Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords 3)

“Suspects?” Intrigued, Valentine stood. He crossed the room and took the list before returning to his seat. He scanned it briefly. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to stop his eyes bulging when he noted Miss Kendall’s name. “Of what are they accused?”

If it was wielding a pistol with intent to injure a man’s pride, he knew who to blame.

“One of the ladies listed is a thief.”

Valentine’s gaze fell once again to the name of the lady who had stolen into his mind, who had slipped like a shadow beyond his well-constructed defences.

His mother came to her feet and strolled over to the gilt display cabinet. The lock clicked as she turned the red-tasselled key. Carefully prising open the glass door, she reached up to the top shelf, captured the gold lidded goblet in her cupped hands and brought it over to rest on the side table.

“Hamilton Kendall sold me this when he purchased the property opposite almost two years ago.” Gently, she raised the ornate lid to reveal a large oval ruby. The largest ruby Valentine had ever seen. “Pigeon blood.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s referred to as a pigeon blood ruby. Don’t ask me why. Perhaps because it has the most vivid, most precious hue of all such stones.”

Valentine stared at the vibrant gem. “Perhaps I am being obtuse,” he said, wondering what this had to do with treachery, “but I fail to see the problem. Has there been a theft or are you anticipating one?”

Honora gripped the stone between her thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light. “Do you not see it lacks clarity for such a rare object? Can you not see the absence of natural flaws? This is not the blood ruby I purchased, but a paste imitation.”

An imitation?

Valentine held out his hand, and his mother dropped the ruby into his palm. Unless one was an expert in facets, knew how to measure and assess the refraction of light, knew how to spot inclusions, then it was almost impossible to tell a real gem from paste.

“I trust you have taken it to an expert,” he said, running his fingertip over the smooth surface.

“Would I stand ready to discredit a lady without first checking my facts?”

“No, you would not.” Valentine sighed. “And you think a lady on the list had a copy made and switched it for the real ruby.” It sounded implausible. One would need to have access to the cabinet, be able to move abo

ut the house unnoticed. Of course, there was another explanation. “And you are certain Mr Kendall sold you the genuine article?”

Honora Valentine arched an elegant brow in response. “Without a doubt. Hamilton Kendall would never risk his reputation as one of the most sought-after jewellers by selling fake gems.”

Miss Kendall’s father was a jeweller?

“Hamilton Kendall worked for a living? Surely Lord Moseley disapproved of such an unconventional match for his daughter.”

Had Moseley forced his daughter to elope?

Is that where Miss Kendall gained her romantic notions of love?

“Some men can rise above prejudice.” Honora’s blue eyes turned a little dreamy. “Hamilton Kendall was the most charismatic man I have ever met. His lineage boasts of an earl, a hero of the Seven Years’ War, one of the greatest poets ever to grace King Charles’ court. Lord Moseley would have found it impossible to say no.”

Having met Miss Kendall for all of an hour, Valentine recognised certain family traits. The lady carried herself with the grace of an aristocrat. It took the courage of a war hero to meet the best shot in England on the duelling field. And something about the way words left her mouth affected him more than anyone skilled in rhythmic meter.

“While your respect for Mr Kendall is evident,” Valentine said, handing the fake gem back to his mother, “that did not stop you adding his daughter to the list of suspects.”

Honora placed the ruby into the goblet and returned the object to the display cabinet before removing to her seat.

“Every drop of blood in my body tells me Miss Kendall is innocent. But I believe she was here when the thief made the switch.” Disappointment marred his mother’s countenance. “I am convinced it was during one of our weekly sessions.”

“Weekly sessions?” Was she referring to a meeting of The Association of Enlightened Ladies?

“I have a gathering every Friday. A small group of ladies who share similar interests. We discuss politics, literature and otherworldly subjects.”

Valentine considered the last topic on the list. “You discuss worldly matters—wars, famine, or do you contemplate the ideology of mysticism?”

His mother raised her chin defiantly and yet he had offered no challenge. “Not that I would expect you to understand, but we attempted to prove that the living could contact the dead. Enlightened ladies must—”