Page 93 of The Duchess Curse

“A surprise.”

“It’s the bedchamber, isn’t it.” Lust and good humor danced in her eyes.

He took her hand, kissed her knuckles. “Not yet. That later. Something else right now. Can you leave that concoction, or must you complete your task?”

“It can sit.” She threw a muslin cloth over it and let him tug her to the entryway where Bentley waited for them, holding everything Guin needed. She donned it all, and Bran helped her into a waiting carriage, keeping every touch and gesture formal, a matter of business, of safety, when really every single one was for his own aching delight and greedy possessiveness.

He sat next to her as the coach rolled off, resting his thigh snug against hers.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Surprise, remember?”

“I do not like surprises.”

“You’ll like this one.”

She peeked out of the drawn curtains, and he swatted her hands away from the fabric.

“You’ll ruin it,” he said.

“Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “Knowing which direction we’re going in will ruin the surprise. That’s a clue. Give me another.”

“Let’s talk of something else. Or better, not talk at all.” He cupped her jaw and angled her face so he could brush his lips across her cheek—the closest she’d let him get to her lips. Tonight’s surprise could work for him or against him. It could be another deposit into the never-ending account of forgiveness he’d been adding to. Nothing would ever fill it up; he’d never fully atone. But maybe he could shave off enough of her hate so that, when it came time for her to run again, she’d let him come with her.

So that when they finally discovered the reality behind the curse, she’d take her hard-won joy with him.

“I have a question to ask you.” She twisted the fingertips of one glove in the fingers of the other hand, nervous. “The other day, with Lady Sophia… you were wonderful. Were there… are there… many young children in your family?”

“No. But there are many Shadow children.”

She gave a little gasp, more of a shocked inhalation. “How?”

“Families die. Children need a place to go. With the Second Shadows, they can have purpose and family, a safe place in the world.”

“You train children to be killers?”

“No. We train children to be curious and kind and maybe a little cunning. We train them, hopefully, to know right from wrong. And then, when they are eighteen, they may choose—join the Shadows or find some other calling.”

“Do most of them join?”

“Yes. Their first assignment is to care for the children younger than themselves—play with them, understand their needs, protect them. In fact, that is the first task of all new Shadows. If we can understand how to protect and nurture the most vulnerable, we can always keep our mission in mind, even in the hours of our darkest deeds.”

Her hands had stopped fidgeting. They lay still atop her skirts. Then she lifted one hand and rested it on top of his. But she turned away from him, looking through the smallest sliver of space between curtain and window.

She jumped up. “Are we…” She threw the curtain back and stared out the window. “We are! Why are we in Finsbury Square?”

The carriage stopped, and he helped her down. As she stepped onto the road, she looked up—at the yellow door, the swinging sign, the several floors of brick and marble and shining glass windows, the bare rooftop garden, everything new and waiting for Guin’s touch.

“It’s my shop,” she breathed, covering her mouth with one trembling hand.

He handed her the key from his greatcoat pocket. “It is.”

The shop glowed brand new despite the lack of moonlight. Snow threatened, but nothing could make Guin cold. Excitement and longing warmed her.

A key waited for her in Bran’s ungloved hand. She took it and let herself inside despite the trembling in her hands. Fairy orbs flared to life as they entered, revealing a naked room furnished with long worktables and empty shelving.

She turned in a circle. “Everything just the same as before.” She ran to the back and threw open the double doors there, revealing the large oak desk, the comfortable red chair. Hers, just as it had been before the fire.