Valentine didn’t miss the way her eyes widened and flicked toward where her trousers were drying over the wall. Was the letter in there now? He shook his head. Whether it was or not was her business. For all he knew, that had also been part of the performance and nothing but a blank sheet of paper she had planted to support the illusion.

“Why were you at McGillin’s?”

Her face tightened, though she gave nothing away. “Same reason as you. For the pie.”

Valentine admired her pluck, but he’d worn down men more hard-bitten than her. He could wait her out or catch her in a trap of her own making. She would tell him, if he had to pry it out of her truth by truth, and he wasn’t above intimidation to get his way. “Does Ashvale know of your secret obsession for pie or assignations in seedy taverns?”

Her nostrils flared, the threat obvious. “No, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“You have to give me something more here, Bronwyn.”

She glowered at him, head cocking slightly, and he could see the wheels turning in her head. How had he ever thought of her as vapid or unintelligent? She was as sharp as a tack and as inflexible as one, too. Normally, he was an excellent judge of character, a skill honed over countless years in service and surveillance, but she had fooled him so completely that his own dependable instincts had faltered. Dark lashes hooded over her eyes, hiding them from view.

“A trade then,” she said eventually. “A secret for a secret.”

He frowned. “You seem to forget that I’m holding all the cards.”

“Are you?”

She adjusted herself, her arms falling from around her knees as she tucked them beneath her in a cross-legged position. The soft lawn of her shift gathered in her lap, the lace edges tracing along the enticing curves of her thighs. Her hair, lit gold in the firelight, thankfully hid most of her upper body from view. Valentine sucked in a breath as a clear gaze met his, not an ounce of guile or guilt in it, only an astute fortitude that made him take notice. In truth, that sharp stare was more of an aphrodisiac than her state of undress, but what came next was a blast of cold water to the face.

“I doubt my brother would look any more favorably on your current flavor of pie, Your Grace.” Her eyes glittered like shards of ice. “In fact, one single bite just might lead you down a rather disagreeable path that you seemed so eager to escape the first time.”