“Because I’m catching a hint of brandy breath.”
Brandy breath? Was there such a thing? Or was he toying with her? Roman Gilchrist had an alarming ability to throw her off guard. Suspicious, she lifted her chin. “I don’t know why you would ever make such an accusation.”
He gave a half laugh as if he was somewhat sorry. “I have been in His Majesty’s Service for a long time and I know when someone is foxed.”
“Foxed?”Leonie literally trembled at the charge. She was in complete control of her senses. “How dare you accuse me of such?”
Roman leaned back as if to both avoid her breath and savor it as the same time. “Vanilla. A hint of raisins. Yes, I believe you have been tippling the brandy. Please tell me, my lady, that this isn’t a regular occurrence? Because if it is, we might have a problem.”
Leonie could stomp her feet in outrage. “Howdareyou—” she started, only to be cut off by the sounds of hurried footsteps and the appearance of her maid, Minnie, in the doorway.
“Here you are, my lady,” Minnie said, looking somewhat confused. “I needed to tell you there was a gentleman caller—” She’d been so focused on finding Leonie she had failed to register Roman’s presence until that moment. Like a frightened mouse who had just discovered a cat was in the room, her lips closed and she slipped inside, taking the nearest chair closest to the door. She folded her hands in her lap, pretending not to be present or notice anything the way she knew Leonie preferred, and yet serving as a chaperone because her mistress should not be alone with a gentleman.
Yarrow, too, appeared outside the door. He hovered there, the frown on his face saying he knew Leonie had managed to avoid proprieties and was most annoyed—and not necessarily with her but with her parents. He’d be truly appalled if he knew she’d been tippling. She resisted the reflex to place her hand over her mouth as if Yarrow could catch a hint of her breath from where she stood.
However, her worries were unfounded because Roman took control.
“You are right on time,” he said to Minnie, including Yarrow in his buoyant declaration. “Miss Charnock has accepted my offer of marriage.”
Thoughts of covering her mouth with her hand vanished from Leonie’s mind. “I... what—I—?”
“You said you would accept it,” he argued.
Well, what she’d meant is she would accept his offer if he accepted hers—but she couldn’t make that statement in front of Yarrow.
“This is grand news, my lord,” Yarrow said approvingly. “Congratulations, Miss Leonie.”
“Yes, congratulations,” Minnie peeped up, rising from her chair.
Yarrow took charge. “I must send word to your father. He will wish to be here.” He snapped his fingers for one of the footmen. “Go fetch the master at his club—”
“No,wait,” Leonie said, moving toward him with her hand up. “Let us give this a moment—”
She tripped over a footstool that she hadn’t noticed in her path in her alarm to stop Yarrow from sending for her father and would have gone crashing to the ground save for Roman’s quick action. He caught her and swung her back on her feet, the movement bringing them chest to chest, thigh to thigh.
“What ho! Good save, my lord,” Yarrow said approvingly, although Leonie barely registered his words.
Instead, she found herself immersed in the strangest sense of being both off balance and yet safe. Of needing to push away and yet yearning to be closer. Roman’s body heat surrounded her. He smelled of shaving soap and of something else she couldn’t quite define. It was spicy and masculine, and she liked it very much.
It reminded her of that moment when he’d entered the room where she had murdered Arthur. She had thrown herself at him, burying her face in the fold of his coat, wishing he would whisk her away and save her from what she’d done. He’d smelled good to her then, too.
In that moment, Leonie knew she had no choice. She would marry him.
Perhaps her capitulation was the brandy... or how she rather liked his shaving soap... or just the fleeting understanding that she fought a losing battle. She did have to marry. She would not be allowed to be left alone until she did.
And as she’d decided last night, if she must trust someone, then let it be Roman Gilchrist, who had proven himself once.
He knew her secrets, even down to her taste for brandy.
Granted, all he needed her for was her money, but standing this close to him, looking up into those gray eyes that held a hint of laughter over how easily he’d outmaneuvered her, she saw something else. It wasn’t Arthur’s angry lust born out of jealousy, or the hungry one of those admirers who had trailed after her in the past.
It was something else.
He did want her. She could feel his manhood against her.
But there was something deeper, almost alien to her, in his expression that she couldn’t quite define, and then it came roaring into her awareness—he felt sorry for her.
Leonie jerked out of his grasp, almost stumbling over the footstool again as she broke the spell between them. No one noticed her angry movement. Yarrow was ordering footmen around and Minnie had left the room in search of her mother’s maid to track their mistress’s whereabouts.
