Page 98 of The Duchess Curse

“No saddle.” Hesperus unhitched the horse. “You’ll have to ride bareback. Can you do it, or should⁠—”

“I can do it.”

A curse crossed Bran’s lips, but it was too soft for anyone but him to hear. Too dangerous. She could fall.

“You interrogate them,” Guin said. “See if you can find out anything about the bullet.”

“Get home safely, duchess.”

He felt the horse shift as she vaulted up behind him, her legs squeezing against his body. They’d squeezed against his body earlier. So perfect.

The horse took off, hooves beating against the road, each step an agony, and even worse, the last thing he saw before he no longer possessed the strength to open his eyes—the hem of his wife’s skirts, soaked in his own blood.

23

I DON’T HATE YOU

Ned came out of the shadows as Guin tore into Grosvenor Square. He was already beside her as she urged the horse to a stop. He lifted her off the horse, and before her feet touched the ground, she said, “It’s Bran. He’s injured. Get him to the conservatory.”

“Holy hell.” Ned took one moment to drag a hand down his face before lifting Bran with a grunt and tossing him over his shoulder.

“Quick!”

In less than a minute, they were inside, and Bran was sprawled atop her worktable.

“What the bloody hell happened?” Ned asked.

“Four men with guns. They attacked the coach. Hesperus helped fight them off. I suspect the bullet that tore through Bran’s shoulder was poisoned with the same stuff we put on our blades.”

“Fuck. Do you have the antidote?”

“I do now.” She threw open a cabinet beneath the worktable. “Pick and peel a lemon. Quick.”

“Right.” Ned ran off into the leaves.

“Ah!” She grabbed the bottle in the back of the cabinet.

Beneath Bran, red seeped onto her table.

She cupped his cheek, stroked his eyebrow. “Be strong. It’s just a scratch, remember?” Words to comfort herself. For all she knew, he couldn’t hear them.

His skin was pale, his shirt dark and wet. She ripped it off him as Ned returned with an armful of lemons. They rolled across the table when he released them, and he snatched one up, poked his thumbnail into the peel.

Uncorking the bottle, Guin poured all of it into the bullet wound. He didn’t even flinch, though more than one ingredient would sting. “At least we don’t have to rummage around for a bullet.” At least it wasn’t close to any vital organs. But he’d lost so much blood…

She wouldn’t break now.

“Help me lift him. I need to get the other side.”

Ned rolled Bran onto his side, and Guin poured a second bottle into the wound.

She began working on another lemon. “I need large pieces of the peel and pith attached. The white part on the inside.”

Ned nodded, and they worked until there were two pieces large enough to cover the holes.

“Bandages! I need bandages. Get Bentley. Sheets or linens or anything will do. Clean.”

Ned ran off, and Guin pressed the pith of one peel to the wound on Bran’s chest. When Ned and Bentley returned, they helped her roll him, she applied the other peel, then they wrapped the peels tight against his body with the linens.