Page 30 of The Love Potion
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 theton.
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 toanother 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?”
