by Adele Clee
“Please, Miss Kendall, do not insult me by offering to repay a gift.” Valentine placed the pouch into the inside pocket of his coat. “And I shall return the ring once I have seen you safely to your door.”
“No!” With a hint of panic, she shook her head. “Keep it safe for me. Just for a little while. I cannot risk losing it again.”
The mere fact she trusted him with a personal treasure touched him in a way nothing else ever had. Pride, coupled with a desire to live up to her expectations, settled in his chest. Did her request have something to do with her brother’s sleight of hand?
“Your father’s ring will be perfectly safe in my care.”
She smiled again, although the heavy sense of loneliness still lingered behind the softness of her features.
“I hope you remember where your coachman parked your carriage,” she said, glancing at the window where passing shadows slipped like spectres through the blanket of fog. “Though you don’t have a hope of finding it in this weather.”
Valentine hesitated. “I am without my carriage today. I walked across town.”
Would she draw the wrong conclusion? A man of his breeding ventured to these parts merely to partake in scandalous activities—be it gambling, drinking or whoring. And she had not asked why he needed the services of a pawnbroker.
“Come,” he said before her mind processed the information. “It will take the best part of an hour to walk home, and the streets are treacherous.” On a foggy night, carts and carriages were known to mount the pavement.
The shop bell tinkled, and another patron entered—a thin woman with a pale, weary face. A small child with sad eyes clutched her hand. The broker hurried from his hideaway to examine the treasure she had placed on the counter—a gold cross and chain.
Miss Kendall sidled next to Valentine. She touched his arm, and his world tilted. “Please, my lord, I would offer her assistance had I not emptied my reticule.”
Valentine met her gaze. It occurred to him that this spell she had cast over him meant he would do anything she asked. And so, he retrieved another note from his pocket, strode up to the woman, took her hand and thrust it into her palm.
The woman looked up at him with the same air of wonder, the same look of admiration currently swimming in Miss Kendall’s eyes.
Valentine accepted her heartfelt thanks and then moved to open the door for Miss Kendall.
As they left the shop, Miss Kendall thrust her hand into the crook of his arm. She held on to him with the familiarity of a lover, not a woman who had come close to shooting him mere days ago. Of course, the intimate gesture had more to do with the hazardous conditions outside than with any romantic feelings.
Navigating the fog-drenched streets proved more dangerous than expected. One wrong turn might be disastrous. Dark shadows appeared through the mist, barging into them, banging shoulders. Miss Kendall hugged Valentine’s arm with both hands and pressed her body close. The damp air carried the acrid smell of sulphur that choked the throat. When she dropped her hand to cough, Valentine slid his arm around her waist and held her in a vice-like grip.
Shouts, cries and the anxious neighs of horses echoed all around them.
A terrified gasp left Miss Kendall’s lips.
“What’s wrong?” Valentine’s heart skipped a beat.
“I heard someone call my name.” She peered into the blanket of nothingness.
“Who?” His thoughts turned to the mysterious stalker. “A voice you recognise?”
“I-I’m not sure. A voice from the past.”
Valentine felt her body shudder as he kept her in a secure hold. A large shadow appeared through the grey cloud to block their path. The figure did not dart out of the way in shock but forced them to come to an abrupt halt. In the seconds it took to recognise the upturned collar of the surtout, the man pulled a blade from his walking cane, dropped the shaft and attempted to cut the drawstrings on Miss Kendall’s reticule.
“What? No! Valentine!”
Valentine wasted no time coming to the lady’s aid. He let go of Miss Kendall, grabbed the scoundrel’s arm and twisted until the blade tumbled to the ground. He kneed the rogue in the groin and, with a punch worthy of his friend Devlin Drake, smacked his fist into the man’s cheek.
Miss Kendall shrieked.
A vitriolic curse burst from the blackguard’s mouth as he stumbled back.
Valentine kicked him to the ground, grabbed Miss Kendall’s hand and took flight.
“Ow!” someone shouted as Valentine barged into a crowd of people as he hurried past them. “Mind where you’re going.”
“Valentine, wait.” Miss Kendall puffed and panted. “I cannot keep up with you.”
“Just hold on to me.” It took one skilled swipe with a blade to kill a man or woman for that matter. Fear held him in a stranglehold. But he kept moving. The blackguard might be three steps behind, and Valentine would not know. “Whatever you do, don’t let go.”
The hazy glow of a gaslight drew his attention. The familiar sign of Collier’s bookshop sent a wave of relief washing over him. At least they were heading in the right direction and were but one street from Golden Square.
“Valentine, wait,” Miss Kendall repeated, once again addressing him as an intimate friend. “Can we not stop for a moment?”
From his recollection, they were near the mews on Rupert Street. Perhaps it would serve them well to hide for a time. The likelihood that the rogue was still stalking after them was slim. Still, he would not take a chance. He slowed to a walking pace and looked for where the pavement met the cobblestones.
He drew Miss Kendall through the entrance to the mews and pulled her behind the stone archway. It was dark, the faint glow of lanterns hanging from the stalls beyond, and the chink of a hammer hitting metal confirmed they were not entirely alone.
“Thieves are bountiful on a night such as this,” he whispered as he pressed her back against the stone column and shrouded her with his body. “If you must rest, then let it be away from the main thoroughfare.”
The tops of their boots touched. They were so close the smell of her perfume—iris, rose and jasmine—filled his head. The heat from her body warmed every fibre of his being.
“The rogue tried to cut the drawstring on my reticule,” she said between laboured breaths.
“Perhaps he followed you to the pawnbroker. Knew you would have something valuable.”
“No doubt.” Miss Kendall looked up into his eyes. “I’m glad you were there. The fog descended so quickly.” The words were tinged with mild panic. “I don’t know what I would have done had—”
“Hush.” Valentine placed his finger on her lips. “There is no need to worry.” Their bodies were so close he felt the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “You’re safe now. That is all that matters.”
Slowly, he drew his finger down over her lips to her chin, and then cupped her cheek in a gesture of reassurance—well, that was what he told himself.
“Fear is somewhat exhilarating,” she whispered in a hushed tone he found highly sensual. “My blood is pumping so fast I can hardly catch my breath.”
His breath came quick, too, though it had nothing to do with almost losing one’s life to a knife-wielding scoundrel.
“Perhaps we are both lacking a little excitement in our lives, Miss Kendall.” This was not the calm, sedate life he envisioned for himself when he returned from his travels abroad, and yet he had never felt more alive.
“Excitement often leads to recklessness,” she replied.
He stared at her parted lips. “In such a case, one might lose sight of Society’s rigid rules. One might be inclined to ignore the consequences of one’s actions.”
Her mouth curled into a half smile. “And what would tempt a man of your experience to behave so rashly?”
Valentine moistened his lips. “Oh, I think you know.”
A vibrant energy sparked in the air between them.
“Kissing a lady in a dark corner of th
e mews might be considered reckless.”
“Reckless and irresponsible,” he agreed. “And would a lady with worldly experience be willing to pander to my whims?”
Miss Kendall blinked rapidly. “Once won’t hurt.”
“Once will not be enough,” Valentine said, his voice low and husky as his mouth came crushing down on hers.
The touch of her lips set his body aflame.
She did not wait for him to set the pace but moved her mouth frantically over his as if desperate to drain every drop of pleasure. Their breathing grew urgent, ragged. A low moan resonated in her throat, the sound as erotic as anything he had imagined while fantasising about her in bed last night.
Aveline Kendall tasted like no other woman before. She tasted of wild, forbidden fruit warmed from the heat of the sun. She tasted as rich and as intoxicating as the finest wine, a combination that made him dizzy. She tasted exotic—strangely unique though highly addictive. The urge to delve into her mouth took hold. With one hand, he cupped her neck, his thumb coming to rest on her cheek as he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue. Then he pushed inside the warm, wet den of iniquity that was sure to rid him of every noble intention.
The intrusion startled her for a second, no more, and then she matched the desperate sweeps of his tongue. He thrust deeper. Took command. Plunged into her mouth to sate the hunger writhing in his veins. But there was only one way to bring this mating of mouths to a climax and anything more than a passionate kiss was a step too far considering their current location.
Valentine tore his lips away. “Perhaps that is enough excitement for one evening. The gentleman in me is aware that I have already overstepped the mark.”
Miss Kendall’s dark eyes devoured him as she moistened her lips. He almost caved beneath the look of longing he witnessed there.
“You certainly don’t kiss like a gentleman,” she said, struggling to catch her breath.
“When one loosens the strings of restraint, gallant gentlemen are often the most sinful.”
He felt like a stag in rutting season. He wanted to tilt his head back, roar and bark, clash antlers with any other male who had designs on mating with this female.
“You certainly have great depth of passion, my lord.”
“And as a woman brimming with worldly experience, I’m sure you know that is not the barrel of your pocket pistol pressing into your abdomen.”
Miss Kendall’s eyes widened in shock, but one shake of the head and she soon recovered. A smile touched her lips, and Valentine knew she had thought of a witty retort.
“Thank you for informing me,” she said. “Now I am in no danger of whipping it out to blow dust from the barrel.”
Chapter Eight
“I know we consider our meetings all-lady affairs,” Honora said, gesturing for them to help themselves to the finger sandwiches laid out in the centre of the round table in her sitting room, “but my son has a particular interest in the topic today, and I hope you don’t mind if he makes a brief appearance.”
Ava’s stomach skipped up to her throat.
How could she sit across from the viscount without blushing?
Memories of the heated kiss she shared with Lord Valentine last night still burned in her mind. Never had she been so consumed with fanciful thoughts or romantic inclinations. And yet her fingers itched to caress his bare chest. Her lips longed to ravage his expert mouth. Indeed, when he insisted on escorting her home, and they lingered on the corner of Mount Street, there was a moment when he stared at her mouth and she imagined he might kiss her again.
“I have known Lucius since he was a boy,” Mrs Madeley said, bestowing the other ladies seated around the table with her usual nothing-fazes-me grin. Today, she wore the same drab blue dress and artisan cap she always wore when discussing topics of a literary nature. “I have never found him to be one of those condescending gentlemen who constantly criticise. Perhaps we may even teach him something.”
Lady Cartwright’s red ringlets—which everyone knew to be a wig for the matron was approaching sixty—bobbed beneath her white cap as she nodded. “I think it will be the perfect test,” she said whilst piling her plate high with sandwiches. “If we can speak openly in front of a viscount, then it might give those reserved ladies amongst us a little more confidence.”
All heads turned to the hunched figure of Matilda Faversham. With a heart-shaped face and porcelain skin, Society might consider the lady a beauty if she did not tremble every time she spoke.
“Well?” Honora asked. “Are you in agreement, Matilda?”
Miss Faversham opened her mouth and snapped it shut.
Ava sat next to the girl and so tapped her affectionately on the arm. “It will do you a power of good, as Lady Cartwright said.”
Miss Faversham’s eyes brightened with a look of admiration. “Very well. If you think it is all right, Miss Kendall, Lord Valentine m-may attend the meeting.”
Honora breathed a relieved sigh. “Excellent. Once we’ve eaten, we shall join him in the drawing room.”
Heat rose to Ava’s cheeks. “Lord Valentine is already here?”
“Yes, he spent the night.”
“The night?” Ava’s pulse raced.
After a leisurely morning in bed, was he dressing in the room above them? She pictured him in nothing but a pair of breeches slung low on the hips. In her mind’s eye, she saw mussed golden hair, a rakish lock hanging over his brow. She saw the ripple of muscles in his abdomen as he shrugged into his shirt.
“Though I am not sure he got any sleep. Jenkins found him in the drawing room at three in the morning, cradling a glass of brandy.”
The drawing room gave one a perfect view of Ava’s house. After the incident on the way home from the pawnbroker’s shop, Valentine had seemed agitated. Did he fear the rogue had followed them home? Had he kept watch on her house all night?
“Men.” Lady Cartwright chuckled. “We use sleep to forget about our problems, and they are quite the opposite.”
There was some truth to the lady’s statement. Sleep had been the only thing to ease the strange ache that commanded Ava’s body whenever she thought about the handsome lord. Sleep banished the heartache that accompanied thoughts of her missing ring, too.
Matilda cleared her throat, but it was a moment before she spoke. “M-my father once drank a whole decanter of brandy upon receiving the bill from my mother’s milliner. She does so love her hats.”
Everyone gave a nervous laugh for they all knew of the major’s temper and could imagine the scene playing out quite differently.
A tense silence ensued, the sound broken by the clink of a china teacup on the saucer. The conversation soon turned to more topical subjects—Ecuador declaring independence, a poem in the Gentleman’s Magazine, of all places, that explained the correct nosegay one might send as a love token. Violets for faithfulness. Marigolds for marriage. Ava wondered what token one sent when consumed by raging lust.
They finished their repast, and the footmen cleared away the plates and platters.
“Let us remove to the drawing room where my son is waiting.”
Honora stood and led the way.
Ava joined the back of the queue as she tried to gather her composure. Heavens above, her legs trembled so violently anyone would think she was being presented to the king. How had one kiss—one remarkable kiss—turned her into such a wreck?
After a minute’s pause in the hall, Ava entered and found Lord Valentine paying court to his mother’s friends. Mrs Madeley, being an advocate of equality, was not fawning over him as Lady Cartwright was wont to do. And poor Miss Faversham shook visibly under the weight of the gentleman’s stare.
“Ah, and Miss Kendall is here, of course.” Honora shooed the other ladies away leaving a direct path to the handsome lord.
Heavens, he looked spectacular in dark blue. The colour brought out the vibrant hue of his eyes.
A sinful smile touched Lord Valentine’s lips as his gaze settled on A
va. “Miss Kendall. What a pleasure it is to see you again. Let us hope we may find common ground regarding our assessment of The Modern Prometheus.”
“My lord.” Ava inclined her head. She was hot. Her stays were too tight. It took immense concentration to reply. “Disagreements can be healthy if one is willing to embrace other people’s opinions.”
The tip of his tongue swept over his full lips. For all the saints! It occurred to her that Lord Valentine was right. One kiss was not enough. The need for another grew inside like an opium addiction. One taste would ease the writhing hunger. One taste would leave her desperate for more.
“I can accept anyone’s opinion if made with a degree of intelligence and logic.” He gestured to the gold damask sofa and chairs set out in a circle, though his penetrating blue eyes remained fixed on Ava. “Shall we take our seats? I am interested to hear your opinions regarding the title and what relevance it bears on the novel as a whole.”
“That is simple,” she said as the rich tone of his voice seduced her from across the room. The coil of desire unwound slowly deep in her core. Who would have thought an intelligent conversation could be so arousing? “In referring to Prometheus, the author hints that sin is a major theme. Does the novel not examine the quest for knowledge waged against moral implications?”
A pleasurable sigh left the lord’s lips. “Is it knowledge Victor Frankenstein seeks or power, Miss Kendall?”
Oh, it was an excellent question. The urge to probe his mind whilst running her hands over his bare chest proved distracting.
“I trust you have each read all three volumes,” Honora said, breaking the spell.
The other ladies nodded.
“But you must excuse my memory,” Lady Cartwright said, taking a seat on the sofa, “what with me being the first to accept guardianship of your treasured volumes, my recollection might be hazy.”
Miss Faversham scurried to share the sofa with Lady Cartwright while Ava sat directly opposite Lord Valentine. Try as she might, she could not ignore the way the viscount’s muscular thighs filled his breeches.