“A man may think he knows his mind,” Valentine said, “but he is often mistaken.” Fearing Lady Durrant might misunderstand his meaning, he added, “Yesterday’s dreams and desires no longer seem so appealing today.”
The comment drew his thoughts back to the lady who had taken permanent residency in a cosy corner of his mind—the lady responsible for his attendance at the ball this evening.
Impatience burned.
Would Miss Kendall make an appearance?
Excitement flared.
Would he feel the same lack of control in her presence?
“Well, my mind is resolute,” Jonathan Kendall said, desperate for attention. He captured Portia’s hand and brought it to his lips. “I am unwavering in my devotion and beg that you mark me down for every waltz.”
Portia stared down her nose at Valentine. She turned away from him and bestowed a coy smile on the doe-eyed Mr Kendall. “You know I never use dance cards. You know I make it a rule only to dance with the most captivating man in the room.”
Valentine had heard enough.
What the hell made him think he could marry this woman? He needed a woman he admired more for her heart and mind than her body. Despite trying to convince himself otherwise, Valentine could not overlook Portia’s coquettish ways or devious manner simply to ease his mother’s anxiety regarding his marital status. Moreover, he had to question his mother’s judgement for encouraging the match.
Once again, Valentine scanned the room looking for Miss Kendall. Was she dancing with one of the many gentlemen clambering to offer? Would the gaiety of the evening awaken a need for pleasure? Would she grow more flirtatious after the umpteenth glass of champagne?
The notion that another gentleman might claim the privilege of holding her close caused knots in his stomach. Knots! Devil take him. He was not a boy fresh out of the schoolroom.
The lady might well be a thief, he told himself hoping to eradicate this mild infatuation.
“Then perhaps you might like to take a stroll in the garden,” Mr Kendall said, his devotion to Portia Durrant evident in his slippery tone. “Once there, you might find that my gift will prove captivating enough to tempt you to dance.”
“A gift? For me?” Portia laughed and batted Kendall on the arm with her closed fan.
Valentine turned away for fear of casting up his accounts on Rockford’s polished oak floor. Had Portia not beckoned him over he would have avoided her company tonight. Then again, he had not planned to attend at all.
“Then let us slip away from here, Mr Kendall,” Portia continued, raising her voice loud enough for Valentine to hear, but he turned his attention to the host of people filling the ballroom.
The thrum of anticipation in the air drew his gaze beyond the dancers taking their places for the quadrille, to the row of marble pillars running parallel to the far wall. Like a tiger on the hunt, he studied the revellers, hoping to glimpse the lady who was as annoying as she was arousing.
Aveline Kendall was in the room.
He knew it like he knew his own name.
Convinced he could smell the stimulating tones of her Floris perfume, Valentine’s gaze flicked back and forth. Blood raced through his veins. His breath came a little quicker. Like the earth’s magnetic pull, the tug in his gut drew him away from Portia Durrant, and he slipped stealthily through the crowd searching for his prey.
How odd that he knew exactly where to find her.
The first glimpse of those tantalising curls caressing Aveline Kendall’s jaw caused untold havoc with his insides. She stood hidden behind a marble pillar, her slender fingers gripping the structure as she peered at the crowd. As if aware of his approach, she turned her head and their gazes locked.
The pounding of his heartbeat in his ears drowned out the lively hum of music and conversation. It was as if no one else in the room existed. Pure carnal lust shot through Valentine’s body like a lightning bolt. Never had he experienced such powerful tremors.
As he drew closer, he imagined pulling her into an embrace and kissing those bewitching lips. In reality, he could do nothing but stare.
“Lord Valentine. I did not expect to find you here this evening.” Miss Kendall inhaled deeply to catch her breath. “Honora seemed convinced you were otherwise engaged.”
For a moment it was as if Valentine had entered an ulterior world. The calm, emotionless man had vanished, replaced by a blithering idiot who struggled to form a word. It wasn’t the exposed curve of her breast encased in grey silk that captivated him—though the urge to see her naked drummed a potent rhythm in his loins. It wasn’t that she looked every bit the Grecian beauty from a mythical land—regal, mysterious. It was the intelligence in her eyes, coupled with a hint of vulnerability, that held him spellbound.
“After receiving your note this morning, I thought it best to keep a watchful eye on your brother.”
He could hardly tell the truth, could hardly confess that his desire to see her was too great to keep him away. She had commanded a permanent place in his mind ever since she aimed the muzzle of her pistol at his chest and threatened to fire.
“I presume you’re here for the same reason,” he added.