Bronwyn knew what he would find—the space for the waltz was marked with her own name. It always was. She could flirt and dance ad nauseam, but the thought of being held so closely by any gentleman did not sit well with her. Not that any man would be untoward, but she was guarded with her person for good reason. And besides, except for Cora, she was alone on this ship.

She tried to tug her hand away, but the duke’s grip subtly tightened. Not enough to hurt, but enough for her to know he wouldn’t release her so easily, now that the gauntlet had been thrown. One heavy eyebrow rose as he flipped the booklet open to the marked space and wrote his name over Bee in a heavy scrawl. “This Bee person will have to wait his turn. I look forward to it.”

***

Valentine was dreading it.

Sod his life choices to the pits of purgatory.

Couldn’t he have declined like a normal man and not risen to the challenge and the salty bite of that mouth of hers? The lady was toying with his head—one minute the flirtatious, vain, empty-headed miss who made his stomach recoil, and the next, a vicious, sharp-tongued termagant who pushed his normally unflappable buttons. She’d written her own name in the space, and if he hadn’t known the moniker from the ship’s passenger list, he wouldn’t have written over it.

But why had he? The space was already taken.

He could have bowed out with no one the wiser.

Valentine sighed as he and Lisbeth took a turn around the ship’s opulent ballroom. One would never know that one was on a ship, with the enormous oak dome rising high toward a spectacular skylight. The starlit sky above was magnificently romantic, if one was given to such tendencies, which he was not. The spectacular decor resembled that of a posh London hotel, the painted murals beneath the skylight depicting frolicking cherubs and dancing nymphs. Valentine had to hand it to his friend—Ashvale’s sense of taste was impeccable.

If only Ashvale’s sister was cut from the same elegant cloth, but no, the woman had the personality of a burlap sack.

That reminded him. He shot his former countess a circumspect look. “Your toe seems quite fine to me, Lisbeth.”

“Oh, it comes and it goes. Toes are capricious things, aren’t they?”

“Are they?”

She nodded. “Indeed.”

“Why are you doing this?” he asked when their steps led them closer to where Lady Bronwyn stood in delighted conversation with no less than half a dozen of her swains. He had the sudden desire to sweep them all overboard.

“You know why,” Lisbeth replied, laughter in her voice. “It’s amusing to see her get through that ice shield of yours.”

“Ice shield?”