Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords 3)

“I understand.” After the meeting, Valentine would stalk the mystic to discover more about his background. “Please tell him it is a matter of urgency.”

“Mr Cassiel determines whom he sees and when, but I will explain that your quest for enlightenment is pressing.”

Yes, perhaps those clients with expensive jewels on display took priority.

Honora cleared her throat and eyed them both suspiciously. “Are you certain you only met this morning?”

God’s teeth. Valentine had stayed far too long. A blind fool would notice his interest in his mother’s neighbour.

Miss Kendall offered Honora a reassuring smile. “Most certain. Though we seem to lock horns over the simplest things.”

“That’s because my son is unused to dealing with enlightened ladies.” His mother chortled. “Well, you cannot stand here exchanging quips all day. Is there not somewhere you need to be, Lucius?”

“Indeed. No doubt you’re eager to hear what prompted Miss Kendall’s visit.” No one was as eager as he.

“I am on my way into town and came merely for advice regarding a dress for this evening.” Miss Kendall screwed up her dainty nose. “I’m to attend the Rockford ball and

haven’t the first clue what to wear.”

The Rockford ball? The place was a hive for those keen to gamble away their fortunes. There would be more than a few scoundrels in attendance, more than a few eager to find some other means of entertainment once their coffers ran dry.

“May I suggest something conservative, Miss Kendall?” Lord, he sounded like a doddery matron not a virile man in his late twenties. “Rockford’s gaming tables attract a rather wild crowd.”

Miss Kendall offered one of her beguiling smiles. “Rest assured, my lord. I am accustomed to dealing with challenging situations. But in case you’re in any doubt, know that I am never without my pocket pistol.”

Chapter Five

“All I can say is thank heavens you’re both alive.” Portia Durrant’s seductive gaze drifted over Jonathan Kendall before coming to rest on Valentine. She kept her hungry eyes trained on him as she sipped champagne. “Fighting a silly duel, and all because of me.”

Valentine firmed his jaw. Neither the golden glow of the chandelier nor the soothing music of the orchestra could settle the writhing frustration in his stomach. He wanted to correct the misconception—had fought the duel merely because honour demanded he act—but he could not risk Kendall revealing the truth about his sister’s involvement.

“The least said about it the better.” Valentine scanned Lord Rockford’s ballroom, searching for Aveline Kendall. Oddly, her brother knew nothing of her desire to attend and had scoffed at the suggestion.

So what had prompted the lady to accept the invitation?

“When it came to skill on the field, we were evenly matched,” Kendall boasted whilst salivating over the exposed swell of Portia’s breasts. “Is that not correct, Valentine?”

Valentine seethed at the suggestion they were somehow equal. One derogatory remark from Mr Kendall and Valentine was liable to lash out and rid the pup of his arrogant grin. The fool should be grateful he wasn’t stretched out cold and bare on a mortuary slab.

“Being an expert marksman, I would say we were far from evenly matched when it came to skill,” Valentine corrected in a tone sharp enough to draw blood. “But I suppose we both employed an element of logic in a life-threatening situation.”

The lie slipped easily from his lips. He did not give a damn about Kendall. But his conscience would not permit the dullard to ruin Miss Kendall’s reputation. The lady was quite capable of doing that on her own.

Valentine cast daggers of disdain Kendall’s way. One wrong word and he would rip the man to shreds. Being the considerate, rational one in his group of friends did not mean men shouldn’t fear him. Though why he held his tongue to protect a woman he hardly knew proved baffling.

“When a man faces the prospect of death, it must make him consider what is important.” Portia ran her tongue across the seam of her lips, lips stained almost as red as her fiery hair. “No one wants to live a sad, lonely existence.” She turned to Valentine, placed a gloved hand on his arm and whispered, “No one wants to sleep in a cold, empty bed.”

Valentine considered Lady Durrant. As a debutante, she had been vibrant and exciting. And yet it had not been enough to satisfy him. Now, he found an ugly bitterness hiding behind the lavish exterior.

He could not keep his vow.

He could not marry Portia Durrant.

But the widow was right about one thing. “When a man stares down the barrel of a pistol, it certainly makes him evaluate his life.”

“Oh, and what were your findings?” Portia’s arched brow gave an air of arrogance to her countenance.

He had discovered that the calm, ordered existence he craved was only possible when a man had detached from his emotions. He had discovered that he was fallible when dealing with an intelligent woman out to prove a point.