“And I was thinking how sad you looked to see your coat go.”
“I have good memories in that coat.”
“King.” Her voice held a serious tone, and he glanced at her sharply. He didn’t think he could take another crisis at the moment. But then he saw the expression on her face—firm but gentle.
“Is this about the kiss?” he asked. “I should have asked before I kissed you, but to be fair, you didn’t seem to mind it once we—”
“This isnotabout the kiss. And since you’ve brought it up, I’ll remind you we decided that sort of thing was a horrible idea.”
“You decided that. I rather like kissing you.” To his surprise, her cheeks flamed bright red and she seemed unable to think ofwhat to say in reply, though her throat worked like she wanted to say something. “Why, Miss Baker, does this speechlessness mean you like kissing me too?”
“No.” Her words came out choked and thick. “I do not.”
“You’re not a very good liar. Perhaps we should test it one more time to be sure…” He reached for her, and she yelped and moved out of his range.
“You are such a man!”
He frowned. “Was that in doubt?”
“I mean, how can you think of kissing at a time like this?”
“I can think of a lot more than kissing. There’s undressing and sucking and nibbling and fu—”
“King. I had a thought about the curse.”
Well, that ruined the mood.
“When I saw Peggy, it reminded me that her mother is a healer. She knows herbs and poultices and the like.”
“I don’t have a bellyache,” he said. “I have a curse.”
“Shh. You’ll wake Georgie. Peggy’s mother knows more than just medicines, but we don’t talk about that,” she said, voice low. He moved closer, liking the warmth of her when his arm touched hers. “I think you should take your spell to her and ask her opinion.”
“Is the woman a witch?”
“Shh! They don’t burn women at the stake any longer, and let’s not give them a reason to start. I’d better go with you. Give me a moment.”
She ran up the stairs to the flat and returned seconds later, throwing her threadbare shawl over her shoulders. She took one more moment to give Peggy instructions then led him out via the back door. In the fog and gloom, Seven Dials seemed even more dangerous and dreary. Figures appeared out of the gray like phantoms, their faces wan and drawn. King followed Violet, but when he almost lost her in the fog, she grasped his hand asthough he were a child. He didn’t mind touching her. She wore no gloves, and her rough hand was cold and thin in his.
Finally, she led him up a creaky wooden staircase to a doorway that looked as though it had been built for elves. Even Miss Baker would have to duck her head to enter. She knocked on the door. “Mrs. Greene, it’s Violet Baker. May I come in?”
The silence dragged on so long that King thought Mrs. Greene was either not at home or not willing to answer, but finally a voice said, “Who is with you?”
Violet looked at him.
King hardly knew how to introduce himself. He wasn’t the Marquess of Kingston any longer, but he’d never gone by his Christian name, George. Still, he might have to get used to it. “George Oxley, Mrs. Greene.”
The door opened, and a tiny woman with gray hair and hazel eyes looked up at him. “You don’t look like a George,” she said, raising her gray brows.
“His friends call him King,” Violet said.
Mrs. Greene made a sound somewhere between acknowledgement and derision, but she moved aside so Violet could enter. King followed, stooping low so as not to hit his head. The interior of the room was more spacious, but he had to keep his head at an angle so to not hit it on the low ceiling. It took a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness. If the room had windows, they were closed and shuttered. A single candle burned on a table that was spread with dried herbs. More plants hung from the ceiling. A mortar and pestle were in front of a low stool, and it was clear Mrs. Greene had been working at grinding something when they knocked. King looked behind him, at the low-burning hearth, and saw two bedrolls stowed in the corner.
He turned back and saw Mrs. Greene had taken her seat on the stool again and was regarding him coolly. “What is it you need? Willow-bark tea for a headache? Or perhaps your ailmentis somewhat lower?” She looked down at his trousers, and King had the urge to put a hand over his genitals to keep them safe.
“Actually, we need your advice on another matter,” Violet said.
“I’ve been cursed.”
