Rubbing her arm where Rochdale had held it, Leonie lashed out at him under her breath. “How dare you do this? When my parents come, and they will, then I shall tell the truth. There will be no marriage between us.”
His response was a shrug.
If Leonie had been a Harpy, one of those mythical birds that ate men alive, she would have flown at him with her talons bared. Instead, she retreated to the far side of the room, taking a seat in an upright, wood-backed chair, and warned him with her eyes not to take one step toward her. She clasped her hands in her lap, squeezing her knuckles, because he knew she wouldn’t protest to her parents.
He’d gleaned that her feelings would be of little consequence to them, and they weren’t.
In short order, her father barged into the house with one of his rare smiles across his face. He shook Roman’s hand vigorously and called for Yarrow to bring whisky. “We must drink to our young countess’s health!”
Which he did, several times. Roman nursed one glass, Leonie noticed. A pity. No one offered her a drop.
Her mother danced in, the footmen following her carrying boxes of purchases.
“My dearest child,” she gushed, her tone dismissive. “This is wonderful news. And what a surprise! Gilchrist, right? You are now an earl.” She pulled off her glove and offered her hand. “We knew each other in India.” There was a warmth in her tone that Leonie did not trust. Was her mother implying there had been something between them?
“From a distance, we knew each other,” Roman stressed as if he could divine Leonie’s thoughts. He took a quick step away.
Her mother followed him. “We shall know each other better now.”
“I look forward to calling you ‘Mother,’ ” he agreed, a statement that wiped the feminine leer off her mother’s face. Leonie could almost laugh.
Her father stepped forward, putting his arm around her mother’s shoulders as he handed her a glass of sherry. “Look at the two of them, Elizabeth. We could not ask for a better match. Their babies will be beautiful.”
“I pray I’m not soagedI can enjoy them,” her mother muttered into the glass of sherry poured for her, obviously irritated by Roman’s comment.
Leonie’s father laughed. “Ignore her. She turns sour whenever the attention is not centered on her. Come with me, Rochdale. We have business to discuss. Don’t worry about your drink. I have plenty in the library. This way, my lord.” He directed Rochdale out of the room.
Silence stretched between her and her mother.
Her mother spoke first. “This betrothal is rather abrupt. Thetonlikes to witness events taking place. How else can they gossip?”
“Isn’t it obvious he is smitten with me?” That jibe was for her mother, who frowned an answer.
“Is this what you wish, Leonie? A man who has a somewhat unsavory reputation.”
“Unsavory? What do you mean, Mother? Last night you did not protest.”
“I’ve had a chance to consider. He murdered your lover. There will be people who remember.”
Her accusation jolted Leonie. “In all the time since that horrible night, you have never expressed such a thought. And then to hear it spoken in this manner...? Are you using my confidences against me?”
“Such cool outrage. Well done, my daughter. Youhavelearned something from me.”
“And what is that, Mother? How to be cynical?”
Her mother laughed. “Yes,” she agreed. “Cynical and practical. My every intuition tells me there is more to this proposal than meets the eye.”
“There isn’t.”
“Leonie, you were never good at lying.”
Better than you think,but Leonie kept that thought from her face. Instead, she rose. “I believe I will retire to my room.”
“And not see your newly beloved when he leaves the house?” her mother mocked.
“Apparently, I have learned something else from you as well,” Leonie answered, and went upstairs, but she did not go to her room. Instead, she went to the first-floor study. It was located over the downstairs library and shared a flue with the fireplace below it.
Leonie crouched near the cold hearth and heard her father’s voice as clearly as if he was standing in the room with her.
