Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords 3)

Ava nodded. “I would be most grateful if you could help to ease this burden.”

Lord Valentine smiled and slapped his hand to his chest, covering his heart. “At last, an opportunity to play the gallant knight.”

The comment drew a weak chuckle from her lips. “Like everything else, I am confident you will excel in this matter, too.” Ava’s gaze moved past the viscount’s shoulder to the hulking figure standing behind.

Noting her interest, Lord Valentine said, “Allow me to present Mr Drake. We will concern ourselves with more in-depth introductions once I have spoken to Mr Maguire.” He glanced at Twitchett. “Am I right in thinking you are in Miss Kendall’s employ?”

Twitchett bowed. “Indeed, my lord. As well as butler, I fulfil many roles in the Kendall household. Know that I will assist you in any way I can.”

Lord Valentine gave a curt nod and then turned his attention back to Ava. “I suppose it is too much to ask that your butler might escort you home.”

“Home? I cannot abandon my brother in his time of need.”

Valentine sighed. “Then there is little point insisting. You’re to stand with Mr Drake while I make the negotiations.” He craned his neck and looked at a point beyond her shoulder. “Do you know where the lout took your brother?”

Ava gestured to the door to the left of the arena. “They went through there.”

“Then follow me.” Lord Valentine sidled slowly past, his body brushing against her as he manoeuvred through the cramped space.

For a heartbeat, he paused. A look passed between them that spoke of various emotions—respect, compassion, a tenderness that went beyond anything she had ever known.

Ava gulped as she resisted the urge to touch him.

When he continued through the crowd, she followed. Mr Drake slipped in behind, his menacing countenance acting as a shield. Together, they made their way to the wooden door with the opaque window. Lord Valentine turned the brass knob and seemed surprised to find the door unlocked.

The dingy corridor led to another door, one far sturdier. Raised voices echoed. The thud of a fist hitting hollow wood gave them pause. The scrape of a chair on the boards reached Ava’s ears, too. A dog growled. A man whimpered.

They crept to a halt outside the door.

“What are you going to do?” she whispered, touching the back of Valentine’s coat.

“The only thing I can do. I shall knock and pray someone answers.”

“Please be careful.” Those three words carried the weight of her affection.

The corners of his mouth curled into a weak smile. “Should anything untoward happen, Drake will hurl you over his shoulder and bolt to the exit.” He glanced at his friend. “Is that understood?”

“Indeed,” Mr Drake replied.

Ava was in no mind to argue, and so she nodded in agreement.

Sucking in a deep breath, Valentine rapped twice on the door. The sound was met with silence. He knocked once again, harder this time. The clump of heavy footsteps preceded the sudden jerk of the door opening. The burly fellow who had grabbed hold of Jonathan and dragged him from the arena held it ajar to block their view.

“Lord Valentine to see Mr Maguire,” the viscount said with an air of confidence expected from a man of his station. “And I do not have an appointment.”

The man whose face bore a striking likeness to the dog in the arena—flat and ugly with a squashed nose—narrowed his gaze. “Mr Maguire is busy.”

“Yes, busy throttling the life out of my brother.” The comment burst from Ava’s lips, but it was too late to reclaim it.

Lord Valentine firmed his jaw but did not say a word about her sudden outburst. “I’m certain a man of Maguire’s prominence does not permit the hired help to make his decisions.”

“I speak on behalf of Mr Maguire.”

“Speaking on your master’s behalf is vastly different from speaking for him. Will you not allow Maguire to decide for himself?”

“Show them in, Milligan.” The stern voice sliced through the air from the room beyond.

Milligan’s top lip twitched. He looked ready to bite as he stepped back and opened the door fully.