Page 64 of The Lion Duke's Proposal
He was, in fact, losing.
He was losing because Julia possessed a terrifyingly natural instinct for the angle of the turf, a better eye for the crosswind than he had ever given her credit for, and because he had twice positioned his own throw half an inch wide of where he was perfectly capable of putting it.
He knew exactly what he was doing. He was also highly aware that Anthony, who had retired to an iron garden chair with a cup of coffee and a morning newspaper, had completely stopped reading. The newspaper sat forgotten in his lap.
Julia stepped up to the mark. She did not hesitate. She threw with a clean, unhurried arc. The hoop cut through the air and made a straight, perfect landing around the stake.
"Hah," she said. It was a sound of pure, brief satisfaction that Fielding himself could not have improved upon.
"Well done," Leander said.
The words left him before he could stop them.
Something in the tone of his congratulations was far more direct, far too intimate, than the boundaries of the game required.
She heard it. He watched the realization register in the subtle freezing of her shoulders. She glanced away first, her cheeks flushing a faint, pretty pink as she turned back to Benjamin, who was already sprinting to retrieve the hoop and reset the stake for another round.
"Again?" Benjamin asked, breathless.
"I think the Duke may need a moment to recover," Julia said pleasantly, her voice dripping with sweet, deliberate provocation.
"I need no such thing," Leander said.
She did not look back at him, but she smiled at the rosebushes as she handed him the hoop. Her fingertips briefly brushed against his palm. The touch felt like an electric bolt.
Later, the afternoon heat caught up with them.
Benjamin fell completely asleep in the iron chair Anthony had vacated. His oversized hat was pulled entirely over his face, his small body resting with heavy ease.
Anthony had moved inside to escape the sun. Leander watched him walk up the terrace steps before following him down the dark hallway, leaving the quiet lawn behind. He found Anthony standing in the shaded privacy of the study with two heavy crystal glasses of amber liquid already poured.
"She is good with him," Anthony said without turning around.
"She is good with most things." Leander walked in, his boots clicking softly against the floorboards, and took the offered glass.
"She will not admit it."
"You let her win the last three rounds." Anthony turned, a knowing smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
Leander sat down in the leather armchair, setting his glass on the desk. "The wind changed."
"Leander."
"She has a good eye, Anthony. That is all."
"Leander." Anthony set his own glass down with a firm click.
He looked across the room with that brutal, unblinking directness that was his primary contribution to their friendship. The exact trait that had made him invaluable and occasionally entirely exhausting for twenty-five years. "The last round, there was no wind at all. I was watching the trees. There wasn't a single leaf moving."
Leander said nothing. He stared at the dark liquid in his glass.
Anthony picked his drink back up.
Leander had never successfully outlasted it. Not once since they were boys.
"I kissed her," Leander said.
The admission fell heavily into the quiet room. Anthony did not look surprised. His features merely softened.
