Page 46 of The Duchess Curse

“No.” Only to her heart, which he’d already stomped on. Only to her trust, which he’d strangled.

“Then I see no need to change⁠—”

The door at the front of the conservatory slammed open, and bootsteps stomped their way.

Guin knew before she saw him exactly who it was, and her heart kicked up its speed in greeting. “Please, ma’am,” she said, cringing only a little at the desperation in her voice, “it is of the utmost importance I cannot work with him any longer. You must replace him.”

“Replace me,” Bran intoned with a full Scottish brogue as he stepped up beside her, “and she dies. No doubt in my mind about that, Your Majesty. After the attack last night, it is clearer to me than ever. Someone wants her dead and will stop at nothing to see it done. If you want your potion, Your Majesty, you’ll keep me in charge of the operation.”

The queen’s keen gaze slid from Guin to Bran. “Who are you?”

“Ah.” Bran—and it was Bran, glamour entirely gone—reached for a cravat to tug at and, finding nothing but neck, dropped his arm to his side. He looked like he’d left the bed as soon as he’d found her missing, threw on his boots and stormed out of the house. “Braxton. I’m the Duke of Braxton. Only… my glamour is not precisely under my control at the moment.”

“Braxton,” Queen Victoria said, dragging her gaze down his body and back up. “I knew the Lennox line had a Scottish branch, but I did not realize it was quite so… prominent.”

“I grew up in Edinburgh, ma’am. And I apologize for bothering you with my wife’s request. It is a point of disagreement between us, and we will settle it ourselves.” He grasped Guin’s upper arm, leaned close and hissed, “Do not run off like that again, do you understand?”

She yanked her arm out of his grip. “I refuse to spend any more time with you. That young Shadow can do what you do and likely better. Hesperus Grant. Your Majesty, please replace the duke with Hesperus Grant.”

“I…” The queen’s head tilted, and she pointed at Bran. “There… there is a face on your neck, Braxton. The—erm—the usual face.”

The traditional Braxton glamour was reappearing, the hair bobbing beneath Bran’s chin. He also wore a neat glove at his elbow.

“Fucking Jupiter.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between one black brow and one golden.

The queen gasped.

“Apologies, ma’am.”

“Get yourself under control, Braxton. And you, Lady Braxton, you shall have to control your ire. Your husband goes nowhere.”

“That is for the best,” Braxton said. “Last night we fended off an attack by four men who’d taken a potion that either increased their pain tolerance or dulled their ability to feel it.”

“Three men,” Guin corrected, “and they were easy enough to neutralize.”

“Four. You forget the one in the copse of trees. And I consider an easy mark one that doesn’t stab me.” Bran lifted his shirt, revealing a jagged cut across his abdomen and thick slabs of striated muscle climbing up out of the band of his trousers and into his ribs.

“Oh, were you injured? I hope it does not get infected.”

“You hope it does.”

Guin fluttered her lashes.

Queen Victoria blushed and waved her hands at Bran. “Put it down, put it down.”

He dropped the edge of his shirt, and Guin ignored the twinge of regret at losing the sight of such a well-built man.

“I grow concerned,” the queen said, “that you will be killed before you’ve completed my potion.”

“She will not be,” Bran snarled. “I’ll lock her in our house if I must.”

The queen tapped her chin. “I do not think that will be necessary. In fact, I think she must leave the house at least once.”

Guin did not particularly like the thoughtful look creeping across the queen’s face.

“Yes, I know just what to do.” Queen Victoria grinned at Guin then Bran, quite pleased with herself. “Whoever is trying to kill you has no idea who you really are. But once they do, they won’t dare to threaten you.”

Guin’s trepidation was warranted. “Your Majesty⁠—”