Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords Book 3)

by Adele Clee

  Valentine's Vow

  Avenging Lords - Book 3

  Adele Clee

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Thank you!

  A Gentleman’s Curse

  Books by Adele Clee

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be copied or reproduced in any manner without the author’s permission. Distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement.

  Valentine’s Vow

  Copyright © 2018 Adele Clee

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-9998938–9-7

  Cover by Jay Aheer

  Cover art by Midnight Muse Designs

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  Chapter One

  South of Chalk Farm, London 1820

  The secluded area near Primrose Hill was the perfect place to fight a duel. The road lay hidden behind a screen of trees and thick hedgerows. There were no houses in the vicinity, no farmers up with the larks on this cold November morning, no chance of a constable stumbling upon the violent scene.

  Lucius Valentine stared out across the field to the wooded knoll blocking his view of the notorious Chalk Farm Tavern. The mere sight of a gentleman huddled in a booth, trembling hands clasped around a bottle of brandy, prompted the landlord to take bets as to whether the fellow might live to see nightfall. But Valentine did not need to down copious amounts of liquor to give him courage. Nor did he need people prying into his affairs.

  “Your partner in crime, he is late, no?” Dariell’s voice broke the tense silence. The Frenchman was Valentine’s second even though his skill in combat lay with his fists, not a pistol.

  “Is it a crime for a gentleman to seek satisfaction?” Valentine said, although he was not the injured party, nor the challenger ready to risk his life to salvage his reputation.

  “Duelling, it is illegal in your country, as is murder.”

  “I have no intention of murdering Mr Kendall.”

  Despite Dariell’s numerous conversations with Kendall’s second, an apology in the Times was the price Valentine must pay to restore the man’s honour. But only a weak man grovelled when innocent. Did Kendall not know that Valentine was an expert marksman? That he could shoot the fellow through the eye from two hundred yards?

  Valentine dragged his watch from his pocket and checked the time. Why would Kendall issue a challenge only to suffer the humiliation of failing to attend? It made no sense.

  Suspicion flared.

  “Perhaps Kendall is playing a dangerous game.” Valentine drew his greatcoat across his chest. Cold muscles led to slow reactions. “Perhaps he is hiding up on the knoll waiting for me to leave. His witnesses will testify he arrived at the appointed time, will inform the world that I am the coward.”

  Mr Kendall was like an annoying terrier snapping at Valentine’s heels. Worse, a thorn in his side. The man appeared at every ball and soirée, attended the same club, occupied the adjacent box at the theatre. Kendall might be handsome and charming, but he had the brains of a trout.

  Valentine chuckled to himself. This battle had nothing to do with an imagined slight and everything to do with the right to court the widow Lady Durrant. Never in his life had he fought for a woman’s affection. And he’d be damned if he would do so now. Kendall lacked the courage to fire. Valentine would wrap the man round and round in a spool of words until the fool struggled to recall the day let alone the month.

  “The duel, it will commence soon I think.” Dariell’s comment dragged Valentine from his reverie. The man had a mystical insight, could predict events long before they occurred.

  “Let us hope you’re right.” The dullard was already thirty minutes late. “My fingers are numb. Lord knows how I am expected to fire a damn pistol. Perhaps that is Kendall’s plan. Wait until my blood freezes in my veins and then attack.”

  “There is no chance of your blood freezing today, my friend,” Dariell said with some amusement. “I suspect it will be quite the opposite.”

  Valentine was about to question his friend’s logic when a sudden movement drew his gaze to the row of trees bordering the road. A lone figure slipped between the tall trunks, greatcoat flapping about his thighs as he advanced towards them with short, hurried steps.

  Valentine observed Kendall’s approach with interest. There was something of the dandy in his walk, a swagger that cast doubt over the man’s masculinity. Evidently, he had dressed in a hurry. Three times his top hat slipped down to obscure his eyes. The pistol in his gloved hand dangled carelessly at his side as if the object were not a means to end a man’s life but a lady’s reticule filled with curiosities.

  Why the hell had Kendall come alone?

  Where the hell was his second?

  And why had he not brought a doctor?

  Was this all a ruse? Did the fellow long for a bed six feet under and lack the courage to take the muzzle into his mouth and fire?

  “Are you ready to meet your destiny, my friend?” Dariell said in the mysterious voice of a fortune teller at the fair. “Ready to discover what fate has in store?”

  “Ready? It takes more than a pistol pointing at my head to unsettle me.” After a childhood wrought with chaos and instability, few things fazed him now.

  Kendall was twenty feet away when Valentine realised his mistake. A woman’s soft thighs filled the gentlemen’s breeches. The flare of a woman’s hips drew his gaze up to the rumpled cravat that looked to have been tied by a monkey. There he noted ample breasts squashed into the fine silk waistcoat.

  “Lord Valentine?” The lady kept her dainty chin high, her shoulders straight, but he heard the nervous tremble in every misty white puff of breath. “Lucius Valentine?”

  Valentine inclined his head. “Lucius Montford Harcourt Valentine,” he said, “in case there is any mistake.”

  The lady’s sharp gaze studied his face as she moved closer, so close he caught a whiff of her perfume. The image of her sitting in a silk robe at her dressing table flashed into his mind. Who thought of perfume when preparing for a duel? Scents of iris, rose and jasmine stimulated his senses along with the earthy aroma of musk. In its entirety, the fragrance spoke of elegance, of contradiction, of a woman who was as self-assured as she was feminine.

  “Floris?” he said, inhaling deeply.

  She blinked in surprise. “Yes. White Rose.”

  “It’s exquisite.”

  “It is my one and only indulgence.”

  For a reason unbeknown, the last
word played havoc with his insides. He was not a man held hostage by his wants and desires. And yet something about the way the word slipped sensually from her lips sent his head spinning. Perhaps it was the cold, the confusion, the confounding notion that he stood opposite a woman brandishing a pistol.

  “You have me at a disadvantage, Miss …” Valentine considered her rich brown eyes fringed with the longest lashes he had ever seen, considered the faint pink blush that coloured her milky-white skin, the resolute chin that showed a steely determination.

  “Miss Kendall.” She dipped a quick curtsy. “You’re here to fight a duel with my brother.”

  Her brother!

  The trout had a sister!

  Was this beauty Kendall’s secret weapon? Had he deployed this alluring creature to unsettle Valentine’s composure? Did Kendall not know that it took more than impressive breasts and kissable lips to entice him?

  “Just Miss Kendall?” he teased, intrigued to know more about the woman who would risk her life and her reputation for a bumbling buffoon.

  “Aveline Kendall, but I prefer Ava.” She looked down her dainty nose at him. “Not that you will have the need to call me either.”

  Was that a challenge? Did she think him a man who craved the unobtainable?

  Dariell cleared his throat. “You have come alone, madame. Are we to assume your brother has withdrawn his complaint?”

  Miss Kendall firmed her jaw and breathed a frustrated sigh. “My brother finds himself incapacitated this morning, monsieur.”

  More like too inebriated to stand.

  “And so I act in his stead,” the lady continued.

  In his stead?

  What the hell was she about?

  Lord Sterling was named as Kendall’s second. Why had he not come to withdraw the complaint? The fact Miss Kendall thought Valentine capable of shooting a woman was insulting enough for him to offer a challenge of his own. If she wanted to degrade him, she might as well rip his shirt off his back, chain him to the pillory and pelt him with cabbages.

  “Miss Kendall,” he began in the tone of a disapproving parent, “clearly, you have never wielded a pistol let alone fired one from twenty paces.” She had made the mistake of bringing one weapon. At least she had no intention of taking a second shot.

  “How difficult can it be?” She studied the object in her hand with obvious disinterest, although he noted the slight tremble in her fingers. “As long as one has a steady aim, I imagine it is a relatively straightforward process.”

  Straightforward?

  “There is nothing straightforward about killing a man.”

  “Oh, I have no intention of killing you, my lord.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it because you are playing a high stakes game you cannot hope to win.” How was it that Mr Kendall had been a prickly pain in his arse this last week and yet Valentine had never laid eyes on his sister? “So, if you have no intention of killing me, pray tell me what you’re doing in a field near Chalk Farm wearing your brother’s breeches and carrying a pistol.”

  A brief silence ensued. It gave Valentine an opportunity to study her, though he could not decide if she was the most courageous woman he had ever met or the most foolish.

  “As I have already explained,” she said with an air of hauteur, “I shall take my brother’s place. Hopefully, we will conclude the matter swiftly and with minimum fuss. By all accounts, you’re a gentleman of honour and high principles.”

  Valentine snorted even though Miss Kendall spoke the truth. “Who told you that?”

  “Lady Honora Valentine.”

  “My mother!” God’s teeth. So, Miss Kendall did move among those in Society. Who acted as her chaperone? Her brother clearly had no conscience when it came to her welfare. “You know her well?”

  “I attend her club.” Miss Kendall shook her head, impatience evident in her tone. “Now, let us get back to the matter of—”

  “Her club?”

  While Valentine had spent the last five years abroad, he knew with absolute certainty that women were not permitted entrance to White’s. Then again, his mother was progressive in both attitude and mind. It would not surprise him to learn she had petitioned parliament regarding the inequality.

  “The Association of Enlightened Ladies. We meet on Fridays.” Miss Kendall drew the oversized greatcoat across her chest. “May we proceed, my lord? My nose is numb, and I can barely feel my toes. And I should like to return home before my absence is noted.”

  Valentine stared at Miss Kendall, dumbstruck. Judging by Dariell’s snorts of amusement, his friend found the whole scene comical. He would, too, had the lady not seemed so determined in her cause.

  Purely to sate his curiosity, Valentine decided to oblige her whim. “Very well. Let us proceed. Are you familiar with the order of events?”

  “Do I look like a lady skilled at fighting duels?”

  She looked like a lady who would challenge the devil if need be.

  “As you act as your brother’s second, Miss Kendall, Dariell will inspect both weapons. Once he is satisfied—”

  “How do I know I can trust him?”

  Dariell stepped forward. He captured her gloved hand and bowed low. “Madame, you may trust that fate will intervene no matter what interference a man might make. It is my wish that you both walk away from the battlefield with your honour restored.”

  Miss Kendall looked Dariell keenly in the eyes before scanning his unconventional attire—the long trousers and tunic of a man used to living in hotter climates. A curious hum left her lips. “You believe a person’s destiny is already written?”

  “Indeed, I do.”

  She gave a curt nod and handed Dariell her pistol. “Then I trust you, monsieur.”

  “And did you load the weapon yourself, madame?”

  “Of course.”

  Dariell took the lady aside. He spoke about the striking mechanism and what she might expect once she pulled the trigger. His friend then checked Valentine’s pistol, before taking both weapons into his possession.

  “Shall we fight to draw first blood, Miss Kendall?” Valentine asked with a menacing undertone. He hoped to scare the woman enough that she might drop to her knees a quivering wreck and plead for an end to this nonsense. “Shall we fight to maim or fight to the death?”

  “I do not intend to fight at all.” The hat—being too large for her head—slipped down over her brow, and she gave a huff of frustration as she pushed it back into place. “I intend to delope. I believe that is the correct term.”

  “Delope?” Valentine bit back a smirk. “And what will you do when I fire, Miss Kendall? I am accurate to within half a centimetre, and that is being modest. I will most certainly hit the intended target.”

  A brief flash of uncertainty passed across her features, so brief a less observant man might have missed it. “But you won’t fire, my lord.” Those magnificent brown eyes journeyed over his face. Despite many women finding his physical appearance pleasing, this lady’s gaze was more inquisitive than lustful. “Sources say you are a gentleman above reproach.”

  Valentine scoffed. “My mother is a little biased.”

  “She said you are a man of few vices. And a man with your unblemished reputation would never harm a woman.”

  Damn. Was there anything his mother hadn’t told her? Did she know which side of the bed he preferred, how he liked his eggs in the morning? The urge to unsettle her confident composure took hold.

  “No. I am not a drunk or a gambler, Miss Kendall. I am not obsessed with collecting snuff boxes or Arabian stallions. If I am to name a vice, then perhaps my weakness lies in the bedchamber, but that would leave an inaccurate picture of my ability to perform.” He spoke in the licentious drawl no gently bred lady should ever be permitted to hear. Then again, gently bred ladies did not attend duels at dawn. “Not that I would expect a woman of your limited experience to comprehend my meaning.”

  Valentine expected to see her cheeks flame red with a blush,
expected a nervous quiver at the least, but Miss Kendall’s luscious lips curled up in amusement, and she laughed.

  “Limited experience?” Her voice brimmed with mockery. “My lord, I have travelled the world, watched the sunset over the Aegean Sea, explored deep into the Mines of Lavrion. I am well versed in Greek philosophy, in geological theory. And I have borne witness to the fact that it is easy to mistake the groans of pleasure for pain.”

  Valentine stared at her. To say he was aroused was an understatement. This woman possessed the power to unsettle his calm composure, to wreak havoc with his disciplined mind.

  “Forgive me,” he said, eager to put an end to this meeting, eager to restore the natural order of things, “for making an assumption that proved wholly incorrect.”

  “You’re forgiven,” she said in the light-hearted way one might expect from a lady born of privilege with nothing to do all day but play the pianoforte and sip tea.

  Valentine found the contradiction baffling. Fascinating. Intriguing.

  Despite the bitter chill in the air, the lady shrugged out of her greatcoat. She wrestled with the heavy garment, struggled to free her arm from the sleeve. Without thought, he moved to assist her.

  It was his second mistake.

  The potent scent she wore teased his nostrils. His fingers brushed against her arm, and his stomach muscles tightened in response.

  Damnation.

  “Oh, the ridiculous thing.” She tossed the coat on the ground, gripped the top hat by the brim and threw it as if skimming a stone. A mass of brown curls tumbled down around her shoulders, softening the hard set of her jaw.