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“Ah,” Tremblay had said, watching her like a hawk. “You’re waiting for a certain English peer to make his move, is that it?Mon Dieu, but that man is a bastion of ice. Your dour duke wouldn’t know passion if it hit him with the stick lodged up his arse.”
Bronwyn had giggled and then blushed, the reply on the tip of her tongue that beneath his impassive exterior, the frosty duke ran unspeakably hot. His passion would put this Frenchman to shame in a heartbeat. “No, it’s not what you think.” She had blushed, irritated that she was so transparent when it came to the vexing man. “It’s not like that.”
“You don’t want him?” Tremblay had asked.
Now, that had been a loaded question in itself. Did Bronwyn want him? Yes, it was indecent how much she craved him at any given hour of the day or night. At night, in dreams, her body was his in every carnal way. But beyond her very visceral fantasies, Thornbury was a hardened ex-spy whose progressive views about women would never extend to her, by virtue of who she was. A peer who would never allow her to be who she needed to be.
Nota duke’s daughter.
Nota duke’s sister.
But a woman operating under her own willpower and her own governance. A kestrel—a bird of prey—was meant to fly, and Thornbury wanted to clip its wings and put it in a cage. Bronwyn wasn’t stupid. She’d always known that her identity as the Kestrel could not exist forever, but she wanted to end it as she’d begun…on her own terms.
What if she truly was in danger as Thornbury claimed?
The memory of those men chasing her through Philadelphia made her grow cold, but she was over three thousand miles away now. That threat was now behind her, and until she heard back from Wentworth, she had to stay one step ahead of the duke.
She had sent a carefully worded message to Wentworth via her old friend Sesily in London, letting her know that she had completed the mission and was staying with her aunt in Paris. The message was scrambled and could only be decoded with a special cipher. Bronwyn hadn’t dared to expand on the fact that her identity had been compromised by the infamous team from the Home Office, but she hoped that Sesily would reply soon.
In the meantime, she was taking Paris by storm, thanks to Aunt Esther. Her whereabouts might have already gotten back to her mother, whose loathing for her irreverent twin sister wasn’t a secret. In fact, it might be just her luck that the Marchioness of Borne would show up in Paris to drag her back to London before Bronwyn ruined herself.
Little did her mama know that that ship had already sailed…
Speaking of the coldhearted ruiner, where was he? The duke had to be here somewhere. Bronwyn couldn’t step outside without sensing him on her heels. She peered over her shoulder as she and Aunt Esther walked past the fancy department store, Les Grands Magasins du Louvre, on the Place du Palais-Royal.
These well-lit, spaciousgrands magasinswere an immense draw. The shop windows were beautiful with fabrics, novelties, and fashion, and Bronwyn had welcomed the chance to explore and get away for a bit. Thank goodness Aunt Esther wasn’t averse to some shopping, as was evidenced by the footmen trailing behind them carrying hatboxes and piles of wrapped parcels. Even Cora had her hands full, though she too was gazing rapt at the lovely displays.
The maid had heard from Rawley, who had sent a messenger to say that he was in Paris. He hadn’t been pleased at Bronwyn’s blatant disregard of his orders, especially when he’d arrived at the secure residence to find them missing. Bronwyn was certain that he, too, had to be somewhere about, along with Lord Happy Handcuffs himself. Cheeks heating, she snorted at the irreverent nickname.
“Good heavens, I’m quite famished,” Aunt Esther announced.
Bronwyn was as well, her stomach giving a little gurgle in agreement, but before she could nod that she was ready to head back to the residence or perhaps visit the nearby tea room, her aunt gave a gleeful little squeal and disappeared into a shop with yet another display of feathered hats. Bronwyn bit back a giggle. Aunt Esther simply could not help herself. Enjoying the warmth of the weather, Bronwyn stayed where she was, in close view of the waiting footmen and the carriage that followed.
She glanced at the closest bay window with its brightly colored cupola. Silk scarves hung down from a line in a jewel-toned waterfall with hues from emerald greens to crystal blue to violet and crimson. The display itself was eye-catchingly stylish and elegant.
“That color is the exact shade of your eyes,” a low voice said. “Like the bluest, hottest part of a flame.”
Her entire body came alive. Bronwyn stifled the instant shiver as that rich baritone coasted over her like a physical touch.
“Your Grace, I was wondering when you would appear like the scourge you are.”
“Scourge?” he said with a low chuckle, and her stupid core fluttered. “You wound me.”
She sighed. “If only you took that message to heart.”
The heat of him was tangible, pushing into her, warming her skin with fiery need.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me around? Surely the feared and respected Duke of Thornbury has more important matters to attend to.”
“Alas, I cannot take the chance that you will hop on an omnibus and sneak away as you did off theValor.”
She glanced up at the horse-drawn wagons with seats painted orange, yellow, and brown that ferried people to different parts of the city. The liveried driver and conductor were very efficient. A ticket only cost thirty centimes, and the omnibus was indeed an easy form of public transport within Paris, if one did not have one’s own coach.
Bronwyn wouldn’t admit that it had crossed her mind. It always paid to be informed about exit strategies in a foreign city. She wasn’t above crowding in with other passengers if she had to, but if push came to shove, she would hire a fiacre, which was more expensive at two francs but private. She kept her thoughts to herself, however.
“I’m with my aunt, Your Grace. I’m not sneaking off anywhere.”
“Where’s Monsieur de Tremblay?” he asked with a sidelong glance at her. “I’m surprised not to see that self-involved fop glued to your side. It’s obvious what he wants.”
