Page 73 of The Duchess Curse

“You’ve lost me.”

“Opposites, Bran. They are not enemies. They are necessary for one another. Can you tell me where you were standing when the beam hit you, when you were trapped, and when the rogue glamour was created.”

“I can.”

“Excellent. Perhaps, if we manage to collaborate, we might solve both our problems. Let’s return home, to the conservatory.”

Home. “Aye, let’s go.” It wasn’t forgiveness, wasn’t even a step in that direction, but for now, it would have to be enough.

16

UNEXPECTED VISITORS

It could be the sleep fogging her eyes, the heavenly scent of fresh coffee, or the fumes of her latest potion, but Guin’s husband was irritatingly angelic. He pushed through the overgrown palm leaves of the conservatory and placed the steaming mug on the thick, cluttered worktable, and dawn sunlight streamed through the windows, shaping him. His glamour sparkled like a halo. She could see the real him, dark and dangerous and sharp outlined by a well-garbed golden shimmer. The man and his ghost. But which was which?

Exhaustion did odd things to her brain.

She took a sip of the coffee and moaned as he propped a hip against the table. One of his eyebrows crept toward his hairline—gold and black at the same time—and she hated that such a simple gesture could make her shiver.

She snapped her mug onto the table and pushed the tendrils of hair falling across her face behind her ears. “No time for coffee. I think I’ve had a breakthrough.”

“How long have you been up?”

“Do not pretend as if you don’t know.”

“I like to let you think some things are a mystery to me. It’s more… empowering for you.”

“How obliging.” Grudgingly, she took another sip of coffee. “One day I will leave this place and never see you again.”

He winced.

She pretended not to notice, flipping through her notebooks, looking for the ground lavender.

He fiddled with some dry leaves discarded near his hip. The tip of one was brittle brown, and it crumbled beneath his touch. “That day will be sooner rather than later. The queen’s plan worked. It has been a fortnight since the ball, and not a single attack. You seem to be benefiting from all that extra time not fending off attackers.”

“It is, I admit, productive. But also a tiny bit…” She leaned close to the notes, trying to decipher her writing.

“Yes?” he drawled, the warmth of his breath right next to her ear.

A tingle sailed from that spot where his breath coasted along her skin to every nerve ending in her body. Her throat dried, and she licked her lips. Air and warmth were sweet temptations and instead of leaning into them, she pushed away and steeled her spine.

“So very boring, if you must know.” Thank Gaia her voice was steady. “Not having to knife a man before noon every morning is rather dull.”

“You can always knife me.”

“Hardly diverting. You’d just stand there and let me.” Her next breath was shaky, and she pressed her eyes closed because a pressure was growing there, little prickles. She needed sleep.

“You need sleep.”

Her bark of a laugh bounced off the glass walls. She handed him a small vial of potion. “Drink this.”

He did.

“So very accommodating.”

“What was it?”

She leaned against the table and closed her eyes. “The night of the fire, you were trapped near the back of the shop where I kept the plants that thrive in shade and the potions made from them. In order to begin to break your glamour, you had to die, to literally kill your light, so my hypothesis is that a potion made of shade-loving plants will help break down the glamour more quickly. But”—she lifted a shoulder, dropped it—“it is similar to my hypothesis that a potion made of plants that love the sun will allow a glamour to retain its strength in the dark, and that has so far proved a failure.”