“You were right. I don’t like it.” He shook his head vigorously. “Did you go alone?”
“I took my Aunt Sarah,” she protested.
Oh wonderful. She and her aged aunt ventured into one of the most notorious taverns in London to speak with a madam. Just perfect.
“You should have asked me to go.”
She fixed him with a look. “She would never have told you anything. She hates men.”
“Men make her living,” he pointed out.
“I hardly enjoyed scrubbing floors, but maids still make their living that way. Just because she earns her coin that way does not mean she likes those paying the wages.”
“True,” he grumbled.
“Anyway, I came because I need your help.” She looked at him, then glanced to the floor, scuffing the stone floor with her polished boot.
“You know, you could have sent a note.”
“I did not want to give you the chance to say no.” Her gaze met his. “Or ignore me.”
He groaned inwardly. As if he could say no or ignore her. When she looked up at him with those sea-green eyes, all framed with dark lashes, it was a minor miracle he did not drop to his knees and ask her to take his very soul—or anything else she wanted.
“What is it?” he managed to grate out.
“I need you to go to a ball. Tomorrow.”
“No.” His reply was automatic.
Just the word ball filled him with a weight so uncomfortable there might well have been a thousand rocks placed upon his chest. He pictured the music, the dancing, the glow of chandeliers and the stuffy air suffused with perfume and pomade. A shudder wracked his shoulders.
“Certainly not,” he said when her eyes and her lips formed a pout. “I do not do balls willingly.”
“You went to my sister’s ball.”
“Because I had little choice with that one. One could hardly turn down a ball hosted by the Duke of Daventry. But if I have not heard of this ball and the Season is over, it must be an exceedingly unimportant one.”
“It is important,” she said firmly. “Extremely important. I think Julian’s killer might be in attendance and I need you to question him.”
Valentine eased out a slow breath. The tiny amount of fight in him flew out of the entrance to the temple and vanished, carried away on the breeze like a feather. He’d known from the start he was fighting a losing battle, and by God, he wished he’d put up a better fight than this.
Any fight had gone likely from the moment he’d realized she wasn’t a mirage. He could not deny Chastity, and neither could he ignore a chance to find out what had happened to his nephew.
“Very well,” he said. “I shall come. But I’m not damned well shaving.”
She grinned. “I wouldn’t expect anything different.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Dear God.
Chastity half expected her heart to beat so hard out of her chest that it might flop onto the ballroom floor and bounce about, no doubt making Lady Farthing faint—as she was want to do whenever the conversation turned away from her.
Her dance partner might also suffer from such a display but from Mr. Smethurst’s yelp, her tripping over his foot was quite enough suffering for one night. She muttered an apology but failed to drag her attention from Valentine.
The heart that had beat so painfully against her chest decided to come to a standstill when he met her gaze. It didn’t matter that his brows were furrowed, or his lips were pulled into a tight, disapproving line. Nor that he remained far away from the crowds edging the ballroom like the most unsociable, taciturn ball attendee in history. He made her breath freeze solid in her lungs.
“He shaved.”
“Pardon?”
She smiled vaguely at Mr. Smethurst, a ruddy-faced man of her age who she suspected had been vaguely trying to seduce her with talk of his newly purchased townhouse. “I could do with some, uh, shade.”
He glanced upward. “We are indoors.”
“From the chandeliers.” She lifted a hand, shielding her face from the brightly glinting crystal pendants above.
No less than six hung from the grand ceiling of Clements Lodge, ensuring no matter how dark the evenings drew, everything could be seen in its splendor—from the mirrors to the molding on the ceiling to the priceless vases on stands and even the polished fruit and shimmering jelly.
“I think I had better take a little rest,” she said, moving away from Mr. Smethurst and his protests that the dance was yet to finish. “A headache,” she mouthed, tapping the side of her head.
Despite his forlorn look, she didn’t feel guilty. No doubt Mr. Smethurst would find another willing partner with ease, given the grand size of his new townhouse.
Chastity went to her aunt’s side first. Though she did not need to look his way to know Valentine’s gaze remained upon her, she could not resist. Her aunt fluttered a peacock blue fan in front of her face that matched the real peacock feathers sticking out her aunt’s coiffure. The regal blue and green of her gown finished off the picture to perfection. She hoped one day to have as bold a taste as her aunt.
“He’s here,” she said to her aunt.
“So I saw,” Aunt Sarah replied from behind her fan. “I rather miss the beard, but he does strike quite the figure.”
So did she, in an odd way. The clean-shaven look stole her breath, there was no doubt about it, but forgetting the feel of his rough stubble beneath her fingers was not easy.
“Have you seen Mr. Reynolds?”
Her aunt shook her head. “I have been watching most carefully for him. Perhaps he is not coming.”
“Cassie said Lady Belton received his acceptance.” Chastity blew out a breath. “Perhaps he has changed his mind. Perhaps he caught wind of the investigation.”
“How could he have done? Only your sisters and I know of it. And the earl.” She gestured toward him with her fan. “He hardly seems the sort to gossip.”
“Most certainly not.”
Chastity imagined if she wanted to draw gossip from Valentine even some vile form of medieval torture would not persuade him to part with it. Sullen and surly he might appear to be, but it was an admirable trait. Too many men of the ton were prone to loose tongues and could be worse than the women—though no one would ever own to it.
She made a face. Far better they pretend the weaker sex were the ones behind vile rumors like those about Eleanor. She could not claim to be perfect but if this situation with Eleanor had taught her anything, it was how easy the tiniest rumor could be stretched to beyond believability yet still be deemed as fact.
“I shall go and speak with him,” she announced.
Much longer staring at him from across the room and someone would take note. Besides, she needed to ensure he understood what he must do should Mr. Reynolds arrive.
And perhaps she wanted to see his shaved jawline up close. It had been so long since she’d seen him like that and at the time, she hadn’t really paid attention given he was scolding her for him treading on her blasted toes.
“Oh, I see Mr. Wilde. I must ask about his kitty.” Aunt Sarah bustled across the floor before Chastity could say anything. “He’s been quite ill,” her aunt called over her shoulder to her.
Chastity suspected her aunt meant the kitty as Mr. Wilde looked quite well and smiled eagerly when her aunt approached. She shook her head. There were few who could match her aunt’s adoration of cats, but it seemed Mr. Wilde was as keen.
Pushing her way around the edge of the dance floor whilst a quadrille was being danced by Cassie, her husband and several of their friends, she forced herself to take even breaths as she neared Valentine.
Something about the perfectly tied cravat made her fingers itch to pull it apart. Not that he did not strike her as the most handsome man in the room. No. In fact, she saw several women rake their gaze over him. But she did miss the scruffy, unkempt version of him that had been, well, all hers in a way.
“Why are you smiling?
” Valentine asked.
“You shaved.” She gestured to his jaw.
“It had to be done,” he muttered.
“You said you would not.”
“I could not go showing you up, could I?”
“This isn’t even my ball. How would you be showing me up?”
The creases between his brow deepened. “Just be grateful I am here,” he snapped.
“Oh I am.”
“Do you tease?”
“No!” She pressed her lips together to smother a smile. “I would never tease you. Ever.”
“Liar,” he murmured and looked around. “Where is this Reynolds and how soon can I get out of here?”
“I have yet to see him.”
He groaned. “So I have to stay longer then?”
“Balls are not so terrible you know.”
“Yes, they are. They are hot and tiring and there’s never enough to eat, and, oh yes, it’s full of gossiping people trying their best to appear better than their peers.”
“They can be fun too,” she protested. “Let us at least enjoy it a little. Maybe we could share a dance.”
He lifted her dance card, his expression souring. “It looks like you are already taken.”
“Not yet,” she said softly. She met his gaze, her heart skipping against her chest.
His gaze darkened. If there were people and music playing about her, she could not see nor hear them. The world existed of only the two of them. Could he hear it? Hear how her heart pounded and stretched out toward him? For any scrap or hint of something—desire, need....love?
Lord, what a fool she was. Love had hurt her once before. Why was she opening herself up to it again? Had she learned nothing from her first husband?
“Oh!” A group of gentlemen making their way into the ballroom caught her eye. She rose onto her tiptoes and looked over his shoulder. “Reynolds has arrived.”
Valentine blinked, straightened slightly, and followed her gaze. He gave her one last look that somehow told her this was not over. But what was not over? Their desire for one another? Or something more?
∞∞∞
Valentine could count on one hand the amount of times he’d danced since Anne died. He was sorely tempted to tear up Chastity’s dance card and add at least one more occasion to that. How would it feel to have her in his arms? To pretend for just a moment she was his?
He didn’t need to pretend. He knew. Every man in the room would envy him, every woman would know what had been niggling at him since she’d left. Even now, when he was finally able to take an active role in this investigation, he could not keep his gaze from her.
His jaw hurt from clenching it and he had to unfurl his fingers as he strode over to Reynolds lest the man think his anger was directed at him. Jealousy was the single most useless emotion, and he did not like feeling it one jot, especially when Chastity’s latest dance partner was a whelp whose breeches were obviously stuffed at the calves. The boy could hardly keep his gaze from Chastity’s breasts either and from her amused smile, she had noticed.
Reynolds stood with two other man Valentine vaguely knew—Captain Marshall and a baron whose name he could not recall. The last time he had spoken with either of them might well have been years ago. Same with Reynolds.
A few years his senior, the man came from old money but that was about all Valentine knew. Chastity said he’d been linked with a few women in the scandal sheets at one time or another but nothing about him stood out and screamed murderer.
Of course, he doubted any murderer would make themselves known, but he had to wonder what sort of a man would kill two people then attend a ball with as much nonchalance as this man. He also had to wonder why the devil he might have harmed Julian. From everything Chastity had gleaned from the servants, he lived a simple life and was using the opportunity Valentine gave him well. It relieved him a little that his nephew had not sunk to sordid depths of which Valentine had been unaware.
Reynolds glanced his way and his dark brows lifted. The man wore only the latest fashions and his hair was wild and curly—but from the sheen it was deliberately styled just so. No doubt he thought it rakishly attractive. In Valentine’s opinion, the man needed to cease trying to look younger. It was horribly undignified.
“Reynolds,” he greeted.
“Lord Kendall, how do you do?”
He’d rehearsed this in his mind. Even Chastity had counselled him on what to say to the man. But damn it, he did not do small talk. If this man had truly harmed Julian, he’d happily beat the confession out of him. He had to admit, though, seeing a line of dark on the man’s forehead where he had obviously tried to darken gray strands of hair, he could not imagine the man besting a young man like Julian.
“I was wondering if I might ask a favor.” He jerked his head toward an empty spot at the side of the ballroom. They might not be friends or even associates but the man would not deny an earl his request. At least his title could be put to good use today.
“Of course, my lord.”
“Kendall,” he corrected, though he’d be taking that offer back if it turned out the man had laid a hand on his nephew but Chastity had advised it would be good to feign companionship.
It seemed if the ambitious man thought they were inclined to be friends, he’d be more willing to talk of where he bought the favors of women. He did not want to think why or how Chastity knew about the conversations of men on such matters.
They moved over to the edge of the room where several oversized exotic plants provided the faintest fresh fragrance, cleaving through Reynold’s cologne. Valentine frowned. Floris’s Lime. Even he hated that scent now.
Valentine leaned in. “I was hoping to speak to you on a delicate matter.”
“Oh?”
“I hear you frequent The Eight Bells.”
Reynold’s tense brow relaxed, and he grinned. “Oh. I see. You’re after a woman.”
“A specific woman actually—Daisy Miller.”
His grin fell. “Daisy?”
Valentine held his breath. If this man had killed the woman, he was going to pin him up against the wall. Let the ton see what a savage he was, he didn’t care.
“Daisy’s gone.”
“Gone?” Valentine repeated.
“Yes.” His tone edged with irritation. “She had come into some money and decided to go to the country. She had a daughter living with her sister there apparently.”
“Yours?”
“Bloody hell, Kendall, no need to be so direct.”
“Was it yours?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Who knows? But the damned woman did not want my coin anymore and left.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “Somewhere in Hertfordshire I think. Doubt she told anyone in case they tried to persuade her to stay.”
Valentine hissed out a hot breath. The man could be lying but he doubted it. Why lie and make oneself look like a bastard who had abandoned his child? “Where did the money come from?”
“Lord knows.”
He knew. The money that Chastity’s sisters had paid her had been a sizable sum—enough for her to look after her daughter for some time no doubt. Did that also mean this talk of seeing a man was a lie? It could well be if she’d seen a way out of her situation.
Reynold’s peered up at him. “If you’re that keen, I could introduce you to a few other acceptable women, though I must say, Kendall, I’d heard you were practically chaste these days.”
“It’s Lord Kendall to you,” he muttered as he walked away.
He met Chastity’s inquisitive stare and shook his head. They were still no closer to finding out who had killed Julian.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Cease fidgeting,” scolded Aunt Sarah.
“I am not.” Chastity rose on her tiptoes to catch sight of Valentine over the crowds.
Aunt Sarah rapped her knuckles with her closed fan and Chastity yelped and glared at her aunt.
“You will make everyone suspicious,” her aunt reminded
her. “If Reynolds is a murderer, you must stop staring in their direction.”
Chastity dropped back onto her heels and grimaced. “I cannot help it.”
Aunt Sarah flicked open her fan and lifted it to her face, disguising a wicked grin. “He is such a commanding presence.”
“That is not what I meant,” she protested.
“One cannot deny there is something about him.” Aunt Sarah sighed. “You know, were I ten years younger, I would not be hesitating to demand a dance.”
Chastity did not comment on the fact Aunt Sarah was five and fifty ten years ago because the chances were her aunt would have happily demanded a dance from many a handsome man before her joints started aching.
But she did not need to be thinking on how handsome Valentine was at present. They were here to catch a murderer, not ponder how he made her heart beat out of rhythm with a mere glance in her direction. Good Lord, she was acting like a debutante and it needed to cease.
Demeter sidled over, beautiful in a white gown accented with a thin gold overlay and little pointed gold details on the cap sleeves and neckline. She’d drawn the eye of many a man tonight, yet she had not danced once.
Demeter would be grateful for the absence of requests, but she hated to see her sister standing on the edge of the dancefloor. Her quiet nature did nothing to entice anyone to ask, unfortunately. The daft men were all too cowardly to risk a denial.
Cassie joined them, stealing their aunt’s fan and wafting it rapidly in front of her face. “There are far too many people here tonight,” she said, her cheeks flushed from exertion. “The dance floor is too full.”
“Well, you have been occupying it rather a lot,” Aunt Sarah said. “You should let the unattached ladies have their chance.” Aunt Sarah jerked her head not-so-subtly toward Chastity.
“I have been dancing, Aunt Sarah!”
“Yes, but not with the right people,” she said firmly.
“What of this Reynolds?” Cassie demanded. “Do we know anything yet?”
“No.” Chastity shook her head. “I am waiting to see what he says to Valentine.”
Temptations of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 2) Page 17
