded Leonie’s face. He was right. Both of her parents had warned her not to confess to a living soul that she had eloped with Paccard.
Occasionally, the story would float around but a word from her father usually quashed it. Of course, he couldn’t control Leonie’s memories or the horrid dreams that haunted her. Only a nip of brandy could do that.
She wished she had some right now. She looked around the room. There were decanters on an ornamental table—but she’d not take a sip in front of Roman. She couldn’t imagine what he’d make of her lifting the bottle to her lips and having a quick taste. He wouldn’t understand.
No one did.
He was watching her, his gaze intent as if he weighed an important matter in his mind, and it made her nervous. She realized she knew very little about him. Even back then, he’d been a mystery.
She smiled, anxious to take her leave, but before she could speak, he said, “You and I are going to marry.”
Leonie gave a start, unsure she’d heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon.”
“You heard me, Leonie. I came to this ball to seek you out. I had the intention of wooing you. However, I don’t have that kind of time.”
“Whoa, whoooo...” Leonie said in confusion. “Marriage?You want to marry me? Are you still carrying an affection for me after all these years? You don’t appear to be a smitten swain.”
“I’m not,” Roman admitted.
“Are you suddenly overcome with desire?”
“You are lovely.”
