Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords Book 3)

by Adele Clee

  Chapter Eleven

  A burning rage flowed through Valentine’s veins, so hot he struggled to fill his lungs no matter how many times he drew breath. Miss Kendall remained quiet at his side until they reached his carriage.

  “Is there room for us all?” she asked, her tone conveying nerves mingled with mild irritation.

  “Mr Kendall will sit with Sprocket.” Valentine refused to gaze into the fool’s pitiful face. “Else I fear I might wrap my hands around his scrawny neck and throttle the damn life out of him.”

  “Must you curse?” Miss Kendall countered. “It is unlike you to deviate from your usual moral stance.”

  “Moral stance?” Valentine mocked. “Madam, you pulled a pistol on a notorious rogue. Your brother almost got us all killed tonight. Forgive me if I appear somewhat unsettled.” Valentine yanked open the carriage door. He could not recall the last time his blood boiled, the last time he lost complete control. “Please, get inside before the Maguires change their minds.”

  Miss Kendall huffed, but she obeyed his command and climbed into the conveyance.

  “I shall sit atop, too, my lord,” the white-haired butler said. “If there’s room.”

  “As you wish. Someone must keep an eye on Mr Kendall though I doubt he can cause mischief from up there.”

  “Look, Valentine,” Jonathan Kendall began, “I didn’t know my sister would come to the Pit tonight. I didn’t—”

  “Save your excuses for someone foolish enough to listen.” In his present volatile mood, Valentine could not be held accountable for his actions. The farther away he was from Jonathan Kendall, the better. “We will discuss this some other time. For now, just do as I damn well ask.”

  Kendall bowed his head and climbed atop the box to squash next to the butler.

  Valentine turned to Drake, who grinned back in amusement. “What is so funny?”

  “You,” Drake replied, steering him away from the carriage’s open door. “For a man who prides himself on his calm composure, you really are struggling tonight.”

  Valentine exhaled a weary breath. He did not need to hear he lacked restraint. “And I doubt you will ever let me forget it.”

  “What is even more astounding is that you are completely oblivious to what is going on here.”

  Valentine folded his arms across his chest, curious to hear his friend’s opinion. “And what is going on? Please, feel free to enlighten me.”

  Drake gripped him firmly by the shoulder. “If you don’t know, I am certain all will be revealed in due course.”

  The sound of Miss Kendall clearing her throat drew Valentine’s gaze back to the carriage. The lady sat forward on the plush seat and peered at them. “What happened to hurrying before the Maguires change their minds?”

  “That woman will be the death of me,” Valentine muttered. Were he an oafish brute he would tan her backside for her reckless behaviour tonight, though he was more inclined to caress the plump cheeks and rain sensual kisses the full length of her spine.

  “And what a wonderful death it would be,” Drake replied.

  Ignoring Drake’s teasing, Valentine instructed Sprocket to head for Newman Street and then to Drake’s abode.

  They climbed into the carriage. Valentine squashed next to Drake. He wanted to study Miss Kendall’s expression and could not take the chance of sitting next to her without berating her for her stupidity, without dragging her into his arms and ravaging her mouth.

  He loved that she had risked her life to save him from the damn monkey.

  He feared what that meant.

  They sat in silence as the carriage rumbled along the streets.

  Once at Newman Street, Jonathan Kendall alighted. Valentine waited until the buffoon entered the house—only to ease Miss Kendall’s anxiety—and then rapped on the roof.

  “Well?” Drake said after a few moments. Clearly he had grown tired of feigning interest in the passing shadows. “Did you not promise a more thorough introduction?”

  Valentine sighed. It was unlike him to be so lapse.

  “Miss Kendall, allow me to present my trusted friend Mr Drake. We spent the last five years together in India and the Far East.” He turned to Drake. “Miss Kendall is my mother’s dear friend and close neighbour.”

  Miss Kendall smiled. The power of it pierced through the chink in Valentine’s armour to hit him squarely in the chest.

  “Ah, Lord Valentine tells me you have an interest in the macabre, Mr Drake.”

  Damnation!

  Why could she not simply nod and discuss the inclement weather like most ladies? Then again, Miss Kendall was unlike any other woman of his acquaintance.

  “The macabre?” Thankfully, Drake’s blank expression masked his surprise.

  “You are keen to hold a seance,” Valentine said in a tone that suggested Drake was absent-minded. “Keen to meet the mystic, Mr Cassiel, who possesses an ability to talk to those who have crossed to the next plane.”

  “I am?” The corners of Drake’s mouth curled up in amusement. “I am,” he said more convincingly. “My brother passed away some years ago while I was abroad. Guilt can be a crippling thing, Miss Kendall.”

  “I understand,” she said in a solemn voice. “My brother and I were to help my parents in the mine on the morning the accident occurred, but they were up at sunrise and went ahead without us. There is not a day goes by when I do not wonder if I may have helped in some way had I been there.”

  An empty feeling, accompanied by a crippling nausea, roiled in Valentine’s stomach. Bile bubbled up to his throat. He shared Miss Kendall’s deep sense of regret. Perhaps if he had stayed awake, he might have noticed his father leave the house in just his shirtsleeves on a cold winter’s night. He might have followed him from their clifftop estate and prevented a terrible tragedy. But when one’s parent had an illness of the mind, actions were often erratic, unpredictable.

  “Our friend Dariell believes everyone’s destiny is already written,” Drake said, his voice thick with compassion. “We cannot begin to understand why these things happen but must accept that they happened as they should.”

  “How insightful,” Miss Kendall replied. “I shall try to remember that on those dark days when the heavy cloud of grief descends. But I am not sure Mr Cassiel will bring you the answers you seek.”

  “I have come to terms with my loss,” Drake said, and Valentine felt the heat of his friend’s stare boring into his temple. “Some friends still struggle.”

  Valentine felt Miss Kendall’s stare, too, though he did not meet her gaze lest she note the truth of it in his eyes.

  “And was there anything in particular that helped you to accept your brother’s passing?” Miss Kendall sounded hopeful. “I only ask as I have a personal interest in the answer.”

  Valentine was just as curious, though he knew there was but one significant change in Drake this last month.

  “The answer is love, Miss Kendall. I fell in love and recently married.” He gave an amused snort. “Actually, it happened the other way around, but I am madly in love with my wife all the same.”

  A tense silence filled the small space. A space made infinitely smaller by Drake’s large frame.

  The silence gave Valentine a moment to reflect on the mixed emotions fighting for supremacy in his chest. Anger raged for the risk Miss Kendall had taken this evening. Fear held him rigid when he considered that he might have lost her tonight. Lust fought to override all else, for he wanted to pleasure her until she forgot about her sad memories, forgot that her brother was an imbecile. And hope emerged, hope that in doing so he might help himself, too.

  “I see,” she said as if love were unobtainable. As if she had more chance of slipping through time to wake with her parents on that ill-fated morning.

  “Do not sound so downhearted, Miss Kendall.” Drake straightened as the carriage rolled to a stop outside his house on Wimpole Street. “A woman with your intellect and beauty will have no problem finding a husband who ad
ores you to distraction.”

  As if Valentine hadn’t enough to deal with, jealousy slithered through his veins. Miss Kendall was his. No other man would care for her as he did. No other man could converse with her on her favourite topics. Could he not quote Epictetus? Did they not share an understanding of the themes in modern literature?

  “You are very kind, sir. But as Lord Valentine will tell you, few men are willing to take a wife who behaves so unconventionally.”

  Valentine saw Drake’s huge grin through the reflection in the glass.

  “You do not need a few men,” Drake said. “You only need one.”

  Miss Kendall chuckled. After the trauma of the night’s events, it was music to Valentine’s ears.

  “Good night, Miss Kendall.” Drake shifted to the edge of his seat, and the carriage swayed. “Few women would risk their lives for those they love. I believe your unconventional behaviour should be celebrated not mocked.”

  “Thank you, Mr Drake. I shall treasure the compliment. Far too often I am made to feel like a fool. Rest assured, I shall send word to Mr Cassiel so he may attend your upcoming dinner party.”

  “My dinner party? Oh, my dinner party.”

  “Good night, Drake,” Valentine said, keen to get rid of him for there were a few things he wanted to say to Miss Kendall. “Give Juliet my warmest regards.”

  Drake patted Valentine on the back. “Dariell was right. You have had a few surprises these last few days, and I suspect there are more to come.”

  Drake alighted. He had barely reached the front door when it swung open, and Juliet rushed into his arms. They kissed on the doorstep—the doorstep of all places!

  “They seem very much in love.” Miss Kendall’s soft voice drifted across the carriage.

  “They are.”

  Valentine opened the window and instructed Sprocket to head to Mount Street.

  The carriage lurched forward.

  Silence ensued.

  Valentine struggled to think—there was a novelty.

  The gruesome image of Aveline Kendall lying in a burgundy pool of blood entered his mind.

  “You should have come to me before charging off to the Pit,” he said, his tone more subdued than when he had confronted her in Duck Lane. “My life flashed before my eyes when you pulled out the pocket pistol.”

  Miss Kendall’s tight expression relaxed. “I could not trouble you with my brother’s affairs. You have assisted me more times than I can count. And what did you expect me to do, stand there and watch that maniac monkey scratch out your eyes?”

  “Maguire could have hurled the blade at your heart before you had time to fire.” The thought froze the blood in his veins. “What would I do then?”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “I don’t know what you would do. I only know that I could not stand back and see you hurt. In a few short days, you have become my dearest friend.” A sob caught in her throat. “The only person I trust.”

  Perhaps her distress stemmed from the sudden realisation that she could have died tonight. Perhaps her revelation about her parents had brought painful memories to the fore.

  Valentine crossed the carriage to sit beside her. All traces of fear and anger dissipated, leaving nothing but an abiding affection for this woman.

  She shuffled around to face him. “I am so sorry, Valentine. I did not mean to embroil you in this whole sordid affair.”

  “Sordid?” He cupped her cheek and wiped away a tear with his thumb. “There is nothing shameful or immoral about the way we feel. Lust is a perfectly natural emotion when two people are as close as we are.”

  It was more than lust, and he damn well knew it.

  She gave a weak smile. “I wasn’t talking about us.”

  “No, you were talking about the fact I was attacked by a monkey and will be the talk of the ton should anyone discover what occurred. You’re talking about the fact I must pay Maguire thirteen hundred pounds if we want rid of him for good.”

  With trembling fingers, she touched the scratch on his cheek. “And what of your handsome face? What of the precious watch left by your father? The watch you gave away to save me the pain of losing another family treasure.”

  “I witnessed the distress in your eyes when Lady Durrant showed you the ring. I couldn’t bear to see it again.” He would come to her aid in a heartbeat should another opportunity arise.

  “Oh, Valentine.” Her tears fell more rapidly. “Never have I met a man more honourable.”

  “Honourable? Miss Kendall, currently my thoughts might be considered disreputable.”

  “They are?”

  “Most definitely.”

  Her luscious lips curled up in amusement as she blinked away the water droplets clinging to her lashes. “Are you in need of excitement, my lord? Do you wish to behave as recklessly as you did that night in the mews?”

  “You know damn well I do.”

  Her breathing grew shallow as she gazed at his mouth. “Then know you’re the only man I desire.”

  “Then you have no objection if I kiss you?” He removed her top hat, gloried in the way the silky locks tumbled down around her shoulders.

  “No, no objection.”

  A raging desire for her flared. Blood flowed too quickly through his veins. He was in danger of ruining the moment, acting like a green boy fresh from the schoolroom. Drawing on the discipline that had kept him sane for most of his adult life, he inhaled deeply.

  With gentle hands, he cupped her cheeks and pressed a chaste kiss to her warm lips. The briefest contact sent a rush of euphoria from his head to his toes. Her potent scent stimulated every nerve. God, he wanted this woman in every way possible. He wanted to feel the heat from her bare skin. He wanted to watch her face as he entered her body to fill her full. He wanted to hunt for her lost treasures, see the glow of happiness in her eyes upon their safe return.

  Valentine drew back and then kissed her again, just as soft, just as tender.

  “I have never felt desire like this.” Her words breezed across his cheek.

  He could not lie. He had felt the thrum of desire many times, although never as potent. Never as powerful. And so he searched the once cold and lonely organ beating in his chest.

  “You’re the only woman ever to find a way into my heart, the only woman I want to cherish and protect.”

  She leant forward and kissed him, once, twice. The third time it was as if a dam inside had burst and she could no longer contain the flood of emotion.

  “Kiss me as you did in the mews,” she panted, threading her arms around his neck. “Kiss me in the frantic way that made me dizzy.”

  Needing no further inducement to ravage her senseless, Valentine captured her mouth, teased her lips apart and plunged deep.

  Their tongues tangled, hot, wet, needy. Their breathless groans permeated the air. They fought the duel neither had wanted on that cold November morning near Chalk Farm. But there was nothing calm and ordered about their need for satisfaction. Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging, urging him to give more, to delve deeper.

  “Valentine,” she hummed when his hand slid up over her waistcoat to cup her breast. For once, he was glad she wore gentlemen’s clothes. Unconfined by stays, her nipple hardened beneath his touch. The urge to rip open the waistcoat and lavish the sensitive peak took hold.

  But then the carriage jerked and rolled to a sudden halt.

  It took a moment to drag his head from the clouds, to realise that the two people atop the box expected Miss Kendall to alight. But he would rather be damned than let her go now.

  “Perhaps you should wait here while you send your butler in to warm the house.” His voice was thick and husky.

  “Twitchett.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “My butler’s name is Twitchett.”

  “And he’s called Twitchett because …” Such an unusual name must come with an amusing story.

  “Because that’s his name.”

  “Of course.” Frustra
tion, coupled with a burning passion to strip Miss Kendall naked, forced him to say, “Send Twitchett inside. I have not finished with you yet.”

  Ava’s eyes brightened. “Believe it or not, I like it when you’re masterful.” She pulled down the window, instructed Twitchett to return to the house and slip a warming pan between her bedsheets.

  Valentine dismissed all notions of him fulfilling the role of body heater. He could not enter Miss Kendall’s house at night, not with his mother a hundred yards across the street. And he had to try to protect this lady’s reputation—despite working against the odds. Hence the reason they had parked on Mount Street.

  “I shall follow along in a few minutes,” she informed Twitchett with some embarrassment.

  Valentine considered the soft curves squashed into her brother’s breeches. “A few minutes will not be enough,” he growled. “Tell him you will be an hour.”

  Miss Kendall did as he asked—there was another novelty.

  “Inform Sprocket he is to circle Green Park twice before returning to Mount Street,” Valentine added. That should give them time to explore their growing relationship.

  Miss Kendall pulled her head back in through the window. “But will he not find that a rather odd request?”

  “Sprocket doesn’t care.” He considered the fact she might have changed her mind. That matters might be progressing at far too rapid a pace. “Unless you’re having second thoughts. In which case, if you wish to accompany Twitchett, I shall not be offended.”

  She studied him for a moment. He recognised the glazed look of longing swimming in her eyes. “You always consider my needs before your own.” She leant forward and kissed him, a quick and rampant mating involving open mouths and eager tongues.

  “Well, I think that answers my question,” he said, licking his lips to capture the essence of this beguiling woman.

  She thrust her head out of the window, gave Sprocket instructions as if she were the coachman’s mistress. The prospect of her filling the role had crossed Valentine’s mind more than once tonight.