Page 38 of The Duchess Curse

9

GOLD EYES AND GREEN

On day ten of her self-enforced isolation, Guin stepped into the wardrobe in her bedchamber and upended a bottle of potion into her mouth. The concoction of sunflower, iron, and devil’s ivy she’d acquired for Apollo’s shop oozed down her throat, coating it. Hard to swallow, and she’d not tried at all to sweeten it. No use if it didn’t work.

Somewhere in the Mayfair mansion, Braxton prowled, awake because she was, but keeping his distance.

As she was.

She was not thinking about Braxton. She’d been steadfastly not thinking about him since the kiss.

She was, however, making limited strides with the queen’s request. Too limited, considering Braxton and the kiss. She needed out of this place. She needed a new shop and her old guards and more distance than even a London mansion allowed.

In the dark, she conjured a floating light in the palm of her hand. Easy enough. She knew how to call the heat of her own body to do her bidding, as alchemists did. She’d learned that from Handsford’s cook at the age of thirteen. She’d learned she could use it to cast a small glamour at the age of fifteen.

Oh, the things young girls could get up to when left alone in isolated castles.

But the glamour didn’t last. With no clear light source, it dimmed and faded entirely. She’d try again in a half hour. Perhaps the potion had not taken effect yet. She could not yet guess its qualities; clarity on those would come with further testing.

But a half hour later, the glamour wouldn’t even come. Damn.

She needed a walk. She’d not been out of this house in ten entire days, and she’d been going mad before this latest failure. Now something close to despair buzzed through her limbs. If she didn’t move, she’d fall apart. She opened the wardrobe and donned a mantle, grabbed her walking stick, and made it downstairs without encountering anyone. She was one foot out the door when he caught her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Braxton said behind her.

“I need exercise.” She grasped the handle of her cane so hard her knuckles blanched white.

“Excellent. So do I.”

“Can you do without?”

“You know the answer to that.”

She whirled around. The dim sunlight of a dying day spilled onto the black-and-white squares of the marble flooring. And Braxton stood on the edge of the light, hat pulled low, obscuring his eyes, the collar of a greatcoat pulled high, hiding his jaw.

“No one knows I’m here, Braxton.” She kept her tone brusque, calm, as she focused on neatening the line of her gloves along each finger. “There have been no more letters, no attacks⁠—”

“Because you haven’t left the house in ten days.”

“Because no one expects a notorious businesswoman to be living with a duke. I’ll just take a little walk around the square. It’s still light out.”

“Not for long.”

He wasn’t going to let her go alone. Of course he wasn’t. But she couldn’t remain here any longer. So she marched out the door. He closed it behind them, and instead of setting her steps around the square, she headed west to Hyde Park. She walked briskly, but so did he, keeping up with ease.

“I’m going to be out for a while,” she said.

“Then so am I.”

“I can fend for myself. I have this lovely sword stick Bran made for me.” It clicked on the street with each step. “You’ll be bored. I’m going to spend quite some time gathering plants.” Sometimes the time of day a plant was plucked impacted a potion’s strength or effect. “Ned can follow after me.”

He swung around in front of her, the hat obscuring his face, a nearby building casting the rest of him in shadow. “Your cheek was cut.”

“It’s better.”

“There was poison on your doorstep.”

“And now there’s not.”