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“You would use your own son?” Bronwyn whispered. “He’s barely out of school.”
Wentworth’s gaze swung to her. “Don’t you dare judge me! That boy was a mistake. Always listening, poking his head in, rifling through my private correspondence. He took it upon himself to go to France andhelp.” His gaze hardened. “Shooting at the sister of a duke in the middle of Paris? He deserves a stint in prison for his stupidity.”
“At least he had the ballocks to do it himself,” she shot back. “And not hire ruffians to do so to keep his own nose clean.”
Wentworth scowled. “It would have been so easy to dispose of you in Philadelphia. But who knew you’d have the most famed operative in Britain at your side?”
Bronwyn’s shoulders shook. “I trusted you! I trusted you with my life.”
“Look at the bright side, my lady. You thwarted an abduction.”
“The president was still killed!”
Wentworth waved his free hand. “Our friends needed incentive, and an abduction was never going to be decisive enough to turn the tide.”
Bronwyn broke into guttural laughter. “That’s not going to turn the tide, you stupid man. Whether you’re trying to preserve your lands or your privilege, people deserve equal rights. People like my mixed-race brother, like my friend Rawley who is a free Black man still fighting for others in America deserve to be heard. You might have shot a man who had these principles, but his values and opinions won’t stop with him.”
“Yourbrother,” Wentworth spat out, “isn’t worth the seat he occupies in the Lords.”
“Is that what you think?”
Valentine could see the thoughts racing through her head, the signs of self-doubt and recrimination, the fact that she hadn’t seen the scoundrel for what he was, but he could not comfort her. Not now, not even if every instinct in his body was roaring for him to protect and defend. Toshieldthe one he loved most in the world. But he also knew that taking his attention away from Wentworth would be a mistake.
The man snorted. “It’s a fact.”
“So you were just going to kill me?” She wasn’t quite as adept at hiding the waver in her voice…addressing the man she’d trusted for an entire year.
He shrugged. “Accidents happen, and what on earth was the daughter of a peer doing gallivanting to America anyway? Meeting a clandestine lover? Caught in a lover’s quarrel in a tavern?” Valentine cringed, remembering that he had wondered the same at first. Wentworth lowered his gun in a show of good faith, but neither Valentine nor Bronwyn lowered theirs. “Give me the list or destroy it, and we can all move on from this. You’ll never hear from me again.”
“You know I cannot do that.” Valentine’s jaw was hard. “I took the same oaths you did, only I still honor mine.”
Wentworth narrowed his eyes, beginning to sense he was losing the battle. “What’s it to you? You have no leg to stand on here. You have no proof besides hearsay from a boy with no claim to me. My word as an upstanding officer of Britain will stand.”
“Will it?” Valentine asked softly. “He also gave up letters you wrote him with confidential information. Coded ones, with a cipher that belongs to a certain protégé of yours.” He glanced at Bronwyn, taking in the suddenly sharp stare and mulish set of her mouth. “Which I’m sure she will be more than happy to share with the Home Office.”
“I shall,” she said immediately.
A high-pitched ugly mewling noise was all the warning Wentworth gave before diving toward Bronwyn. In the same moment, the silent Larry swung, his meaty body blocking any shot Valentine could have gotten off and knocking the pistol from his grip. The blast of a discharged weapon and the smell of spent gunpowder filled the air, and out of his peripheral vision, Valentine could see two bodies crashing into the wall. He had no idea whose shot it was, or whether anyone had been hit. He had his hands full with Goliath who was attempting to crush his windpipe with his bare hands.
Fighting loose by dropping like a deadweight and dislodging from the man’s grasp, Valentine kicked out at his legs. The minute the brute was down, Valentine was on top of him, his fists flying at top speed. Howdarehe lay his filthy fingers on Bronwyn? He’d seen the purple marks of his manhandling on her arm.
“Valentine, stop.” The sweet voice came to him as if from a distance, and then her beautiful face was in front of his, eyes wide and concerned. The bloodlust faded and he looked down at the mess of Larry’s face. He was still breathing, if the thick wheezing, wet sounds were any signal, but Valentine didn’t care.
“Where’s Wentworth?”
Her mouth firmed as she hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “I threw my gun at him and it knocked him right out.” She grinned. “You did advise me to throw anything handy.”
Valentine couldn’t help it; he let out a dark chuckle. “Well done.”
Bronwyn stared at him, all heated, needy eyes and chest heaving with exertion and energy. Lips parting on a ragged pant he felt in his own lungs, her fingers curled into her skirts. Valentine could barely form a coherent thought but the one pounding a tempo to his heartbeat. She had done it. She had saved them both.
“What now?” she asked.
His voice was a hoarse, deep rasp. “What now what?”
He was aware he sounded like an echoing imbecile.
“Valentine.” The name on her lips was a whisper, a plea.
