Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords 3)

“Of course.”

Dariell took the lady aside. He spoke about the striking mechanism and what she might expect once she pulled the trigger. His friend then checked Valentine’s pistol, before taking both weapons into his possession.

“Shall we fight to draw first blood, Miss Kendall?” Valentine asked with a menacing undertone. He hoped to scare the woman enough that she might drop to her knees a quivering wreck and plead for an end to this nonsense. “Shall we fight to maim or fight to the death?”

“I do not intend to fight at all.” The hat—being too large for her head—slipped down over her brow, and she gave a huff of frustration as she pushed it back into place. “I intend to delope. I believe that is the correct term.”

“Delope?” Valentine bit back a smirk. “And what will you do when I fire, Miss Kendall? I am accurate to within half a centimetre, and that is being modest. I will most certainly hit the intended target.”

A brief flash of uncertainty passed across her features, so brief a less observant man might have missed it. “But you won’t fire, my lord.” Those magnificent brown eyes journeyed over his face. Despite many women finding his physical appearance pleasing, this lady’s gaze was more inquisitive than lustful. “Sources say you are a gentleman above reproach.”

Valentine scoffed. “My mother is a little biased.”

“She said you are a man of few vices. And a man with your unblemished reputation would never harm a woman.”

Damn. Was there anything his mother hadn’t told her? Did she know which side of the bed he preferred, how he liked his eggs in the morning? The urge to unsettle her confident composure took hold.

“No. I am not a drunk or a gambler, Miss Kendall. I am not obsessed with collecting snuff boxes or Arabian stallions. If I am to name a vice, then perhaps my weakness lies in the bedchamber, but that would leave an inaccurate picture of my ability to perform.” He spoke in the licentious drawl no gently bred lady should ever be permitted to hear. Then again, gently bred ladies did not attend duels at dawn. “Not that I would expect a woman of your limited experience to comprehend my meaning.”

Valentine expected to see her cheeks flame red with a blush,

expected a nervous quiver at the least, but Miss Kendall’s luscious lips curled up in amusement, and she laughed.

“Limited experience?” Her voice brimmed with mockery. “My lord, I have travelled the world, watched the sunset over the Aegean Sea, explored deep into the Mines of Lavrion. I am well versed in Greek philosophy, in geological theory. And I have borne witness to the fact that it is easy to mistake the groans of pleasure for pain.”

Valentine stared at her. To say he was aroused was an understatement. This woman possessed the power to unsettle his calm composure, to wreak havoc with his disciplined mind.

“Forgive me,” he said, eager to put an end to this meeting, eager to restore the natural order of things, “for making an assumption that proved wholly incorrect.”

“You’re forgiven,” she said in the light-hearted way one might expect from a lady born of privilege with nothing to do all day but play the pianoforte and sip tea.

Valentine found the contradiction baffling. Fascinating. Intriguing.

Despite the bitter chill in the air, the lady shrugged out of her greatcoat. She wrestled with the heavy garment, struggled to free her arm from the sleeve. Without thought, he moved to assist her.

It was his second mistake.

The potent scent she wore teased his nostrils. His fingers brushed against her arm, and his stomach muscles tightened in response.

Damnation.

“Oh, the ridiculous thing.” She tossed the coat on the ground, gripped the top hat by the brim and threw it as if skimming a stone. A mass of brown curls tumbled down around her shoulders, softening the hard set of her jaw.

Valentine closed his eyes.

The saying “out of sight out of mind” was a fallacy. He pictured the curls brushing her cheek, dancing provocatively on her shoulders. He pictured himself looking down on her, the glossy tendrils spread wide across his pillow as he educated her in what it meant to groan with pleasure.

“Shall we get to it?” Her sweet voice sent a jolt of desire straight to his cock.

He needed to leave. He needed a stiff drink. He needed to dunk his head—and another part of his anatomy—in an ice-cold water trough.

Valentine opened his eyes. Anger flared for no rational reason. “Let us conclude this matter, Miss Kendall. I am in want of my bed.”

“As am I, my lord. It has been an extremely tiring morning.”

“Thoroughly exhausting,” Valentine agreed as he shrugged out of his greatcoat and dropped the garment on the ground. He gestured to Dariell, who stepped forward and returned their pistols.

“You must stand back-to-back,” Dariell instructed.