“But he’s your guardian,” Harvey pointed out. “Of course he has the right.”
“We’ll see about that,” Izzy said, and stormed off the dance floor.
***
Leo saw her coming. In a fine temper by the look of it. Dazzling in a dress of the palest straw-yellow silk that caressed her limbs as she strode across the floor, drawing all eyes. She marched straight up to him and poked him in the chest. “How dare—”
She broke off as Leo glanced pointedly to the people surrounding them, realizing that whatever she was going to say was bound to be indiscreet. That ears were everywhere, and her march across the room had drawn quite a bit of attention.
She glared at him, breathing heavily, fulminating in frustrated silence.
Leo smiled. It was quite satisfying to observe her frustration, after the failure of all his recent attempts to talk to her in private.
For the sake of those watching, she forced an unconvincing smile onto her face and said, “How dare you tell Mr. Harvey that I won’t marry him.” Her voice was low and vehement.
“Oh, did you want to marry Harvey? Bit of a dull dog for you, I would have thought. Still, if you’re desperate to marry him...”
“No, I’m not desperate to marry him,” she flashed in an undertone. “But you had no right to refuse him.”
He frowned. “Because you do want to marry him? Make up your mind.”
She stamped her foot. “I donotwant to marry Mr. Harvey.”
Leo nodded. “Good, because that’s what I told him. And by the way, he’s standing right behind you.”
She whirled and faced Harvey, who stood gazing at her with all the effervescence of a plucked hen. “Mr. Harvey. I’m sorry—”
Harvey drooped visibly. “So you don’t want to marry me.”
She flushed and bit her lip. “No, I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
Harvey jerked his chin at Leo. “So he was right, then. I did say so.”
“Y—n—oh this is impossible. I’m sorry, Mr. Harvey. Lord Salcott, can we discuss this—”
“While we’re dancing? Yes, of course,” Leo said, andcupping her elbow in his hand he steered her toward the dance floor, where sets were forming.
She glared at him but allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor. Better to dance with the enemy than endure the misery of the doleful swain, he supposed.
“I’m not finished with you yet,” she hissed.
“No, but we can’t talk here,” he murmured soothingly. “I’ll call on you tomorrow morning.” Though how he was going to get her alone without that blasted chaperone... At least this time she wanted to talk to him, even if it was just to give him a good wigging. But it would be an opportunity to clear things up.
“Can’t. Shopping.” The dance began. He bowed, she curtsied, and they moved into the first figure. “Lunchtime tomorrow?” he said when they came together again.
She shook her head. “We’re lunching with Lady Tarrant.”
The “we” would be her sister and the chaperone. “After that?”
She grimaced. “Morning calls.”
Leo swore silently. From the sound of things she had not a moment free—and in any case that wretched chaperone would no doubt push her way in.
They danced on. She danced impersonally, as if dancing with a stranger, and the hard look in her eyes told him she was still angry with him. But she also looked thoughtful. She gave a speculative glance at him, bit her lip and opened her mouth as if to say something, but didn’t.
They went through several more figures of the dance before she made up her mind. The next time they came together, she murmured, “The summerhouse tonight, after the ball.”
Leo blinked. Given what had happened last time they’d met there at night, her suggestion shocked him. But she was right—it was the one place and time where they could be sure to be private.
