Page 71 of The Duchess Curse

“Love potion?”

“Not”—she swiped up another, uncorked, sniffed—“yet.”

“Someone’s coming.”

She put down the bottle she’d just picked up.

“I certainly hope you’re going to pay for all those.” The voice was bright and feminine with the flat tones of an American accent. And it was followed by a body coming out of a door in the back corner of the room Bran had been keeping an eye on since they’d entered.

“Of course,” Guin said, smiling brightly. “Are you the potion mistress who brewed these?”

“I am, Lady Guinevere.”

Guin raised a brow. “You know me.”

“Who doesn’t?” The American came closer until only a table stood between the two women. Bran tensed, always ready, but the woman merely smiled, threaded her arms behind her back. She had pale yellow hair and was a mere slip of a thing. She wore a simple white gown that made her look too pale, sickly, but her brown eyes were very much alive. And they were gobbling up the sight of Guin. “You are an inspiration to me, Your Grace.”

“You also know that, I see,” Guin said.

“News travels quickly, and I do like to know news first.”

“Naturally. It can be quite important in our line of work.”

“Is it still our line of work?” The woman began to count the opened potion bottles. “I assumed you were moving to Mayfair.”

“What is your name?” Guin asked.

“Oh, apologies.” The American held out her hand. “I am Poppy Fairchild.”

Guin shook her hand. “Miss Fairchild, you appear to be a mistress of your art. Where did you learn?”

Miss Fairchild shrugged. “My mother, my grandmother, my nanny, a woman I met on the ship across the sea, the woman who lives across from me now. I gather recipes like some gather flowers in spring.”

“An excellent habit. A true potion mistress never stops learning.”

“Does that make you a false mistress?” A dimple appeared in Miss Fairchild’s cheek as she grinned. “Since Finsbury Square is no more?”

“I do not know you well enough to share my business plans with you.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to pry.”

The girl most certainly did mean to pry.

Bran released his hold on the shadows, showing himself for the first time.

Miss Fairchild hopped back a little, her eyes going wide. “Who are you?” she asked with that easy smile, but her shoulders were stiff, and her hand was slipping inside her pocket.

“He’s my personal guard,” Guin said. “Hired muscle. Women like us can never be too safe. You understand.”

Miss Fairchild dragged her gaze up and down him. “What’s the duke think about him?”

“He approves,” Bran said. “I have a question to ask you, Miss Fairchild.”

The other woman nodded slowly. “I may answer you.”

“I have heard you brew a certain kind of potion. It has the properties of opium without the unsettling drawbacks. It dulls pain, delivers you into a dreamlike world without putting you to sleep.”

“Hmm.” Miss Fairchild tapped her bottom lip. “I do not give away my recipes. And I do not sell my wares to someone who can identify those recipes with a single sniff. I begin to think you should take yourselves away from here.”