AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As the boatswains secured the lines, Valentine checked the London Docks while the swift clipper was tethered to the wharf and directed some of the crew to do the same before lowering the gangplank. Though the risk was low, anyone could be an enemy, and the docks were crowded with workers, sailors, fishermen, and people spilling out of the main taverns lining the edges. Thankfully, Ashvale had arranged for transportation, and several unmarked coaches were waiting for them to disembark.
“Scotland Yard has been apprised,” the duke said. “We’ll have an armed escort.”
Valentine raised his brows at the overabundance of caution but said nothing. He would have done the same.Shouldhave done the same. Then again, he didn’t know who he could trust. Best to just focus on keeping Bronwyn safe and out of trouble. Because he could sense it was brewing. She was too quiet. Too submissive.
She was a gale. A cyclone. Hurricane Bronwyn.
His instincts prickled with heat. He knew more than anyone that she didn’t have a submissive bone in her body.
Unless they were alone and tearing each other’s clothes off.
He squelched that thought with ruthless force.
Another smart-looking ship had docked to the left of them, also from France, if memory served. He remembered the flashy sails of the clipper and had kept an eye on it. He frowned as a gentleman dressed in a peacock-blue frock coat and fawn trousers strolled off the footbridge and spoke to the coachman of an equally gaudy coach drawn by four snow-white horses.
Beggars and children crowded up to the conveyance, while the tigers in fancy livery fought to keep them at bay. Valentine shook his head. Some people had too much money to spend and not enough sense to go with it. What idiot flaunted his wealth in one of the busiest and seediest parts of London? The fop was begging to be fleeced.
“Oh, we’re here,” a soft voice said as the lady of the hour joined them.
Valentine turned and gaped. From the top of her gleaming brown hair to the tips of her dainty polished boots, Bronwyn shone like the lady she was. The periwinkle-blue dress hugged every sinful curve, clinging to her bosom and that tiny waist before flaring in satin folds to the deck. Her eyes sparkled and he’d never seen anything lovelier in his life. “Lady Bronwyn.”
“Your Grace.” She wrinkled her nose at the pungent scent of the Thames. “Smells like home.”
“You should wait belowdecks,” he said, the words emerging much harsher than he’d intended. Had she dressed like that to tease him with what he could not have? Heat burst under his collar when those clear blue eyes met his. Not for the first time, he wished he could read what he saw swimming in them, but Bronwyn was fast becoming a master of artifice, or maybe she’d been one all along. A thick fringe of lashes fluttered down as if, she could only hold his gaze for so long.
The Duke of Ashvale made a sound of approval. “Here’s the Metropolitan Police now. Give them a few minutes and we shall be on our way.”
“Thank you, Brother,” Bronwyn said. “But I’ve made other arrangements.”
Valentine’s stare narrowed.
“Bronwyn,” Ashvale began. “You know what’s at stake.”
She reached up and pressed a kiss to her brother’s cheek. “Relax, Courtland, you will be happy to know that I intend to surround myself with so many admirers and potential suitors that no one will even have the space to get a shot off at me.” She grinned at both of them, and that smile had teeth that Valentine recognized. He could feel the prick of them against his jugular, even as he turned in slow motion to follow her gaze, to where the colorful fop from the neighboring ship ambled along the docks.
Recognition dawned like the taste of ashes.
Devil take it.
“I’ve invited Monsieur de Tremblay to join us in London for the rest of the season,” she said airily as they walked down the walkway. “Isn’t that lovely? I wasn’t sure he would be able to come on such short notice, but well, here he is. My French knight in shining armor.”
Valentine gritted his jaw and curled his palms into fists. He had many other descriptors in mind, the least of which stemmed from a sudden surge of misplaced jealousy. Said knight was in armor so bright, it was a wonder everyone wasn’t blinded.
“Your Grace,” Tremblay said with a smart bow to Ashvale. “How good of you to offer to host me. That is so very kind of you.”
Valentine blinked. He watched as Ashvale directed an inscrutable look to his sister who didn’t bat an eyelash. “Well, he can’t very well stay with me and Mama, and you live right across the street. Besides, you’re not even in residence. Ravenna told me at the start of the season that with her confinement, you’re spending more time in Kettering than in London.”
“Monsieur de Tremblay,” Ashvale said with a gracious nod. “Of course, whatever pleases my darling sister. I believe you know the Duke of Thornbury.”
The man grinned. “We are acquainted, Your Grace, considering the duke and I are both mutual admirers of your charming sister. If I were a less confident man, I might even be worried about the competition, but the lady has assured me that she thinks of the duke as a dear brother. What a relief!”
Bronwyn put a hasty hand on Tremblay’s arm and ushered him back the way he’d come.
Ashvale’s brows rose, a hint of amusement glittering in his black eyes when he turned to Valentine. “A brother? How droll.”
“You know very well that’s not the case,” he muttered. “The man is an imbecile. Surely you don’t trust her safety in his coach?”
The duke peered at the mounted policemen. “We are all headed to the same place, though I assume you will go to your residence. She will be safe enough.”
