t a pickpocket from the rookeries. Still, he was eager to hide his identity for he had raised the collar of his coat to obscure the line of his jaw, and had pulled the brim of his top hat down over his brow.
Miss Kendall stopped abruptly in the middle of the footpath. She withdrew a note from her reticule and read it before glancing up at the Grafton Street sign as if she had lost her way. Her pursuer stopped, too, feigned interest in a ream of fabric in the draper’s window though he continually looked over his shoulder, waiting for Miss Kendall to move.
Valentine considered grabbing the man by his fancy lapels and throttling him until he explained precisely what business he had with the lady. Instead, he merely studied the scene, knowing he would learn more from his observations than he would from a lying scoundrel’s mouth.
Thrusting the paper back into her reticule, Miss Kendall continued her journey along Grafton Street—and the gentleman continued his pursuit. Soon, the lady would arrive at the Seven Dials, and then all manner of criminals would mark her as prey.
Panic flared.
Daylight was failing. Fog descended. Both brought unease. Shopkeepers lit their window lamps, the soft yellow lights like a scattering of stars in a cloudy sky. The grey mist crept through the street, rising, thickening, swallowing everything in its wake. All movements proved dangerous. Soon it would be impossible to tell where the pavement ended and the road began.
Fear gripped him.
The gentleman had crossed the busy street, perhaps to avoid detection, perhaps because he thought to corner the lady once she reached the crossroads. Valentine was so desperate to keep his gaze trained on the suspicious scoundrel, he lost sight of Miss Kendall. He squinted, searching for the burgundy silk that decorated the lady’s bonnet.
He entered the bookshop, scanned the numerous patrons struggling to peruse the books beneath the dim candlelight, ignored the offer of assistance. There was little point entering the tobacconist. He raced to the next shop, peered through the dirty glass panes in the bow window and spotted the lady standing before the wooden counter.
Valentine had no choice but to enter.
The overhead bell tinkled as he pushed at the swollen door. The shop was dark and dingy, made more welcoming by the array of silver items sparkling in a display case behind the counter. The place smelt musty, damp, of old leather, polish and the clawing scent of desperation.
The pawnbroker raised his chin by way of a greeting, but Miss Kendall did not turn around.
“As I’ve explained, miss, I’ve nothing of that description. Can’t say there’s much call for seal rings,” the lean man with crooked spectacles said, practically ignoring the lady to focus his attention on Valentine. “Good day to you, miss. I’ve other people to serve.”
“But you have not even looked at the design.” Miss Kendall pushed a piece of paper across the battered counter and stabbed her finger at a pencil sketch. “The ring is unique. Hexagonal in shape. The inscription around the head is in Greek.”
“Greek, you say? Then the answer is no.” He shook his head. “The fancies prefer Latin.”
“Will you not at least do me the respect of examining your books?”
With his grubby hand—the middle finger sporting an expensive gold sovereign ring—the man grabbed the cover of the old tome situated on the counter and slammed it shut. Dust particles flew from the board. The broker coughed. “There’s nothing I can do without the receipts. Come back with the papers.”
Miss Kendall huffed. “I have already told you. I don’t have the papers.”
“And I can’t return an item without them.”
Miss Kendall sighed. “Trust me. I doubt my brother even remembers where they are.”
“Then it will be nigh on impossible for him to claim an item without proof of ownership.”
In a sudden and uncharacteristic fit of temper, Miss Kendall thumped her fist on the counter. “Why won’t you help me?”
Feeling her obvious distress, Valentine cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Perhaps I may be of some assistance, Miss Kendall.”
She swung around at the sound of his voice. Her watery eyes widened with shock. “Lord Valentine! What are you doing here? You seem to make a habit of creeping up on me when I least expect it.”
“Fate often delivers the unexpected,” he replied, reciting his friend Dariell’s words. Valentine cast the broker a hard stare. “And it seems I have arrived just in time.”
Miss Kendall inhaled deeply. “Even a gentleman with your grace and charm will have no luck persuading this man of my cause. Apparently, there is nothing he can do without the original chitty.”
The urge to offer her physical comfort took hold, but all he could do was place a gentle hand on her back. Even the smallest contact sent heat shooting up his arm. Miss Kendall shuddered beneath his touch.
“Allow me to try.” Valentine’s hand slipped from her back before his whole body went up in a blazing inferno. He turned to the fellow who looked like he’d not felt a splash of water on his face for weeks. “The journey across town can be treacherous for a lady alone.” Valentine removed his calling card from the inside pocket of his coat and placed it on top of the tome. “Do me the respect of checking your ledger. I would not wish her to have another wasted journey.”
Valentine raised an arrogant brow and glared at the pawnbroker while he waited for a reply.
The man peered at the card over the rim of his lopsided spectacles. “Give me a moment, milord.”