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.”

“How do you know my aunt?” she asked, curious.

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Bronwyn nearly stumbled over her own feet. No, he could not mean what she thought he meant. But when he grinned and winked at her, she could help a horrified bark of laughter. The marquis was half her aunt’s age! Then again, who was she to judge? She’d been taken up against a tree and then again in a ship’s aft hold by a powerful lover.

“I have a proposal for you,” the marquis said, dipping his mouth close to her ear. “Shall we fan the proverbial fires a bit?”

“What do you mean?”

But instead of replying, the marquis gave a wicked laugh, held her hand tight, and pulled her out the nearest balcony door onto the terrace.

Well, shit.

***

Valentine watched her like the hawk he was. Watched her in that maddening silver gown that left one creamy shoulder bare and clung to every luscious feminine curve. Watched her dance and flirt with that smarmy worm of a Frenchman whose hands were all over her. Heard her simper and laugh. Not the fake laughter she’d given the dandies aboard the Valor. No, it was the one he relished, those deep, throaty, decadent sounds that made his skin tighten with lust.