Ava cupped his cheek. “Then I pray the ball passes quicker than a whirlwind.”
Valentine kissed her again, in the slow, sensual way that was like a mating of souls.
“Do you think Devlin will—” Ava began, but upon hearing a noise outside the door, Valentine placed his finger on her lips.
“Hush, love, someone is here.” Noting the slow turn of the doorknob, he glanced at Ava. “Look at me as if you’re desperate to tear the clothes off my back.”
Ava arched a brow. “That won’t be difficult.”
They remained locked in an embrace until three women burst into the room, leaving the door wide open to cast a modicum of light over the scandalous scene.
Portia Durrant was accompanied by Mrs Wainwright—a notorious gossip responsible for many a ruination—and Mrs Titterington, whose name was so opposed to her stern disposition.
“Oh!” Portia exclaimed as they all looked upon Ava as if she were the devil’s spawn. “Is Lady Carmichael aware that you’re using her library as a bordello?”
“A bordello?” Valentine scoffed. “Madam, it seems your wild imagination has got the better of you. Now get out, close the door and be on your way.”
Portia flicked her red hair and raised her chin. She turned to the other two vultures out to scavenge on her leftovers. “Did I not tell you they were conducting an illicit affair? I think this proves my point.”
“Indeed,” Mrs Wainwright said disapprovingly. She focused her attention on Valentine. “I doubt your mother would approve of you carrying on with this gal.” She stared down her pointed beak as if hungry for him to discard Ava’s ruined carcass for them to feed and feast.
“May I ask why you have involved yourselves in our private affairs?” Ava said with the confidence of an aristocrat.
Portia glared. “Because there is a place for a man to court his mistress and it is not amongst respectable Society.”
Ava inhaled deeply. She kept her calm composure while Valentine’s blood boiled.
“And what about a man who wishes to court his wife?” Ava said. “Are a married couple not permitted to sneak into the library to share a moment alone?”
A stunned silence filled the room.
Despite blinking far too many times to count, Portia gave a wry smile. She turned to her friends and chuckled. “Some people will say anything to save face. I recall no mention of a wedding in the broadsheets. Do you?”
Mrs Wainwright and Mrs Titterington failed to respond. Both matrons appeared somewhat uncomfortable and shuffled back towards the door.
“We did not make a formal announcement.” Valentine’s stern voice echoed through the room. “But allow me to present my wife—the Viscountess Valentine.”
“Your wife?” Mrs Wainwright choked on the words.
“I suggest you offer her the respect befitting her station,” he demanded, “else there will be hell to pay.”
Portia stood rooted to the spot, her face as pale as Lady Carmichael’s bust of Apollo.
Both matrons hurried forward. They curtsied whilst offering their felicitations followed by profuse apologies for their dreadful mistake.
Ava accepted their congratulations with good grace. She was wise enough to know one did not make enemies in the ton unless absolutely necessary. Besides, when Lockhart returned it would serve them well to have a few allies amongst the ranks.
Throwing Portia glares of disdain, both ladies left the room.
Ava took hold of Valentine’s arm as they made to return to the ballroom. Portia Durrant stood rigid as they passed.
“It seems I have something to thank you for,” Ava said, stopping briefly to address Lady Durrant. “Had you not paid my brother to call Valentine out, we might never have met.”
They did not wait for a reply but left the woman stewing in her misfortune.
When they entered the ballroom, the strains of a waltz captured Valentine’s attention.
“Would you care to dance?” he said, desperate for an opportunity to hold Ava in his arms.