Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords Book 3)

by Adele Clee

  Ava waited for him to chastise her, to insist she kept her untamed tongue on a leash. She expected the cock of a reprimanding brow at the very least. But no. Deep furrows appeared on his forehead. His gaze turned meditative, distant, as if witnessing a scene long since passed, one that caused immense pain.

  “A man cannot run from the past forever,” he suddenly said, though offered no further explanation.

  Run? What did a man of his wealth and exceptional looks have to fear?

  The need to soothe him took hold. “Except that my brother is intent on making things difficult. Lady Durrant has captured him in her web, and he has himself in a terrible tangle.”

  Lord Valentine snorted in agreement. “I get the distinct impression Lady Durrant enjoys the drama. I once heard her say that the trick to capturing a man’s heart is to make him think he must climb obstacles to have you.”

  And this was the woman he wanted to marry?

  Honora Valentine must be desperate for an heir to consider such a lady a suitable wife for her son.

  “Personally, I prefer honesty to deception,” she said. “And while I understand the need for primogeniture, I could only ever marry for love.”

  “Ah, that mystical emotion that eludes the best of us.” Lord Valentine cocked his head and narrowed his gaze. “And what is love to you, Miss Kendall?”

  “Love?” Goodness. He was extremely direct. Had she finally met her match? “Well, I suppose at first one must feel an undeniable attraction, a physical lust that goes beyond anything one has experienced before.”

  Covertly, she scanned the breadth of his chest, the sculpted line of his jaw, and those bewitching blue eyes that made her stomach flip. No doubt many women found themselves a little in love with Lucius Valentine.

  “And yet you do not strike me as a woman who values the superficial.”

  “Desire is a potent thing, my lord, necessary in any relationship.” But that was just a small part of what drew two people together. “Of course, I would have to admire a man’s mind as much as his body.”

  “Of course,” he said with a sinful grin. “A woman needs more than one means of stimulation.”

  Heat rose to Ava’s cheeks. The conversation grew more inappropriate by the minute. The other enlightened ladies would commend her for speaking so openly, for not shying away from the awkward topic.

  “Some say one feels love when aroused to the point of madness.” Mr Fairfax had certainly appeared mildly insane when making his declaration. “For me, true love is finding a man who can be my friend and my lover. A man who can accept I am strong enough to be his partner, not open to judge or ridicule me during those moments of weakness when I need his support.” This was the most progressive conversation she had ever had. “I would need to trust him implicitly, be ready to lay down my life for him if necessary.” Was she not describing her parents’ perfect marriage? Few people found such a deep, abiding love. “As you may have gathered, my wants might be considered excessive by most ladies’ standards.”

  “Oh, I am certain there is a man capable of meeting your long list of criteria.” The silky, rich tone of his voice slid across the carriage to stroke and caress her senses. “Have you ever been in love, Miss Kendall?”

  Ava swallowed. She had no desire to speak of Mr Fairfax or his lascivious antics, but her need for honesty forced her to answer. “I thought so, once, but believe I was mistaken.”

  “Mistaken or mistreated?”

  Good Lord! Lucius Valentine was the most perceptive man she had ever met.

  “Does it matter?”

  “A great deal. I can only surmise that the gentleman was not worthy of your good opinion or your affection.”

  Ava floundered under the heat of his stare. His perfect blue eyes penetrated the barrier she had constructed as a means of protection, raising her pulse to leave her hot, slightly breathless.

  Memories of Mr Fairfax’s assault came flooding back. The dark room, the lack of air, his hot, slimy hands slipping over her skin. She had lacked the strength to ward off his advances. Thank heavens Jonathan had arrived to save her virtue. It was why she could never abandon her brother, no matter how low he stooped.

  “Are you unwell, Miss Kendall?”

  Outside, the hum of early morning activity reached her ears. Ava shot forward and raised the blind. They had left the peace of the countryside behind, entered the bustling streets of London. Costermongers were journeying across town with their barrows. The hackney swerved and swayed, navigating the carts and wagons eager to make their deliveries before the roads became congested.

  “You should hold on to the strap,” Lord Valentine suggested when she almost slipped off the seat. “Unless you’re happy to end up sprawled across my lap.”

  One look at his muscular thighs sent her nerves skittering. She needed air. She needed out of this enclosed space.

  Ava was about to lower the window when Lord Valentine spoke again.

  “Open the window at your peril,” he said as if accustomed to riding the streets at dawn. “At this time, the salop sellers are out offering hot drinks, their cure for those with a pounding head from a night spent in drunken merriment. They’ll think nothing of thrusting their hands into the vehicle to force you to purchase their wares.”

  “Then I pray they have fat fingers.” Ava lowered the window a fraction and inhaled the stench of manure and rotten vegetables. It was the tonic she needed to banish the ghosts of the past. “We’re approaching Mount Street which is where I shall alight.”

  “Mount Street?” Lord Valentine frowned. “But I was under the impression your brother owned a house on Newman Street.”

  Oh, dear! Lord Valentine was not as radical as he would have her believe. “My brother does own a house in Newman Street which is currently let to Lord Sterling. I own a house in Park Street, directly opposite your mother. My brother resides with me for the time being.”

  “You own a house opposite my mother?” The lord arched a brow and gave an odd hum. Ava wasn’t sure if it was a sound of surprise or admiration. “And you are alighting on Mount Street because?”

  “My neighbours like to gossip, and I hope to return home unnoticed.” Even enlightened ladies had to mind their reputations to a certain degree.

  “I suspect most of them are still snoring in their beds.”

  “Trust me. Your mother has a keen eye and misses nothing. Besides, the driver will attempt to fleece me for a few extra shillings and an argument at this hour will most certainly rouse attention.”

  Lord Valentine sat forward and with a look of steely determination said, “I shall pay the driver, Miss Kendall. There will be no complaint regarding his fare.”

  Ava sighed inwardly. Chivalrous men were far too assertive. There was a fine line between considerate and controlling.

  “I couldn’t possibly permit it.” This time, the topic was not open to negotiation.

  As the hackney rolled to a halt on the corner of Mount Street, Ava reached under the seat and retrieved the mahogany case. She flicked the catch and raised the lid before placing the pistol on the velvet inlay next to its identical counterpart. Then she gathered her hair on top of her head and tucked it into her brother’s top hat.

  “You missed a tendril.” Without warning, the viscount captured the stray lock of her hair. He studied the texture, caressed it between his fingers. His eyes turned the colour of the Aegean Sea on a summer’s morning, so blue she imagined diving into their mesmerising depths. “Allow me to assist you.”

  All the air left Ava’s lungs. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

  Lord Valentine wound the lock slowly around his finger as if it were a prelude to something far more salacious. His knuckles brushed against her cheek as he tucked her hair into her hat. “There. We would not wish to give the game away.”

  “No,” Ava breathed as she struggled to find her voice.

  “Should you ever face a dawn appointment again, Miss Kendall,” the viscount said, gesturing to th
e weapons resting on their plush bed, “I suggest you take both pistols. It pays to be careful.”

  The thrum of desire hung in the air, thick and heavy.

  “In my limited experience,” she began, scrambling to regain her composure, “it does not matter how good a shot you are or how well equipped. What matters is reading your opponent, researching their character. After all, it is merely by chance that you are not bleeding to death in a field near Chalk Farm.”

  The viscount’s jaw slackened though he made a quick recovery. Before he could offer another word, Ava gathered the box and her greatcoat, opened the door and climbed down to the pavement. Removing the coins from her waistcoat pocket, she thrust them into the driver’s outstretched and rather grubby hand.

  “You’ll get no more from me,” she said to the stout fellow. “That covers the inconvenience of waiting in the cold.”

  She turned to find that Lord Valentine had alighted, too.

  “I presume that when your brother has recovered from his ailment, he will deem the matter satisfied.” As the lord pushed his muscular arms into his greatcoat, his bright blue gaze slid sensually over her body. “After all, he would not want the ton to know his sister came to his rescue.”

  “You do yourself a disservice, my lord. Veiled threats are beneath you,” she said, feeling somewhat unnerved by his probing stare. She would rather see the flare of anger than the heated look that made it hard to swallow. “After all, you would not want the ton to know you fought a duel with a lady. I may have to tell your peers that I almost shot you.”

  “Had I been anything but a gentleman, the outcome might have been vastly different.” Rather than appear affronted, the viscount laughed. “But as we have both escaped a lead ball in the chest, I shall bid you a good day, Miss Kendall. I have an odd feeling our paths will cross again.”

  Ava gave a little snort. “Good day, my lord. Let us hope our paths do not cross often. With your obsession for chivalry, you will have a hell of a game keeping up with me.”

  Chapter Three

  Despite being aware of Lord Valentine’s stare boring into her back, Ava did not turn around. Oh, she wanted to, wanted one last glimpse of the dashing viscount, wanted to fall under the spell of those mesmerising eyes—so calm, so blue, so full of depth and restrained power.

  Who would not want to admire perfection?

  But men of his ilk only toyed with women of inferior lineage. Education counted for little when a member of the aristocracy took a wife. Other than the job of a serving wench in the roughest tavern in town, there was but one calling for a woman with a sharp tongue and a point to prove—that of a spinster.

  Ava ferreted around in the pocket of her coat, looking for the door key. She fought the urge to glance towards the corner of Mount Street. Enlightened ladies did not dream of falling in love, of being whisked away by a hero capable of banishing every awful memory, capable of fixing every aspect of one’s miserable life. Enlightened ladies were strong enough to deal with problems on their own, knew that love was blind, fickle, and soon wore off like any other potent drug.

  The last thought roused a mild sense of panic.

  Jonathan.

  Had the effects of the laudanum diminished? Was he pacing the floor ready to unleash the devil’s own wrath on the sister who had betrayed him? At least he couldn’t shoot her. The only pistols available were in a box wedged under her arm.

  Ava’s hand shook as she tried to slip the key into the lock. Just as she seemed close to mastering the simple task, the door swung open.

  Twitchett stepped back. “Thank the Lord you’re alive, madam.”

  Bless him. The man’s face was as white as his hair and cavalier-style beard.

  “It was as I suspected,” Ava whispered as she crossed the threshold and handed the butler her hat, gloves and coat. “Lord Valentine is a true gentleman.” She glanced at the stairs, listened for the rants of a madman, but the house was silent. “I trust my brother is still abed.”

  Twitchett placed the hat and gloves on the console table and gave a weary sigh. “He woke some twenty minutes ago, madam, and was not best pleased.”

  Ava’s heartbeat pounded hard in her throat. “Tell me he is still here.” She imagined Jonathan snatching paper from her escritoire to scribble another challenge, racing around to Lord Sterling’s abode and insisting he deliver the letter to Lord Valentine’s second at once.

  Twitchett nodded. “It seems the effects of the laudanum left him unsteady on his feet, and so Mrs Stagg put him back to bed.”

  Thank heavens!

  When he found his strength, it would be a different matter.

  “Then I had best visit him in his room.” Ava had to make him see sense before he did something foolish. “Hide the pistols.” She handed the butler the mahogany box. “Lord knows what he will do when he learns I fought in his stead.”

  Jonathan had every right to be angry. After her intervention this morning his peers would think him craven. But what else could she do? Lord Valentine was the best shot in England. Thankfully, he was not a man to boast or brag. Blessed with a host of impressive attributes, he had nothing to prove.

  “Can I arrange for refreshment, madam? Coffee, perhaps?”

  “Coffee would be wonderful. It’s bitter outside this morning.”

  “Evidently. Your lips are an odd shade of blue.”

  Ava pressed her fingers to her lips. Was that what had caught Lord Valentine’s attention? His gaze had dropped to her mouth more times than she cared to count.

  “Perhaps a hot bath is in order,” Twitchett said, the deep lines on his brow evidence of worry as well as his growing years. “Shall I arrange for Mrs Stagg to heat the water?”

  “There is no need.” What if her brother left the house while she was otherwise engaged? “But have Mrs Stagg prepare a tisane. Something to ward off a chill.”

  That seemed to appease Twitchett for the time being.

  “Now, wish me luck.” Ava summoned a smile. “I am about to enter the lion’s den.”

  “Ring if you need assistance, madam. I shall send Bernice up with a taming stick.”

  Ava patted Twitchett on the arm. “My brother’s roar is far worse than his bite.”

  In essence, Jonathan was more a lion cub—boisterous and playful some of the time, quick to bite and nip for the most part, lovable when asleep. And yet none of those descriptions matched the dark mood of the man lying still, but wide-eyed, in bed.

  “Oh, you’re awake.” Despite her best effort, she could not keep the nervous thread from her voice.

  Jonathan’s cold, grey eyes flicked in her direction. He lay propped up on a mound of pillows, had a deathly pallor that had nothing to do with illness and everything to do with the effects of the drug, coupled with a hatred for interfering sisters.

  “No doubt you’re surprised.” Jonathan’s words carried the depth of his contempt. “Perhaps you failed to add enough laudanum to my port last night. A few more drops and you might have been rid of me for good.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Ava swallowed. The tension in the air was like a prelude to a violent storm. She stepped farther into the room, gripped the gilt chair next to the armoire and brought it closer to the bed. “I saved your life this morning. Had I wanted rid of you, I would have let you meet Lord Valentine on the battlefield.” She dropped into the padded seat and gave an exasperated sigh.

  “Do you know what you’ve done?” The words slipped from lips drawn into a scowl.

  While the effects of the laudanum made him more subdued, Ava sensed a threatening undercurrent. “I am not in the habit of repeating myself, Jonathan. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

  “All that matters?” Jonathan sat up and tugged to straighten his nightshirt. “Do you know what happens to a man who misses his dawn appointment? He is mocked and ridiculed. He cannot walk the streets without people pointing and sneering.” With each sentence his voice grew louder, more impassioned. “No doubt there will
be a caricature of me fleeing the battle, flapping like a distressed hen.”

  “Trust me. Lord Valentine has no intention of discussing the incident with anyone.” The viscount was not a man to gloat. “What part of ‘I saved your life’ do you not understand?”

  “You did not save my life, Ava,” he yelled, “as I had no intention of bloody firing.”

  She winced at his sudden outburst. “But what if Lord Valentine fired first?”

  A groan resonated in her brother’s throat. “It was a matter of principle,” he said as if she were the idiotic child in this relationship. “I exaggerated the slight, called him out merely to show I am serious in my desire to court Lady Durrant. We would have fired into the air. Valentine would have saved himself the embarrassment of having to post an apology in the Times.”

  Only a buffoon risked his life to prove a point. Lady Durrant must be a diamond of the first water to have so many men vying for her attention. No doubt she had a brain the size of a pea. Well, it would only be fair if she did.

  Jonathan pushed his hand through his mop of dark hair and growled in frustration. “Sterling must have been livid when he arrived this morning. The fellow lacks the courage to stand in my stead. Devil take it, thanks to your meddling he would have gone to that peculiar French fellow and withdrawn my complaint.” Jonathan shook his head, but the effort forced him to press his fingers to his temple and grimace. “God damn, it feels as though someone has taken an axe and cleaved my brain in two.”

  “Must you curse?” Ava sighed. Jonathan’s temper was as erratic as a candle flame on a gusty night.

  Jonathan’s curious gaze focused on her cravat—or his cravat to be more precise. “What the hell are you wearing?” he said as if only seeing her for the first time. He considered her breeches and snorted. “Do enlightened ladies dress in gentlemen’s clothes now? Mother would be so proud.”

  “There is no need for sarcasm.” Now was the moment to inform him of the role she had played this morning. Ava took a second to steel herself. “There is something I must tell you. It is the reason I am dressed in this ridiculous attire.”