Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords 3)

Ava packed away the jewellery and rang for Twitchett. She should find a different place to hide her treasures.

The butler arrived moments later. He drew in a sharp breath when he noted the obvious evidence of her distress.

“My brother is no longer permitted in this house. He is not to set a foot over the threshold.” Every word carved out a piece of her heart. Never had she felt so betrayed. Never had she felt so lost, so alone. But while she would not abandon him completely, neither would she permit him to take liberties with her precious possessions. “I want his clothes packed and sent to his house on Newman Street.”

Family is everything.

Guilt twisted the blade a little deeper as she recalled her mother’s words.

“Packed, madam?” Twitchett paused. “Are you certain you want me to deal with the matter today?”

No doubt he thought the decision rash, the result of a heated argument, the need to prove she had the upper hand.

“I’m certain. And have my mother’s trunk brought down from the attic.”

Twitchett frowned. “You wish me to send it to Newman Street?”

“Of course not.” She did not mean to be so sharp, but her steely resolve had returned. “I need to find a suitable gown. Tonight, I am going to the Rockford ball.”

Tonight, she would hold her weasel of a brother to account. Tonight, she would drag the truth from his lips even if she had to shame him in front of that vixen, Lady Durrant.

Chapter Four

“Have you come to offer your mother assistance or to stare at the house across the street? Lucius? Is there something wrong with your hearing?”

“Forgive me.” Valentine tore his gaze away from the window, from the house he presumed belonged to Miss Kendall. Something strange was afoot. “I am curious. Are your neighbours adjourning to the country for the winter?”

The question gave him the opportunity to take another furtive glance at the odd comings and goings. He caught sight of the butler loading the last valise into the hackney cab before climbing inside the vehicle.

The thought that Miss Kendall might be going on a trip played havoc with Valentine’s mind. The woman held him in a spell. An odd sense of excitement had flitted about in his chest upon receiving her note this morning. The alluring aroma of her perfume clung to the paper, so much so, he could not resist bringing the letter to his nose and inhaling deeply. He had not crumpled the missive into a ball or thrown it into the grate but had placed it with care inside the top drawer of his desk. Twice in the space of five minutes he’d opened the drawer to catch a whiff of Miss Kendall’s potent scent.

Was that not a sign of sorcery at work?

His mother raised her chin and cast a suspicious eye at the house across the street. “Ah, you speak of Miss Kendall. She has not mentioned a trip, but when one has an adventurous spirit, anything is possible.”

Adventurous? The lady was as daring as she was dangerous.

“You know her well?” Valentine hoped his mother would tell him something unsavoury to help shake this peculiar craving. It went beyond lust, was more a desire for interesting conversation, a need to rise to the challenge and prove he was more than a match when it came to progressive attitudes.

“Yes. I knew her mother. Bright girl. The youngest daughter of Lord Moseley.” His mother reached into the side table drawer and removed a slip of paper. “We came out the same year.”

A host of questions bombarded Valentine’s mind. The need to discover more about the woman who had bested him on the duelling field held him in a vice-like grip. But his mother was as sharp as a hatpin, and so he had to be subtle.

“Will you attend the Rockford ball this evening?” Valentine said, quick to change the subject. At fifty, Honora Valentine still held her good looks. With golden hair, a trim figure and a mischievous glint in her sapphire-blue eyes, there were many gentlemen eager to fill his father’s long-abandoned shoes.

“A ball? I cannot think of that now, not when there is treachery afoot.”

“Treachery?” That got Valentine’s undivided attention. His mother was not prone to exaggeration or flights of fancy.

“I explained everything in my note.” A deep frown lined her brow. “Is that not why you’re here?”

“No.” Valentine paused. He could hardly say he had come merely to spy on Miss Kendall. “I had business in Brooke Street and decided to call here on my way home. Your letter must be with the unopened correspondence on my desk.”

“Oh, then I have distressing news to depart.”

Valentine sat forward. After twenty years spent in a volatile marriage, it took something monumental to unsettle his mother’s calm composure.

“They are all listed here.” Honora flapped the paper she had removed from the drawer. “The names of the suspects.”