Valentine jerked his head back.
Ava glanced at him, and then at his mother. “You want me to stay here tonight?”
“Of course.” Honora arched a brow. “You cannot stay with Lucius. Gossip is rife. I refuse to give Lady Durrant more reason to spread vicious rumours about my family.”
Ava nodded. “Very well.”
What else could she say?
It pained Valentine to think of sleeping without her tonight. He needed her in his bed, needed the closeness, the heightened level of intimacy that existed when two people
were in love.
“When this is over, I might tell Lady Durrant what I think of her meddling,” Ava said.
“When this is over,” Valentine replied as a plan formed in his mind, “we shall show Lady Durrant how wrong she was to assume you are anything less than a lady.”
Chapter Nineteen
“How are you progressing with the reading task, Miss Faversham?” Ava spoke softly, avoiding the real questions burning in her mind, for she doubted they would get anything from the girl if she crumpled to the floor a blubbering wreck.
Despite it being rather early in the day for a house call, no one turned away a viscount. While Honora took tea with the major and Mrs Faversham in the drawing room, Valentine and Ava occupied the sitting room at the rear of the house.
“I am on the second volume of The Monk. Mrs Madeley has the first volume, and then I think she is to pass it on to you, Miss Kendall.”
“And what are your thoughts on the novel so far, Miss Faversham?” Valentine asked, staring at her over the rim of his teacup.
Matilda’s bottom lip trembled, and she could not hold Valentine’s gaze. “On the novel? Oh, it is not for the f-fainthearted, my lord. Particularly when one shares a n-name with a character.”
“Particularly when that character is corrupt and responsible for Ambrosio’s descent into sin,” Valentine added, setting his teacup and saucer on the side table. “Deception is a trope rife in gothic novels, rife in everyday life, too.”
“I’m afraid I rarely venture from the house, my lord,” Miss Faversham said. “Reading about such things in n-novels is the limit of my experience.”
“That surprises me.” Valentine sat forward. He appeared calm, in complete control of his emotions, much like the day of the duel when he forced his way into Ava’s hackney cab and spoke so openly about love.
Matilda’s eyes widened. “Oh, and why is that?” She was about to take a sip of tea but froze with the cup a few inches from her mouth.
Perhaps Matilda expected a compliment about being more confident than she gave herself credit. She most certainly was not expecting Valentine to broach the subject of the mystic.
“You have no qualms contacting an unmarried gentleman. One might wonder how you came to make the acquaintance of Mr Cassiel.”
The china cup clattered on the saucer as the girl’s hand shook. She paled. Silence descended when she failed to respond.
“Well?” Ava said, keen to encourage Matilda to answer. “Did you not say you found his advertisement in the newspaper?”
“Yes.” Matilda nodded, setting her drink back on the tea tray. “That is correct.”
“Which newspaper?” Valentine enquired.
“Pardon?”
“Which newspaper prints such an advertisement when most people find the notion of contacting the dead offensive, against Christian beliefs?”
Matilda tried to force a smile. “I cannot remember.”
“Did you want to contact the dead?” Valentine pressed.
Ava recalled Matilda’s reluctance to participate. And yet, now she came to think of it, the girl had not seemed fazed by the mystic even though his appearance might be considered unusual.