The lie rolled so easily off his tongue, it could be truth for how natural it felt. Ashvale would refuse his offer, but she wouldn’t know that.

To his surprise, the comtesse cackled. “Along with half of the gents in this room by the end of the evening.”

“I am aware,” he said.

“Walk with me,” she said, as she extended an arm that he had to take to avoid causing offense to the lady in her own home.

While his skin needled and burned to find Bronwyn, he might need to be in the Comtesse de Valois’s good graces, if he could not get his target alone. She was clever, he’d give her that. Out of respect for his friendship to the Duke of Ashvale, he’d never cause a scene in public. Now that he knew where Bronwyn was, it was simply a matter of getting her alone in his custody and taking her back to England.

They strolled around the ballroom, and irritation streaked through his veins when after nearly a full promenade around the perimeter, the lady did not speak. Valentine cleared his throat, but that did not make one whit of difference. Bronwyn’s aunt remained utterly oblivious. He was just about to make up some excuse when she came to an abrupt stop. “Were you not married?”

He blinked. “Yes, but no longer. Parliament granted a divorce.”

“Why?”

Valentine debated not answering, but then went with the truth. “The lady wanted other things and our paths diverged. It was amicable.”

Bright blue eyes glittered at him, a cunning intelligence shining in their depths, and Valentine had the feeling that she knew more than she was letting on. Then again, maybe he was just on edge and wanted to know where the hell his little bird had gone. And what she was doing and with whom. Heat crawled through his veins and he resisted the urge to tug at his collar.

“And now you’ve set your sights on my niece.”

“Yes,” he said.

She gave a sniff. “I suppose my sister will find you acceptable, considering you’re a duke since your uncle died.” A grin graced her lips. “I’m sorry for your loss. Bucky and I were friends, you know. Good friends. In my youth, I had hoped he would approach my father before Monsieur de Valois did, but no, it was not meant to be. I was rather saddened to hear of his death.”

Valentine’s eyes widened. The thought of his old, sedate Uncle Bucky—the previous Duke of Thornbury—with this spitfire of a woman nearly made him chuckle. “He lived out his last years in peace and quiet, doing what he loved. He enjoyed fishing on his country seat in the Highlands, mostly.”