Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords Book 3)

by Adele Clee

  A discussion regarding the anonymous author was to be the first topic for debate. Some felt the novel must have been written by a gentleman of prominence who wished to distance himself from other authors of gothic novels. How strange that in a group of ladies seeking equality for their sex they did not consider Frankenstein the work of a woman.

  Something about the way Lord Valentine watched them during their analysis spoke of more than an interest in literature. He was studying them, observing, making mental notes. The fact Matilda Faversham continued to stare at the goblet in Honora’s glass display cabinet captured his attention.

  While they discussed the relevance of the monster’s appearance on Victor’s wedding night, Lord Valentine scanned Lady Cartwright’s clothing. Did he know that Lord Cartwright had restricted her allowance? Did he know that the lady’s ostentatious dress was merely a means to disguise a lack of funds?

  “I think the moral of the story is that all men are beasts,” Lady Cartwright said with a chuckle. She glanced at Valentine and smiled. “Present company excluded, my lord.”

  “Of course.” Lord Valentine inclined his head. “And what is your opinion, Miss Faversham?”

  “M-me?” The poor girl nearly slipped off the sofa. “Well, is it that men c-commit atrocities as a means to control? Is it that life is dreadfully unfair?”

  No doubt her experience at home formed the basis of her opinion.

  “Do you not think it leans more to the fact that man is a product of his environment?” Ava said. “Perhaps when we judge people we cast them in a role they feel compelled to portray.”

  Lord Valentine hummed. “There is merit in your interpretation, Miss Kendall.”

  “And what are your thoughts, my lord? I understand the novel is a particular favourite of yours.”

  He straightened as if rising to the challenge. “But for a little kindness and compassion, we might have read an entirely different story. All men, even those Society deem hideous, want to be loved, Miss Kendall. All men seek that one person who brings meaning to their lives.”

  The room fell silent.

  There was sadness behind his words, a deep sorrow she had never heard expressed. It roused a need to offer comfort. It roused a warm affection in her chest that had been slowly simmering since their first meeting.

  She wanted to kiss him.

  She wanted to hear the passion in his voice when he told her one kiss was not enough.

  Ava cleared her throat. “Then it is the one thing upon which we all agree. Be it, man or woman, we are all seeking the same.”

  After another period of silence, Honora came to her feet and rang for refreshments.

  Lord Valentine remained lost in thoughtful contemplation while a conversation about Madame Roscoe’s operatic performance as Almirena in Rinaldo took place around him.

  While tea was served, Lord Valentine stood and moved to stare out of the window. Numerous times, an apprehensive Honora glanced at her son and sighed.

  Ava poured Valentine a cup of tea and carried it over to him. “You should drink this if only to please your mother. She does worry.”

  Valentine accepted the offer of refreshment with good grace. “She has no need to worry about me.”

  “Does she not?” Ava observed his slightly slumped shoulders and the doleful expression still marring his handsome features. “I know we have not known each other long, but I consider us friends.”

  “I should hope extremely good friends after what happened between us last night.”

  Her cheeks burned at the memory, but she did not avert her gaze. “Then as we are accustomed to a certain intimacy, let me say that you may speak to me regarding any matter you find troubling.”

  Valentine glanced briefly at his mother who instantly turned away from whatever interesting titbit had given Lady Cartwright a fit of the giggles, to smile affectionately at her son.

  “Likewise,” the viscount stated, “you may call upon me as your confidant, day or night.”

  The last word sent Ava’s stomach roiling again.

  “I know that your brother’s problems rob you of sleep,” he added.

  Was he making a logical assumption, or had he witnessed her pace the landing with her candle at three in the morning? And if it was the latter why did he care?

  “I’m sure a gentleman of your intellect can piece together the facts,” she said, deciding that anyone who had her interests at heart was worth trusting. “My brother has a problem saying no to those intent on fleecing him of everything he owns. Some of the items pawned to pay his gambling debts are sentimental. Hence the reason you found me at a broker’s in Grafton Street.”

  “Hence the reason he sold your mother’s ring to Lady Durrant.”

  “Indeed.” Though why the widow wanted such an item when she might purchase anything her heart desired from a jeweller proved a mystery. “I will not rest until I have recovered my father’s watch and signet ring.”

  She had more pressing problems than that.

  A note meant for Jonathan, delivered to the house by a boy in ragged trousers and a beaten top hat, confirmed there was to be another monkey-baiting spectacle at the Westminster Pit tonight. One did not need Socrates’ insight to know he would attend. Until Ava knew what had happened to the birthday gift from her mother, she would hound her brother to the ends of the earth.

  Then another thought struck her.

  Was Lord Valentine in similar dire straits? Yesterday, he had walked across town instead of taking his carriage. He, too, had been visiting a pawnbroker though now she came to think about it, he neither deposited nor reclaimed a thing. No. Lord Valentine’s estate was amongst the wealthiest in the land. And he had happily paid the twenty pounds at the broker’s and refused repeated offers of repayment.

  “May I ask you something?” Ava said after noting the other ladies were still deep in conversation.

  “Have I not just expressed my desire to act as your confidant?”

  “Then please consider my line of questioning more inquisitive than intrusive.”

  “Line of questioning?” Lord Valentine arched a brow. His gaze dropped to her mouth. “You may probe me all you wish, Miss Kendall. You may use any method necessary to tease the answers from my lips.” He took a sip of tea and continued to study her over the china rim.

  Ava blinked to dismiss the image of her straddling him on a chair while she kissed him to distraction. “What were you doing in Grafton Street yesterday? What need does a man of your wealth have for visiting a pawnbroker?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, the lord lowered his cup. He glanced once at his mother who failed to meet his gaze this time.

  “An item of considerable value was stolen from my mother’s home, and I am charged with the responsibility of finding it,” he said in a hushed voice. “A pawnbroker’s shop is the obvious place to look.”

  It took a few seconds for the information to penetrate. Thoughts of her missing ring, of her mother’s writing slope and vanity box entered her mind.

  “What? A thief has broken into this house, too?” she whispered.

  Had Jonathan been telling the truth when he proclaimed his innocence?

  Had a mysterious blackguard carried out a spate of thefts?

  A crippling unease settled in Ava’s chest. Jonathan had asked if Lady Valentine had mentioned thefts in the area. Suspicion flared. Was Jonathan so desperate for funds he had committed the unthinkable act?

  “What do you mean broken into this house, too?” Lord Valentine frowned.

  “I have also had precious objects vanish from my home.”

  “Recently?”

  She nodded. “Within the last two weeks.”

  “I see.”

  A wall of silence stood between them though Ava knew his mind worked as frantically as hers and no doubt considered the same damning questions.

  “You think Jonathan might be responsible.” There, she had put a voice to their misgivings. She considered the honourable gentlem
an standing before her, decided she would take his advice and confide her secrets. If she had any hope of saving her brother, she could not do so on her own. “Jonathan owes money to the Maguires.”

  “The Maguires?”

  “Two brothers responsible for dog-fighting and bear-baiting at the Westminster Pit.”

  Lord Valentine jerked his head back. “Then he is in more trouble than you suspected.”

  “He assures me he did not take my mother’s writing slope or her vanity box.” Ava swallowed deeply. She coughed to clear the croak in her throat. “He … he assures me he did not take the pink diamond ring my mother gave me for my twenty-first birthday.”

  The muscle in the viscount’s jaw twitched. “Damnation.”

  The room fell silent. Ava turned to find they were now the topic of interest.

  Ava forced a chuckle. “We are discussing the probability that true villains are not as hideous as the monster but hide behind a more agreeable facade. You are welcome to join the debate.”

  “Ah, no, no.” Lady Cartwright raised her hand and waved for them to continue. “In truth, that book gave me nightmares for nigh on two weeks.”

  “Oh,” Matilda Faversham said. “I assumed I was the only one who found it terrifying.”

  Ava waited for the ladies to resume their conversation before turning back to Lord Valentine.

  “You should not be living in that house alone,” the lord whispered.

  “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Lord Valentine shook his head. “What about Mr Cassiel?” he suddenly asked.

  A nervous shiver ran the length of her spine upon hearing the mystic’s name. For a moment, she could not breathe. “Mr Cassiel?” The man knew things, things he had never heard nor witnessed. The man had a way with words that robbed the mind of rational thought. “What of him?”

  “He had unrestricted access to this house.” The lord looked briefly out of the window at her house across the street. “You are acquainted with him on a personal level.”

  “If that is a polite way of asking if we are lovers then the answer is no,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “I hired him in a professional capacity, nothing more.” If anything, he made her skin crawl. She didn’t like that he could read her mind, delve into her soul.

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  A wicked glint flashed in his eyes, eyes as enticing as the ocean on a scorching hot day. He bent his head and whispered, “If I’m to kiss you again, I want to know I am the only man you desire.”

  Heat flooded her chest, crept up her neck. She cast a furtive glance about the room before replying. “What makes you think I desire you?”

  Arrogance radiated, and he gave a confident smile in response. “I tasted the hunger on your lips, Miss Kendall. I felt your eager hands roam over my chest, heard the breathless pants that said you want me.”

  Good Lord!

  How had they gone from talk of that vile man, Cassiel, to this?

  For a second, she floundered beneath his stare. While she wanted to unsettle his composure by denying his claim, she knew honesty was perhaps the best policy.

  “Lust is a powerful thing, my lord, and you’re an extremely handsome man.” Her attraction to him went beyond the physical. Her attraction to him went beyond anything she could explain.

  “I am?”

  “Yes, but in answer to your concerns regarding Mr Cassiel, the man has never set foot in my home and could not have taken my precious belongings.”

  The change in topic did nothing to dampen her ardour. The sudden need to feel his hard body pushing her back against the stone wall played havoc with her insides.

  “I shall reserve judgement until I have met him. Have you forgotten you promised to recommend me? My friend Mr Drake is keen to test the mystic’s abilities.”

  She had forgotten—deliberately so.

  In truth, she had no desire to approach Mr Cassiel again. She had no desire to hear the terrifying words that had plagued her since that night. “The man possesses a talent beyond this world. But let me tell you, hearing from the deceased brought no comfort.”

  It brought nothing but pain.

  Lord Valentine straightened. “You’re convinced you—”

  “Ah, Miss Kendall.” Perhaps feeling that Ava had spent far too much time conversing alone with the viscount, Honora approached. “Come, we must go through to the library and decide on the next novel.”

  “Of course.” Ava inclined her head in agreement. She turned to Lord Valentine. “I thank you, my lord, for an interesting conversation.”

  “As my son prefers to listen to you, Miss Kendall, might you discuss the merits of marriage with him?” Honora said with some amusement. “Lady Durrant will not wait forever.”

  Jealousy woke from its slumber to hiss and writhe in Ava’s chest at the mere mention of the widow’s name. “I am not sure I am qualified to speak on the subject.”

  “Nonsense. Your parents’ marriage was Society’s greatest love affair. I’m told they were devoted their whole lives.”

  “Yes. My parents shared a deep and abiding connection until they drew their last breaths.”

  Honora shook her head and sighed. “Such a terrible tragedy.”

  The words echoed Mr Cassiel’s whispered comments when Ava was alone with him in this room, when her mind had somehow been lost in a whirl of confusion.

  Mr Cassiel had said things no loving daughter wanted to hear.

  Mr Cassiel had said that her parents were murdered.

  Chapter Nine

  A deep sense of foreboding left a hollow space in Valentine’s chest. Hours had passed since he parted ways with Miss Kendall, but he could still picture the harried look in her eyes when she spoke of her brother’s debts.

  Rogues who ran organised dog-baiting events were the sort who made an example of weak-minded fools. A lost finger. A broken kneecap. A healthy tooth extracted merely to make a point. Jonathan Kendall deserved his fate. His sister deserved an end to her troubles.

  A knock on the study door drew Valentine from his musings.

  Hastings entered. “There’s a ragamuffin at the servant’s door demanding to see you, my lord. Apparently, it concerns a job in Park Street which you hired him to oversee earlier today.”

  “Damnation.” Valentine jumped out of his seat behind the desk. He had paid the boy to watch Miss Kendall’s house and to report any suspicious activity. “Show him in.”

  Hastings frowned. “Into the kitchen?”

  “Into the study. And have Sprocket prepare my carriage.” Valentine would be ready regardless what news the boy had to depart. “And hurry.”

  With a skip in his step, the butler hastened from the room.

  Valentine paced the floor while he waited, his mind plagued by a host of hideous scenarios. His heart pounded against his ribs. Had Jonathan Kendall’s failure to pay brought the Maguires knocking on his sister’s door?

  Hastings returned with the boy.

  “There’s no need to hold me arm. I ain’t gonna steal nuffin’.” He shirked out of Hastings’ grip and came to stand before Valentine. “Evenin’, governor.” The boy doffed his dirty cap to reveal a mop of unkempt black hair.

  “Good evening,” Valentine said, ignoring the vile stench of the streets that clung to the boy’s clothes. “You have news regarding the house in Park Street?”

  “Aye, but I swear you ain’t gonna believe a word. I promise I’ll let the crows eat me eyes if I’m tellin’ a lie.”

  Valentine inhaled a sharp breath. Nothing surprised him when it came to Aveline Kendall. “Is the lady unharmed? Is her house secure?”

  “Aye. No one’s visited the whole time I was there.”

  Relief settled in Valentine’s chest, though it only eased his fears temporarily. Something was amiss else the boy would not be here. “You’re going to tell me the lady has left the house, a
ren’t you?”

  The boy nodded. “She left wearin’ gentlemen’s clothes.”

  Bloody hell!

  Panic charged through Valentine’s body like a mad bull at the fair. “Was she alone?”

  “She was with an old man dressed all fancy like. I swear on me mother’s grave the man’s her butler.”

  Valentine exhaled pent-up stress. At least Miss Kendall had the sense not to go out alone. “Did you follow her? Do you know where she went?”

  “She gave me a half crown and patted me head,” the boy said, “and told me to wish her luck before climbin’ into a hackney. I ran as far as Green Park but couldn’t go no more.” The boy looked at his feet and wiggled filthy toes visible through holes in shoes that looked two sizes too small. “But I heard her tell the driver to head to Westminster. Orchard Street.”

  “Westminster?” What business had she there? Valentine glanced at the mantel clock. “What time was this?”

  The boy shrugged. “I came straight here. But there’s a fight on tonight at the Pit ’tween Samson and Raja. They reckon every swell in London will cram into the stalls.”

  Every swell looking to fritter away their legacy.

  Valentine turned his attention to Hastings. “Take the boy to the kitchen and feed him. If he so wishes, he may have a bed in the coach house for the time being. And send a footman out first thing in the morning to purchase new shoes.” Valentine retrieved a handful of sovereigns from his desk and thrust them into the boy’s grubby hand. “I’ll have another job for you tomorrow so get a good night’s sleep.”

  Tomorrow, the hunt was on for Mr Cassiel.

  The boy gave a wide-mouthed grin. “Aye, governor.”

  “My lord,” Hastings corrected. “If you are to work here, you will address Lord Valentine with the respect befitting his station.”

  “Right you are, milord.”

  “Tell Sprocket to meet me outside with the carriage in five minutes.” If Miss Kendall had gone to the Westminster Pit, there was no telling what he might find. Amid the hustle and bustle of drunken aristocrats, Valentine would take comfort knowing his coachman was nearby.

  While Hastings escorted the boy to the kitchen, Valentine dressed quickly and raced out of the front door. With his mind so distracted, he almost barged into the hulking figure of his friend Devlin Drake.