Page 42 of The Love Potion
“I’ll have to come back tonight.” Not to mention what everyone would say if they knew she’d been out all day.
“I’m sending you on errands!” Zoe repeated forcefully. Then she pressed a purse and a list of purchases into Kynthea’s hands. “Go buy things for me. Have the shopkeepers send them back to us throughout the day. I’ll tell the servants that I want to hear when every package arrives. That way everyone will know that you are doing something wholesome.”
Or it would keep her in the front of everyone’s mind and on the tip of their tongues.
“Tell the messengers to relay how busy all the shops are and that you’ll be gone a terribly long time.”
“Zoe—”
“Don’t worry. This will work. At the apothecary, you’ll purchase the things I need to make more liniment for Whirl. I’ll even tell anyone who asks that you’ll be mixing the ingredients yourself. That’s why you have to stay there forever.”
Kynthea frowned. “You want me to mix it myself?”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll do it tonight. No one else gets the texture right.”
“But—”
“And you’ll need to get more love potion. I used all that I had on the duke yesterday.”
Kynthea winced. “You didn’t throw it in his face, did you?”
“I thought of something more clever! I put it in his finger bowl at dinner.” Her expression fell. “But it wasn’t strong enough. You have to tell Madame Ilie that.” She blew out a breath. “I think he’ll have to drink it.”
“Zoe, this love potion nonsense has gone far enough. You must know—”
“You aren’t listening! I will not lose you, and this is the only way I know of to make everyone happy. The Crown has decided that I shall wed the duke. He will propose tomorrow because I can’t keep Mama dosed forever. I can keep her from sacking you for a day, maybe two, but no longer. Not unless I’m going to be a duchess. The minute I’m engaged, I’ll declare what I want. And I want you!”
Kynthea’s heart warmed at Zoe’s words. The girl was near tears as she dictated how things would go, even though she had little control over any of it. Certainly, she had no influence over the duke which was probably why she’d set her hopes in a love potion.
“And if none of it goes as you want?” she asked.
“It will!” She squeezed Kynthea’s fingers. “You will help me. You’ll see.”
What could she do but embrace her young cousin? In Kynthea’s experience, nothing ever went how it was meant to. At least not the way young girls thought it should. And yet, Zoe’s desperation was real. Everything was changing for the poor girl. Her parents were ailing, she was being forced too young to marry, and now her friend and cousin was about to be ignominiously thrown away. As desperate as Kynthea felt about her own future, she still had compassion for the girl who clearly felt like her world was ending.
“I will do everything I can for you,” Kynthea said.
“No, no!” Zoe said. “It’s my turn to protect you. Now go. Go out the back and stay away all day!”
Chapter Fourteen
Ras pushed pastthe startled butler of Nate’s gentlemen’s home. The building housed four men of good rank but reduced funds. This allowed the men to share servants, but it did little to ensure excellent service, as evidenced by a butler who did nothing to challenge Ras as he stormed up to Nate’s bedroom on the top floor.
He banged once on the door then pushed through to his former friend’s sitting room. It was cluttered with books and papers of all kinds. Nate loved his scribblings and up until this day, Ras had supported the man’s interests though it ran to literature rather than politics.
“Nate!” he bellowed. “Wake up!” He slammed the damned newspaper against the wall to vent his fury. Then he stomped into the bedroom intending to beat some sense into the man.
He should have noticed the scent earlier, but his blood was up, and he was moving fast. The room was too dark to see much of anything, and he fouled his footing on a stack of books. Cursing, he fumbled his way to the curtain and hauled the things open. At least it was a bright day so light flooded the room. He wasn’t surprised by the groan coming from the bed. He was fully aware how light could pain a man with a sore head. But Nate deserved that and more, so he didn’t moderate his voice as he bellowed again.
“Wake up, so I can curse you—”
He cut off his words with a choke of horror. Nate’s bedsheets were stained with blood. Worse, the dark mass in the middle wasn’t spoiled linens, but his friend with a swollen face and still seeping wounds. The man was in the clothing he’d worn last night, though now it was ripped from a thorough thrashing. No knife cuts that he could see, but his friend’s feet—
Hell. The man’s feet were cut nearly to shreds, looking as if he’d walked the whole of London without his shoes.
Then he noticed the smell. Old blood in a musty room. Not putrid, thank heaven, or sick, but the scent was not pleasant. And underneath it all, the fishy scent of the docks. What the hell had the man been doing?
“My God, Nate, what happened?”
