Page 51 of The Duchess Curse

Grant slapped a stack of letters on the desk. “Butler said to bring you these. I told him I’m a harbinger of death not a delivery boy. He did not seem to care. There was another, left alone on the front step. I did as you said and burned it on the spot. Quite the useful potion you gave me. Liquid fire. I foresee a variety of uses for it.”

“Whoever’s after her has discovered her new address, then.” He’d hoped for a longer stretch of anonymity. “She still in the conservatory?”

“Only leaves to piss and sleep. Has her food brought to her. She’s a friendly sort. Shared her tart with me this afternoon. Not sure why you’re so scared of her.”

“You don’t know her well enough. Why are you here?”

“Two reasons. I must be in Hampstead tonight for a family gathering. I’ve called Pritchard in to replace me.”

“Fine.”

“And more interestingly, I’ve got some news about the red eyes.”

Ah, that was interesting. Bran dropped his feet to the floor and sat up taller. “Tell me.”

“There’s a new potion that seems to have originated out of the opium dens. Like opium, it is supposed to dull the senses, but without the side effects or unsavory dependence. I spoke with a man who has taken it, and he said all his pains simply floated away, but he wasn’t sleepy. He was wide awake enough to enjoy the sensation.”

“And the red eyes?”

“I’ve not seen it myself, but he says, yes. The blood vessels in his eyes burst, and he had to remain at home until they healed to avoid unwanted questioning from his mother.”

“How pervasive is it?”

“Growing in popularity, but it took me three days to find someone who would talk to me about it.”

“Hmm.” Bran drummed his fingers atop the desk. “Did he happen to mention who brews it?”

Grant leaned forward, grinned. “He did indeed. There’s a new shop, farther east than Guin’s old one, smaller, dingier.”

Guin was it? A rapid familiarity had grown up between Bran’s wife and this young man. He managed to keep his tone civil, even. “You’ve been?”

“It’s where I came from.” Grant extended a hand, fingers splayed, as if gesturing to a sign above a door. “Madame Poppy’s Potions Emporium.”

Bran rolled his eyes. “Find a new Shadow for the madame. I want to know more.”

Grant rolled to his feet. “Right.”

“And whomever hired the attackers from the other night? Have you located them?”

“Only one man survived, and he’s a common footpad. Doesn’t know who provided the money. I assume whoever hired him put multiple layers of contact between himself and his mercenaries.”

“Probably. Thank you, Grant. Enjoy your family.” And do not share tarts with my wife.

When Grant had gone, Bran reached for the letters. The one on top was from his man of business, who wrote in regard to Bran’s questions from two days ago. It would be cheaper to rent a new location than it would be to rebuild the potion shop at Finsbury Square. He’d thought that would be the case, but… renting elsewhere felt wrong. Finsbury Square was home for Guin. And if she wanted the Square, she would have it.

Now, to surprise her or to ask her opinion? The latter was likely the wiser move, but the former more dramatic. And he needed every dramatic gesture he could muster to soften her.

Not that she would ever give in.

But it didn’t feel like he would ever stop trying, no matter the results. He couldn’t.

He reached for the second letter, paused, hand above the paper.

It was from the queen.

He opened it and scanned it quickly, then stood and made for the conservatory. A short walk. When he’d had the conservatory built, he’d put it on the same side of the house as his study because even though she wasn’t there, he could imagine her there, easily within reach, working quietly, same as him.

She was at her worktable, her back to him, her hair a messy pile atop her head. There was a spoon stuck into the mess on one side and a narrow silver spatula on the other. She stretched her neck to one side, curving the elegant lines of her throat as if to taunt him. He’d been able to withstand four years of sexual repression with little to no difficulty, but now he was on fire. She’d let him lick her to climax, and now all he could think about was doing it again.