Page 14 of The Duchess Curse

Guin patted Ned’s forearm. “I, too, have been imagining the man everywhere today. We all miss him.”

Ned grunted, and they continued in silence until they reached Constitution Hill where Braxton hailed a hackney. When the driver slowed, Braxton shoved a wad of notes at him. “Is that enough to buy a new horse and conveyance?”

The man’s eyes widened. He nodded much too quickly.

“Then I want the cab. And the horse.”

The man jumped down. “All yours, m’lord!”

As he ran off, Braxton nodded at Ned. “You drive. Take us to Mayfair.”

Ned looked to Guin.

“Take us home,” Guin said, and he climbed up onto the driver’s seat.

Braxton opened the carriage door. “In. Now.”

She bristled. Oh, the high-handed temerity of the man! She did not remember him being so very domineering. But then again, they’d not spent much time together. After their wedding night, she’d realize she’d made a mistake marrying him. Her first husband had been too old to love as anything more than a dear friend. But even that had not ended well for him. Or her. And the only man she had loved romantically—poor Tommy—had been thrown from a horse before she could tell him. The curse seemed to know her heart before she did.

The one night she’d spent in Braxton’s bed… she’d felt so safe with him, had thought she was safe. He was a duke, after all. But her first husband had been a duke, too. And that certainly hadn’t saved him.

“Well?” Braxton demanded, shaking the door.

With her nose in the air, she climbed into the vehicle. Sometimes pride’s only possession was a lifted chin. And sometimes a woman’s only weapon was ire. If they were both to survive the coming weeks, she’d have to become prickly, build up her walls and force him to build his.

He settled beside her and relaxed against the ratty squabs, closing his eyes as the hack took off.

But she could not relax. “I thought we had an arrangement.”

He opened one eye. “We did, but that has changed. The queen commands it.”

“And you always do what you’re told?”

He grinned. “No.” Closed his eye again, shutting out the golden glow of his iris. He extended a leg and stretched, and she couldn’t quite see the ripple of muscle so much as the lengthening of his glamour.

“Do you ever take that off?”

“Take what off?”

“The glamour.” She’d never seen his real face.

He stiffened. “No.”

“Why? Are you scared?”

“No, and… Can’t.”

“What stops you, then?”

He shrugged.

“Were you always so loquacious?” She didn’t remember him being quite so monosyllabic.

The dark chuckle that shook him was oddly familiar. It made her want to curl up into a ball and hide deep in the carriage shadows.

He looked out the window then tensed. “Ned missed the turn.” He hit the roof. “You’re going the wrong way!”

“He’s going the right way,” Guin said, grinning.