Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords 3)

A loud cheer rent the air as two men approached the arena. One was dressed in fine clothes—a mustard coat and buckskin breeches. With thick auburn hair and excessive side whiskers, he looked like any other fashionable well-to-do gent. In comparison, the stout fellow’s long blue coat looked equally expensive though his stance and bearing bore the uncouth signs of a man brought up on the streets.

The stout man dragged a Bull and Terrier behind him on a rope lead. The animal snarled and snapped at anyone who dared come within a foot of its master. The room erupted into a cacophony of jeers. Hands shot into the air, men waving their crumpled notes calling out their bets to the boys paid to run and exchange them for dockets.

No sooner had the din settled than the man in the mustard coat led his contender into the arena. This time, hushed mutterings breezed from one spectator to another.

“Tell me my eyes do not deceive me,” Drake said, gaping at the creature who had climbed up into his owner’s arms.

“No,” Valentine replied, equally surprised. “That is most definitely a monkey.”

The low-pitched whispers grew louder until one nabob shouted, “Twenty pounds on Maguire’s monkey to win.”

So the well-dressed gent was one of the Maguire brothers. He looked too timid to dabble in blood sports. Not at all the sort who left men quaking in their boots. Then again, Dariell might be small and slender, but he could kill a man with a single blow.

The monkey responded with an odd squeak as it raised its fist and punched the air.

“Thirty, here.”

“Take my bet!”

“Forty!”

“There is no way the monkey can beat the dog,” Drake said as the room exploded into uproar once again.

“That is what they want you to think. The organisers stage the event to fleece young bucks of their parents’ hard-earned coffers.” Valentine scoured the sea of excited faces in the crowd. “Never mind the distractions. Help me look for Miss Kendall.”

“A description might prove useful,” Drake mocked.

Valentine formed a mental picture. Miss Kendall was intelligent and witty, sometimes vulnerable and naive. Often a little shy, yet wildly passionate. Miss Kendall was a delightful package of contradictions. She had beauty and brains in abundance, the latter being somewhat questionable tonight.

“She has silky brown hair and eyes the colour of melted chocolate. She has a proud chin and determined countenance.” And the only kissable lips and plump breasts ever to tempt him.

Drake smiled. “And will she be able to watch this disgusting fight without averting her gaze?”

Valentine shook his head. “I imagine she’ll find the gruesome display abhorrent.”

“Then we have an advantage. We shall look for a pretty fellow with his head bowed. Of course, the urchin may have been mistaken.”

“No, she is here,” Valentine said without hesitation. The nervous rolling in his stomach told him so.

The raucous jeering quietened until the room echoed with nothing but the murmurs of hushed conversation. The dog, lovingly named Samson, snapped and snarled as his owner led him into the ring. The monkey, Raja, clung on to Maguire, resulting in a few last-minute bets from those hoping Samson would bring an answer to their prayers.

The animals were washed and weighed in front of the multitude of witnesses. Silence descended when the referee gripped hold of his bell. Three loud clangs and the bout began.

Valentine studied the crowd of two hundred as the animals darted about the arena. Someone had to do something to stop the vicious sport. Perhaps he should rouse support for a petition. What was the point of sitting in the House of Lords if not to bring about change?

“Having spent two minutes evading the dog, the monkey has now jumped on its back,” Drake informed him.

A sudden movement to their left drew Valentine’s attention. Men moaned and complained at the interruption. People jostled back and forth as a slender man pushed through the crowd. He was the only one not watching the fight.

Valentine tapped Drake on the arm. “I think I’ve spotted our target.”

“Thank the Lord. That monkey is liable to jump out of the arena and savage the spectators.”

With Drake in tow, they pushed through the crowd in pursuit. Anyone who dared think of complaining took one look at the giant with eyes as dark as the devil’s and turned quickly back to watch the gory match.

Valentine tried to see what had captured her attention, but the monkey pulled the dog’s tail, and the crowd threw their hands in the air, some to cheer, some to boo in protest. An argument started between two patrons. These sorts of events were rife with disagreements. The losers often looked to take their frustrations out on those more fortunate. It would not surprise him if the whole room erupted into a mass brawl.

The thought sent Valentine’s pulse racing.