“Ironic, given his name,” Bronwyn replied and then frowned as though she hadn’t meant to say that. Valentine swallowed a bark of mocking laughter. It was surprisingly clever for her, considering she might not even know what irony was.

“Oh, that’s droll,” Lisbeth said, while he fought the urge to kick her in the knee. She patted his shoulder. “I don’t remember her being so witty, did you, Val?”

He swore that Bronwyn’s eyes darkened, flicking to Lisbeth’s hand, but in the next blink they were back to their cheery, sunny hues. “No,” he bit out. “Not in the least.”

“What are you heading to Philadelphia for, my lady?” Lisbeth asked.

“A sick relative,” she said without hesitation.

“Oh, I am sorry, is it serious?”

“No, not at all. It’s only to be a short trip. I shall return with the Valor in a week hence.”

Bronwyn shook her head, the rich curls catching the light in a way that Valentine tried not to notice. Focus on your meal, he told himself, attempting to block everything about her from his mind. Her pretty face. That provocative, smiling, vexing pout. The hint of décolletage that trembled with every breathless laugh. Her irritating scent that should not make his mouth water to have a taste; she was a person, not an autumn suet pudding.

Get a hold of yourself, you fool.

His grip tightened on his fork, but it was no use. His infamous, stony control was nowhere to be found. Rather than rebuke himself for being a surly curmudgeon in the middle of supper, glaring at everyone and answering in unintelligible grunts, Valentine did the only thing he could. He cleared his throat with a mumbled “Excuse me,” rose, and nearly bolted for the nearest exit.

Three

Bronwyn drew the first real breath since she’d been shown to the table.

“Was it something I said?” she asked, watching Lisbeth, who barely managed to stifle her snort of amusement at the duke’s rapid departure.

“Perhaps it was something he ate,” Lord Willington said. “I had an inkling that the sauce tasted a bit bitter. Did you, dear?” he asked his wife.

The lady frowned at her half-eaten plate. “No, it seemed fine to me. A dash more salt, perhaps.”

Thornbury’s former wife blinked. “I’m sure it’s nothing. He hasn’t been feeling well the past few days. I expect he’s gone to get some air. He’ll be back soon.”

Or never, Bronwyn hoped.

Being so late after getting lost in her own thoughts had meant that she could not choose her supper partners, and when Harry had led her to one of two open seats left in the crammed dining saloon, she hadn’t protested…until she’d viewed her companions. Or rather, companion. Luckily, she had met the Willingtons before, who were both adorably pleasant.