Oh, hell’s bells! What the devil did he want?
“Miss Kendall?” The gentleman sounded most determined.
With reluctance, Ava sat forward. She opened the door mere inches and peered through the gap. “Can I help you, my lord? Have you a problem with a wheel?” What other reason could he have for delaying her departure?
Glacial-blue eyes studied her face though she found nothing cold in his gaze. It was alert, attentive, assessing. Honora was not biased in her appraisal of her only son. Lucius Montford Harcourt Valentine must have stolen into God’s box of gifts, for in Ava’s experience men were rarely intelligent, handsome and honourable.
“My problem is my conscience, Miss Kendall,” he said in the suave way that no doubt made women clutch their hands to their breasts and sigh. “I cannot permit you to ride home alone in a hackney.”
Ava imagined ladies swooned at the prospect of sitting in a closed carriage with Lord Valentine. “Why? I arrived alone in a hackney,” she said, dismissing the thought of sharing a ride with the viscount. “I have a pistol and have no qualms shooting the driver if necessary.”
The corners of Lord Valentine’s mouth twitched. “And I trust you have the box and powder with you to reload.”
“Do not mistake me for a fool, my lord. The box is under the seat.”
Why did men go out of their way to appear superior?
“Oh, you are by no means a fool, Miss Kendall.” The rich tone of his voice slid over her shoulders like the smoothest silk. He was teasing her, luring her into his trap until she had no option but to accept.
Being a woman uncomfortable with flattery and interfering gentlemen, she said, “I must insist that you step back and close the door. I really cannot delay a moment longer.”
If Jonathan woke before she returned home, there was no telling what trouble he would cause. Lord Valentine might find himself pacing the field again at dawn tomorrow.
A tense moment of silence ensued before the lord clambered into the hackney and slammed the door shut. He dropped into the seat opposite and rapped once on the roof. The cab rocked with the extra weight and lurched forward before Ava could protest.
“I don’t know what you think you’re about.” Anger burned in her veins.
“Have I not already made my point, Miss Kendall? I cannot permit you to ride alone.”
For the love of— She was not a simpering miss in need of a man’s protection.
Ava knocked on the roof. “Stop, I say. Driver. Stop this vehicle at once.” The cab jolted and jerked to a halt.
The look of shock and uncertainty on Lord Valentine’s face was a sight to behold. A gentleman with such an attractive countenance was probably unused to ladies challenging his commands.
Ava straightened. “I have not asked for an escort. I have not begged or pleaded for your assistance. The journey is relatively short, and my welfare is not your concern.”
In the dark confines of the carriage, Lord Valentine studied her. Twice his gaze dropped to her thighs, encased in gentlemen’s breeches, and still, he said nothing. He stared at her poorly tied cravat, seemed mesmerised by the swirling pattern on her waistcoat.
Heat rose to Ava’s cheeks. Anyone would struggle under such scrutiny. She reached for the greatcoat folded on the seat beside her and drew the garment across her lap.
“Have you always possessed the need to command and domineer, my lord? Do you belong to the school of men who fail to value a lady’s opinion? Do you believe me too weak to make calculated judgements?”
The viscount laughed. “I am an aristocrat. Dominance is in the blood. Pomposity is spoon-fed from an early age. But one might argue that my chivalrous need to accompany you highlights a weakness on my part, Miss Kendall, not yours.”
Oh!
Well, at least he could admit his error. “I suppose I should give you credit for your honesty. Nevertheless, I demand freedom from your company.”
The lord smiled, and her stomach somersaulted. Damn. Did he have to be so dreadfully handsome? Not that it mattered. She had no need to lay eyes on him again.
“Freedom comes from understanding that some things are within your control, Miss Kendall, and some things are not.”
Oh, the rogue! So he had decided to play on her weakness for philosophy. “Do not think to win me over by quoting Epictetus.” Was he refusing to remove himself from her conveyance? “Will you not obey my request?”
“Obey?” Lord Valentine snorted. He sat back and pushed his hand through his wavy golden locks. “Perhaps you might prefer a different quote.”
“What? You know more than one?”