26. A Single Snowy Morning #2
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.”
She snorted but snuggled closer. She’d tend to his wound later.
They were quiet for a long while, and in the heavy, lovely warmth of his embrace, she almost fell asleep.
But then his mouth moved against her hair, and she came awake all at once as he said, “I would rather die in your arms than spend my life without you. You do not hurt me by staying with me, by loving me; you hurt me by leaving. And if you think you can leave, if you think you can walk away and I won’t find you, you’re more foolish than I thought.
I don’t want to hide in shadows anymore.
I want to live in your heart. I’ve already died, Guin.
” A rough laugh. “More than once. The curse cannot hurt me any longer, and you know me… I’ll slice the neck of any curse that thinks to take you from me. ”
What could she say to that? Words clogged her throat, crying for release, but emotion sat too thick there. Everything stuck and muddled—fear and joy and longing. She should run. It was selfish for her to stay right here, where she most wanted to be.
“I’m going to ask you,” he said, his mouth close to her ear now, “to believe me when I say something you’re predisposed to disagree with.
And in return, I’ll believe you.” A pause, then: “You tell me I am fit to be a duke, that I am good at it, meant to do good with it. I disagree. The duke is an ill-fitting suit of clothes that strangles me some days. But I respect you, and I’m going to try to believe you.
I’m going to try to do good as the duke.
Now…” He placed a kiss on her temple. “Will you try to believe me?”
She knew what he was going to say. Knew how hard it would be to give him what he wanted. A soul couldn’t outlearn a fear, a certainty, a truth, in a single snowy morning. But she’d been trying to unlearn it for days now. Perhaps soon, hope, not fear, might even become her habit.
With a grunt, he pushed upright, bringing her with him, and she folded her legs beneath her to face him.
He held both her hands and looked her in the eyes.
His own were forest green, rimmed with glowing gold when he said, “There is no curse, of that I am certain. But if there is, I will help you break it. Whether you choose to stay by my side or not, trust me, I will release you from it.”
He was reshaping his chains, learning the locks, mastering them. He wanted her to do the same.
Yes, she was quite good at running. An escape artist, he’d called her. But she was also an excellent fighter. And if her husband was determined to be her shadow, she might as well stand and fight by his side.
Her inhalation was shaky, but it filled her up with new air, with strength that was substantial.
“Yes,” she said, not quite knowing what question she answered, only that she answered it with all her heart. “Yes, yes!” She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight, and they collapsed to the bed together—him with a sound half chuckle, half groan. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”
She had him naked from the waist up shortly and was checking his wound and calling for a maid and requesting ingredients. Turmeric and snow.
He wasn’t bleeding anymore. It wasn’t infected. It would scar but would otherwise heal nicely. She hummed while she painted his wound with ointment, and he smiled as he watched her heal him.