Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords Book 3)

by Adele Clee

  “Stone the crows, Drake.” Valentine clutched his hand to his heart and stepped back. “You scared me half to death.”

  “I scared you?” Drake did not look at all pleased. “God’s teeth, Valentine. Have you no thought for your friends? I have not heard from you for days. I had every intention of returning to Blackwater, but your odd behaviour keeps me in town. Three times, I have called around and left a note. Either something is dreadfully amiss, or you need to dismiss your butler.”

  “I haven’t time to talk now. I am needed across town.”

  Drake frowned. “Now I know something is wrong. Never, in all the time I’ve known you, have I heard a thread of panic in your voice.” Drake glanced back over his shoulder at Valentine’s carriage. “I am coming with you. During the journey, you can explain what the hell is going on.”

  “This is not your fight.”

  It wasn’t Valentine’s fight, either. Yet he felt responsible for Miss Kendall. Perhaps it stemmed from a need to prove himself worthy. To give him a cause, a purpose. While he supported his friends in their quests for vengeance, it was too late to do anything about the devil haunting Valentine’s dreams. His father was dead.

  “Your fight is my fight. Are we not as close as brothers?”

  Valentine considered his friend’s broad shoulders and dark, devilish features. Only a fool would reject Drake’s offer of assistance. And if Miss Kendall had entered the Pit, heaven knows what trouble awaited them.

  “Very well,” Valentine agreed. “I shall tell you everything on the way.”

  They settled into the carriage and were soon rattling through town. After enquiring after Drake’s wife, Juliet, and giving a brief outline of events since the duel near Chalk Farm, Valentine said, “And so, I suspect Miss Kendall has dressed in gentlemen’s clothes with the intention of visiting the Pit. I can only assume she plans to accost her brother to prevent him from squandering his inheritance.”

  “The Pit?” Drake’s tone conveyed shock and a hint of admiration. “The lady has courage in abundance.”

  “Courage? She is oblivious to the dangers.” Indeed, one might consider her actions reckless if they did not stem from love and a sense of duty.

  Drake folded his arms across his chest and relaxed back in the seat. “You seem to have spent an awful lot of time with Miss Kendall these last few days.”

  “The lady is a close friend of my mother’s, and you know I will do anything to bring Honora peace.”

  “Not quite anything.” Drake smirked. “Your mother wants you to marry the widow and yet you have had ample opportunity to make Lady Durrant an offer. One might believe you’re stalling.”

  Valentine was about to construct a suitable reply, but Drake knew him better than anyone, and he was tired of pretending. “I have no desire to propose to Lady Durrant.”

  The truth brought a sudden sense of calm.

  “But did you not come home to prove to Lady Durrant that you are a man capable of commitment?”

  “Partly.” He came home when he realised the nightmares of the past lived within him and no amount of miles could change that. “I also came home to assist you in your need for vengeance.”

  Drake pursed his lips. “But you said you were determined to marry the widow.”

  “Devil take it, Drake. I know what I said. But I spoke out of duty and certainly not from a place of love.”

  This time Drake could not suppress a chuckle. “You don’t know how relieved I am to know you have abandoned all designs on Lady Durrant. The widow is no good for you. You need a woman who teases your mind as well as your—”

  “Then wait until you meet Miss Kendall. The lady drives me to distraction in every regard.”

  “Good. Someone had to bring chaos to your ordered life.”

  “Even so, a man would have to think long and hard before attaching himself to a lady who acts so impulsively. Miss Kendall is a little wild and far too unconventional.” She was exciting and bewitching, too. He grew hard listening to her intelligent conversation. And her hot mouth made him forget the past ever existed.

  “Then I can hardly wait to meet her.”

  The queue to enter the small brick building, home to the dog-fighting arena known as the Westminster Pit, stretched half the length of Duck Lane. With the absence of gaslights, the narrow lane lay in darkness. A sea of shadows moved and swayed as each man in turn either gained or was refused entrance.

  A single lantern hung over the shabby wooden doors where two men, whose necks were as wide as their heads, took receipt of the ten shillings entrance fee.

  “For the same price I could purchase a ticket to Almack’s,” Valentine muttered to Drake as they joined the queue. “Though at least here a man has no need to worry about manners or etiquette.”

  “The crowd is renowned for being boisterous.”

  “At Almack’s?”

  Drake snorted in amusement. “Well, an argument over a place on a dance card can be a rather gruesome affair. I heard it was carnage when someone added brandy to the ratafia.”

  “No doubt it will be carnage in the Pit tonight.” Valentine estimated there must be fifty men waiting in line and the arena held two hundred at most. “Every light-fingered cove in the district will look to gain entrance.”

  “When one stands amongst thieves and gamblers, there is always a fight.” Drake sounded almost pleased at the prospect.

  “Speaking of fights.” Valentine lowered his voice. “Have you any news from Lockhart? Dariell went to join him after the duel, and I’ve not heard a word since.”

  Drake nodded. “Our friend is still in hiding. Dariell has found an actress to play the role of Lockhart’s wife.”

  “Does she realise what is involved? Does she know she is risking her life? Proving one is innocent of murder is no easy feat.”

  They shuffled along a few paces.

  “With Dariell’s level of perception and insight, I am sure he will choose a lady more than capable of the job.”

  “Then I shall be ready to support them in any way I can.” The pact they had made—Greystone, Drake, Valentine and Lockhart—bound them together. The bond went beyond an offer of assistance. Valentine would risk his life to save his friends.

  “As will I.” A weary sigh breezed from Drake’s lips. “If the plan should go wrong, Lockhart might find himself swinging from the gallows.”

  “Dariell would not encourage Lockhart to act were he not assured of success.”

  A sudden commotion at the front of the queue captured their attention. A group of drunken ne’er-do-wells who clearly lacked the funds to pay the entrance fee let alone gamble away a fortune were trying to push past the giants on guard duty.

  A high-pitched screech preceded gasps and cries. The group scattered, held on to their top hats as they took flight and scampered along Duck Lane. The thought that Miss Kendall had made it past the thugs on watch was like an icy hand squeezing Valentine’s heart.

  “From what I can tell, the guard with the squashed face drew a blade from a swordstick and swiped the tip over one man’s face,” Drake said, having the advantage of being a head taller than most men. “It serves our purpose. They’ve chased at least ten men out of the queue.”

  Indeed, another minute or so and Valentine found himself paying the fee.

  One look at Devlin Drake and the rogue on the door said, “There’ll be no trouble tonight.”

  Drake inclined his head. “I come merely to watch the gruesome spectacle.”

  Another brutish guard ushered them through a narrow hall into a red-bricked room no more than twenty feet square. In the centre stood a wooden platform with aisles around all sides—space for the owners to mentor their savage pets. Spectators were squashed into the gallery above, more crammed behind a low wall on the ground floor separating them from the vicious animals waiting to tear each other apart. From a glance, most were from the upper echelons, men with more than a few sovereigns to spare. Or maybe not in Jonathan Kendall’s case.<
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  “Do you not find the whole scene somewhat barbaric?” Valentine asked.

  “Barbaric?”

  “The room is packed with men waiting to watch two dogs fight to the death.”

  “And one woman,” Drake said as they barged their way into the lower gallery. “You suspect Miss Kendall is somewhere amongst the crowd. How the hell do you hope to find her?”

  A loud cheer rent the air as two men approached the arena. One was dressed in fine clothes—a mustard coat and buckskin breeches. With thick auburn hair and excessive side whiskers, he looked like any other fashionable well-to-do gent. In comparison, the stout fellow’s long blue coat looked equally expensive though his stance and bearing bore the uncouth signs of a man brought up on the streets.

  The stout man dragged a Bull and Terrier behind him on a rope lead. The animal snarled and snapped at anyone who dared come within a foot of its master. The room erupted into a cacophony of jeers. Hands shot into the air, men waving their crumpled notes calling out their bets to the boys paid to run and exchange them for dockets.

  No sooner had the din settled than the man in the mustard coat led his contender into the arena. This time, hushed mutterings breezed from one spectator to another.

  “Tell me my eyes do not deceive me,” Drake said, gaping at the creature who had climbed up into his owner’s arms.

  “No,” Valentine replied, equally surprised. “That is most definitely a monkey.”

  The low-pitched whispers grew louder until one nabob shouted, “Twenty pounds on Maguire’s monkey to win.”

  So the well-dressed gent was one of the Maguire brothers. He looked too timid to dabble in blood sports. Not at all the sort who left men quaking in their boots. Then again, Dariell might be small and slender, but he could kill a man with a single blow.

  The monkey responded with an odd squeak as it raised its fist and punched the air.

  “Thirty, here.”

  “Take my bet!”

  “Forty!”

  “There is no way the monkey can beat the dog,” Drake said as the room exploded into uproar once again.

  “That is what they want you to think. The organisers stage the event to fleece young bucks of their parents’ hard-earned coffers.” Valentine scoured the sea of excited faces in the crowd. “Never mind the distractions. Help me look for Miss Kendall.”

  “A description might prove useful,” Drake mocked.

  Valentine formed a mental picture. Miss Kendall was intelligent and witty, sometimes vulnerable and naive. Often a little shy, yet wildly passionate. Miss Kendall was a delightful package of contradictions. She had beauty and brains in abundance, the latter being somewhat questionable tonight.

  “She has silky brown hair and eyes the colour of melted chocolate. She has a proud chin and determined countenance.” And the only kissable lips and plump breasts ever to tempt him.

  Drake smiled. “And will she be able to watch this disgusting fight without averting her gaze?”

  Valentine shook his head. “I imagine she’ll find the gruesome display abhorrent.”

  “Then we have an advantage. We shall look for a pretty fellow with his head bowed. Of course, the urchin may have been mistaken.”

  “No, she is here,” Valentine said without hesitation. The nervous rolling in his stomach told him so.

  The raucous jeering quietened until the room echoed with nothing but the murmurs of hushed conversation. The dog, lovingly named Samson, snapped and snarled as his owner led him into the ring. The monkey, Raja, clung on to Maguire, resulting in a few last-minute bets from those hoping Samson would bring an answer to their prayers.

  The animals were washed and weighed in front of the multitude of witnesses. Silence descended when the referee gripped hold of his bell. Three loud clangs and the bout began.

  Valentine studied the crowd of two hundred as the animals darted about the arena. Someone had to do something to stop the vicious sport. Perhaps he should rouse support for a petition. What was the point of sitting in the House of Lords if not to bring about change?

  “Having spent two minutes evading the dog, the monkey has now jumped on its back,” Drake informed him.

  A sudden movement to their left drew Valentine’s attention. Men moaned and complained at the interruption. People jostled back and forth as a slender man pushed through the crowd. He was the only one not watching the fight.

  Valentine tapped Drake on the arm. “I think I’ve spotted our target.”

  “Thank the Lord. That monkey is liable to jump out of the arena and savage the spectators.”

  With Drake in tow, they pushed through the crowd in pursuit. Anyone who dared think of complaining took one look at the giant with eyes as dark as the devil’s and turned quickly back to watch the gory match.

  Valentine tried to see what had captured her attention, but the monkey pulled the dog’s tail, and the crowd threw their hands in the air, some to cheer, some to boo in protest. An argument started between two patrons. These sorts of events were rife with disagreements. The losers often looked to take their frustrations out on those more fortunate. It would not surprise him if the whole room erupted into a mass brawl.

  The thought sent Valentine’s pulse racing.

  The sooner he got Miss Kendall out of the rogues’ den, the better.

  Miss Kendall—well, he hoped it was the woman who drove him to distraction and not some foppish dandy—had practically made a full loop of the lower gallery. Losing patience, Valentine prodded men in the back to move them out of the way.

  He was but three feet from her when another scuffle broke out. This time, one of the burly guards who had been taking payment at the door, grabbed an unsuspecting fellow from the crowd and dragged him past the arena.

  Miss Kendall gasped. “Jonathan,” she cried, but the word was barely audible above the din.

  An old man with a white cavalier-style beard cupped her elbow, but she tried to shake free of his grasp.

  “Excuse me.” Valentine barged into one man and almost trampled over another in a bid to reach the lady. “Kendall?” he called. “Kendall!” he cried, louder this time.

  Miss Kendall swung around. Stone-cold fear flashed in her eyes. Her cheeks were pallid, her lips drawn thin in despair.

  Every chivalrous bone in his body throbbed with the need to ease her woes.

  “Valentine?” she said, struggling to catch her breath. “Is it really you?”

  The old man beside her gulped in surprise, but then his shoulders sagged as if he was suddenly pleased someone else might accept responsibility for this reckless creature.

  Miss Kendall stepped closer and placed a trembling hand on Valentine’s chest. “I’m so glad to see you.” Hope washed away all sign of pain in her eyes. The lady threw herself into his arms as a sob burst from her throat. “Oh, Valentine. I need your help.”

  Chapter Ten

  The sight of Lord Valentine’s handsome face brought suppressed emotions rushing to the fore. Ava was a fool to think she could come to the arena and persuade Jonathan to keep his purse strings knotted. Being in the first group of gentlemen admitted, Ava had found him with ease. They had argued. More people piled into the Pit, and he had stormed off into the crowd.

  “Oh, Valentine.” The viscount’s coat was warm, comforting. The spicy scent of his cologne clung to the garment. Every time she inhaled, her shoulders relaxed a little more. “It is all my fault.”

  Lord Valentine rubbed her back in soothing strokes. He took a gentle hold of her arms and forced her to look at him. “Did you come here hoping to drag your wayward brother home?”

  “Yes, and I thought I might speak to Mr Maguire,” she said, stepping closer when the cheering in the arena grew so loud it became hard to hear. “To see if he will freeze the interest payments, see if he will accept a repayment plan.”

  A look of horror marred the viscount’s face as his protective hands slipped from her arms. “Please tell me you have not approached Mr Maguire.”
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  “No. Not yet.”

  A relieved sigh escaped him. “You’re a beautiful woman, Miss Kendall. I’m sure I do not need to tell you what Maguire might suggest in order to comply with your request.”

  The compliment distracted her momentarily.

  But then the memory of Mr Fairfax tugging at her bodice flashed into her mind. Those icy fingers had mauled and clawed at her clothing. His actions had taught her that some men saw women as a commodity. Some men would stop at nothing to advance their careers.

  “When it comes to prudence, I have most definitely lost my way.” Ava drew her coat across her chest and shivered. “I have been such a fool, Valentine. A blind fool who lacks the strength to deal with her own family.”

  The lord pursed his lips. He muttered something, but a rowdy jeer from the crowd swallowed his words. The viscount leant forward, his mouth but an inch from her ear.

  “Let me help you. It has nothing to do with the fact you’re a woman.” His hot breath teased the sensitive skin on her neck. “This is too much for one person to deal with alone.”

  Ava pulled back and looked at him.

  Her heart swelled to twice its size until there was hardly any room left in her chest.

  She was a little in love with Lord Valentine.

  “Yes,” she said, knowing that the pain she would invariably feel when they parted would be worse than the assault by Mr Fairfax, worse than the worries she had for her brother. But tonight, Valentine was here at her side, willing to provide a strong arm of support. And he appeared to be the only one with any sense, for she had most definitely lost use of her mental faculties.

  “Yes?” the viscount clarified. “You agree I may act in your stead?”

  Ava nodded. “I would be most grateful if you could help to ease this burden.”

  Lord Valentine smiled and slapped his hand to his chest, covering his heart. “At last, an opportunity to play the gallant knight.”