Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords Book 3)

by Adele Clee

Did Jonathan Kendall have prior knowledge of the unusual ruby his father had sold? Had he stolen into his neighbour’s house in the dead of night and swopped the precious stone for a paste replica? If one could steal from one’s family, then why not from a stranger?

  “What must you think of me?” she suddenly said, giving him another rare glimpse of her vulnerability. “I make my brother sound like a common criminal.”

  “All families have their struggles,” he managed to say as she backed away. He knew first-hand what it was like to love a devil. “All families have their secrets.”

  “Yes, I believe they do.” She cocked her head to one side. “May I say that your mother’s appraisal of your character is wholly accurate? You are every bit a gentleman. Thank you again for the dance. Good evening, my lord.” With that, she moved past him and headed for the terrace doors.

  If only she knew of the raging desire lingering beneath his cool facade. Had he not already warned her? He was a gentleman in every regard but one. Valentine sighed inwardly. While he had partaken in liaisons with women, he was far from a licentious rake. And yet with Miss Kendall, he wanted to be both the best and the worst version of himself. He wanted to comfort and protect, ravage her mind, pump so hard into her willing body he no longer cared about being a dutiful son.

  A hard lump formed in Valentine’s throat as he watched Aveline Kendall slip out into the night. There was but one option open to a chivalrous gentleman.

  Destiny forced him to follow.

  Chapter Six

  Thank heavens there were only three steps leading down from Lord Rockford’s terrace to the manicured lawn. Ava’s pulse raced so fast she feared her trembling legs might buckle under the strain. The nervous energy thrumming through her veins had nothing to do with the thought of confronting Jonathan, or of meeting the dashing widow who possessed the innate ability to capture every man’s interest.

  No. Her attraction to Lord Valentine was the cause.

  The man had a magnetic charm, could seduce a woman with a single glance. The powerful pull drew her dangerously close no matter how hard she tried to keep her distance. She should have refused his offer to dance, but her hand had slipped into his large palm long before logic intervened.

  Oh, but the waltz had been spectacular.

  He danced with panther-like grace—sleek, confident, every solid muscle working in unison. There were moments where she glimpsed a voracious hunger in his eyes, moments when the heat radiating from those blue gems ignited a fire deep in her chest. Their fluid movements on the floor conveyed a natural ease that one hardly ever experienced with a stranger.

  And yet she no longer regarded Lucius Valentine as a stranger. Despite knowing him for less than a day, she regarded him as a friend. He seemed to be of a similar mindset. Why else would he show concern for her reputation? Why else would he seek her out in a ballroom full of desirable ladies?

  A playful squeal to Ava’s left drew her attention beyond the path to the tall topiary shrouded in darkness. There was merriment to be had amid the shrubbery if one was so inclined. Lord Valentine’s warning to stay on the path was not unfounded. And while he no doubt thought her reckless—the exact opposite of what he desired in a woman—and far too stubborn for her own good, she would heed his advice.

  Besides, from what she had witnessed, the rakish gentlemen congregated in the card room and were not apt to go hunting for virgins to ruin.

  Ava scanned the garden looking for Jonathan. Rows of lanterns and braziers illuminated the walkways, and she spotted him strolling arm in arm with the fiery-haired temptress. It had to be the widow. Since Ava’s arrival, Jonathan had followed the woman around like a pet dog in desperate need of stroking.

  The couple stopped near an ornamental stone temple with Corinthian pillars and a dome roof. From this distance, it was impossible to identify the statue taking pride of place in the centre, but Jonathan had led the widow behind the sculpture and Ava knew it was time to act.

  Taking a deep breath, she marched towards them. Every purposeful stride roused her ire. The sharp November chill in the air nipped at her bare forearms. A restless wind whipped at her hair, forcing her to walk in the middle of the path for the flames flickered wildly in the open braziers.

  Ava received a few strange looks as she pushed past the ambling couples. A woman walking alone in the garden must be a harlot or a dimwit. One lady made a snide remark about hurrying to a lovers’ tryst. Had Ava not been in a hurry, she might have corrected the judgemental old hen.

  As Ava drew closer to the Grecian inspired temple, she caught sight of Jonathan clutching the widow’s hand. He pressed something shiny into her gloved palm.

  Lady Durrant gasped. She gripped the sparkling object between her fingers and stared in awe. “Oh, it is more beautiful than I imagined.” A pleasurable sigh left the widow’s lips. “More beautiful than you described. Your father was a talented craftsman.”

  Ha! Would Lady Durrant feel differently about its quality if she knew Ava’s mother was the creative genius behind the designs?

  “You have slender fingers,” her Judas brother said. “The ring will be a perfect fit.”

  Ava stopped breathing. A sharp pain pierced her chest. Nausea swept through her in a sickening wave to weaken her defences.

  How could he?

  How could he give away her most prized possession?

  While her heart ached with disappointment, and her thoughts were lost in a hazy cloud of confusion, Ava crept closer. Lady Durrant was so engrossed in the ring she failed to notice Ava’s approach.

  “And you have more jewellery as beautiful as this?” Lady Durrant asked.

  “Indeed.”

  “Thief.” The word tumbled from Ava’s lips in a croaked whisper. “Thief,” she repeated with more vehemence.

  Jonathan swung around. The lines of irritation etched into his brow faded. “Ava?” Shock rendered him frozen. He cleared his throat. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

  Panic flashed in his grey eyes. Was he worried she would reveal the truth about the duel? Was he worried she would make him look foolish in front of his beloved Lady Durrant?

  “I might ask you the same question,” Ava said, stepping behind the large marble statue of a bathing goddess. “Are you so keen to impress this lady that you would steal from your family?”

  Lady Durrant smirked. “Oh dear. Someone is a trifle upset.”

  “A trifle upset?” Ava’s curt tone rang with the contempt born from her brother’s betrayal. It carried the disdain she held for women who used their feminine wiles to manipulate men. “Clearly I have failed to convey the true depth of my feelings. Allow me to correct any misconception for I am outraged.”

  Distraught.

  Heartbroken.

  Jonathan’s eyes bulged in their sockets. He would never forgive her for embarrassing him, for ruining his chances of marrying such a distinguished lady.

  “You’re overreacting,” Jonathan whispered through gritted teeth. He turned to the widow whose hair carried the same fiery glow as the flames dancing in the braziers. “Lady Durrant, allow me to present my sister Miss Kendall. I’m afraid she possesses the annoying habit of prying into other people’s affairs.”

  Lady Durrant’s snort spoke of both amusement and arrogance. Her green gaze slithered over Ava’s outdated dress, and a smile touched her thin lips. Jonathan managed a weak smile, too.

  “Well, Miss Kendall,” Lady Durrant began, “I must praise your skill on the dance floor. One might say that fortune favours you this evening. Lord Valentine is an accomplished dancer though he rarely takes to the floor.”

  “Then I am pleased I did not disappoint him.” Ava glanced at the lady’s hand clenched as tight as a clam. She would have her mother’s ring back even if she had to prise open the harlot’s fingers.

  Lady Durrant raised her powdered chin. “Either way, Lord Valentine achieved the desired result. The dance will quash any rumours regarding the disagreement with your bro
ther.”

  Was that the reason the lord sought her out?

  Was she a fool to believe he might enjoy her company?

  “And the dance gave me an opportunity to test a theory.” Ava paused. The last thing she wanted was to hurt Jonathan, but he needed to hear the truth. “You’re toying with my brother to make Lord Valentine jealous. I saw the way you looked at him while we danced.”

  Lady Durrant laughed. “Oh, you really are a prim little darling.” Her amusement faded, and she shot Ava a look cold enough to freeze the Thames. “Keep to your books and leave the ballroom etiquette to those with more experience.”

  Ava bit her tongue. She wanted to say that she would rather be wise than wanton, but only the weak and insecure needed to have the last say.

  Ava gripped the sleeve of Jonathan’s evening coat. “I have no control or influence over what you do, but I will have my ring returned else there will be hell to pay.”

  “Your ring?” Two deep furrows appeared between Jonathan’s brows. “What the hell are you rambling on about now?” He shrugged out of her grasp. “I do not know which one of your enlightened friends brought you here this evening, but I suggest they take you home before you have a fit of the vapours.”

  The stress and tension of the day’s events brought a bulging lump to her throat. Frustration sat like a dead weight in her chest. Enlightened ladies rose above petty squabbles, and so she sucked in a breath and gathered her composure.

  “You gave Lady Durrant a ring,” she said calmly. “I wish to see it.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation before her brother answered. “Why? It is of no consequence to you.”

  Of no consequence?

  Ava refused to leave before glimpsing the jewel. She stepped forward.

  Jonathan thrust out his arm to prevent her from moving closer to the coquette who seemingly took pleasure from their petty trials. When Ava failed to retreat, her brother wrapped his fingers around her upper arm.

  “Stopping meddling in things that do not concern you.” Jonathan firmed his grip. “Go home where—”

  “Remove your hand from the lady’s arm, Kendall, unless you wish to meet at dawn tomorrow.” A tall, athletic figure moved in the shadows.

  Ava recognised the relaxed sophistication of Lord Valentine’s voice. He appeared from behind a Corinthian column. While his countenance spoke of calm self-assurance, the determined look in his eyes said he was not a man one provoked.

  “This is a family matter, Valentine.”

  “Indeed.” The viscount glared at Jonathan. Raw masculine energy emanated from every fibre of his being. “And Miss Kendall is my mother’s closest friend. Consequently, I will not permit her mistreatment.”

  Ava swallowed. A tiny part of her wanted to inform Lord Valentine that she did not need his help. A larger part wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and rest her weary head on his broad shoulder.

  “I want to see the ring, that is all,” Ava said, finding her voice. “The ring Lady Durrant holds securely in her palm.”

  Lady Durrant scoffed. “I don’t have time for these childish games.”

  “Then show Miss Kendall the ring,” Lord Valentine countered. “She would not ask without good reason.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “I’ll not pander to her irrational demands.”

  A soft sigh breezed from the viscount’s lips. “A logical man might question who is the irrational one here. The one asking a simple question or the one being deliberately unreasonable.”

  A warm glow filled Ava’s chest. Not since her parents’ deaths had anyone jumped to her defence. She looked up into Lord Valentine’s bright blue eyes, a little in awe of his strength and tenacity.

  “For all the saints,” Lady Durrant said, thrusting out her open hand to reveal the sparkling gold band sitting in her palm. “By all means look, but it belongs to me now.”

  Ava stared at the sapphire stone edged with diamonds. Disappointment crept like a vine around her heart to strangle any hope. While it was not the ring given by her mother as a birthday gift, it was a family heirloom left to Jonathan to present to his bride.

  Tears choked the back of Ava’s throat. “You have proposed marriage to Lady Durrant, and she has accepted?”

  Ava would rather he married a market hawker as long as she had a good heart. She glanced at Lord Valentine to gauge his reaction to the shocking question though he appeared indifferent.

  “Marriage?” Lady Durrant mocked. She gave a hapless shrug as her arrogant gaze swept over Lord Valentine. “The possibility is open to discussion, but no, I have purchased this ring from your brother.”

  Jonathan groaned as he dragged his hand down his face and rubbed his jaw.

  “You have sold Mother’s most prized possession?” As hard as it was to tear her attention away from Lord Valentine, Ava focused on her brother. “Does Lady Durrant speak the truth? Has she purchased Mother’s ring?”

  A tense silence ensued.

  “It belongs to me now,” Lady Durrant interjected, pushing the ring down into the valley between her breasts. “I shall leave you to argue about the details.” She craned her elegant neck. “Do I hear the strains of a waltz? Come, Valentine. We should return to the ballroom and leave the Kendalls to their business. If we’re quick, you may accompany me in this dance.”

  Ava held her breath while she waited for Lord Valentine’s answer. When she dared to raise her eyes in his direction, she found him watching her intently.

  “I am sure there are other men willing to lead you about the floor,” Lord Valentine replied though he kept his gaze trained on Ava. “Nevertheless, I shall leave if Miss Kendall wishes it so.”

  Ava’s pulse raced.

  She wanted an end to her troubles, wanted one more dance with the gallant lord who made her head spin and heart flutter. She wanted him at her side to offer support and comfort. But it was best to put an end to this hopeless infatuation.

  “Thank you, my lord, but this is a private matter. You came for an evening’s entertainment not to be embroiled in my family’s affairs.”

  The viscount’s penetrating blue eyes flashed with disappointment. “As you wish.” He inclined his head and then turned to Jonathan. “The warning stands. Lay a hand on your sister, and we will meet at dawn.” With that, he offered Lady Durrant his arm and the couple withdrew to the path leading back to the house.

  Every crunch of the gravel stones beneath the lord’s evening shoes only served to enhance the pain of regret. But there were more important things to deal with than a fleeting attraction.

  She stared at Jonathan. “How could you?” Frustration returned with a vengeance. “You know what that ring meant to Mother. You know she wanted you to present it to your bride.”

  “It is too late for sentiment.” Jonathan pushed a hand through his mop of dark hair. “I needed the money. Portia offered almost double what I might expect elsewhere.”

  Ava resisted the urge to punch him in the arm. “Elsewhere? You mean the pawnbrokers.” Was that where he had taken the other items he had stolen from the house? Or was Lady Durrant starting a collection of Kendall trinkets? “Do you need money to pay another gambling debt?”

  She peered deeply into his empty grey eyes, searching for a redeeming quality, searching for a faint flicker that reminded her of her father. How could a son fail to inherit at least one of his father’s traits, be it intellect, honour or an irresistible charm?

  The thought roused the image of Lord Valentine. Ava glanced out across the manicured lawn to see him ascending the stone steps. Lady Durrant clung to his arm as if to let go would see her swept out to sea by a powerful wave.

  “I owe money to the Maguires,” Jonathan suddenly confessed, his tone as solemn as his expression.

  “The Maguires?” Ava had overheard Lord Sterling mention the name numerous times while he lounged in her drawing room drinking port with her brother. “Not those rogues who run the blood-sport arena?”

  Lord, it was said the
brothers were as ruthless as the beasts they trained to fight.

  “The odds were in my favour. Can you believe a monkey beat a Bull and Terrier?”

  The Maguires knew how to lure simple-minded men into their gambling trap. No doubt the dog snarled on cue while slobber dripped from its sharp fangs. The monkey knew to run and hide from the terrifying sight.

  “How much?” Ava said bluntly. “How much did you lose?”

  “What? Only a thousand.”

  “Only a thousand!” Ava almost choked. It was more than most people earned in a lifetime. Thank heavens her parents’ will stipulated that he could only draw the interest from his inheritance and could not touch the capital until his twenty-fifth birthday. “Even so, your allowance covers such a ludicrous expense.”

  Ava predicted Jonathan’s reply before he opened his mouth. This was not his only debt.

  Jonathan threw his hands in the air. “Not when the Maguires charge a daily interest of ten per cent,” he complained, forgetting the men were crooks and that he was a victim of his own stupidity.

  While anger still thrummed through her body, her soft heart ached with the need to offer comfort. But then another thought struck her.

  “What about Father’s watch, his seal ring, the diamond and onyx signet, the sapphire tiepin?” Panic fluttered in her throat.

  Jonathan bowed his head. “They are no longer in my possession.”

  A solitary tear slipped down her cheek. “You fool.”

  The soft words roused his ire.

  “Oh, you may preach from your pedestal, but a man must behave like other gentlemen if he is to make his way in Society.”

  Ava clasped a hand to her heart. From his Bohemian upbringing, had Jonathan not witnessed the value of individuality? Had he not witnessed the power of true love and learnt that money and reputation were no replacement?

  She stared at the brother she hardly knew.

  “I want the names of those who purchased Father’s belongings,” Ava said, her raging emotions absent from her tone. She had a focus now. Something to keep her busy, to make her life appear fulfilling.