Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords 3)

“That is not important,” his mother chided. “Perhaps you should speak to Miss Kendall as she seemed to have the most success communicating with souls on a higher plane.”

Suspicion flared.

Had his mother received a message from his father? Was the deceased lord keen to torment his wife from beyond the grave? Was that the reason for her reluctance to discuss her findings?

“Can you not tell me? It would save me troubling the lady.” And yet Valentine could think of nothing he would enjoy more than probing Miss Kendall’s mind.

“I cannot, as I am not party to that information. Mr Cassiel placed us all in different rooms so as not to confuse the messages.”

“I see.” Most people imagined strange noises when alone in the dark. When alone, there were no witnesses to challenge any eerie observations. “And who did Mr Cassiel place in this room?”

“Erm … Miss Kendall spent an hour alone in this room.”

An odd pang in Valentine’s stomach forced him to take a deep breath. “Then the lady had ample opportunity to make the exchange.”

His mother winced as if unwilling to accept his theory. “Well, yes, but she is such an honest sort. I cannot see her risking everything when she must have a house brimming with precious gems.”

Valentine held a similar view of the lady he had met only this morning. “Who suggested hiring Mr Cassiel?” It was an unusual way for anyone to spend an evening, even for a lady seeking enlightenment.

A blush touched his mother’s cheeks. “Miss Kendall made the initial suggestion, but we were all in agreement.”

Yet more reason to suspect his mother’s alluring neighbour. Valentine sat back in the chair and took a moment to consider why he had the sudden urge to prove Aveline Kendall’s innocence.

“Very well,” he said. “I shall make a few enquiries.”

An investigation would distract his mind from thoughts of marriage. Assisting his mother might ease the crippling guilt he invariably felt every time he failed to offer for Lady Durrant. It would also give him an opportunity to cross paths with Miss Kendall.

“You understand that my eagerness to find the culprit has nothing to do with money,” his mother said. “It is not the value but the manner in which the theft occurred.”

“Of course.” He understood that when one had lived on a knife edge for years, trust and confidence in one’s friends mattered more than expensive gems. “Where might I find Mr Cassiel? The man had opportunity, after all.”

Anyone who dab

bled in the occult for a living had motive, though the mystic would have needed prior knowledge of the ruby, an etching or detailed description at the least.

“You will need to ask Miss Kendall. She was responsible for hiring someone suitable.”

So, the lady knew the mystic.

Were Miss Kendall and Mr Cassiel partners in crime? Surely not. Was Cassiel the gentleman who had mistreated her, the gentleman who made her doubt her love?

Annoyance turned to anger for no reason at all. “And how am I to do that without alerting Miss Kendall of our suspicions?”

Honora Valentine smiled. “You’re an intelligent man. I am sure you will think of something.”

“In my current unmarried status, I can hardly knock on her door.” In the eyes of the gossips that would mark the lady as his mistress.

Hmm … the idea proved tempting.

Perhaps an affair with Miss Kendall was exactly what he needed. No doubt, the liaison would be fraught with tension and trauma, much like his friendship with Lady Durrant, and might make him long for the quiet indifference that came with an arranged marriage to a wallflower.

His mother craned her neck and narrowed her gaze as she stared at a point beyond his shoulder. “There is no need to worry about disturbing Miss Kendall.” Honora’s sapphire-blue eyes widened. “Here she comes now. I shall make the introductions, and you may reveal your interest in hiring Mr Cassiel.”

Valentine’s gaze shot to the window—and his heart shot to his mouth.

Wearing an elegant blue pelisse and matching bonnet swathed in burgundy ribbon, Miss Kendall crossed the street. There was an elegance in her bearing that instilled confidence in her ability to conquer the world if she so desired. Intelligence, grace and beauty radiated to make a captivating package. And yet the urge to weaken her position—to see a glimpse of vulnerability—took hold.

Valentine stood, straightened his waistcoat and brushed the sleeves of his coat. “I’m afraid I cannot stay. I have an appointment across town.” He would not risk his mother noting his amorous interest in her neighbour.