He closed his mouth, the hunger dissipating from his veins like ice melting on a summer day. Ashvale would kill him if he debauched his younger sister. And Rawley wouldn’t hesitate to put Valentine’s head through a wall if he suspected an inkling of his corrupted private thoughts. His temper ebbed as quickly as it had risen.

Clearly, his intentions weren’t in the least bit honorable. A lady like Bronwyn deserved to be wooed and wedded, and the truth was that marriage—outside of the contrived kind for clandestine Home Office purposes—wasn’t for him. At least until he was forced to find a duchess for the sake of the dukedom…which would be in the very distant future.

Hell, he’d been besotted by a brilliant smile and nearly fallen into a snare as old as time because, in the heat of the moment, he’d forgotten who she was and what she represented.

A lady of the ton…and a surefire marriage trap.

It wasn’t her fault. She’d been clear about what she wanted all along. Thank God he hadn’t read that love letter, though perhaps that would have been the precise incentive he needed to stay far away.

Five

Twenty-four hours later, Bronwyn’s heart was still racing. She couldn’t believe that the Duke of Thornbury had nearly discovered the letter that she’d tucked into her corset and completely forgotten was there. She had been lost to the music, lost to the dance, and when he had taken her in his arms, she’d been lost to a delicious desire that had nearly derailed her.

Nearly derailed her mission.

Because God forbid that he discover what she was hiding.

And not just the arousal under her skirts. In truth, she hadn’t been above dragging the man to the nearest alcove and demanding that he ruin her properly. The only thing that had stopped her—that had kept her from carrying on like a seasoned courtesan—was the watchful eye of Rawley, even though he’d had his hands full with Cora.

Like that wasn’t a surprise in itself. The normally talkative maid was tight-lipped about her torrid affair with Ashvale’s cousin, though she did admit that she was deeply in love with him. Love was a far step from the emotion Bronwyn felt with Thornbury.

More like carnal dementia, thanks to all the blood from her brain that had descended to intimate regions in tune to the throbbing beat of the drums. She’d felt that thundering pulse everywhere…behind her breastbone, at the points of her nipples, between her drenched thighs.