Page 113 of The Duchess Curse

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, bobbing a curtsy.

The stable boy brought Bran’s bag.

“Find me a coach for hire,” Bran instructed, tossing him a coin.

“Yes, Your Grace.” The boy ran with a palm full of gold and a grin.

Then they were alone.

And something was gnawing at Guin. If she could only come down from the clouds, she might be able to figure it out.

He sat on the edge of the bed and studied her face. She studied his, too, the hard line of his nose, the aristocratic cheekbones, the dark slash of brows, the scar. The harsh lines of his loved face brought her back to her body and her mind, and when he stroked a strand of hair from her eyes with a smile, she swatted his hand away.

“I never used my title here!” she said.

“I assumed you wouldn’t.” He kept his hands to himself now, crossing them over his warrior’s chest where black linen and silk stretched tight. No glamour. Not even the golden sparks of a recently dissolved one.

“You introduced yourself as Braxton! Looking like that! They’ve all been Your-Gracing you!”

He nodded. “You wanted to know how I found you. That’s how I found you. By being the duke. And Bran. At the same time. First I went to the docks, to all your old acquaintances, to your old flat and the shop, but I got nowhere. Kikulwe told me to wait for you.”

She laughed.

“I’m not good at waiting.”

She laughed again, a million questions crowding her mind. It was impossible to pick one, so she said, “Tell me more.”

“Dukes have a greater reach than grunting guards. And when dukes look like me, they’re more likely to inspire double the fear. Your friends Diana and Temple reminded me of that.”

“Our friends.”

He shrugged. “I started with visits to your other friends in the ton.”

“I have no⁠—”

“The dowager, the baroness, Miss Anna.”

“Ah.” She did have friends, though she’d not have used that word for them before now.

“They told me they had not seen you or heard from you, but they were concerned, and they reached out through every network they possessed. Their husbands and peers. The servants. I terrified people a little bit and made political promises, too, and eventually, someone’s governess’s sister had seen a woman of your description climbing into a mail coach headed toward Bath. There were other women fitting your description headed in a variety of other directions, and I sent someone chasing them all. I chose Bath, though. I thought you might be headed home.”

He was home.

She swallowed. “I cannot say whether I am distressed or impressed. But… now everyone knows what the duke looks like without the glamour. You cannot… escape. You cannot kill off Braxton and be just Bran.”

“Do you want me to do that?”

She didn’t even have to think. “No.”

He scooted closer, took her hand in his and stroked her fingers. “You and I are both escape artists. We run and we hide, hoping to avoid the difficulties we must otherwise face. And I realized that if I am asking you not to hide, then I cannot hide either.” He laid down on the bed beside her, and she scooted away. “No. Come back.” He pulled her into his chest with a wince.

“Your injury. You should not⁠—”

“Let me hold you, lass.” His lips lingered on the top of her head.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” The words said so quietly, like the drop of a snowflake on a bird’s wing.

“Not holding you hurts me.”