“Save your excuses for someone foolish enough to listen.” In his present volatile mood, Valentine could not be held accountable for his actions. The farther away he was from Jonathan Kendall, the better. “We will discuss this some other time. For now, just do as I damn well ask.”
Kendall bowed his head and climbed atop the box to squash next to the butler.
Valentine turned to Drake, who grinned back in amusement. “What is so funny?”
“You,” Drake replied, steering him away from the carriage’s open door. “For a man who prides himself on his calm composure, you really are struggling tonight.”
Valentine exhaled a weary breath. He did not need to hear he lacked restraint. “And I doubt you will ever let me forget it.”
“What is even more astounding is that you are completely oblivious to what is going on here.”
Valentine folded his arms across his chest, curious to hear his friend’s opinion. “And what is going on? Please, feel free to enlighten me.”
Drake gripped him firmly by the shoulder. “If you don’t know, I am certain all will be revealed in due course.”
The sound of Miss Kendall clearing her throat drew Valentine’s gaze back to the carriage. The lady sat forward on the plush seat and peered at them. “What happened to hurrying before the Maguires change their minds?”
“That woman will be the death of me,” Valentine muttered. Were he an oafish brute he would tan her backside for her reckless behaviour tonight, though he was more inclined to caress the plump cheeks and rain sensual kisses the full length of her spine.
“And what a wonderful death it would be,” Drake replied.
Ignoring Drake’s teasing, Valentine instructed Sprocket to head for Newman Street and then to Drake’s abode.
They climbed into the carriage. Valentine squashed next to Drake. He wanted to study Miss Kendall’s expression and could not take the chance of sitting next to her without berating her for her stupidity, without dragging her into his arms and ravaging her mouth.
He loved that she had risked her life to save him from the damn monkey.
He feared what that meant.
They sat in silence as the carriage rumbled along the streets.
Once at Newman Street, Jonathan Kendall alighted. Valentine waited until the buffoon entered the house—only to ease Miss Kendall’s anxiety—and then rapped on the roof.
“Well?” Drake said after a few moments. Clearly he had grown tired of feigning interest in the passing shadows. “Did you not promise a more thorough introduction?”
Valentine sighed. It was unlike him to be so lapse.
“Miss Kendall, allow me to present my trusted friend Mr Drake. We spent the last five years together in India and the Far East.” He turned to Drake. “Miss Kendall is my mother’s dear friend and close neighbour.”
Miss Kendall smiled. The power of it pierced through the chink in Valentine’s armour to hit him squarely in the chest.
“Ah, Lord Valentine tells me you have an interest in the macabre, Mr Drake.”
Damnation!
Why could she not simply nod and discuss the inclement weather like most ladies? Then again, Miss Kendall was unlike any other woman of his acquaintance.
“The macabre?” Thankfully, Drake’s blank expression masked his surprise.
“You are keen to hold a seance,” Valentine said in a tone that suggested Drake was absent-minded. “Keen to meet the mystic, Mr Cassiel, who possesses an ability to talk to those who have crossed to the next plane.”
“I am?” The corners of Drake’s mouth curled up in amusement. “I am,” he said more convincingly. “My brother passed away some years ago while I was abroad. Guilt can be a crippling thing, Miss Kendall.”
“I understand,” she said in a solemn voice. “My brother and I were to help my parents in the mine on the morning the accident occurred, but they were up at sunrise and went ahead without us. There is not a day goes by when I do not wonder if I may have helped in some way had I been there.”
An empty feeling, accompanied by a crippling nausea, roiled in Valentine’s stomach. Bile bubbled up to his throat. He shared Miss Kendall’s deep sense of regret. Perhaps if he had stayed awake, he might have noticed his father leave the house in just his shirtsleeves on a cold winter’s night. He might have followed him from their clifftop estate and prevented a terrible tragedy. But when one’s parent had an illness of the mind, actions were often erratic, unpredictable.
“Our friend Dariell believes everyone’s destiny is already written,” Drake said, his voice thick with compassion. “We cannot begin to understand why these things happen but must accept that they happened as they should.”