Page 33 of The Love Potion
Chapter Eleven
Kynthea gaped atthe man and would have slugged him in the shoulder if they hadn’t been in public. Worse, she knew he thought he was being helpful, chivalrous even. In his mind, he’d wronged her and so he would find her a husband as if it were as easy as making a mark in a tally sheet.
Only a duke could so blithely believe in his own ability to solve a matrimonial problem. But she was the daughter of a vicar. She knew that some marriages did not work no matter how good the pair appeared together. And other matches that rightly should fail, thrived for no earthly reason whatsoever.
She should have been outraged. Indeed, she was outraged! But how could she be angry at a man who was earnestly trying to help her? It didn’t matter that her heart wanted him, not whatever dubious replacement he could find. The duke was being kind. Misguided though his efforts might be, she couldn’t fault his intentions.
She could, however, tell him exactly what she thought of his plans.
“I don’t need you to find me a husband,” she said tartly. “Any more than you needed to bribe Mr. Spencer to write your name on my dance card.”
He arched his brow at her as they made it to the dance floor. “You knew all along?”
Of course she had. And she’d spent much of the evening wondering if she would dance with the duke or not. Would shepretend to be surprised or not? And why had he paid someone else to put his name down on her card?
The questions spun in her head with no answers until the moment came and—damn it—she’d been distracted talking to Dowager Countess Pearce.
The moment she’d looked up, she’d gotten lost in his eyes. He had lovely eyes of a steady, warm green. She smelled his scent, saw his broad shoulders, and then looked into his face as contrition seemed to wash through his expression. He was genuinely sorry, or so he seemed. And when he dropped down to one knee beside her, she could not refuse him anything.
“Did you really think I couldn’t read the names on my own card? He told me that he’d get an uncut diamond if I allowed it.”
The duke gaped at her. “Bloody hell,” he murmured. “Is that what that rock is?” He said the words with a kind of distraction as he pulled her into his arms. For all that his mind seemed to be on his bargain with Mr. Spencer, his hands were assured as he set her in place. She knew how to waltz. Indeed, she’d practiced it with Zoe and knew how to play the part of the man or the woman. But in this, the duke was clearly the masculine dance partner. His hand was large upon her hip, and it acted as a heat source that seemed to burn through her body. His other hand dwarfed hers but still felt gentle where they were clasped together.
She set her left hand upon his shoulder, felt the strength in his body, and tried not to react when her gaze finally met his. She did not want to feel like she looked into the face of a god. He was a man, no more, no less. But he was also a duke with a great deal of political and financial power, and he was gazing at her as if she were important to him. He did not look away, he did not divide his attention, and when she met his gaze, his lips curved into a smile that matched the warmth of his eyes.
Not a god, and yet she felt as if she were held by one nonetheless.
“You are too much for me, Your Grace,” she whispered. Then she bit her lip because she had not intended to say that aloud.
His brows rose in surprise. “Funny,” he drawled. “I was about to say the same thing to you.”
“What?”
“You are a beautiful woman, Miss Petrelli.”
Her brows rose. And because she was feeling overwhelmed by him, her question came out too sharply. “Why?”
He smiled as if such a question was a normal reaction when it definitely was not. “Because you have spoken honestly to me every time we have met. And honesty is a most potent aphrodisiac. At least, it is for me.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. She had never considered that people would lie to him simply because he was a powerful man.
“I’m too forgetful to lie,” she said. “I can never remember what I’ve said to whom.”
“You have experience with this?”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t every child? I learned early that I couldn’t keep my stories straight and adults compared notes anyway.”
He grinned. “You had good parents then who paid attention.”
“They did.” And she missed them terribly.
The music began. Indeed, it had started a few moments earlier and he had guided her in her timid, careful steps. That was her choice. She was not one who liked to go crashing about the dance floor. But in this, he steadily overcame her resistance.
With every beat, he encouraged her to take a larger step, to relax into his hold a bit more, to trust that he could support her as they traveled about the room. They were moving no faster than every other couple in the room, and yet she felt breathlessas the dance continued. His gaze was upon hers, his lips curved into a smile that dared her to enjoy this time together.
Her reserve slipped away. She might be a poor relation, but this was her moment to dance with a duke. How many girls dreamed of such a thing? Here she was doing it. And, it turned out, he was a good dancer.
She smiled back.
