THE SECOND SHADOW SOCIETY #2
“There. All solved.” She looked like she wanted to tie them all up with a velvet bow.
She pulled a small black stone out of her pocket and slid it across the table to Braxton.
“Some things have changed since you last served the Crown. You’ll need one of these.
A summoning stone. It glows hot when I need you. ”
He pocketed the rock, and the queen waved them toward the exit. “You may go.”
As they made their way toward the door, Braxton stroked his jaw, and but for the pristine white glove, the movement could have been plucked from Guin’s memory. Bran used to—
Good Gaia, was everything to remind her of her loss this day?
He dropped his hand, and the narrow slant of his shoulders reminded her he bore no resemblance whatsoever to her friend.
Curving slightly toward her, he whispered, “Well, here we are, wife.”
“Did you have anything to do with this?” she hissed.
“Wish I could say I had.”
Mr. Grant pushed between them. “Whatever has soured between you two needs to be put aside. The queen demands a successful mission, and she’ll have it. From all three of us.”
“You forget, Grant,” Braxton said, “you answer to me for this mission.”
Grant’s jaw ticked, but he nodded, and the shift of his greatcoat gave away the glimmer of silver.
He had a knife—at least one—strapped to his hip.
Bran had often worn them like that. Worn them everywhere, actually—hip, thigh, arm, ankle, wherever he could reach.
Blades blood sharp and of a steel so fine it seemed to disappear when twisted in the light.
They stepped into the gray day outside, and Guinevere shivered. Braxton moved as if to take off whatever coat he wore beneath his glamour, but Ned appeared from around the side of the conservatory and helped her shrug into her pelisse.
“Who’s these nobs?” he asked. “What’d the queen want?”
“Obedience, Ned,” Guinevere said. “And, like everyone else, a potion.”
Ned shook his shaggy head, muscles ready to pounce, gaze trained on the two unknowns.
She laid an easy hand on his arm. “This is the Duke of Braxton, and this other gentleman is Mr. Grant. They will be joining my small army of guards.”
“We don’t need another,” Ned said.
“I’m well aware, but the queen insists.”
Braxton stepped up to Ned. He was not quite as tall, not nearly as wide, but he didn’t even tilt his head back to meet Ned’s gaze and say, “We are not joining it. We are leading it. You answer to me, do you understand?”
Ned’s fingers twitched.
“Don’t stab my husband, please.” Guinevere patted Ned’s shoulder, then took off across the lawn, not waiting for the others.
“Husband?” Ned cried. “Husband?!” Louder that time.
The three men caught up quickly, Braxton barking orders. “I want to meet with all your men as soon as can be. I need to know what your current procedures are, how you’re staying fit, who’s in charge of night watch—”
Ned elbowed Guin in the ribs and hid his mouth to say with a chuckle, “Sounds like Bran, he does.”
Braxton snapped his mouth shut.
Guin patted Ned’s forearm. “I, too, have been imagining the man everywhere today. We all miss him.”
Ned grunted, and they continued in silence until they reached Constitution Hill where Braxton hailed a hackney. When the driver slowed, Braxton shoved a wad of notes at him. “Is that enough to buy a new horse and conveyance?”
The man’s eyes widened. He nodded much too quickly.
“Then I want the cab. And the horse.”
The man jumped down. “All yours, m’lord!”
As he ran off, Braxton nodded at Ned. “You drive. Take us to Mayfair.”
Ned looked to Guin.
“Take us home,” Guin said, and he climbed up onto the driver’s seat.
Braxton opened the carriage door. “In. Now.”
She bristled. Oh, the high-handed temerity of the man!
She did not remember him being so very domineering.
But then again, they’d not spent much time together.
After their wedding night, she’d realize she’d made a mistake marrying him.
Her first husband had been too old to love as anything more than a dear friend.
But even that had not ended well for him.
Or her. And the only man she had loved romantically—poor Tommy—had been thrown from a horse before she could tell him.
The curse seemed to know her heart before she did.
The one night she’d spent in Braxton’s bed… she’d felt so safe with him, had thought she was safe. He was a duke, after all. But her first husband had been a duke, too. And that certainly hadn’t saved him.
“Well?” Braxton demanded, shaking the door.
With her nose in the air, she climbed into the vehicle. Sometimes pride’s only possession was a lifted chin. And sometimes a woman’s only weapon was ire. If they were both to survive the coming weeks, she’d have to become prickly, build up her walls and force him to build his.
He settled beside her and relaxed against the ratty squabs, closing his eyes as the hack took off.
But she could not relax. “I thought we had an arrangement.”
He opened one eye. “We did, but that has changed. The queen commands it.”
“And you always do what you’re told?”
He grinned. “No.” Closed his eye again, shutting out the golden glow of his iris. He extended a leg and stretched, and she couldn’t quite see the ripple of muscle so much as the lengthening of his glamour.
“Do you ever take that off?”
“Take what off?”
“The glamour.” She’d never seen his real face.
He stiffened. “No.”
“Why? Are you scared?”
“No, and… Can’t.”
“What stops you, then?”
He shrugged.
“Were you always so loquacious?” She didn’t remember him being quite so monosyllabic.
The dark chuckle that shook him was oddly familiar. It made her want to curl up into a ball and hide deep in the carriage shadows.
He looked out the window then tensed. “Ned missed the turn.” He hit the roof. “You’re going the wrong way!”
“He’s going the right way,” Guin said, grinning.
“He’s heading east. Mayfair is north.”
“He’s heading home. And that is east. A few turns from the old shop.”
“Guinevere,” he said, her name a warning.
“Oh, don’t Guinevere me. I may have no control over who protects me for the time being, but I can control where I’m at when I’m being guarded. And I intend to be at my home.”
“The building you live in now isn’t safe.”
“Spying on me, Braxton?”
“You’re my wife. You may live and go where you please, but do not fool yourself. I always know where you are.”
A shiver shot up her spine, and she pulled her pelisse closer. He’d always been intense. When she’d first demanded they live separate lives, he’d refused. It had taken months to bring him around to a sensible position. She’d assumed he’d long since given up that intensity where she was concerned.
The hack continued to rattle east, and Braxton fell back against the squabs, riffling his hands through hair that didn’t move an inch. His fingers sank through the glamour then reappeared to fall at his sides.
“When you lived above the potion shop, and I—and Bran lived above you, I did not worry so much.”
“You need not worry at all.”
“You’re like arguing with a horse.”
“Rude.”
He laughed.
And she traced a line of mud down her skirt with her thumb, up and down, up and down. “Braxton… are you really one of these Shadow fellows?”
“I was. I suppose I still am. When it’s convenient for Her Majesty.”
“I didn’t know you were so far down the chain of inheritance. Your father and your brother and your cousin… they all…”
“Died. My grandfather, too.”
“Were you close to them?”
No response.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t stay around long enough to have a conversation.” He looked straight at her, but she couldn’t look at him. That glamour stood between them, as sturdy as a wall.
“I suppose I didn’t.”
“Any chance you’ll tell me why? Finally? Since we’re sharing secrets today.”
Why had she left him? Because she’d liked her husband too well to want him to die. Marrying a duke was supposed to save her from heartache.
If you’re not a duchess, you’re dead.
And it had. It just hadn’t saved the men she’d loved.
When she didn’t answer, he looked out the window. “I thought not.”