“You own a house opposite my mother?” The lord arched a brow and gave an odd hum. Ava wasn’t sure if it was a sound of surprise or admiration. “And you are alighting on Mount Street because?”
“My neighbours like to gossip, and I hope to return home unnoticed.” Even enlightened ladies had to mind their reputations to a certain degree.
“I suspect most of them are still snoring in their beds.”
“Trust me. Your mother has a keen eye and misses nothing. Besides, the driver will attempt to fleece me for a few extra shillings and an argument at this hour will most certainly rouse attention.”
Lord Valentine sat forward and with a look of steely determination said, “I shall pay the driver, Miss Kendall. There will be no complaint regarding his fare.”
Ava sighed inwardly. Chivalrous men were far too assertive. There was a fine line between considerate and controlling.
“I couldn’t possibly permit it.” This time, the topic was not open to negotiation.
As the hackney rolled to a halt on the corner of Mount Street, Ava reached under the seat and retrieved the mahogany case. She flicked the catch and raised the lid before placing the pistol on the velvet inlay next to its identical counterpart. Then she gathered her hair on top of her head and tucked it into her brother’s top hat.
“You missed a tendril.” Without warning, the viscount captured the stray lock of her hair. He studied the texture, caressed it between his fingers. His eyes turned the colour of the Aegean Sea on a summer’s morning, so blue she imagined diving into their mesmerising depths. “Allow me to assist you.”
All the air left Ava’s lungs. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Lord Valentine wound the lock slowly around his finger as if it were a prelude to something far more salacious. His knuckles brushed against her cheek as he tucked her hair into her hat. “There. We would not wish to give the game away.”
“No,” Ava breathed as she struggled to find her voice.
“Should you ever face a dawn appointment again, Miss Kendall,” the viscount said, gesturing to th
e weapons resting on their plush bed, “I suggest you take both pistols. It pays to be careful.”
The thrum of desire hung in the air, thick and heavy.
“In my limited experience,” she began, scrambling to regain her composure, “it does not matter how good a shot you are or how well equipped. What matters is reading your opponent, researching their character. After all, it is merely by chance that you are not bleeding to death in a field near Chalk Farm.”
The viscount’s jaw slackened though he made a quick recovery. Before he could offer another word, Ava gathered the box and her greatcoat, opened the door and climbed down to the pavement. Removing the coins from her waistcoat pocket, she thrust them into the driver’s outstretched and rather grubby hand.
“You’ll get no more from me,” she said to the stout fellow. “That covers the inconvenience of waiting in the cold.”
She turned to find that Lord Valentine had alighted, too.
“I presume that when your brother has recovered from his ailment, he will deem the matter satisfied.” As the lord pushed his muscular arms into his greatcoat, his bright blue gaze slid sensually over her body. “After all, he would not want the ton to know his sister came to his rescue.”
“You do yourself a disservice, my lord. Veiled threats are beneath you,” she said, feeling somewhat unnerved by his probing stare. She would rather see the flare of anger than the heated look that made it hard to swallow. “After all, you would not want the ton to know you fought a duel with a lady. I may have to tell your peers that I almost shot you.”
“Had I been anything but a gentleman, the outcome might have been vastly different.” Rather than appear affronted, the viscount laughed. “But as we have both escaped a lead ball in the chest, I shall bid you a good day, Miss Kendall. I have an odd feeling our paths will cross again.”
Ava gave a little snort. “Good day, my lord. Let us hope our paths do not cross often. With your obsession for chivalry, you will have a hell of a game keeping up with me.”
Chapter Three
Despite being aware of Lord Valentine’s stare boring into her back, Ava did not turn around. Oh, she wanted to, wanted one last glimpse of the dashing viscount, wanted to fall under the spell of those mesmerising eyes—so calm, so blue, so full of depth and restrained power.
Who would not want to admire perfection?
But men of his ilk only toyed with women of inferior lineage. Education counted for little when a member of the aristocracy took a wife. Other than the job of a serving wench in the roughest tavern in town, there was but one calling for a woman with a sharp tongue and a point to prove—that of a spinster.
Ava ferreted around in the pocket of her coat, looking for the door key. She fought the urge to glance towards the corner of Mount Street. Enlightened ladies did not dream of falling in love, of being whisked away by a hero capable of banishing every awful memory, capable of fixing every aspect of one’s miserable life. Enlightened ladies were strong enough to deal with problems on their own, knew that love was blind, fickle, and soon wore off like any other potent drug.
The last thought roused a mild sense of panic.
Jonathan.