Page 31 of The Duchess Curse

“Not a potion. He has a specialty I should not tell you about. It is his secret to keep or share.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

Braxton heaped food upon a plate then slipped it across the space toward her. “Eat.”

“I do not feel like it. What do you think caused the glamour to stick?”

He shrugged. “Heat. Light. Perhaps potions. An unexpected… conflagration of circumstances.” He studied her over the brim of his cup as he drank deeply. “You were worried for me today.”

“Of course I was!”

“No of course about it.”

“Braxton, I am still so upset, I have not eaten since. I’ve already lost so many I care for. I do not wish to lose another.”

The last leaping flame in the grate died, and the coals were not bright enough to illuminate his face. But she saw the long lines of his body lengthen as he stood, bunch as he knelt by the fire and stirred it back into life.

When he sat back at the table, he said one word. “Bran.”

It felt like a slap. The cup was too heavy to hold, and the weight of it pulled her arm all the way down to her lap. She looked into the small pool of wine there, only barely shining bloodred in the fire’s reflection.

Not that Braxton noticed. He tore off a chunk of bread and bit into it. After swallowing, he said, “Did you love him?”

She tossed the contents of her cup down her throat then refilled her bottle. “That is none of your business.”

“It is.”

“No.” She twisted the ribbon of her wrapper around her finger, unwound it, twisted it again.

He looked at her for a very long time. Beneath his hard gaze, she sat and took another sip of wine and ate a bit of bread herself.

Then finally he repeated, “Did you love him?”

She tossed the bread to the table. “Of course I didn’t. And of course I did.”

He rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Elaborate, Gabriella Guinevere Lennox.”

Lennox. She never thought of herself that way, but she was. His wife. “I wish you would be so irritating more often. It is easier for me to hate you.” She threw a chunk of bread at his head.

Eyes closed, he caught the bread before it hit him, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully. “Elaborate.”

Why the hell not. “I loved Bran because he was my best friend. My constant companion. I could not love him because I am married to you.”

He jerked backward in his chair, arms straightening, and damn that glamour. She wanted to see his face, his eyes, whatever they looked like. She needed to see the real man.

“I never slept with him,” she said.

“I never said that.”

“You wouldn’t ask. Too much of a gentleman.”

He snorted.

“But I thought you should still know. There was only one time I tried to kiss him.”

Slowly, he drew his arms off the table, taking his goblet with him and drinking deeply.

“It’s quite funny actually. It was when I was fine-tuning the love potion. I accidentally imbibed quite a bit, and he was there, of course, and”—she laughed, just a little thing, then something much heartier—“I chased him around the shop, trying to kiss him, and—” Now she was laughing too hard to speak.