AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I think there’s a lot more to Lady Bronwyn than meets the eye, to be honest. All women put on a mask in one way or the other, especially women of theton, but she’s different. The mask she’s chosen doesn’t quite fit.”
“How so?”
“I don’t think she’s as empty-headed as she pretends to be.” Her gaze returned to him. “Especially when she’s around you. She tries too hard to put you off.”
“Not hard enough,” he muttered.
The polka on the ballroom floor came to an end and the strains of the waltz began. Valentine’s feet were glued to the floor, a feeling of reluctance swelling inside of him. His instincts were screaming and he’d learned to listen to them over the years. They didn’t warn of danger, but they warned ofsomethingall the same. This dance he never should have agreed to would be pivotal.
“Enjoy your waltz,” Lisbeth said with no small amount of mirth.
“I’d rather go for swim in the Thames at the height of summer.”
She snorted. “It won’t be that bad.”
“You’re right. It will be much worse.”
Valentine saw the moment Bronwyn took notice of the change in music as well as the transformation that came over her. The animation melted away. Eyes darting to the orchestra, her spine went ramrod straight, the delight fading from her expression and a studious blankness replacing it. Her throat worked, that full bottom lip disappearing between her teeth. Was she dreading the interlude as much as he was?
Valentine blinked, his brows drawing together as he watched her make apologetic excuses to the gentlemen around her. Those upturned lips shaped words that were easy to read even from where he stood—This dance is taken, I’m afraid. She gave an absent smile to the last of her admirers before he went to find his promised partner and wound her hands in her skirts to lift them slightly. Then she turned as if sensing his focus.
Brilliant blue eyes met his and held.
A handful of emotions bled through her gaze—curiosity, interest, trepidation, panic—before those skirts lifted higher and she whirled on her heel to dash through the doors behind her. The little minx was running!
“Guess she’d rather a swim as well,” came Lisbeth’s droll assertion.
But he didn’t stay to retort; he followed Bronwyn’s flight with swift footsteps. She wouldn’t escape so easily. A flick of indigo skirts caught his peripheral vision at the end of the corridor leading to the upper deck, the delicious cinnamon-and-apples fragrance teasing at his nostrils. He lengthened his stride, but she must have caught on to his pursuit because when he climbed the staircase to the deck, she wasn’t there. On the prior level, there was a library as well as a number of quiet, elegant first-class lounges. She could be in any one of those.
Valentine retraced his steps, peering into each of the dimly lit rooms only to be frustrated time and time again by unfamiliar occupants, when another whisper of her mouthwatering scent wrapped around him, leading him to a narrow staircase that led to the lower levels. Surely she wouldn’t go down there unaccompanied? Worry seeped through his veins.
The foolish twit was silly enough to do just that. While Ashvale’s staff tending to the ship were well paid and well treated, that didn’t mean she would be safe there. It would be like a lady venturing into a tavern in Whitechapel in the dead of night.
Bloody hell. Disquiet turned to something else in his churning gut.
Valentine ran.
Four
Oh drat it, she was lost!
Bronwyn had known that someone was on her heels. She’d felt the pursuit in the hairs rising on her nape when the steady echo of a long stride reached her ears. Those frenetic nerves of hers had fired again, an anxious, unsteady version of herself storming to the fore, instead of practical, capable Bronwyn.
Heart pounding, she changed her mind about taking some air outside at the last minute. It might have been Thornbury, or it could have been any of the other persistent gentlemen from the ballroom. Once she realized that someone was trailing her, instead of turning and confronting her pursuer in a public space as she should have done, she had panicked and taken the next staircase she’d seen.
It had led her to the servants’ quarters. The space was tighter on the lower levels of the ship…the hallways narrower, the chambers smaller, and the sturdy furniture chosen for practicality rather than elegance. It was much warmer, too. Bronwyn could feel the beads of perspiration making her underclothes cling to her skin. She did not want to end up in the boiler room by accident!
Another set of stairs beckoned at the end of one hallway, and she gratefully climbed it. To her surprise, it led to yet another staircase. Curiosity overtook her fears. She’d seen the upper decks while strolling on the main sundeck of the ship and had always wondered what was up there.
As she grew closer to the door at the end, the boisterous sounds of a fiddle filtered down from the upper level, the sounds of laughter and stomping feet growing louder as she approached. Where on earth was she going?
Taking that chance was a much better option than wandering back down through a maze of corridors and inviting trouble. Too much drink could turn the sweetest man into a cheeky scoundrel, and a public space was always safer than being trapped in a private one. She had been told too many stories by her mother of young ladies being compromised by unscrupulous gentlemen to ignore those warnings.
Bronwyn pushed open the heavy door, the delicious smell of salt and ocean blowing into her overheated face. Oh, that was lovely! Her trek upward had led to a private deck, she surmised, and a crowded one from the looks of it. She blinked, taking in the sounds as well as the sights. Her mouth gaped. Dear Lord, was that Lady Finley dancing near the railing? She was a widowed marchioness and looked to be having the time of her life.
The more Bronwyn parsed the crowd, the more familiar faces she caught sight of—lords and ladies whose normally stiff-upper-lipped mien seemed to be much more relaxed up here out in the open air. How had she not knownthisrevelry was here? This was where the real party was, not in the staid ballroom downstairs.
“My lady!” a frantic voice hissed. “What are you doing?”
