Dominic chuckled. “I would recommend a less painful approach.”
The mention of pain had Brooke whisper as soon as they had a moment alone, “How is your pain after four dances? And don’t try to tell me you don’t still have some.”
“You’re aware that I had that wound for a week before you and the fever showed up? It had already started to mend prior to that interruption.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He shrugged. “It’s tolerable, though it could still use your gentle touch. Maybe another love potion would help?”
He was teasing. She was quite certain she had convinced him there had been no love potion. So she only blushed a little. But that he was smiling assured her that the well-wishing from his acquaintances hadn’t annoyed him yet.
But then one old biddy came forward with a new guess: “So it was all about the gel here? The Whitworths werethatdetermined you not have her?”
“I know you love to gossip, Hilary, but do try to restrain yourself from creating fiction. I hadn’t clapped eyes on Brooke until the Prince sent her my way. The hows and wherefores are quite simply none of your business.”
While he might have said it with a smile, his tone had gotten sharp enough for the lady to huff and march away. He wasn’t smiling now. That feral gleam had entered his golden eyes, which might be why no one else approached.
Brooke had time to glance about the room again and note that a quarter of the people present were middle-aged, mothers or fathers escorting their daughters. Nearly half were the young people having their first or second Season, there to find love or at least a good match. It was a marriage mart, as Alfreda had sneeringly called it, but where else in the country could so many young people be gathered in one place to meet? Arranged opportunity was what it was, that had become tradition, and Brooke would have been included in their number if not for... She thrust that thought aside.
At least she was certain she’d be the only Whitworth here tonight. Robert had been forbidden to bring his debauchery to parties that included debutantes, the only decent thing their father had ever done, in Brooke’s opinion. She hadn’t overheard that confrontation, but some of the servants had, and she’d caught a few of their whispers about it: “Cost a bleedin’ fortune to keep that scandal under wraps.” “He dipped into the wrong virgin, he did.” “Can’t even attend those parties now. How’s he supposed to find himself a bride, eh?”
But that was last year before the duels. Did Harriet know about the tragic incident involving Eloise Wolfe or the others? Probably not. After all, she still doted on that worthless son of hers. So did Thomas. He never stayed angry at his son for long, though when he did put his foot down, it stayed down.
Still perusing the crowd, she mentioned, “Now there’s a group of ladies your age, and not an innocent in the gaggle. And what about her?”
He followed her gaze and looked as if he was about to laugh. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to convince me that you’re serious.”
He’d never exactly said that he agreed to the bargain.We shall seewas all he’d said. So he could just be amusing himself at her expense—or he didn’t think she was serious. Suggesting a young woman who was quite plain-looking would definitely make him think she wasn’t. So she stomped down all regrets and nodded to a pretty woman who might be a few years older than him, but she didn’t think that would matter. “Her?”
“Maybe.”
She gritted her teeth and closed her fists on her nails. “You should ask her to dance.”
“I will need to find you a guard dog first.”
“We left the dogs at home.”
She was jesting, so she was a little surprised when he asked curiously, “You consider Rothdale your home?”
She was even more surprised that she did. “Yes, actually. Isn’t it going to be?”
He didn’t answer, said instead, “You might be thrusting mistresses on me, but I’m not thrusting lovers on you. And I’ve spotted the perfect guard dog for you, who will fend off all comers.”
He started to lead her through the crowd. “You’re going to dance with her?”
He glanced down at Brooke. That was amusement in his eyes! “Didn’t you just tell me to?”
“Yes, but—”
“I can at least see if she’s willing.”
“You can determine that from one meeting?”
“Certainly.”
Her eyes snapped together and then flared wide when he stopped in front of the supposed “guard dog” he’d mentioned. Oh, good God, not her mother!
“We met years ago, Lady Whitworth, so you might not remember. Dominic Wolfe.” He gave the slightest bow. “See that your daughter dances with no one else while I am entertained elsewhere—at her insistence.”
