Page 19

R as stripped out of his coat with a happy sigh.

It was dark inside his carriage, but his eyes quickly adjusted.

Never had he had a more enjoyable evening.

His mother had been appalled, of course.

She had strict opinions on a duke’s proper behavior.

They did not include stripping off any attire in the middle of a ball, even something as innocuous as his spats.

He didn’t care. He couldn’t stop reliving the moment when Kynthea had laughed in his arms. The joy that had suffused her expression had filled his heart to overflowing. That she’d laughed at his antics lit him up, like when clouds parted on a dismal day.

He knew she’d pay for the disruption to her cousin’s ball. The lady always paid for social breaches, and yet…God, he’d had such fun. She’d been delighted, and when she’d finally relaxed in his arms, they’d both had a marvelous time.

Dancing should be fun, but it usually wasn’t for him. When he was younger, he was too afraid to make a wrong move. Eventually, the steps became second nature, but all too often the lady would use the dance to pull him into conversation or draw him closer than was proper.

They weren’t trying to trap him into marriage, per se.

But the experience was not about dancing.

It was always about trying to capture his interest in the very short moments they had together.

That put too much pressure on everything, and he usually withdrew mentally rather than engage in such situations.

Kynthea was not trying to trap him into anything.

Indeed, she’d made that very clear beneath the oak tree.

And so he had been able to just dance with her for the pleasure of the dance.

And when disaster had struck, she hadn’t been shocked or appalled or disparaging, as his mother was wont to be.

Instead, she’d laughed. She’d set him at ease when he was the one who was trying to ease the situation for her.

It was liberating. And it made him want her even more.

He relaxed as the carriage rumbled down the street and around the corner. He’d given Miss Petrelli directions and soon…

Yes!

The carriage stopped, the coach door opened, and a figure in a dark cloak leaped inside. He extended a hand to help, but there was no need. Miss Petrelli had command of her balance. A second later, the horses started up again, but she jerked her head up in alarm.

“Where are we going?” she demanded in a whisper. “My absence will be noted!”

“We’re travelling in circles,” he soothed. “We’ll be less conspicuous that way.”

She settled onto the squabs across from him. Her eyes were wide, and her hands clenched something. She clearly was not used to secret assignations in carriages.

“I-I just came to give you this.” She held out a paper.

He caught her full hand in his to steady her trembling.

“It’s Zoe’s recipe for your horse. She said to warm it, then rub it into the knee joint with…

” She gestured vaguely with her free hand.

“Zoe said to use a circular motion, but not a big circle. More of a figure eight but not exactly because you have to go around the whole joint.” She sighed.

“Zoe was very particular, but I was…I can’t remember exactly…

Damnation, she’s going to be annoyed with me. ”

“It’s all right. I’m sure my stable master will know.”

“That’s just the point. Zoe doesn’t think your stablemaster cares about the older mares. She said he’ll slap it on and think nothing of it. But it won’t work unless the joint is rubbed in a particular way.” She pushed the recipe forward. “Zoe’s very worried about Whirl.”

“She seems very concerned about my horse.”

“Yes, well, Zoe isn’t just horse mad. She loves the creatures more than some people love their children.

She’s studied their anatomy, their medicines, the way one breed moves as opposed to another.

Her knowledge is breathtaking. If she had been born a man, she would have her direction.

Since she is a woman, she must find it second hand through her husband. ”

He took the recipe and carefully folded it into a pocket. “I don’t think Lady Zoe is ready for a husband.”

Miss Petrelli folded her hands in her lap. “That is not up to me, I’m afraid. Her father is anxious to get Zoe settled before his ailments get the better of him.”

Yes, Ras had spent a great deal of time with Zoe’s parents during dinner.

He had seen the frailty in both of them.

Her father had barely made it through the opening dance.

A bad illness this winter could be the end of him, and if he were Zoe’s parent, he’d want to see the girl settled as well.

But marriage seemed too extreme a solution.

Meanwhile, Miss Petrelli looked at her hands. “You recall the lady I was speaking with before our dance?”

The dowager countess Whelan? “Yes.”

“According to her, everyone expects you to make an offer to Zoe. I know Zoe’s parents do, and your mother has given her approval as well. The ton has decided that you two—”

“I do not make my decisions according to society’s whims.”

She nodded. “But your very attention to her may dissuade other eligible suitors—gentlemen more appropriate to her age.”

He was aware of the situation. He knew that every minute he spent in the Satheath household—and he had spent a great deal of time there in the last week—cemented his possible marriage with Lady Zoe.

Even a duke could not resist all societal forces.

Just this morning, he had received a message from Prinny indicating that the Crown approved of his match with Lady Zoe.

The missive said that St. James’ cathedral would be at his disposal when it was time for the nuptials.

That was as close to a royal decree as one could get.

It seemed everyone wanted him wed, and they had decided Zoe was the woman best suited to be his bride. Everyone, that is, but him.

“It’s true,” he said, “I have spent a great deal of time in your drawing room of late. But it wasn’t so I could court Lady Zoe.”

“You were trying to redeem my reputation,” she said. “That was most gracious of you and speaks to the kindness in your heart. But I think after tonight’s waltz disaster, there is little hope for my place in society.”

“You tripped over my spat.”

“No one will care. I created a scene, and I will be the talk of the ton instead of Zoe. It was her come-out after all. No one respectable will hire me as a companion now.” She spoke in the quiet tone of defeat, and he realized anew just how fragile her place in society was.

“You will not be destitute,” he vowed. He had plenty of resources. If nothing else, he could give her enough to survive. Everyone would think her his mistress, but he was not averse to that situation. Though, at present, he had another thought in mind entirely.

“Miss Petrelli,” he said gently. “Kynthea, you must know that I am interested in you. My kiss this afternoon was proof of that.”

Her shoulders abruptly stiffened, and her gaze hopped uneasily about the carriage. “Perhaps I should leave. There is no need to wait until we return to the house. I am very used to walking.”

As if he would allow her to walk alone in London. They might be in the nicest area of town, but he would never allow her to be that vulnerable.

“What if I courted you instead of Lady Zoe? What if—”

Her scornful laugh cut his words short. “Do you truly think I am that stupid?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. He’d expected her to blush prettily at the thought. He expected she would overflow with the honor of the question. That is, indeed, what any girl would do when a duke suggested he wanted to court them. And in his silence, she continued.

“You are a duke. I am nothing. And this is no better than what happened beneath the oak tree.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but her words choked off as if she fought tears.

“This is completely different,” he said, choosing his words carefully.

“Why? Because we are in a carriage instead of out in the open?”

No, because he had been thinking deeply about the insult he’d offered her beneath the oak. Because he had never been one to dither over his decisions. Perhaps he had been impulsive before, but in the last few hours, a question had formed in his mind.

Could he marry her?

It was too easy to say that a duke could marry anyone he wanted.

He had responsibilities to his title and his lineage.

His children must be raised with a sense of duty that so many of his peers ignored.

His wife would need to be a proper duchess as she helped him with official responsibilities, cared for his tenants, and often served the whims of the Crown.

Lady Zoe was too young to do any of that.

Kynthea, on the other hand, had the natural grace of a lady and the empathy that came from living on the lower echelons of polite society.

All the rest of her duties could be taught, but grace and empathy were innate.

Of all the ladies in the ton , Kynthea was the best suited to be his duchess.

But the final cap to his decision had come on the dance floor. Few ladies could handle such a spill with aplomb, but Kynthea had laughed with him. They’d both enjoyed the ridiculousness of the situation. That shared sense of humor meant more to him than he’d ever realized.

There was only one problem: Prinny.

The man had already said that Lady Zoe should be Ras’s bride. There was no way he could convince the prince that Kynthea was a better choice.

“Miss Petrelli, I meant no insult. The question was an honest one, but not in the way you think.”

She looked at her hands. Her fingers twisted in her lap, and he longed to soothe them. She was distressed and he hated that his bungling had created this tension between them.

“It is beneath you to toy with me like this,” she said. “I am not a lightskirt.”

“I do not see you as one. I never have.”