Valentine's Vow (Avenging Lords 3)

“It belongs to me now,” Lady Durrant interjected, pushing the ring down into the valley between her breasts. “I shall leave you to argue about the details.” She craned her elegant neck. “Do I hear the strains of a waltz? Come, Valentine. We should return to the ballroom and leave the Kendalls to their business. If we’re quick, you may accompany me in this dance.”

Ava held her breath while she waited for Lord Valentine’s answer. When she dared to raise her eyes in his direction, she found him watching her intently.

“I am sure there are other men willing to lead you about the floor,” Lord Valentine replied though he kept his gaze trained on Ava. “Nevertheless, I shall leave if Miss Kendall wishes it so.”

Ava’s pulse raced.

She wanted an end to her troubles, wanted one more dance with the gallant lord who made her head spin and heart flutter. She wanted him at her side to offer support and comfort. But it was best to put an end to this hopeless infatuation.

“Thank you, my lord, but this is a private matter. You came for an evening’s entertainment not to be embroiled in my family’s affairs.”

The viscount’s penetrating blue eyes flashed with disappointment. “As you wish.” He inclined his head and then turned to Jonathan. “The warning stands. Lay a hand on your sister, and we will meet at dawn.” With that, he offered Lady Durrant his arm and the couple withdrew to the path leading back to the house.

Every crunch of the gravel stones beneath the lord’s evening shoes only served to enhance the pain of regret. But there were more important things to deal with than a fleeting attraction.

She stared at Jonathan. “How could you?” Frustration returned with a vengeance. “You know what that ring meant to Mother. You know she wanted you to present it to your bride.”

“It is too late for sentiment.” Jonathan pushed a hand through his mop of dark hair. “I needed the money. Portia offered almost double what I might expect elsewhere.”

Ava resisted the urge to punch him in the arm. “Elsewhere? You mean the pawnbrokers.” Was that where he had taken the other items he had stolen from the house? Or was Lady Durrant starting a collection of Kendall trinkets? “Do you need money to pay another gambling debt?”

She peered deeply into his empty grey eyes, searching for a redeeming quality, searching for a faint flicker that reminded her of her father. How could a son fail to inherit at least one of his father’s traits, be it intellect, honour or an irresistible charm?

The thought roused the image of Lord Valentine. Ava glanced out across the manicured lawn to see him ascending the stone steps. Lady Durrant clung to his arm as if to let go would see her swept out to sea by a powerful wave.

“I owe money to the Maguires,” Jonathan suddenly confessed, his tone as solemn as his expression.

“The Maguires?” Ava had overheard Lord Sterling mention the name numerous times while he lounged in her drawing room drinking port with her brother. “Not those rogues who run the blood-sport arena?”

Lord, it was said the

brothers were as ruthless as the beasts they trained to fight.

“The odds were in my favour. Can you believe a monkey beat a Bull and Terrier?”

The Maguires knew how to lure simple-minded men into their gambling trap. No doubt the dog snarled on cue while slobber dripped from its sharp fangs. The monkey knew to run and hide from the terrifying sight.

“How much?” Ava said bluntly. “How much did you lose?”

“What? Only a thousand.”

“Only a thousand!” Ava almost choked. It was more than most people earned in a lifetime. Thank heavens her parents’ will stipulated that he could only draw the interest from his inheritance and could not touch the capital until his twenty-fifth birthday. “Even so, your allowance covers such a ludicrous expense.”

Ava predicted Jonathan’s reply before he opened his mouth. This was not his only debt.

Jonathan threw his hands in the air. “Not when the Maguires charge a daily interest of ten per cent,” he complained, forgetting the men were crooks and that he was a victim of his own stupidity.

While anger still thrummed through her body, her soft heart ached with the need to offer comfort. But then another thought struck her.

“What about Father’s watch, his seal ring, the diamond and onyx signet, the sapphire tiepin?” Panic fluttered in her throat.

Jonathan bowed his head. “They are no longer in my possession.”

A solitary tear slipped down her cheek. “You fool.”

The soft words roused his ire.

“Oh, you may preach from your pedestal, but a man must behave like other gentlemen if he is to make his way in Society.”