Valentine couldn’t fathom how the girl who had so courageously helped the Duke of Ashvale and his duchess claim his birthright had turned into this…this avaricious nitwit who’d looked at him like a spider eyeing her next meal. The expression of greed on her face as she’d contemplated her marital prospects in Philadelphia had sickened him. Perhaps he’d become too jaded in life.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as hard as he could until spots danced in his vision. He had a job to do, and babysitting the younger sister of one of his friends was not in the cards. Valentine hadn’t expected her to be on the ship, and he was certain Ashvale would be surprised to learn that she had bandied his name about to secure passage.

He wondered if the ailing relation was real, or whether that was some pretext to leave her mother’s clutches. He shook his head—that adder of a woman wouldn’t let her spawn go far, not if it endangered her chance to make an exceptional match. Her young, nubile daughter was much too valuable a commodity for that. Then again, money was as attractive a lure as a title these days.

Valentine recognized the initial pulse of interest for what it was. Lady Bronwyn was a comely girl, there was no denying that. Ash-brown hair with hints of rich chestnut was coiled into an artful arrangement that framed her oval-shaped face to perfection. Darkly lashed crystalline blue eyes were the jewels of a creamy porcelain countenance, overshadowing the small bow-shaped mouth that resided below a sloping nose.

She wasn’t even his type. He preferred his women bashful, buxom, and brainless.

While she had the last going for her, Valentine couldn’t explain the vexing pulse of attraction. Thankfully, the early spurt of it had evaporated the moment she’d opened her mouth. And he had more important things to do than worry about some silly chit, though he did feel a beat of responsibility to his friend, the duke. Ashvale would pummel him to a pulp if he found out that Valentine had left his friend’s younger sister in a compromising situation.

He palmed his face and frowned. So was she lying?

No. She had likely used the Ashvale connection to occupy the owner’s accommodations onboard. He sighed, rethinking his early thought that she was the shallowest sort of woman. A pity, really. Or perhaps a blessing in disguise. Not that he required any temptation while he was working. He had one job—he needed to find the rogue operative known as the Kestrel.

And his prey was on this ship.