“Your Grace, are you trying to get me in trouble?” she teased. “I promised my gentlemen friends that you would not lead me astray, and here you are, guiding me to a very solitary part of the ship with no care for my poor reputation.”

“Your reputation will survive.”

“Will it?” she asked, voice low and husky in indecent invitation. Hell, he should have stayed in the lounge where he would be in control by default of everyone else’s observation. He huffed a breath. He’d say what he meant to say and escort her back inside.

Valentine throttled his spiking desire. “Is this some kind of game to you?”

“All life’s a game, Your Grace. If one doesn’t play, it passes you by in a blink.”

“You think what you’re doing is some amusing diversion?” he asked, furious, though a part of him sensed that she was baiting him. “People can get hurt. You can get hurt.”

“I’m well aware of my limitations, Your Grace,” she replied coolly. “I’m also aware of my merits. I’m sorry that with your blinkers on where I’m concerned, you cannot possibly see past the satin skirts and the proper manners to realize that I am perfectly capable of not being foolish.” A hint of red touched the tops of her cheekbones, indicating she wasn’t as cool as she pretended to be, but he was too busy being insulted to care. “Give me some small credit, sir.”

“Blinkers,” he echoed softly.

“A horse wears them to focus for a race, blocking out all other distraction.”

“I know what they are.”

She smiled. “Then you take my meaning.”

The breath left her in a gasp when he took her by the arms and ushered them both around the sternpost and then into some kind of crew alcove where a ladder led down to the engines. His much bigger frame crowded hers in the narrow space, but she did not cower or back away. No, the little minx reached for his lapels and erased any space between them. Her face tilted upward. “Are you going to kiss me, Your Grace?”

No. He had absolutely no intention of doing so.

His hands trembled on her elbows and slid over her arms to her shoulders and up in a slow, measured glide until he cupped her slender nape. His thumbs grazed over the sides of her delicate jaw. Her lips parted in invitation, and he had to force himself not to sample them for the sake of it. No, he wasn’t interested in those lips.

“Lift your skirts, Bronwyn.”

Twelve

Bronwyn’s throat dried at the explicit command.