Page 16 of The Love Potion
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 nottheybuther.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 hoppedfrom 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.
