The Duke in Question, page 17
Seeing his expression, the captain made no bones about giving the directive to a nearby crewman, and within short order, a small crowd had gathered, including Lisbeth and Rawley. He met the man’s concerned stare.
“What’s the matter?” Rawley asked, drawing him aside.
“She’s bloody gone,” Valentine bit out, searching the other man’s eyes for any possible sign that he’d known about the bird’s overnight flight. “Lady Bronwyn.”
Lisbeth let out a small gasp from where she stood. Rawley’s gaze narrowed when he shook his head. “No, she was ill and in bed. I checked last night and again earlier this morning when I brought her a tincture for her headache. She was still asleep.”
Valentine exhaled. “It’s not her. Pillows, not a body. She’s gone. Fooled us all.” God, he could barely form the words through his clenched jaw, but at least, he knew that Rawley looked as surprised as he’d been by the news.
“Where would she go?” Rawley muttered. “Why would she leave in the first place?”
Because she’s under arrest, Valentine nearly shouted. And she’s the Kestrel, a notorious operative I’ve been tracking for weeks. Not that Rawley, or anyone beyond Lisbeth, would know that. He was likely sent here by Ashvale to keep an eye on his sister, without having any clue of her secret, illicit identity.
Valentine stared at the gathered men. “Did anyone leave the ship last night?”
“The footbridge was up, Your Grace,” one of the men said. “Captain’s orders. No one but workers checking on the boiler can leave. The checks were completed and we were due to leave port this morning.”
“I need every room on this ship searched,” he commanded.
“Your Grace!” the captain spluttered, but Valentine’s glare shushed him.
“I am the highest-ranking peer on this ship, and a lady is missing. If you don’t intend to have her disappearance on your conscience, you will do as I say. Every nook and cranny must be searched. Get your men on it, now.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Rawley cleared his throat. “Where do you want me?”
“Was her maid with you?” Valentine asked. “The small blond-haired chit. I did not see her in the room this morning. You two are courting, are you not?”
“Cora wasn’t with me as her mistress was ill.” He frowned. “You don’t think…”
Valentine searched his face for signs of deceit, but the man’s dark eyes were heavy with worry. “I wouldn’t put anything past Lady Bronwyn. If I had to guess, I would say the maid went with her. They had to have had help. There’s no way they could have vanished on their own.”
But even as he said the words, Valentine knew that Bronwyn was more than capable of being resourceful. For all his protestations to the contrary, she was a spy. A smart, practical, devious spy. Any of the sailors onboard could have deployed the footbridge and let her off the ship with enough coin or a piece of jewelry. She wasn’t poor, and he hadn’t thought to confiscate her possessions. Finding who had helped her would be like locating a needle in a haystack. Impossible. He ground his jaw and cursed under his breath.
He’d underestimated her…again.
“You go back to London with the ship,” he said eventually. “I’ll stay in Brest, see what I can find out. She couldn’t have gotten far. Someone had to have seen her leaving the docks.”
Rawley frowned. “Two heads will make quicker work together.”
“He should go with you,” Lisbeth said with a nod. “I can stay with the ship.”
Valentine wanted to object, but it made sense for him to have help. A part of him wanted to be alone so when he did eventually get his hands on his little fugitive, he could punish her in private for daring to run from him. But two people meant more avenues could be covered. Brest wasn’t a huge city but it was a port, and there were other ships. She could have gone on to England on another vessel, or even gone toward to Paris. The train station had been recently built, the leg between Guingamp and Brest finished in the last year.
“Very well,” he said. He didn’t want to lose any more time. The longer they waited, the less chance he had of catching up or finding her, wherever she’d vanished. It would take at least a good few hours for the ship to be thoroughly searched, but he knew that Lisbeth would have it in hand. This was her operation, after all. “If you find anything, send a cable when you dock in England. I’ll do the same.”
She tugged on his sleeve, her voice going low. “Val, don’t do anything rash.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your feelings are tangled up in this woman,” she said. He opened his mouth to deny it, but the hard look on her face stopped him. “If I were in her shoes, I would have left, too. It’s not personal, but you need to exercise wisdom when you do find her. There are too many open-ended questions. I’ve thought about it more, and we need her help.”
“Do you know who she is,” he whispered furiously. “Or have you bloody forgotten?”
“An operative who has foiled nefarious plots against our leaders.”
He scowled. “And stolen confidential documents.”
“You don’t know that,” she returned. “They could have been given to her by someone in the Home Office, and that person could be working for the queen herself. You of all people understand how it works—we don’t always know who is part of the network at any given time. We need more information to be sure before we expose her to the wolves.”
His mouth pulled tight, but she had a point. “Fine. I won’t throw her to the ground and restrain her in my handcuffs the minute I find her.” Valentine felt the flush flood his cheekbones as his helpful brain supplied a very lewd image to accompany his words.
The small laugh at his expense and the knowing look in Lisbeth’s eyes made him blink. “Well, I’ll never advise you not to do that in the right circumstance, Your Grace. A little consensual bed sport between friends can be quite diverting.”
He ignored that, along with the visions supplied by his vexing imagination. His ears burned at the provocative idea of using the cuffs in a more carnal way. He wondered whether Bronwyn would consent to such a thing and then cursed himself in the same breath. This wasn’t the time to be daydreaming!
Valentine shook his head. “Where would you go?” he asked his former partner, who was still watching him with a too-intense expression as if trying to confirm that he could be trusted to do right thing. He would! Maybe. Women’s intuition was a valuable thing and he respected Lisbeth’s opinion. Perhaps she could shed some light on a dismal situation. “If you were her?”
Lisbeth’s grin widened. “You mean if I were an intrepid, daring, clever international agent who had thwarted my pursuers by feigning illness and pretending to be asleep in bed by means of a very devious trick, all the while planning my escape off a passenger liner in the middle of the evening when my enemies were distracted?”
“Yes.” His humor soured further. “Thank you for the succinct summary.”
She lifted her brows. “Of course, I have an idea of where.”
“Are you going to make me beg, Lisbeth?”
She laughed and cocked her head. “Do allow me my fun, Val. It’s rather entertaining watching a jejune chit wind her frustratingly wily webs around you. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say deep down, you were pretending to hate it. Secretly, you admire that she outmaneuvered you, the spymaster prince himself.”
His jaw ached from grinding his teeth. “I do not.”
She let out a scoffing noise. “Answer me this. Tell me you haven’t felt more alive in the past weeks than you have in a long time?”
Valentine had, but that was no one’s business but his. He didn’t admire the girl; he wanted to lock her in a room and throw away the key. Preferably with him in there.
With a pair of handcuffs.
Growling at his own absurdity, he pinched the bridge of his nose and banished his salacious and categorically unwelcome fantasies. “If you’re not going to be helpful, I am leaving.”
“Don’t be cross, Val,” she said, laughing at him and tugging on his arm. “If I were her, I’d go to Paris.”
He frowned. “Not board a packet to England?”
Lisbeth shook her head. “My guess is that she would anticipate that you’d expect her to do that. Run back to her brother or whoever her contact is. But you asked me what a woman might do, and it’s what I would do. My money is on the City of Light.”
Fifteen
There was something about Paris that fired up the senses. Perhaps it was the way the French lived, or the feeling of flamboyance and élan in the air. It didn’t feel as stoic or as measured as England. The French did everything with such flair. Even this ball that her aunt Esther had insisted she attend so she could show off her beautiful, accomplished niece.
As expected, the Comtesse de Valois had welcomed her with open and very enthusiastic arms when she and Cora had shown up on her doorstep.
“You’re just in time! My spring ball is this week. You’ll be its star!”
The last thing Bronwyn wanted to do was attend a ball or be its crowning jewel, but she’d come to her aunt’s against Rawley’s instructions and the whole entire point of being in plain sight was not to blend and to be seen as Lady Bronwyn Chase enjoying the season. She didn’t plan to stay long in Paris. Just long enough for Rawley to catch up with them as he’d intended and for her presence to be noted by enough people in case he did not. If the Duke of Thornbury did follow on her heels, he would be hard pressed to accuse her of anything in front of the entire French aristocracy.
She hoped.
As such, her take-no-prisoners aunt had commissioned the most sought-after modiste in Paris to fit Bronwyn in a dress in the two short days since she’d arrived, and here she was. Dressed in the most sumptuous confection of a gown she’d ever beheld and being paraded and courted and charmed by everyone with a title, and even a few without, at her aunt’s very well-attended party.
“This is my dear friend, the Marquis de Tremblay,” her aunt Esther was saying. “He’s quite a lovely gentleman when he’s not flirting with anything in skirt.” She frowned. “Or trousers. Or any clothing, actually.”
Bronwyn bit back her horrified giggle. Her aunt was the opposite of her dour sister, Bronwyn’s mother, in every way. It was a wonder the two had shared the same womb.
“I do not flirt unless it is invited,” the marquis said in charmingly accented English.
Bronwyn’s eyes lifted to meet the smiling face of a very handsome man she was certain she might have met before, but all the faces were beginning to merge. Goodness, did her aunt intend to introduce her to all of Paris in one evening? Perhaps she and the Marchioness of Borne weren’t so different if she also secretly intended to marry her off at the best opportunity that presented itself.
“Lovely to meet you, Monsieur,” Bronwyn replied in fluent French.
His eyes brightened with delight. “Your accent is perfection, my lady.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
“Will you dance the next set?” he asked.
“I would love to.” At least it would get her away from more unwelcome introductions. Aunt Esther seemed ready to embark with a new group of eligible gentlemen she’d summoned. Bronwyn was never going to remember all those names! She supposed her aunt meant well, intending for her to have fun, unlike Bronwyn’s mother, whose marital leanings hinged on the match that would serve her best.
But Bronwyn wasn’t interested in any gentlemen, save for the one she emphatically could not have.
A hard face with amber eyes and sculpted lips filled her vision, and she blinked, feeling a wash of gooseflesh rise on her arms.
He wants you in jail, you nitwit. That’s why you ran.
Monsieur de Tremblay offered her his arm with a bow. She and the handsome marquis—though in truth his attractive looks did nothing for her beyond superficial appreciation—strolled to the ballroom floor, where the orchestra was in the midst of the opening chords. Bronwyn gritted her teeth, her feet slowing. The waltz was not her favorite. Too many gentlemen in England saw it as an opportunity to get handsy. Would it be the same in France?
“Do not be nervous,” the marquis told her. “I am an excellent dancer.”
The flirtatious glint in his eye told Bronwyn everything she needed to know. The hand on her waist would slip down to the curve at the top of her buttocks; he might hold her closer than was appropriate and then brush himself indecently against her at every turn. Cringing, she braced for the inevitable, and then the hairs on her nape rose for no reason at all.
“I believe this dance is mine,” a deep voice said over her shoulder, making every nerve in her body come startlingly, shockingly alive.
He was here.
Bronwyn suppressed the shiver winding up her spine. Of course he was here. Deep down, she’d known the duke would come. That he would find her. A hunter like him would never abandon his prey, not when it had so tauntingly escaped his clutches under his very nose.
Bronwyn’s mouth dried as she turned, her blue eyes meeting burning gold. It had only been a handful of days since she’d seen him last, and yet she drank him in as though it’d been years. Square jaw, tightened lips, tousled tawny hair tumbling over his collar, and dressed to kill in raven-black superfine. Likely dressed to kill her. A hysterical giggle climbed into her throat, the urge to flee making her legs tremble beneath her skirts. At least that was what she thought it was. A desire to run, not to tumble headfirst into his arms.
“Your Grace,” she said in a delighted voice that hid her fraying composure. “What a surprise.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Tremblay said, a scowl darkening his pretty face. “I am dancing with the lady.”
“This dance is spoken for, I’m afraid,” Thornbury said without taking his eyes from hers. The possession in them spoke volumes, and she felt the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her thighs pulse wickedly in response. “Lady Bronwyn, looks like I’ve found you just in time to claim what’s mine.”
Dear God, how could a man’s voice wreak such havoc? He meant the dance, of course, acting as though he’d written his name in the space next to it on her dance card. Every word of that last sentence bled with a sultry possessiveness that made her blood heat to sinful levels. She wanted to scream, Yes, you found me, now take me. Wanton fool that she was. Bronwyn lifted her chin, resentment at her own weakness for him filling her.
The blatantly ignored marquis glared and spluttered his outrage when Thornbury bowed and lifted a brow in expectation. The music was starting and the other couples were already in position. Heavens, the arrogance of him.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she said firmly to the duke. “I’ve promised this dance to Monsieur de Tremblay. You’ll simply have to find me later.” She would take a handsy marquis over a man whom her body recognized as its erotic downfall. A waltz would be utterly detrimental.
Those eyes of his glowered…promising something. “As you say, my lady. Don’t worry, I am not going anywhere.”
She couldn’t help it; she shivered. The corner of his lip kicked the tiniest bit and she jutted her jaw with a dismissive sniff. As she and the marquis took their positions, she could feel Thornbury’s stare on her though she could not see him. She wasn’t surprised that he had come. Her intention hadn’t been to hide, after all, but still the visceral reality of him had rattled her to her core. Her very warm, very needy core that was begging to be ruined.
Oh, enough!
“Who was that?” the curious marquis asked when they glided into the first turn. “I am not acquainted with him.”
Bronwyn looked up to see a pair of sharp green eyes on her. “No one of import. A gentleman from England who fancies himself a suitor, I suppose. He followed me here, hoping to declare his intentions.”
The marquis’s brows rose. “And you do not welcome those intentions?”
“Why would you say that?”
A grin displayed two dimples on either side of his cheeks. “I am French. I recognize desire when I see it, mademoiselle. It does not only go one way, non? He wants you. You want him. But he also frightens you, which was why you did not dance with him.”
“You are very perceptive, Monsieur de Tremblay,” she murmured. “Though ‘frighten’ isn’t the right word. He is…intimidating.”
Fingers flexed at her waist, but not enough to cause alarm, and to her surprise, they did not wander. “I could make you forget him, if you like.”
For a heartbeat, Bronwyn wondered whether the touch of a man could erase the one who had imprinted on her soul, but everything in her recoiled at the thought. She exhaled. With time, the attraction would lessen. It had to. Then if a man like Tremblay made her such an offer, she would not be so repelled.
She smiled coquettishly, knowing Thornbury was watching, wherever he was. “What makes you think I cannot forget him myself?”
Delight danced in that green stare. “That’s a rather intriguing stance. Tell me more.”
“A woman doesn’t need a man. They are simply implements to be used when the opportunity presents itself. Most women are capable of rescuing themselves, given the chance.”
The marquis laughed, low and deep, a sound that had attention flocking to them, including her aunt’s. Bronwyn thought she heard a low growl somewhere in the vicinity of her left shoulder. “I think I might have misjudged you, Lady Bronwyn.”
“Let me guess. You thought me demure and proper, the perfect English rose.”
“Quite so,” he said with a snort. “Though I do know your aunt quite well, so I should have guessed her niece would be as extraordinary.”
