Oh, he was full of lies, brimming with excuses.
But she wouldn’t rest until the ring was back in her possession.
“So you did not enter my room this morning?”
He hesitated. “I may have. I thought to reclaim my pistols.”
“I suppose you know nothing about Mother’s vanity box or Rosewood writing slope. Both have miraculously vanished, too.”
“Vanished?” All colour drained from Jonathan’s face. “Are you sure you have not misplaced them?” The anxious look marring his features sent her nerves scattering. “Perhaps Mrs Stagg moved them.”
“Are you saying you did not take them to pay your debts?”
“Of course not. My debts are my own affair.” He bowed his head, tapped his lips for a moment while deep in thought. “Have your neighbours reported any suspicious activity? What of your friend Lady Valentine? She does live opposite.”
This inquisitive line of questioning suggested Jonathan was innocent of the thefts from her house. But good liars knew how to avoid suspicion. Ava was wasting time trying to get any sense from her brother. As always, she would deal with the matter herself, carry out her own investigation.
“Well?” he pressed. “Has Lady Valentine mentioned anything untoward?”
“No. Honora would have told me had she seen unsavoury characters loitering about the place.” Perhaps the Maguires had stolen into Ava’s house merely to frighten her brother. Perhaps she had been a little hasty in packing Jonathan’s belongings.
Jonathan glanced back over his shoulder as if expecting to find a hideous figure lurking in the shrubbery. “Then I shall escort you home. And I insist on remaining with you in Park Street this evening.”
Ava snorted inwardly. So that was his game.
“You may escort me home. You may even check the house if you must. But I would rather be alone tonight.”
That was a lie. Who wanted to lie in a cold bed with nothing to do but replay the night’s events?
Jonathan nodded. He escorted her along the gravel path, back to the house. Ava was so absorbed in plotting where she might begin her search for her father’s treasured possessions, she failed to notice Lord Valentine standing on the terrace until she reached the top step.
Ava’s heart pounded as their eyes met. Lord Valentine stood alone, his back pressed against the wall as he smoked a cheroot. From his elevated position, he had a perfect view of the garden.
Had he been watching her?
Had the gallant gentleman been waiting for an opportunity to come to her aid?
Lord Valentine blew a stream of smoke into the cold night air. There was something masterful about him, something wickedly dangerous lingering just beneath his smooth countenance.
“Good night, Miss Kendall,” he said as she moved to walk past.
“Good night, my lord,” Ava replied, though she knew her night would be a restless one. One fraught with fantasies. One fraught with dreams of a dashing lord being anything but chivalrous.
Chapter Seven
For two days, Valentine stalked Miss Kendall along the streets of London while she visited every pawnbroker between Mayfair and Covent Garden. There had been no time to slip inside shops and enquire as to the nature of her visit.
What misfortune had driven her to seek temporary relief?
Was she desperate to raise funds to cover her brother’s mounting debts? From what Valentine had heard, there were more than a few.
Regardless of the reason, the task caused the lady distress. She wore her sadness like an oversized coat. It swallowed her vivacious charm. The weight drowned the elegance of her bearing, leaving her shoulders slumped, her clumsy gait lacking the grace that conveyed confidence and good breeding.
Twice, she stepped out into the road as if oblivious to the oncoming traffic.
Twice, Valentine had come crashing to a halt, only to clasp his hand to his heart in relief to find her unhurt.
Just when he decided to stop hiding in the shadows and offer assistance, he noticed he was not the only gentleman interested in monitoring the lady’s movements. Dressed in a fine demi-surtout with a fitted waist, and gripping a silver-topped walking cane as if ready to bat away beggars, the fellow was no