Page 59 of The Duchess Curse

“No, Bran.”

How many times over the last ten days had she said no, and he’d stopped in his tracks? Uncountable.

Not tonight.

“You’re the Duchess of Braxton, and these jewels belong to her.” He opened the box, revealing his grandmother’s parure of pink diamonds set in gold.

Her inhale was a little sharp, and she reached for the pieces, transfixed, hand hovering, the glitter of the diamonds reflecting in her eyes. Artemis vaulted into the air and settled on Bran’s arm so she could inspect the sparkly bits.

Bran stroked one shiny wing, then rested the bird high on his shoulder, out of the way. “Let me.” He removed the necklace from the box, stepped behind her, and set the long chain of warm gold and cool pink along the base of her throat, letting his fingers linger against her skin. Dipping low, he nuzzled her nape, setting there the lightest kiss, hoping she wouldn’t notice, then said against her skin, “The color goes well with your gown.”

She turned toward the looking glass to study her reflection, her hand lightly trailing along the jewels. He moved with her like a shadow, one hand light on her bare shoulder. Where her shoulder met her neck was the perfect place to drop a kiss if he were allowed. She didn’t want kisses from him. She’d accept the parure but only because it aligned with their intent for the evening.

But she did not shrug him away, so he kept his hand right where it was, where it felt best.

“You look pale,” she said, and he looked up to see she was watching him in the looking glass. “Are you unwell?”

“I’m fine. A little tired. You do know how to run a man ragged. Speaking of which…” He gave a great sigh as he held out his hand. “Hand it over. I suppose I should get the torture started before we leave, so that I am in a high frenzy of need by the time we arrive.”

She curled one hand against her belly, looking at his palm as if a spider or a snake sat there. Then she looked up at him and said quite calmly, “Not tonight. I need all your wits about you.”

“You always need all my wits about me.”

“No. Most of the time, Hesperus or Ned are nearby to make up for your lacking wits as your nether regions pull your attention southward. But they will not be there tonight. It will be you and me and a ballroom full of men who want me dead.”

“You think the Second Shadows do not have men in high places?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. “Hesperus’s brother is the Royal Alchemist. He’ll be dressed appropriately and lurking in the shadows. And some others will be outside. I have a fellow dressed as a footman, serving champagne. You will not be unprotected.” He wanted to wrap an arm around her waist and hold her against him. The need to do so was almost great enough to risk her wrath. The little hands, she’d surely pummel him with, the biting remark she’d whip at him. Instead, he grabbed her cloak from where it was draped over a nearby chair and shook it out. Artemis flew off to her perch on a table near the window.

She let him throw the cloak over her shoulders and tie it at her neck and pull the hood up over her intricate coiffure. When he offered his arm, surprisingly, she looped hers through it, set her hand lightly on his forearm, and set her steps to his pace, which he kept slow for her smaller stride. Once downstairs and out the door, they crossed the street to the garden at the center of Grosvenor Square.

On the other side of the garden, Morington House glowed, wrapped in stars and moons, the duke’s elaborate glamours for the evening’s entertainment. As guests approached the candle-bright entrance, a volley of falling stars greeted them.

“It’s beautiful,” Guin said.

“Morington always has been rather ostentatious.”

Once under the shadows of the trees, Guin released his arm and said, “Could we walk a while in the garden? I’m not nervous, but it is a fine night with a cool breeze, and it will be a heated crush inside.”

He set his steps in a circle around the garden’s edge, and she followed suit.

“You can give me the bottle,” he said. “It will not impede my abilities. I will be fine under its influence.”

“You take your punishment like a good boy. It rather ruins the fun.”

“You are potion enough in that amber gown. The love potion incarnate, ready to swallow a man whole. You had the dress made to taunt me, didn’t you? Another part of my punishment.”

“That was an idea. But also… I rather relish the thought of all those men gathered in that ballroom seeing me look just like that bottle, the one they want me killed for.”

“Brave woman.”

“Am I?” She looked at him with more levity in her features than he expected. “You’re nervous.”

“So are you.” It was why they were strolling about the garden as if this were a normal evening between a normal husband and wife. They were delaying the moment of attack.

“Yes, but you’re a Shadow, and I have come to expect nothing but cool confidence and courage from such fellows.”

“Shadows are not used to being seen. And that is what we’re setting out to do tonight. I do not like when too many eyes are on me.”

She lifted her face toward the moon, full and heavy and orange in the sky. “Somehow, I knew that about you.” Then, more softly: “I knew that about Bran.” She shook her head, lowered her gaze. “When we met, you had just taken the title. Was there any time for you to acclimate to being the heir before it was yours? Any time for you to realize it would one day be yours?”