Page 4

K ynthea was not in the best frame of mind when the high and mighty Duke of Harle came to claim her hand for her dance.

Her largest complaint was embarrassment.

The plan had been for her to bring the potion to Zoe in a glass who would then contrive to get the duke to drink it.

The girl’s reasoning went like this: the elixir would naturally touch his lips which was akin to skin.

There had been no discussion of Kynthea falling flat on her face while dousing the duke.

Zoe had been all apologies afterwards, swearing she would make it up to Kynthea later, most especially after she wed the duke. Kynthea had managed to exact a promise that the girl would never, ever humiliate her again like that.

Zoe immediately agreed. She was at heart a kind person, but her empathy was usually reserved for horses. It sometimes took stern words for her to see that people had feelings, too. How would a horse feel if it was forced to take a tumble onto hard packed ground?

Once phrased that way, Zoe understood. And Kynthea knew that the lesson would stick. So the two cousins were once again in accord.

The duke, however, was still in Kynthea’s black book. Certainly, the man had cause to be miffed. He’d been thoroughly doused with that love potion, after all. No one wanted to spend an evening with damp shirt points, but that hardly necessitated him giving Zoe the cut direct.

Did he not understand how his approval—or disapproval in this case—could ruin a girl in her first come-out?

And what cause did he have to cut Zoe when Kynthea had been the one to drench him?

The girl had been close to tears all evening, and no amount of attention had restored her confidence.

That made her other dance partners gloomy as well, and Kynthea had spent most of the evening commiserating with ignored partners and cajoling Zoe into a better frame of mind.

It hadn’t worked. And now His Grace was crossing the room to claim her for his dance when she just wanted to slap him.

“Don’t forget to ask him the questions,” Zoe hissed in her ear. “Madame Ilie said it would make the potion more effective.”

Yes, she remembered the list of impertinent questions.

She would never be able to casually work any of them into a conversation.

When was the last time you cried and why?

Or what was the hardest decision you ever had to make?

Her mother would turn over in her grave if she thought Kynthea had asked such things of a duke!

Her mother had been raised as the daughter of an earl, just like Zoe.

And though she married a vicar out of love (thereby significantly dropping her social status), she’d insisted her children know all the fine points of polite society.

“Aren’t you done with this love potion nonsense?” she whispered furiously back to Zoe. “Hasn’t it already been enough of a disaster?”

“It’s my only hope now!” Zoe wailed much too loudly.

Kynthea didn’t answer. There wasn’t time as His Grace arrived in front of her. His dashing friend, Lord Nathaniel, was a mere half-step behind, and the two gentlemen bowed before them.

“Miss Petrelli.”

“Lady Zoe.”

“Your Grace.”

“My lord.”

“I believe this is our dance,” said Lord Nathaniel as he extended his hand in a comically elegant display. It came complete with several wrist flourishes, and it made Zoe laugh in delight. Kynthea, too, because he was so very charming.

“You are entirely too droll,” Zoe said to the man.

“And you are entirely too beautiful. Nevertheless, we two imperfect souls must dance. Shall we?”

Zoe pinked sweetly then nodded. She shot one last glance at Kynthea before she allowed herself to be swept onto the dance floor. And as she left, Kynthea felt her shoulders relax. Finally, a man who could keep the girl from ruining herself with a depressed mood.

“Shall we find our place?” asked His Grace.

Oh yes. With her charge taken care of for the moment, Kynthea now felt free to say her peace to the arrogant duke.

“If you don’t mind, Your Grace, I should much prefer a turn about the room. There is something I should like to say to you, and it is easier when not dancing.”

“As you wish,” he said as he offered her his arm.

She took his arm carefully. He was a tall man with chiseled features that included a strong nose and a lifted chin.

His shoulders were broad which was pleasing, and she couldn’t help but note the strength in his arm where her fingers lay.

Even through the covering of shirt and coat, she could feel the shift in his muscles as he directed her through the room.

There was weight to this man in body and in presence, as was befitting a duke.

How sad that there was no kindness in him to soften all that intimidating wealth and power.

“Are you enjoying the evening—”

“You need to make up to Zoe, Your Grace. It was cruel to cut her so baldly. She is a girl in her first come-out. All the gossips were watching, and now you’ve severely damaged her reputation.

It’s cruel of you, and I pray—nay, I demand—that you set things right.

” Oh my. She hadn’t meant to get so fervent in her words, but she’d been storing them up all evening.

The damage he’d done to Zoe was real, and as such, it was incumbent upon him to fix it.

Unfortunately, he was not nearly as moved as she was. He turned to look at her, a clear scowl on his handsome features. “If Lady Zoe wants my approval, then she should not trip women out of spite.”

Thank God he spoke in an undertone, one that could be heard by her and no one else. “You saw that?”

“I did. And I cannot understand how you of all people can be here demanding I indulge her behavior.”

Kynthea sighed. “You don’t understand. She was doing me a kindness.”

“A kindness? Good God, woman, are your wits addled?”

“No, Your Grace.” There was steel in her tone.

The situation was complicated, and he had no right to judge her so quickly.

Or Zoe. And so she would tell him, except for the dozens of prying eyes that watched them promenade about the room and the half dozen sets of ears straining to hear their every word.

Worse, there were women in every direction trying to get the duke’s attention.

They winked, they fluttered their fans, they even pretended to stumble in his direction as a way to catch his gaze for a mere second.

It was ridiculous, and she could not so much as whisper the words “love potion” without risking everyone in earshot repeating the phrase ad nauseum.

But that was Almack’s on the first Thursday of the Season. Wall to wall debutantes and their hopeful mamas, especially when everyone knew that the most eligible bachelor would be there looking for a bride.

“We cannot speak freely here,” she whispered.

“I cannot imagine what you think—”

“Oh my, Your Grace,” she said in a high, reedy voice. “it’s so hot in here.” She waved her fan in front of her face. “Do you think, perhaps, that we could step outside for a moment?”

He looked down at her. “You are a terrible actress.”

He was critiquing her performance? What an ass! “You would prefer I faint into your arms?”

His expression hardened. “You will not get a declaration from me, Miss Petrelli, no matter how compromising a position you create.”

She gaped at him. Good God, did he think she was trying to trap him into marriage?

Of all the idiotic, arrogant ideas! “I am an impoverished relation of Lady Zoe,” she snapped, not bothering to lower her tone.

“Her dowry includes property worth a thousand pounds per annum. All I have to recommend me is my average looks and witless charm. I assure you, Your Grace, no one expects you to propose even if I were to throw myself naked into your arms. I am merely overheated and wish to step outside.” She took a deep breath. “Now do you accompany me or not?”

Well, that outburst certainly wiped the smug look off his face. And left him dumbfounded because after a moment’s startled look, he lifted his arm to her.

She took it. How could she not after she’d made such a scene?

And now her cheeks were burning with embarrassment.

What a fine companion she was turning out to be.

When news of this debacle reached Zoe’s parents, she’d be sacked for sure.

But in the meantime, all she could do was gather what dignity she had left and accompany His Grace out the door.

Almack’s was on the second floor, so they had to go all the way down and out the front door before the cooler air hit her overheated body.

Sadly, one glance at the upstairs windows showed an excessive number of people leaning out to eavesdrop on their conversation.

She wasn’t surprised by their presence, just dismayed at the blatant lack of decorum in the women.

Especially since they claimed to be the leading ladies of society.

His Grace saw the crowd as well. She saw his grimace before he hid it beneath a bland expression. He didn’t attempt a conversation. She wouldn’t either, if she were in his position. After all, she’d been the one who’d chastised him upstairs.

She took a deep breath and attempted to explain. “We haven’t much time,” she said quietly, “so I’ll get straight to the point. Lady Zoe commissioned a love potion to attract your attention.”

The man blinked twice before frowning. “I beg your pardon—”

“You heard me correctly. She’s sixteen years old and a romantic. She’s been told all her life that she must make a brilliant match this season. Six weeks to catch an exalted husband. You have no idea what kind of pressure that puts on a girl.”

“A love potion, you say?”

“Yes. She’s actually quite clever and would make a good match—”

“A sixteen-year-old girl?” He sounded horrified.

“You and I know that you won’t marry her. But you shouldn’t ruin her just because she threw a little water in your face.”