Page 78 of The Duchess Curse

She squeezed his leg. “He’s not going to hurt me.”

“Of course not!” her father snapped. “Everything we’ve done has been to keep you safe! But how can that happen if you’re keeping company with criminals?”

“Hardly criminals, Father.”

“Is this about the curse?” Bran asked.

Her parents regarded him open-mouthed and silent.

Then her father exploded, spittle flying with each word. “You told him about the curse?”

“You’re never to speak of it!” her mother wailed.

“I had to tell him,” Guin said. “It wasn’t fair not to. I should have told him sooner. That might have simplified matters.”

Her parents looked dazed. Her father lifted a trembling hand to his lips as her mother shook her head over and over and over again.

Bran moved his hand from the sofa to Guin’s back, settling on the skin above the top edge of her gown. The weight of him, the heat of him, the scratchy, gloveless roughness of his palm—she wanted to lose herself in his maleness until the rest of the world dropped away. It didn’t matter that he’d lied. In fact, that made him the safest vessel for her needs. She’d never love him now. No risk.

No risk.

A lock clicked somewhere inside of her, releasing something once held so terribly tight she was only now realizing how little she’d been able to breathe.

No risk.

She stood, body limp and almost lifeless. She could not even lift a hand to cover her wide, inescapable yawn. “If you came to yell at me, please do see yourselves out. I sell potions. I told my husband about the curse. None of that is changing. I haven’t slept in days, and⁠—”

Her mother threw herself at Guin, put a trembling hand on the side of her face. “I have done so much to keep you alive, to keep you well. You must not cultivate emotional entanglements!”

Guin pulled from her embrace. “I know.” She’d run precisely to keep her emotions distant, to protect a good man.

Ha.

No risk.

She rubbed her eyes. The world was wavering as Bran helped her back to the sofa.

“Everyone, sit back down,” he said. “I want to know how this curse began and why no one informed me of it before I married your daughter.” He stood with his legs wide and his arms over his chest, and if he looked lordly and imposing in all his golden, glamoured glory, he’d look terrifying if the glamour failed now, showing the scarred and massive reality of a man well acquainted with violence.

Ah. He’d been lied to, as well. He’d married her thinking… what? That an arranged marriage might become more?

She fell to the sofa, legs too weak to stand.

“Our family history is none of your concern,” her father said.

“I beg to differ. If Guin were to carry my child, you’re implying that child would be cursed. I find myself quite concerned about that.”

“Your child is safe,” her father said. “He will not inherit my glamour. Only children born to men with the Cairnsbury glamour are affected.”

The glamour was connected? “But how?” Guin asked. “I do not understand.”

Her father paled, turned toward the window and gathered silence around him.

“You’ll speak now, Cairnsbury, or I’ll⁠—”

“Don’t waste your threats on me, Braxton.” Her father sounded defeated, hollow. “My entire existence has been a threat. To me. To others.” He cursed and turned back around. “You can’t tell anyone. The queen has talent, I know, and that marchioness, too, but they are special, and… I do not know what will happen if others find out. You’re connected to us now, though. You have to keep the secret.”

“What secrets?” Guin asked.