“Please, Miss Kendall, do not insult me by offering to repay a gift.” Valentine placed the pouch into the inside pocket of his coat. “And I shall return the ring once I have seen you safely to your door.”
“No!” With a hint of panic, she shook her head. “Keep it safe for me. Just for a little while. I cannot risk losing it again.”
The mere fact she trusted him with a personal treasure touched him in a way nothing else ever had. Pride, coupled with a desire to live up to her expectations, settled in his chest. Did her request have something to do with her brother’s sleight of hand?
“Your father’s ring will be perfectly safe in my care.”
She smiled again, although the heavy sense of loneliness still lingered behind the softness of her features.
“I hope you remember where your coachman parked your carriage,” she said, glancing at the window where passing shadows slipped like spectres through the blanket of fog. “Though you don’t have a hope of finding it in this weather.”
Valentine hesitated. “I am without my carriage today. I walked across town.”
Would she draw the wrong conclusion? A man of his breeding ventured to these parts merely to partake in scandalous activities—be it gambling, drinking or whoring. And she had not asked why he needed the services of a pawnbroker.
“Come,” he said before her mind processed the information. “It will take the best part of an hour to walk home, and the streets are treacherous.” On a foggy night, carts and carriages were known to mount the pavement.
The shop bell tinkled, and another patron entered—a thin woman with a pale, weary face. A small child with sad eyes clutched her hand. The broker hurried from his hideaway to examine the treasure she had placed on the counter—a gold cross and chain.
Miss Kendall sidled next to Valentine. She touched his arm, and his world tilted. “Please, my lord, I would offer her assistance had I not emptied my reticule.”
Valentine met her gaze. It occurred to him that this spell she had cast over him meant he would do anything she asked. And so, he retrieved another note from his pocket, strode up to the woman, took her hand and thrust it into her palm.
The woman looked up at him with the same air of wonder, the same look of admiration currently swimming in Miss Kendall’s eyes.
Valentine accepted her heartfelt thanks and then moved to open the door for Miss Kendall.
As they left the shop, Miss Kendall thrust her hand into the crook of his arm. She held on to him with the familiarity of a lover, not a woman who had come close to shooting him mere days ago. Of course, the intimate gesture had more to do with the hazardous conditions outside than with any romantic feelings.
Navigating the fog-drenched streets proved more dangerous than expected. One wrong turn might be disastrous. Dark shadows appeared through the mist, barging into them, banging shoulders. Miss Kendall hugged Valentine’s arm with both hands and pressed her body close. The damp air carried the acrid smell of sulphur that choked the throat. When she dropped her hand to cough, Valentine slid his arm around her waist and held her in a vice-like grip.
Shouts, cries and the anxious neighs of horses echoed all around them.
A terrified gasp left Miss Kendall’s lips.
“What’s wrong?” Valentine’s heart skipped a beat.
“I heard someone call my name.” She peered into the blanket of nothingness.
“Who?” His thoughts turned to the mysterious stalker. “A voice you recognise?”
“I-I’m not sure. A voice from the past.”
Valentine felt her body shudder as he kept her in a secure hold. A large shadow appeared through the grey cloud to block their path. The figure did not dart out of the way in shock but forced them to come to an abrupt halt. In the seconds it took to recognise the upturned collar of the surtout, the man pulled a blade from his walking cane, dropped the shaft and attempted to cut the drawstrings on Miss Kendall’s reticule.
“What? No! Valentine!”
Valentine wasted no time coming to the lady’s aid. He let go of Miss Kendall, grabbed the scoundrel’s arm and twisted until the blade tumbled to the ground. He kneed the rogue in the groin and, with a punch worthy of his friend Devlin Drake, smacked his fist into the man’s cheek.
Miss Kendall shrieked.
A vitriolic curse burst from the blackguard’s mouth as he stumbled back.
Valentine kicked him to the ground, grabbed Miss Kendall’s hand and took flight.
“Ow!” someone shouted as Valentine barged into a crowd of people as he hurried past them. “Mind where you’re going.”
“Valentine, wait.” Miss Kendall puffed and panted. “I cannot keep up with you.”