Page 53 of The Duchess Curse

“Of course.”

“Rebuild the old place or… rent a new one?”

Her face looked hollow for a second, then it bloomed with hope. “Rebuild. It feels like defeat to do anything else. My life is in Finsbury Square.”

Right. He cleared his throat. “There’s another reason I’m here.”

“Do tell.”

This bit of news she would not like. “Queen Victoria has chosen a ball for you to make your debut.”

Guin cursed, slapped her palms on the table, and let her head hang limp. The spatula fell from her hair and clattered on the stone floor as half her hair fell out of the messy coiffure.

Bran picked up the implement and stepped behind her, gathered her hair and waited for her to swing around and knee him in the balls. When she didn’t, he slipped the spoon from the tangle of hair and gathered the other side, smoothing long, silken strands. Honey and sunlight with a touch of strawberries, fire and gold and everything good, and he inhaled like an obsessed madman as he wrapped those strands around his hand.

“Bran.”

Was his name a warning from her lips or… something else?

He swallowed a lump of desire lodged in his throat and twisted the hair high on her head, pinned it in place with the spatula, the spoon, and stepped away, his fingers screaming to touch more of her, his lips burning with the need to place a kiss on her revealed nape.

She spun around to face him. She was burning, too. He saw it clearly in her eyes. Ire like fire that could melt marble. She snatched a small amber bottle and held it out to him, one brow lifted.

Not without some trepidation, he took it. “What is it?” Though he had an inkling. Amber bottle and all. The better question would be… Why was she giving it to him?

“Love potion.”

The confirmation flared an irrational anger in him. Irrational because he had no right to be angry with her after all he’d done. She could cut out his tongue, and he’d have to bow his head and take it. He boxed her in, palms pressing into the table on either side of her body. She smelled like soil and sweetness, and he wanted to bury his nose in the curve of her neck.

“You don’t need it with me. I’m loyal.” He was something else entirely, and it made the potion wholly unnecessary.

“You’re a liar.” She placed her hand in the middle of his chest and pushed. When he melted so easily away from her, she walked toward him, chin high. “Do you know what it was like? To crave a man who wasn’t my husband? To think of taking another man to my bed even though my husband was innocent.” She spit the last word. “I felt like a monster some days, a madwoman others. You want atonement? Earn it evenly. Take that potion and live in a state of unrelieved lust. Maybe I’ll begin to think of forgiving you.”

He’d not even mentioned forgiveness. Not since that first night when she’d denied him mercilessly, then given him a heaven to be his own personal hell for eternity.

He un-stoppered the bottle and poured the love elixir down his throat then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “I don’t need the potion for that, Guin. But I’ll do it anyway. I’ll take that extra pain. To prove myself.” He slipped the empty bottle into her pocket.

Her cheeks flushed bright red, and she stepped away from him with a swish of skirts. “When is the ball?”

“A week from today. Across the square, hosted by the Duke of Morington.”

Curiosity sparked in eyes so blue, he would gladly drown in them.

“I’ve always wanted to meet Morington,” she said. “There’s that at least. I suppose I cannot stop this.”

“Not unless you intend to directly disobey the monarch of this realm.”

“I’m not particularly interested in treason.”

“The entire ton will know Lady Guinevere is the Duchess of Braxton. You didn’t even make an appearance as my wife after we married.” They’d married between Seasons, and she’d left before the transcendent ton had returned to London. “And you will not be able to operate as Lady Guinevere without the duchess haunting you after all this is over.”

“I only remained anonymous for your sake. Now…” She shrugged.

Now she didn’t care about protecting his title’s reputation. He should not find her ambivalence arousing. Unfortunately, he found every little thing about her arousing. And it wasn’t the love potion. Or… perhaps it was because his hands didn’t just ache to touch her now, they screamed, and his cock was quickly becoming a problem. Fucking Jupiter, she was delectable.

She pulled off her apron and washed her hands in a little basin at the end of the worktable. He followed her every step of the way, breathing almost impossible, every inch of him aware of every inch of her. When she bent over the basin, he bent too, inhaling, holding his breath to trap the scent of her inside him.

He couldn’t help himself, he lifted his hand, brushed his knuckles down her neck.