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She sighed, seeing that he was truly sorry.

But the idea that she could not have reasoned such things out for herself was ridiculous.

She did not need him to explain her options to her.

Nor did she enjoy his commiseration, as if marrying a merchant was a choice akin to death.

It might be societal death for him, but she had never had such lofty goals.

Or rather, she hadn’t since the day she learned the state of her finances. Once upon a time, she had dreamed of marrying a prince. But didn’t all girls? And then they grew up and faced a life of work in their wealthy cousin’s shadow.

Good God, she was tired of feeling this wretched. “I believe I should enjoy a brisk canter, Your Grace.”

“A canter?” he asked, clearly grateful for the change in topic. “Why not a gallop?”

Why not, indeed? “A gallop, then.” With a jaunty wave, she kicked her mount and set off at a bruising pace.

Naturally, he kept pace, but she didn’t care.

The wind was in her face, the world rushed past in an exhilarating rush, and she felt younger than she had since her parents’ passing.

She lost herself in it much as Zoe did, and she laughed in true delight.

His Grace certainly did have fine horses.

They rode for nearly an hour, Zoe leading the way. Her cheeks were in high color, her eyes sparkling, and when Kynthea finally caught up to the party, she could hear that her charge had launched into the list of questions for the love potion.

“Think about it, Your Grace,” Zoe was saying. “What would you do if you had to spend a million pounds in a week?”

The man was confused by such a bizarre question.

She wasn’t sure why. She had loved ‘What if?’ games when she was younger.

What if she were a man? What if she possessed all the gold in the world?

What if she had to choose between the man of her dreams and becoming a queen?

They were silly hypotheticals meant to pass the time.

But apparently, no one had ever played such a game with His Grace.

“But I don’t have—”

“That’s not the point,” Zoe huffed. “See, if I had a million pounds to spend right now, I would buy several very good Irish sport horses perfect for breeding. And I would sell them to you one by one at great profit once you see how important they are.”

“And why would I need an Irish sport horse?”

Oh my. He’d stepped right into the trap, and Zoe grinned as she pushed her answer.

“Thoroughbreds are all well and good,” she said, fondly stroking her mare’s neck.

“But their bones are too thin. They’re built for racing and nothing else.

Your Grace, you’ve been hunting with your thoroughbreds, and that’s not good for them.

Breed in a little Irish and they’ll be strong enough to do what you want. ”

“And you think I want to hunt?”

“You have been, haven’t you? Didn’t you put down two horses already this year because of broken bones?”

His Grace’s eyes narrowed. No one in their party needed to ask how Zoe knew that.

Obviously, she’d learned it when working as his stable hand.

And far from being apologetic about her indiscretion, she was blatantly using the information she’d gleaned to challenge His Grace on the composition of his stable.

“From everything I’ve heard, your father had a talent for racehorses, but you’re more of a hunting man.

Personally, I prefer the racetrack.” She giggled.

“Well, I prefer racing, but ladies can’t be jockeys, though I think that’s a silly rule.

Anyway, your stables have declined somewhat.

Good showings overall, but I gather it was your grandfather’s passion, shared in part by your father.

But it’s definitely not yours. Which means you should stop pretending to be a racing stable and get the horses you truly want.

” She dimpled as she smiled. “Get Irish sport horses. They’re the best for what you want.

And that’s what I’d do with a million pounds. ”

“That you had to spend in a week,” prompted Lord Nathaniel.

“Right! In a week. What about you, Your Grace?”

The man still looked dumbfounded. Kynthea was making a study of his expressions, and she guessed that he wasn’t shocked by Zoe’s audacity, but startled by her knowledge of his cattle. Which made Kynthea laugh.

“She can get a great deal more specific about what she thinks you should do. Breeding stock is the least of it. She has very detailed opinions about their food, training, and even sleeping quarters. She’s quite knowledgeable and—”

“And I have a stablemaster who has performed excellently without her advice.”

“Well,” Zoe inserted. “I wouldn’t quite say excellently.

There are the two horses you had to put down, but even more, you haven’t won a race in years.

” She softened her gaze and moderated her voice.

“Mr. Barnes is an excellent man, but he’s old-fashioned and narrowminded.

He will never bring your stable back into prominence without help. ”

“You mean, without your help,” the duke said, his tone icy.

Undaunted, Zoe shrugged. “Mine or someone equally clever.” She leaned forward. “But beware, Your Grace, if I choose to help a different stable over yours. You may find your horses lost in the dust behind mine.”

“What ho!” Lord Nathaniel cried. “She’s throwing down the gauntlet to you, Ras.”

“Yes,” the duke drawled, his attention caught elsewhere. “Yes, I deduced that.” He barely glanced at Zoe. “I shall keep your idea in mind, Lady Zoe.”

“Don’t take too long,” she quipped. “I am very clever and therefore will be in demand.”

That wasn’t the least bit true, but Kynthea thought Zoe could be forgiven her arrogance. It was true that all the local gentlemen in Cornwall sought her opinion. With good reason. But that wouldn’t carry much weight with His Grace.

“Perhaps—” Kynthea began, but the duke held up his hand to silence her.

His gaze was narrowed as he looked about them with critical eyes.

It was only then that she noticed that they were the object of much attention.

Or perhaps not they but her. Several people sneered when she looked at them, and one woman hissed the word “hussy” before turning her back.

Kynthea turned back to the others in confusion, but they too had noticed the pointed attention and seemed equally at a loss. Only the duke acted. He dismounted from his horse and quickly crossed to a cluster of people gathered around a newspaper.

“What is it?” he asked in a frosty accent.

“Oh, Your Grace,” cried one woman. “It’s nothing—”

“You’ve been deceived, is all,” said an older gentleman. “Happens sometimes with evil women.” At which point he glared at Kynthea.

“Give me that,” growled the duke as he yanked the newspaper out of a woman’s hands.

Far from being upset, she pointed at a part of the paper. “That’s what you want to see, Your Grace.”

He started to read, and then his face took on a scowl that had generations of ducal fury compressed into every line. He gripped the paper into a fist and stomped over to Lord Nathaniel. “Mr. Pickleherring!” he snapped.

“What?” Lord Nathaniel frowned as he took the paper. Zoe sidled her horse closer and read over his shoulder. Kynthea, however, was not in a position to look. She was trapped on her horse and in the middle of several glaring pairs of eyes.

“Oh dear,” she heard Zoe moan and felt her heart sink. Had the girl been exposed? Was she ruined because Kynthea hadn’t been more strict?

“Your Grace,” she said softly. “What is it?”

“Lies,” he snapped. And he accompanied the word with a heavy glare at all the onlookers.

But he couldn’t intimidate everyone, especially as there was quite a crowd this morning, both riders and those who wished to socialize with the equestrians.

In the end, he gestured to his grooms. “We’re heading to my London home,” he said in no uncertain terms. “I have a breakfast prepared for all of us.” He scowled at a pair of tittering girls. “It will be more pleasant there.”

Then he made a show of leaping onto his horse and setting it beside hers. His back was rigid with fury, and his gaze hopped from one on-looker to another. It didn’t work to intimidate any of them. If anything, it made them whisper all the louder once they passed.

And then the absolute worst thing happened. Someone threw an apple core straight at her. At her! Her horse shied, but she was able to control it. Unfortunately, His Grace could not control his temper as well.

“Who threw that?” he demanded. “Who did it?”

No one answered, but a few bucks grinned from their positions languishing against a tree.

“Pierce. Reid.” He spat their names. “Typical.”

“Not so typical of you, Harle. Taking up with a trollop.”

The word hit her broadside. They couldn’t. They didn’t! But apparently everyone here thought Zoe a demi-rep. But that couldn’t be. The bucks had thrown the apple core at her. But why? What had she done?

Meanwhile, Lord Nathaniel maneuvered closer. “Ras, I did not write that. I didn’t—”

“Not here,” the duke growled.

“Perhaps we could ride a little faster,” Zoe said from very close behind. And this time, it wasn’t because of a love of cantering. Her voice was tight and, when Kynthea chanced to see her face, her expression was miserable.

“What did it say?” Kynthea asked. “What—”

“We’ll discuss it over breakfast,” the duke said, as he deftly maneuvered their party through the growing London traffic.

Kynthea saw the wisdom in that. Indeed, it was taking a great deal of her concentration to control her horse on the crowded streets, especially at the speed the duke set.

So she bit back her fears and held onto her patience.

Whatever disaster had befallen them, there was nothing she could do about it now.

But it was excruciatingly hard to wait when everyone else knew what had happened and she didn’t.

The duke dismounted as soon as they arrived at his home. He was at her side a mere second after his feet touched the street. And when she meant to leap down herself, he murmured to her under his breath.

“It’ll pass, Miss Petrelli. You needn’t worry. I swear it.”

That didn’t bode well at all. She let him hold her ribs tight as she dismounted, his hands large and reassuring. He should have let her go immediately, but he lingered as if trying to protect her. She appreciated the gesture, but she needed to know what had happened.

The duke guided them up his front steps and into his home, all while keeping Kynthea by his side. Her brother used to do that, she realized. He’d stand tall beside her when the crowds on the dock pressed too close.

“Thank you,” she whispered, though she doubted he understood why.

She waited while the butler took their things. Then she waited while the housekeeper escorted them into a room with a hot tea tray already there. And finally, she waited for the servants to leave after the duke said a hard, “Thank you. That will be all.”

She stood with her hand outstretched to Lord Nathaniel. “The paper if you please.”

The man hesitated, but she pulled it out of his hands. “Maybe we can get the paper to issue a retraction,” he said.

Zoe snorted. “Of a gossip column? Damned that busybody Mr. Pickleherring. I hope he dies by his own poisoned pen.”

Kynthea should have admonished the girl for her language, but she had just managed to open the paper.

She didn’t have the mental space to do more than read.

The first paragraphs were about a gentleman she didn’t know who had vastly overestimated his ability at faro and lost a great deal of money.

It went on rather long and she began to skim rather than learn more about the card sharps that frequented such places in search of victims. It was only at the end of the column that her world began to crumble.

But the real excitement last night was at Almack’s where a certain lady’s companion threw herself at a very eligible duke.

Miss Petrilli was heard to demand that the gentlemen escort her outside and then used the words “throw myself stark naked into your arms.” Everyone was scandalized that such a brazen hussy could be allowed into those hallowed halls.

Indeed, that’s a mistake that is sure to be corrected forthwith as no good hostess should allow such a woman into their homes, much less near their children.

“Well,” Kynthea said, her belly clenched with pain. “Now I understand,” she said softly as she calmly set the paper on a nearby table. Damn it, why wouldn’t her hands stop shaking? “It would seem society has found this Season’s first villainess.”

Her.