Married By Morning (The Hathaways #4)(14)

“Will you go along with the family’s plan to find a bride for you?”

“Do you think I should?”

“No, I don’t think you have the makings of a decent husband. You haven’t the character for it.”

Leo’s sentiments exactly. Except that it rankled to hear her say it.

“What makes you a fit judge of my character?” he asked.

Her shoulders lifted in an uncomfortable shrug. “One can’t help hearing about your exploits when all the dowagers and matrons are together at the balls.”

“I see. And you believe every rumor you hear?”

She was silent. Leo expected her to argue, or insult him. To his surprise, however, she stared at him with something like remorse. “You have a point. And whether the rumors are true or false, it was wrong of me to listen.”

Leo waited for her to follow that with some stinging insult, but she appeared genuinely chastened. Which was a surprise. It made him realize there was much he didn’t know about her, this solitary and serious young woman who had hovered at the edge of his family for so long.

“What do the gossips say about me?” he asked casually.

She gave him a wry glance. “Your prowess as a lover is much vaunted.”

“Oh, well, those rumors are definitely true.” He clucked his tongue as if shocked. “Do dowagers and chaperones really prattle about such things?”

Her slender brows arched. “What did you imagine they talked about?”

“Knitting. Jelly recipes.”

She shook her head and bit back a smile.

“How tedious these affairs must be for you,” Leo said. “Standing at the side of the room, listening to gossip and watching everyone else dance.”

“I don’t mind it. I don’t like dancing.”

“Have you ever danced with a man?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Then how can you be sure you wouldn’t like it?”

“I can have an opinion about something even if I haven’t done it.”

“Of course. It’s so much easier to form opinions without being troubled by experience or facts.”

She frowned but kept silent.

“You’ve given me an idea, Marks,” Leo went on. “I’m going to allow my sisters to plan the ball they mentioned earlier. Only for this reason: I’m going to come to you in the middle of it and ask you to dance with me. In front of everyone.”

She looked appalled. “I would refuse.”

“I’m going to ask nevertheless.”

“To make a mockery of me,” she said. “To make fools of us both.”

“No.” His voice gentled. “Just to dance, Marks.”

Their gazes locked in a long, fascinated stare.

And then to Leo’s surprise, Catherine smiled at him. A sweet, natural, brilliant smile, the first she had ever given him. Leo felt his chest tighten, and he went hot all over, as if some euphoric drug had gone straight to his nervous system.

It felt like … happiness.

He remembered happiness from a long time ago. He didn’t want to feel it. And yet the giddy warmth kept washing over him for no reason whatsoever.

“Thank you,” Catherine said, the smile still hovering on her lips. “That is kind of you, my lord. But I will never dance with you.”

Which, of course, made it the goal of Leo’s life.

Catherine turned to retrieve a sketchbook and roll of pencils from the saddle pouch.

“I didn’t know you sketched,” Leo said.

“I’m not very good at it.”

He gestured to the book in her hands. “May I see that?”

“And give you reason to mock me?”

“I won’t. My solemn promise. Let me see.” Slowly Leo extended his hand, palm up.

Catherine glanced at his open hand, and then his face. Hesitantly she gave the book to him.

Opening the book, he glanced through the sketches. There was a series of the ruins from different angles, perhaps too careful and disciplined in places where a bit of looseness would have given the sketch more vitality. But on the whole it was very well done. “Lovely,” he said. “You have a nice feeling for line and form.”

She colored, seeming uncomfortable with the praise. “I understand from your sisters that you are an accomplished artist.”

“Competent, perhaps. My architectural training included a number of art classes.” Leo gave her a casual grin. “I’m especially good at sketching things that stay still for long periods of time. Buildings. Lampposts.” He leafed through the book. “Do you have any of Beatrix’s drawings?”

“On the last page,” Catherine said. “She began to sketch a protruding section of the wall, over there, but she became preoccupied with a squirrel that kept hopping into the foreground.”

Leo found a perfectly rendered and detailed portrait of a squirrel. He shook his head. “Beatrix and her animals.”

They exchanged a grin.

“Many people talk to their pets,” Catherine said.

“Yes, but very few understand the replies.” Closing the sketchbook, Leo gave it back to her and began to walk the perimeter of the manor enclosure.

Catherine followed, picking her way among the gorse studded with yellow flowers and shiny black pods. “How deep was the original moat, do you estimate?”