“Oh, is this my seat? Thank you, Harry, you are my dashing hero.” A breathy voice chuckled, the sound making Valentine’s skin tighten. With horror, of course. “Goodness, I do apologize for joining you this late.” The footman blushed and Valentine rolled his eyes before standing and settling his stare on their latest arrival. Fate was a cruel, cruel mistress as he watched the footman pull out Lady Bronwyn’s chair beside a sea of dark-blue skirts. He and the other gentleman at the table resumed their places once she took her place. “Your Grace, what an unexpected pleasure! I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

Like the plague.

Valentine swallowed the curt reply. “Lady Bronwyn, you look…” Stunning. Elegant. Gorgeous. He huffed an annoyed breath at how well his brain seemed to categorize details now, despite its lapse earlier with the man who could be the Kestrel. “Well.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she replied, dark lashes dipping over clear blue eyes. “You look well yourself.” She made the word sound lascivious, like a dessert to be relished. With a warm smile to the older couple at the table, she canted her head. “Lord and Lady Willington, how marvelous you both look this evening, and how lucky I am to have been seated with you.”

They clucked at her sweetness—which made him want to retch in patent disgust—and fawned over her appearance and dress. It was just a gown, one that she wore quite well, admittedly, but so did the countless other ladies having supper here. They were all dressed impeccably.

He tore his gaze away, lest she should notice his fatuous perusal, and focused on the second course. Braised beef with morels in béchamel sauce with roasted potatoes, but even the smell of the rich broth could not overpower the cinnamon-and-spiced-apples scent wafting from his right. Why did she smell like pudding? Who smelled like bloody pudding?

Where the hell was Lisbeth?

“Something amiss, Your Grace?” Lady Bronwyn asked with a tinkling burst of laughter that set his teeth on edge. “Is your meal not prepared to your liking? You were glowering so fiercely for a moment there, I feared the tablecloth would catch fire.”

No, just you.

That was cruel. He didn’t actually wish to set the lady on fire, only that she would move elsewhere. Far away. Where he couldn’t see, hear, or inhale her maddening scent. Valentine tugged at his collar, sweat beading over his neck. “Of course not, my lady. My meal is fine. How is yours?”