Page 63 of The Duchess Curse

“Let them go,” Morington said. “Persephone will show her about to get everyone whispering.”

“Part of the plan?” Bran crossed his arms.

“Precisely. Besides”—Morington pointed at a couple standing against the upper balcony—“that’s my sister and brother-in-law. He’s an alchemist and fights harder than you’d think.” He wiggled his jaw. “He’s friends with Temple Grant, who’s also arrived with his wife and brother, the fellow who’s been hanging about your house the last month. We’ll all keep an eye on her.”

Persephone pulled Guin away, and Guin just knew that if she could see beneath the glamour, Bran’s eye would be twitching, his jaw hard as granite, and a vein throbbing on his forehead. She grinned and wiggled her fingers at him as she followed Persephone, who said, “There is a story behind Braxton’s mysterious absent wife being you, but as I’m a part of the performance my husband has planned for you, we shall have to save it for another day. Are you nervous? You were a bit of a mystery before, and now…”

“Every angle of me shall be seen and studied.” Indeed, the whispers had already started, glances being thrown her way sharp as knives, curious as cats.

“Precisely. Come, meet my sister-in-law.” Persephone tugged Guin toward a handsome couple. The man was tall with auburn hair, and the lady looked rather like Morington.

“I assume the shorter, prettier version of Morington is his sister.”

“Do not let my husband hear you say she’s prettier. He’ll be distraught.” She stopped them right before the couple. “Lady Braxton, meet Sir Nicholas Bowen and Mrs. Bowen.”

The man bowed and the woman curtsied, and that was all it took to feel absolutely charmed.

“I hear you’re making your debut,” Sir Nicholas said.

“I suppose I am.”

“I hope you do not think it odd,” Mrs. Bowen said, “but my husband has brought you a gift. A good luck charm for tonight.”

“Oh?”

Sir Nicholas reached into his jacket pocket. “I’m a toy maker. I have a shop in Finsbury Square.”

“You’re that Sir Nicholas!” She’d often walked by the shop and marveled at the wonders in the window.

“I am indeed, and I’d made some time ago a little charm for my wife. A potion bottle because she’s a bit of an amateur brewer herself, you see.”

“Not as good as you,” Mrs. Bowen said. “I have always admired your work.”

Sir Nicholas held out a little silver chain, a small charm dangling from the end. “But when Morington told us he was helping you tonight, Jane thought you might like one too.”

Guin took the chain and held it up to the light. The little silver potion bottle was shaped like the one she put her love elixir in. It was breathtaking in its detail, powerful in its simplicity.

“Hold it tight in your palm,” Mrs. Bowen said.

Guin did.

“Now open.”

Guin opened. And gasped. “Oh!” Where the potion bottle had been was now a man and woman locked in tender embrace, kissing. “Oh.” She didn’t want to cry, but she had to blink several times quickly to beat back the tears. “It’s lovely.”

“Nico is brilliant,” Mrs. Bowen said.

“My wife exaggerates.” Sir Nicholas slipped an arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her close, looked down at her with such adoration, Guin remembered, for the first time in years, why she’d brewed the love potion to begin with.

She clutched the gift to her chest, her heart suddenly racing, the air draining from the room. “I… I need some fresh air. Thank you, thank you so much.” She darted into the crowded ballroom.

Lady Morington’s worried voice followed her. “Victor and Braxton will not be pleased if we lose her.”

But Guin wanted to be lost. She pushed through the crowd, ducking and dodging as whispers hounded her. A string quartet was warming up, and wobbly notes clashed with raucous conversations. There, across the crowded dance floor—a wall of open doors and windows. She made for them, but before she reached them, a wall of heat rose up behind her, and she knew without looking, knew with a longing half hatred exactly who it was.

She turned so abruptly, her palms hit his hard chest, and she had to take several steps backward, her heart beating in her ears, to look up at him comfortably. “I need air.”

With a tight nod, Bran took her arm and led her through the door.