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R as felt the cold seize his lungs. It was completely imagined—he knew that.

He was not ill. He certainly wasn’t dying of the same disease that took his father.

But the sensation persisted nonetheless.

It happened whenever he failed the one task he’d promised his father.

It wasn’t the last thing his father had said to him—that had been more about love and taking care of his mother.

But the one abiding instruction his father had given him was to be a good man.

His words hadn’t included the word “duke” but the implication had been there.

A good man didn’t harm anyone else, and it was damned easy as a duke to ignorantly hurt other people.

As he’d just done.

He hadn’t gone out to the tree planning to kiss Miss Petrelli.

He’d merely missed her at dinner and wanted to see her.

All throughout the meal, he’d wanted to catch her eye.

What did she think about the current cost of cotton?

Would she be shocked that money was discussed at table?

Would she be patient when Sara stumbled over something she wanted to say?

Did she think it was funny when Zoe likened the fish soup to a mixture she’d devised to add into an ailing horse’s feed?

He wanted to know what she thought about these things, so after dinner, he’d gone to find her.

He couldn’t stop reliving the moments of the last week when she’d been especially clever.

When a lady had impugned Miss Petrelli’s manner of dress, Kynthea had gently reminded her that the queen herself had favored a similar style.

The woman who quoted verses from the Bible about modesty and been told not to judge lest she be judged.

And the ones who had offered advice on the pretense of helping had been asked about their own children who were not paragons of virtue.

The responses hadn’t helped matters at all.

Every woman had been insulted or upset by the retort, but he had seen the mind beneath Miss Petrelli’s responses.

She abhorred hypocrisy, just as he did. She held her tongue as people heaped coals of derision upon her, but she could not contain herself when someone castigated her from an equally tarnished pulpit.

And there were a lot of tarnished people in the ton.

He admired the hell out of that.

And because he admired her, what had he done?

Acted like the rawest teenage boy drawn to her out of instinct and lust. He’d been as charming as he knew how to be, and he’d kissed her.

Why? Because that was what teenage boys did, without thought to the consequences beyond the prodding of their cocks.

And that was something his father had always abhorred.

Long before Ras had been old enough to understand, he had been taught to condemn men with unbridled emotions.

Men who pursued their appetites without restraint or intelligence.

Those men left a wake of destruction behind them.

Fortunes gambled away, corpulent bodies stuffed overfull while children starved nearby, and pregnant women infected with the pox.

And he had acted the same toward a woman he admired.

Ras was ashamed of himself.

But he could not afford to hide away when he was excoriating himself.

He was a duke and had an image to uphold, not to mention a mother to escort.

So he went into Lady Zoe’s come-out ball with his shoulders thrown back and his chin tilted slightly toward the ceiling.

And he waited, as all good sons did, for his mother to arrive such that she could introduce him to another set of eligible misses who were no more interesting than wallpaper.

Sure, each one had a fresh design, but in the end, they were all thin on wits and propped up by something else.

He still asked them to dance.

Lady Zoe was his first partner. As the highest-ranking gentleman here, he was given the honor of the first dance after her father.

The girl was stunningly beautiful in a gold gown.

He didn’t understand the specifics of fashion, but her eyes were bright, her smile wide, and she vibrated with the kind of happiness a girl in her come-out should have.

Especially if she was dancing with a duke.

He enjoyed seeing her like this, but when they finished the opening steps of the dance, she whispered urgently in his ear.

“I have to speak with you!”

He winced. He feared she would take him to task for what he’d done to Miss Petrelli. And damn it, if Lady Zoe knew, then everyone else would likely know of his perfidy soon after. Worse, he knew that the blame for what he’d done would somehow land completely on the lady and not him.

“I assure you, Lady Zoe, I intend to make amends.” Though how he intended to do that, he hadn’t yet figured it out.

“Damnation,” the girl cursed. “So it’s gotten worse?”

The steps of the dance separated them long enough for him to realize that were likely speaking of very different things.

“I don’t understand,” he said when they returned to one another.

“Whirl!” she growled back. “She’s gotten worse?”

Whirl? His horse? It took him a moment for him to wrench his thoughts away from Miss Petrelli to his cattle.

“Well?” the girl said when the dance brought them back together. “Has Whirl improved or not?”

“I have no idea,” he said honestly. He hadn’t even known the horse was ill.

Lady Zoe grimaced. “I noticed a problem with her gait last week. I’ve been sending messages to your stablemaster, but he hasn’t returned a single one.”

It would be highly inappropriate for Mr. Barnes to do such a thing. Interestingly, Lady Zoe seemed to know that but didn’t care.

“I know I’m not supposed to get involved, but not everyone would see such a thing.

And if you don’t care about the creature herself, think of your investment in her.

” She canted her eyes up to him in what most would call a flirtatious look.

“It would be a shame to lose the money you’ve already put into her training and care. ”

Lady Zoe was flirting with him so that he would care for his horse. Now that was a new experience.

“What would you suggest?” he finally asked.

“Make your man answer me. And if she is worse…” She pulled unusually hard on his arm when they were supposed to draw together. The motion brought her close enough to hiss into his ear. “Come see me tonight. I have the recipe for a poultice.”

If this were an attempt to trap him into marriage, it was an unusual approach. Either way, he couldn’t allow it. He shook his head. “I cannot, my lady,” he said as they once again separated.

“You must,” she whispered when he came back again. “It’s my own recipe. It works very well.”

He was sure it did, but he would not be caught climbing into her window at night. Though, naturally, his baser nature had a suggestion. And so the words were out of his mouth when he next got a chance.

“Can Miss Petrelli bring it to me?”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “Leave after the supper buffet. I’ll send her to you during the last orchestra set. If anyone asks, she’s on an errand for me. Which she will be.”

He grinned. “Where?”

“There’s an oak tree—”

“I know it.”

The girl shook her head. “Walk down a block from there, near the alley. There’s a hidden corner where the servants make babies.”

He nearly stumbled at her words. Surely she hadn’t just said that. But apparently she had because the girl shrugged.

“That’s what I’m told, at least.”

This was getting ridiculous. Fortunately, the dance was ending.

“Lady Zoe,” he said as he bowed over her hand.

“May I invite you and your lovely companion to ride with me the day after tomorrow? We’ll go to my estate just outside London.

You can have your pick of my horses there and we can share a lovely supper before returning home in time for the evening’s entertainments.

There would be still time for you to indulge in any number of amusements, if you wish. ”

“What a capital idea,” she returned loudly. “I should love that above all things.”

He thought the situation handled then, but she still managed to whisper into his ear. “Wait in your carriage after the supper buffet. I’ll send Kynthea to you with the recipe.” And when he drew back to frown at her, she cast him a furious look. “Whirl’s health is important!”

There was no chance to object, and indeed, he could see from the girl’s fierce expression that she would insist. So he held his tongue and went in search of his next partner. And so went the evening until the first waltz.

He had remained scrupulously correct in his behavior all evening.

But even as he bowed and pranced with each new partner, he had been excruciatingly aware of Miss Petrelli.

He kept silent track of her partners, who were all younger sons or rakes.

He saw when she directed the servants on the countess’s behalf.

He noticed, too, when she brought wraps for the dowagers or intervened on a shy wallflower’s behalf.

There was a great deal of silent direction that a hostess must manage during an event such as this.

A man of his status was usually ignorant of these things, but he had been around when his mother began teaching Sara the task.

So he was aware of the value Miss Petrelli brought to this household, and again, he was impressed.

Which is why he had bribed his friend Milo to write Ras’ name down for the first waltz with Miss Petrelli. The cost had been an ugly rock that he’d picked up during his grand tour, but Milo had a fondness for geology and had long coveted the thing.

So it was that Ras presented himself to the lady in question two minutes before the first waltz began. She was speaking quietly to a dowager seated among the chaperones and was understandably startled when he presented himself.

“I believe this is my dance, Miss Petrelli,” he said.