How would that stubble feel on her skin? Over her cheeks? Between the much softer skin of her thighs? Suddenly burning hot, she shifted to put some space between them.

“Lady Bronwyn, you are—”

But whatever the duke was about to say was cut short by a boom and the smashing of panes in the bay window near her head where she’d been standing a second before. She barely had time to let out a yelp as a huge body barreled hers out of the way and shielded her from the shattered glass that crunched beneath his booted feet. He dragged them into a side alley, keeping her wildly trembling form behind him. People were screaming and running in every direction. Had that been a gunshot? Where was Aunt Esther? Cora? Panic flew through her.

“Your Grace.” She attempted to push past him, but one immovable arm kept her in place. “My aunt. Valentine, I must see if she’s well. And Cora!”

“They’re safe. Rawley has them,” he said. “You, however, are not, so stop fighting me. I’m not letting you out there, not until I know you’re not in danger.”

She stopped grappling. “What do you mean?”

“That bullet was meant for you, Bronwyn.”

***

Every inch of him felt numb. Hell, she’d almost gotten shot right in front of him.

Thanks to Lisbeth, a team of operatives working with the French government and the national police forces had been following up on his hunch that someone had been on their tail since their journey back from Philadelphia. And the attempt on her life had just proven it. Either some kind of bounty had been placed on Bronwyn’s back or someone had a personal vendetta. It didn’t matter that she was a highborn lady or the sister of a duke, someone wanted her dead and had come all this way to finish the job.

And they’d very nearly succeeded. If she hadn’t moved a fraction away from him, there would be a sea of red mixed in with that shattered glass littering the whitewashed cobblestones. His chest squeezed at that terrifying image. Valentine didn’t want to begin to dissect what that meant. Of course he cared what happened to her—she was his best mate’s sister.

She’s more than that.

Scowling, he shrugged off that voice, peeking around the corner to see if the French police had arrived or if the assailant would show his face and make another attempt. Not wanting to take any chances, he drew his pistol from the holster beneath his coat and cocked it. He reached down for the second smaller gun tucked into his boot and handed it to her. “Take this, just in case.”

She stared at it. “I’m not familiar with that kind of gun, only Ravenna’s.”

He narrowed his gaze. “You shot that man in Philadelphia. A brilliant shot.”