Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords 3)

The clip of the butler’s heeled shoes on the hall floor rang like a death knell.

“Cassiel is prompt,” Valentine said. “I’ll give him that.”

Silence descended.

The tension in the air proved palpable.

They were supposed to be enjoying an evening of merriment not sitting like mourners at a wake.

“It will look rather odd if he finds the room deathly silent when this is supposed to be a party,” Valentine added. “Does anyone have an amusing story?”

Another brief silence ensued.

“I caught Devlin on all fours growling at Rufus the other day.” Juliet chuckled. When Drake groaned, she arched a brow and said, “What? You were.”

“How else am I to get the beast off my bed when he pretends he’s not heard me?”

“Rufus is their dog,” Valentine said, noting Ava’s frown.

“A rather large dog,” Juliet added. “Though lovable all the same, just like his master.”

Drake smiled.

A knock on the door brought Copeland. He inclined his head to Drake. “Mr Cassiel is here, sir.”

Valentine’s heart thumped wildly in his chest. The man was guilty of distressing Miss Kendall. That was enough for Valentine to despise him.

“You may show him in, Copeland.”

They waited with bated breath.

Angelo Cassiel entered the room.

He was dressed all in black except for a blood-red cravat tied expertly around his throat. The contrast was striking, leant towards the macabre for one could not look at him without imagining the cravat was soaked in blood from a gash to the throat. Cassiel’s finely tailored clothes were expensive. Perhaps a spirit had sent a message conveying the place of a hidden legacy. Perhaps Mr Cassiel kept the information to himself and had stolen into the poor person’s house and robbed them of their inheritance.

Drake came to his feet and straightened to his full height as he made the introductions. “I am honoured you could find the time to attend our little gathering.”

Mr Cassiel’s assessing gaze roamed over the guests like the essence of a malevolent spirit seeking the weakest upon which to prey.

“I work on recommendation, Mr Drake.” There was a cadence to his voice that was almost holy, like that of a monk who formed his words with great thought and insight. “Lady Valentine was particularly kind during my visit, as was Miss Kendall.”

Ava looked up from her lap and pasted a confident smile. “My appreciation of your talent has left me desperate to hear more, sir.”

The warm glow of pride settled in Valentine’s chest. No one would know that the man’s presence made her uncomfortable.

Mr Cassiel inclined his head. “Then I pray I bring you more comforting news this evening.”

“Cassiel, it is an unusual name,” Dariell said from his fireside chair. “It is what actors call a stage name, no?”

Mr Cassiel’s dark eyes flashed with suspicion. “I assure you, there is nothing staged about my ability to hear the deceased,” he replied without answering the question.

“I did not imply there was,” Dariell countered. “I am merely curious whether you found the name, or it found you.”

“The dead found me when I was five years old and have clung to me ever since. I hope that answers your question.”

Dariell studied Cassiel for a moment and then rose from the chair. “Well, I must bid you all farewell. As a sceptic, I would not wish to ruin the party.”

Mr Cassiel’s shoulders relaxed. Oddly, he did not attempt to persuade Dariell to stay. Were men of his ilk not desperate to convert non-believers?