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“More like prick-sand,” she muttered drily to herself and then giggled into her glass of champagne.
She lifted it, toasting his manhood silently. He did have a magnificent prick, and he certainly knew how to use it. Bronwyn chuckled again. Gracious, she was silly!
“What are you toasting?” an amused voice asked, and she turned to see her sister-in-law. Bronwyn choked on her sip. She could hardly admit the subject of her scandalous toast to her brother’s duchess, of all people. One, Ravenna would laugh to the rooftops and draw too much attention, and two, the subject of the duke’s rather excellent man parts was something Bronwyn wanted to keep to herself.
“Nothing, something about Thornbury.” She wrinkled her nose. “Aren’t you supposed to be in your confinement?”
“I’m with child, not infirm.”
“Some people make it out to be the same thing,” Bronwyn replied.
“Why are you avoiding everyone, loitering on this balcony like a lonely pariah?”
Bronwyn let out a bark of laughter. “Goodness, you’re full of compliments tonight, aren’t you? If you must know, I’m keeping an eye out. Lord knows why my mother decided to host a ball.” She sniffed and gulped the rest of her too-warm champagne. “I mean, I know why she did—she wants to marry me off to that man over there.” She surreptitiously pointed to Lord Herbert, who was wandering around the ballroom with a very put-out look on his face and clearly looking for someone. Her, obviously…which was also why she was here andnotdown there.
Bronwyn knew she’d disappeared for a handful of dances, two of which had been promised to him, but the thought of dancing with another man made her feel ill.
It’s just a waltz.
Until it wasn’t. There was a reason she’d safeguarded all her waltzes, and deep down, there was only one partner who would do. A man who wanted her, but did not love her.
“Does Thornbury know how you feel?” Ravenna asked softly.
Bronwyn blinked, the name sending the slightest of shudders through her. “Don’t you mean Lord Herbert? That’s who I pointed to. Him, the pretty blond in the light-blue waistcoat with the cherubic cheeks and Byronic smile.”
He was too pretty, too soft, too agreeable.
ToonotValentine.
Good gracious, why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Herbert would be an excellent match. They would marry and make gorgeous cherubic children.…and she would be miserable in matrimony just like her mother. Heavens, she was twenty times a fool. She’d told the duke she would only marry for love, but what she had meant was that she would only marryhimfor love. Any other would do just fine.
He’s not for you, Bronwyn. He’s a solitary creature. A lone wolf.
“I don’t mean Lord Herbert.” Ravenna took hold of her hand. “Sister, what happened between the two of you? I know something did. My intuition has never failed me, and Courtland has been an absolute bear since you all returned from France. I’ve only seen him like that when something’s amiss with you or Florence. Rawley is tight-lipped, too, and his eyes shutter every time I mention your name.”
“Nothing happened,” Bronwyn said.
Everythinghappened. She swallowed, her throat dry, and wished that she had more champagne, but that would mean going back downstairs and mingling. It would mean flirting with a man she did not esteem and givinghimher precious dances.
“I don’t believe that for one second,” Ravenna said quietly.
Of course, she didn’t. Her sister-in-law had always had an uncanny ability to see right to the thick of things. Bronwyn felt the warning sting behind her eyelids, the pressure in her chest expanding until it was impossible to contain. “What do you want me to say, Ravenna? That I love him? That he does not love me? That he’s only here for duty’s sake?”
She burst into tears, the emotion—and the admission—too much to take.
Beyond her sharp, spiky feelings, she knew very well why Valentine was here. He’d never leave her unprotected in public.
“Oh, my darling,” Ravenna said, gathering her close, as much as her round abdomen would allow, and patting her back. Mortified at her loss of control, Bronwyn sniffed and reached for the handkerchief in her reticule. She hadn’t cried since she was a girl, and here she was turning into a veritable waterspout…over aman, no less. “You love him, then?” Ravenna asked.
“As much as anyone could love a mangy, feral dog who licks your hand only to snap at it the minute you let your defenses down.”
Ravenna laughed at her tone. “You’re definitely in love. What are you going to do about it?”
Besides throw her naked body at him?Bronwyn bit her lips. “Nothing. He’s not the marrying sort.”
“Isn’t he? Ashvale said he offered for you and you refused him.”
Bronwyn gave her a helpless look, ugly feelings churning in her belly again. Perhaps she should have said yes, allowed Valentine to be the hero he needed to be. He could marry to protect a supposed damsel in distress…but one mention of love and the man was gone. It was his out, Bronwyn realized. In a few years, he could say,You’re protected and safe, so now I can leave. By then, her heart would be inextricably wound up with his…and impossible to extract.
