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Valentine’s mind ticked over. That ruled out the queen. Bronwyn had saidhe. Though Her Majesty wasn’t known for involving herself in clandestine surveillance affairs, the queen had used the War Office for her own ends in the past, especially when she wanted eyes on her own people. He should know—she’d once used him to spy on Palmerston, early in the prime minister’s career. It was in the interest of protecting England, she’d claimed, but he guessed that the queen had wanted to make sure she could keep the charismatic, shrewd politician on her own leash.
“We should pay them,” he said.
Flashing blue eyes met his as Bronwyn whirled, outrage written all over her. “No! I won’t give one cent to someone who hopes to use my situation for financial gain. Extortion is the most cowardly of acts.”
“Or a desperate one,” Valentine countered.
“Thornbury has a point,” her brother said. “We could leave the money as indicated. It is the least problematic route.”
Valentine walked over to where Bronwyn stood and reached for the correspondence. When she handed it over, he scrutinized it. There was nothing remarkable about the paper or the hand. The sender’s penmanship was neat and precise, so it could be a man or a woman, and the word choice suggested a person of skill and education. Definitely not a servant, if he had to guess, even if they’d paid someone to write it.
Dear Lady B, I know who you are.
If you would like to see your identity as the Kestrel remain a secret and not shared with the gossip rags, jeopardizing both the future prospects of your younger sister and your brother’s reputation as duke, you will comply forthwith.
Leave the sum of one thousand pounds in the decorative urn beside the jasmine trellis a fortnight hence.
Yours, a most avid friend.
“Hardly a friend,” he muttered. “This is someone who knows your residence. Are you familiar with the urn in question?” When they both nodded, Valentine pursed his lips. “If I had to hazard a guess, I would also say that this person knows your family. He or she knows you have a younger sister and that you recently came into the fold as the Duke of Ashvale.”
Ashvale nodded. “They could be using her to discredit me. The extortion must be the start of it. There’s no guarantee that they won’t ask for more, or go to someone with deep pockets who wishes to see me deposed.”
“Exactly!” Bronwyn exclaimed. “So why pay them?”
“To ferret them out,” Valentine said.
“All this person has is conjecture. There’s no actual proof that I am anything other than a lady of theton. Slander is also a crime, is it not?”
Valentine lifted a shoulder. “Trust me, the gossips won’t care if it’s the truth or not. They want to sell their news rags, and this story will be hot for the presses. Anything touching a duke, particularly the already questionable Duke of Ashvale, will be bound to sell newssheets. In our incestuously petty circles, scandal is currency.”
Bronwyn’s face paled as she shot a horrified glance to her brother. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to touch you.”
Valentine let out a scoffing noise. “What exactly did you expect, Lady Bronwyn? Duty isn’t limited to the men of theton. Women are just as constrained by the rules of society and decorum. The barest hint of impropriety can ruin the finest of families. Did you think your little adventures would go unnoticed?” Her face went mutinous, and a muscle had started to tick in Ashvale’s jaw at his hard, vicious words, but Valentine didn’t stop. “I’ve said all along you were a little girl playing at adult games.”
“I’m not a girl, Your Grace,” she snapped. “And no one asked you to be here.”
“I asked him,” Ashvale said, scrubbing a palm over his face. “We will contain this situation by whatever means necessary,” her brother added before leveling a quelling glare at the two of them, his dark eyes particularly flinty toward Valentine. “And you two will wed to contain any further scandal as to your whereabouts over the past few weeks.”
They both turned to stare at him.
“I’m not marrying him!” Bronwyn screeched.
Ashvale’s mouth went flat with anger. “Why not?”
“He’s an arrogant, self-serving, cold, fractious-to-a-fault, bothersome, controlling, and muttonheaded, taciturn, unfeeling cad. Need I go on?”
God, she was stunning when she was angry, like an avenging angel sent to earth to smite the unworthy. And he was very,veryunworthy. Valentine lifted an amused brow. “Your command of the language is masterful. I applaud you.”
“You can take your sodding applause right to hell.” She ground her jaw and approached her brother, whose eyes had narrowed at his sister’s vocabulary, which was saying something considering his own duchess was fluent in the vulgar tongue. “I cannot marry him, Courtland. Please do not do this.”
Ashvale sighed. “I’m afraid there’s little choice left in the matter, my dear. You were seen together without a chaperone.”
“By whom?” she demanded. “There were dozens of people on that ship.”
“Precisely, and likely more than a few accounts of Lady Bronwyn Chase leaving an alcove on the stern of my ship with her clothing mussed and looking thoroughly ruined.”
Bronwyn’s jaw fell open and snapped shut as a bright blush seeped over her cheekbones. “That could have been the hearty sea air.”
