Chapter 4 #2
“No,” Temple said. He should have danced with at least one. But he’d not been able to find her when he’d left the library, and no other lady had been able to steal his interest.
Helios swept Helen up into a boisterous waltz across the room. “Do any ladies make eyes at you, brother?”
“None.” Not even her, the little mouse with the lovely lips.
“Are there any ladies you like?” Sybil asked, not looking up from her sketchbook. “Any you can see yourself getting to know better?”
One. And he had no idea who she was. And his interest in her was probably entirely manufactured.
“Hell,” he hissed.
“Yes?” Helen and Helios asked, spinning to a stop.
“Not you two.” He pushed to his feet. “I must get to the workshop.” He pulled the summoning stone from his pocket where it always resided. Still a dull gray. Good. He did not have time for the king’s whims. “Good day, everyone.”
He found his coat and slapped his hat on his head, but before he could make it out the door, his mother caught him, kissed him on the cheek then patted it.
“Take your time, dear heart. When you meet the right woman, you’ll know.”
His boots were entirely fascinating. They wouldn’t take him toward the door.
“How do you know,” he grumbled, “when you meet the right one?” He must marry, not simply to please the king.
A wife could help his family navigate the transcendent ton, help them fit in, find new suitors for this sisters, new apprenticeships for his brothers.
A wife could find a new place in society for his family to belong.
“Hm. How do I put this?” Her gaze grew hazy, and she twisted her alchemist ring around her finger.
Every married alchemist pair had them, a gift from husband to wife.
His mother had a habit of twisting hers when she was thinking of his father.
“Ah, yes. I have often heard your father say that it feels like when you find the metal that’s most yours.
It sort of sings along every inch of your skin and tingles in your very bones. ”
Temple nodded. He knew the feeling well.
“But I think it’s more like finding a fascinating puzzle. You are fascinated by it, excited to discover its secrets. It’s a challenge and a pleasure at the same time. Do you understand?”
Unfortunately, he might.
He kissed his mother’s cheek. “Thank you. Now I had better return, or they might bring the roof down upon us all.”
Chaos had erupted in the breakfast room. Was that Ajax climbing the curtains?
Temple chuckled as his mother darted back inside, dragging Ajax from the ceiling and glaring everyone else into submission. He headed out onto the street. But which direction should he go in? Left the way to his workshop.
But right would lead to the shops.
He didn’t need the shops. This hangover, this fascination, would end. He’d had but a small drop of the potion.
But then why did the memory of the unnamed woman sing across his skin and tingle in his bones? Why did he want to discover her secrets?
Well, she was a puzzle, and he was going to piece her together.
“Right then.” He veered toward Finsbury Square. There was only one purveyor of potions in London. Lady Guinevere. And it was time to pay her a visit.
A half hour later, he stood before the famed potions shop.
Finsbury Square was crowded, and the plain brick building before him seemed to…
wink. The sign hanging above the door said Lady Guinevere’s Potions.
He pushed inside and found himself even more crowded.
Skirts and hats everywhere beneath the hanging plants.
Not a man to be seen. Oh, no, there were a few fellows in the back of the shop.
More mountains than men, though. Damn, they were huge, and they flanked a large set of double doors. Guards? For what?
“May I help you, sir? Are you lost?”
He removed his hat and gave his attention to the plump woman before him, her mouth stretched wide on a pale face. She was dressed in a yellow gown and white apron, and a chatelaine of tools hung at her waist.
“Not lost,” he said. “But in need of information. Are you Lady Guinevere, by chance?”
“Me? Nah.”
“Can I speak with her?”
“She’s busy, but I can help you. What are you here for? Love potion? Most are.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you want it?”
He resisted the very strong urge to tug at his cravat. “I am here about love potion, but not for it. Rather, it was used on me, and I—”
“Bloody hell.”
“Pardon?”
“It was a legal dosing, yes? Consensual?”
“More like accidental.”
“Come on, then.” She snagged his wrist and dragged him across the room toward the double doors at the back. She knocked on one, and the men on either side of them shifted from foot to foot, eyeing Temple with meaty fists. One took out a file and began to pick beneath his nails.
“What is it?” a voice said from inside.
“Accidental dosing,” the shopgirl said.
Footsteps, coming closer, then one of the doors swung open. A woman poked her head out, her gaze finding Temple immediately. “This him?”
“Yes, my lady.” The shopgirl gave curt nod.
The woman grunted and retreated, and the shopgirl led Temple inside.
The room was flooded with light, thanks to a wall of windows at the back behind a large, oak desk.
The woman settled in a chair behind it, and steepled her hands atop the neat, satiny surface.
Her hair was gold, not like sunlight but like fire, the kind of color that edges into flame when the light hits it.
Liquid and molten like her eyes. Those blue fires, though, flashing and sharp.
She wore a prime gown, buttoned to the neck in a deep plum.
And a raven stood on her shoulder, its shiny black wings folded close, its gleaming bead of an eye on Temple.
“Who’s this then,” a deep voice grumbled behind Temple.
A man stood in the corner like a shadow.
Dressed all in black, a thick dark beard ranged across his cheeks and down his neck, and his black brows slashed over deep green eyes.
He leaned into the corner, folding thick arms across a broad chest. He seemed at ease, but that was likely a deception.
The man could probably move. Quickly and with lethal force.
“Do not mind Mr. Bran,” the lady behind the desk said. “He is my bodyguard and always in a foul mood.”
Mr. Bran grunted.
“I am Lady Guinevere,” the woman said, lifting the bird from her shoulder and depositing it on a golden perch on the corner of her desk. “And you are?”
“Temple Grant, er, Baron Knightly.” Temple nodded. “Why does a shop owner need a bodyguard?”
“You’d be surprised how dangerous my profession is. Now… you’ve been accidentally dosed?”
“It seems so.”
“Hm, a serious thing, that. Can you tell me who drugged you?”
“I cannot. That is why I am here. To discover who she is. And…” He scratched the back of his neck. Hell. He’d have to admit he was still smitten. “And to find out how long it takes for the damned stuff to leave a man’s system.”
Lady Guinevere went entirely still. “Can you tell me anything about her?”
“It was dark. She had dark hair and light eyes. I think. Couldn’t see too well. Short and”—he shaped a woman’s form in the air, feeling his cheeks heat—“curvy. Not entirely curvy. Just about the hips.”
Lady Guinevere looked to the shopgirl, who shrugged, shook her head.
“Can you describe the accident?”
Temple did.
“And did you know the man she intended the potion for?”
“No. Only that she didn’t want him to fall in love with her. She was using it to get rid of the man.” He laughed. “Damnedest thing. Only to be surpassed by how strong your potion is.”
She scowled. “And you only consumed a drop?”
He nodded.
Lady Guinevere pointed her chin at the door, a gesture the shopgirl interpreted by leaving. Then her gaze hazed over, and she drummed her fingers on the desktop. “Lord Knightly, what are you going to do with the lady once you find her?”
“Finding her is not my primary goal. Ridding myself of your potion is.”
Another tattoo across the desktop, soft and rhythmic.
Then the lady rummaged in a desk drawer, pulled out a glass and bottle of wine.
She filled two cups and pushed one across the desk toward Temple.
“The wine will help you relax. These things are temporary. And they can only heighten emotions that already exist. If you are still attracted to her, then…” She shrugged.
“I like to think of myself more as a matchmaker than a potions mistress.”
The man in the corner snorted.
The bird ruffled its feathers.
Lady Guinevere ignored the man but put a soothing hand out to the bird. “My question remains. What will you do with this lady if you find her?”
Good God, he was really attracted to her, then?
A transcendent? He whipped up the wine glass and took a large swallow, then replaced it on the desktop.
He waited for some sort of horror to slip over him, resistance at the very least to the idea of wanting a woman as much as he’d wanted that woman last night.
Nothing, though. Nothing but… satisfaction.
He needed to wed, and there was a woman he wanted to marry. Quite convenient actually.
The door behind him opened, and the shopgirl slipped in, towing another behind her, a woman with light brown skin and tight black curls. “Miss Maple met with her.”
“Well, Miss Maple?” Lady Guinevere said. “What can you tell us about her?”
Miss Maple folded her arms behind her back and stood at attention like a soldier. “No name. I didn’t ask, either. She didn’t seem likely to give it. She said enough, though, and I did as you say to do when we get odd ones in. I set a guard after her.”
“What did you mean?” Temple’s pulse spiked. “Set a guard…?” Was she in trouble?
“Perfect.” Lady Guinevere swept across the room and opened the door. “You may leave, my lord. We have everything well in hand. And you know you are no longer drugged, and—”
“No. You’ll tell me more. Why have you set a guard after her?”
Lady Guinevere reached for Temple’s shoulder.
But he brushed off her touch.
The guard in the corner growled, and between two breaths stood in front of his lady like a beast ready to bite. “Do not touch Lady Guinevere.” Every word low and dangerous.
Lady Guinevere swept him out of the way. “All is well, Mr. Bran. And all is well, Lord Knightly. The guard is for your lady’s protection.”
“It’s what we do,” Miss Maple said quietly, “when the ladies fear violence.”