A Night of Forever

by Bronwen Evans

  “He’s the one man I might allow to ruin me. It would be so worth it.” Lady Cassandra’s comment was followed by a wicked giggle.

  Isobel’s cheeks heated. “I don’t know whom you are talking about.”

  “Of course you do. You’ve been practically salivating after him all evening.”

  Cassandra had been watching her? “I assure you I have not.”

  Cassandra pretended to be shocked. “Then how do you know whom I’m talking about?”

  Damn.

  “He’s most charmingly wicked, isn’t he?” Cassandra leaned closer. “The scandal sheets are always full of his wild, reckless affairs.” She sighed. “He’s one of England’s most ineligible and unattainable bachelors. My mother would swoon dead away if he came to call, but oh, how I’d like one night in his arms.”

  “You and every woman in this room,” Isobel muttered. He was indeed sinfully beautiful. That’s what made him so dangerous. One smile could make a woman forget herself. “I spent a whole day in his company, unescorted.”

  She didn’t know why she said it. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, and only jealousy could have made it impossible to watch Victoria’s covetousness and listen to Cassandra’s sighs and not want to stake her own kind of claim. A claim she knew was built on a fantasy.

  A wicked rake would never have spared her a minute of his time if not for Victoria. Lord Labourd wasn’t interested in her except as a means to get close to her stepmother. He didn’t trust Isobel because she was Victoria’s stepdaughter.

  Why did women always want what was bad for them?

  She might try to fool others, but she could not fool herself. Lord Labourd was intoxicating.

  Cassandra looked as if she’d faint on the spot.

  “Never!” She all but squealed the word, then her voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh, you have to tell me more. What was he like? Was he a gentleman? No, no, of course he wasn’t. What did he say to you? What did you say to him? Goodness, I need to sit down. This is about the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to anyone I know.”

  Isobel immediately regretted her disclosure. If anyone overheard, she would be thoroughly ruined, which would leave her stuck living with a woman who was possibly a killer.

  But Cassandra was her best friend. They had known each other since she’d been sent to Mrs. Potter’s School for Young Ladies at the age of thirteen, just after her mother died. Cassandra had shown her nothing but comfort and kindness then. Isobel knew her friend would never betray her confidence now.

  It was not even as if her journey with Lord Labourd had been exciting. It had, in fact, been excruciatingly embarrassing. He’d made it obvious that his having to escort her home was a chore. On top of that, he had treated her as if the fact that she’d been abducted was her fault.

  Of course, even with Cassandra, Isobel couldn’t share details about her abduction. “My carriage had an accident, and Lord Labourd saw me home. He was…an odious traveling companion. He was beautiful until he opened his mouth. Then he was simply obnoxious.”

  Cassandra’s mouth rounded into an O. “Did he try to seduce you?”

  “Goodness, no.” Much to her disappointment.

  “Did he tell you anything private?”

  How did she tell her friend that Labourd had practically ignored her? “That’s why I’ve never mentioned it before. He didn’t converse at all.” She gave a saucy smile. “But I could look at him for the long carriage ride home. His beauty made up for his insolence.”

  Cassandra looked deflated. “Why would he not engage you in conversation? Perhaps he was worried he might not be able to keep his hands off you if you got more familiar?”

  Had Cassandra lost her mind?

  Cassandra noted her look of disbelief. “If you’d been caught alone with him, if he’d done anything improper—” She gave a large sigh. “If he’d kissed you, for instance, he’d have had to propose.”

  Isobel had wondered what those sensual lips would feel like against her own. Her face heated remembering the way she’d spent the long, boring carriage ride home tracing every inch of his clothed body with her eyes as he’d slept. He appeared to fill out his clothing well: large muscled chest, arms, and even further down…Wicked girl!

  “Well, he seemed to be able to resist me without too much trouble.”

  “Too beautiful,” Cassandra said on a sniff. “Several nights ago, I overheard him telling Lord Fullerton that the one requirement he had in a wife—when he was ready to take a wife—was that she had to be plain.”

  Isobel shook her head. “Are you sure he said that, or was it wishful thinking? His paramours are usually the most beautiful women in all England.”

  Hurt glittered in her friend’s eyes. “I am not hard of hearing and I’m not making this up.”

  Isobel immediately put her hand on Cassandra’s. “It would seem I’m not to Lord Labourd’s taste. I cannot hold a candle to the ton beauties.”

  Cassandra’s smile returned. “Of course you can,” she said. “I also thought his comment odd. I could not hear any more of the discussion, so we will never know why he wants a plain Jane.”

  The one hope Isobel took from this conversation was that Lord Labourd admitted he wanted to marry. She could dream, couldn’t she? What would it be like to be married to a man as virile as him? She wasn’t sure being his wife would be that much fun, especially if you lost your heart to him. She was sure he would still keep his many mistresses. How did a man who had so many females vying for his attentions deny them?

  Finally the music came to an end, and Lord Labourd led Lady Evangeline from the dance floor.

  Disappointment surged through her. He was unlikely to dance again that evening. In fact, he’d be likely to disappear into the card room and then she’d never be able to approach him.

  Approach him? Her knees shook at the idea, but she had a proposition for him, one she hoped he’d accept. One that might mean she was no longer on his suspect list.

  Inwardly she scolded herself for drooling over a man who obviously found women no more than disposable pursuits. No more pining over Lord Labourd. She would find a husband from within the group of men who appeared to enjoy a woman’s company in more ways than in the boudoir.

  So, turning her back on the crowd, Isobel coaxed Cassandra into a conversation about Lady Tessa’s new gown. It was the latest fashion from Paris, the neckline indecently low, but the rich, vibrant emerald silk hugged Lady Tessa’s curves and sparkled in the candlelight. Neither of them could decide whether they liked it, let alone if they’d be bold enough to wear such a gown.

  A servant had just offered them another glass of champagne each when Cassandra nudged her arm.

  “Oh, I say. Isn’t that your stepmother in conversation with Lord Labourd? They look very cozy. Do they know each other?”

  Isobel swung round to where Cassandra’s fan was pointing. The bones of her corset dug into her as she gasped at the sight of Victoria being very familiar with Lord Labourd. Her stepmother’s hand was resting on Lord Labourd’s chest, and he was studying Victoria as Isobel imagined a shark would study its next meal.

  There was something about Lady Victoria Northumberland. An unsettling coldness. She always appeared to be full of gaiety, but her eyes lacked warmth, and she was impossible to read.

  If Lord Labourd thought Lady Victoria was the villain targeting the Libertine Scholars, Isobel could quite well believe it.

  On the other hand, there was nothing Isobel could pinpoint as the cause of her discomfort with her stepmother. In fact, since Isobel’s father’s death eighteen months ago, Victoria had been anything other than the mean stepmother of fairy tales. But somehow Isobel always looked for an ulterior motive for whatever Victoria did.

  Perhaps it was simply that Victoria had not seemed particularly sad, or indeed surprised, when her husband had died. Isobel would not have felt as uneasy had her father’s death not been the result of a suspicious fire.

  “Do they?” Ca
ssandra asked again. “Know each other?”

  “I’m not certain.” Isobel managed to pull herself together. She was pretty sure they did not. “I didn’t think they’d been formally introduced.”

  Cassandra raised one of her beautifully shaped eyebrows. “Perhaps their relationship is more informal. As a young widow, Lady Victoria cannot be blamed for seeking amusement with a man like Lord Labourd. I don’t mean to be rude, Isobel, but your father was rather old.”

  Victoria and Lord Labourd were lovers? The very idea made Isobel want to walk over there and scratch the woman’s eyes out. But if Lord Labourd suspected Victoria, then he’d try to get close. She had to force her fingers to uncurl at her sides.

  Just as Isobel thought the night couldn’t get any worse, the pair turned and looked her way. It was obvious she was the subject of their discussion. When Victoria gestured and laughed, Isobel wished the ballroom floor would splinter beneath her feet and swallow her in a cloud of dust.

  Instead, caught in Lord Labourd’s hypnotic gaze, she watched, spellbound. Watched as Victoria’s hand slid down his chest, lower, lower, until her fingers brushed his groin—

  Isobel gasped, and at the same time Victoria moved away, leaving Lord Labourd staring straight at Isobel with an intensity that made her feel she was some puzzle for him to solve.

  She was not in league with Victoria.

  She tried to catch her breath and move, because…

  “Goodness,” Cassandra hissed. “He’s coming this way. He’s coming for you.”

  Isobel both hoped and feared Cassandra was right. Lord Labourd was coming for her, and as he prowled closer all she could think was, Don’t faint. Dear God, don’t let me faint.

  —

  Arend Aubury, Baron Labourd, knew someone had been watching him as he’d danced with Evangeline. There was nothing unusual in that. Woman wanted his body, and men wanted his wealth. No, that wasn’t entirely correct. Women wanted his wealth too, but those were usually mothers with unwed daughters. It was amazing how money made some otherwise high-in-the-instep mamas overlook a French heritage and lowly title.

  In this case, however, Arend’s sixth sense had told him his observers were none other than Lady Isobel, and her stepmother, Lady Victoria.

  Interesting.

  He was sure Victoria was the woman he was after.

  Over the past several months, he and five of his friends—the Libertine Scholars, as they’d been called at Oxford, for their love of learning was equal to their pursuit of women—had been systematically hunted down by an unknown villain. They now knew that villain was a woman. They also knew she had owned the French brothel Fleur de Lily before she suddenly disappeared. It was also rumored she had married an English earl. That was where their trail had run cold.

  After some investigations, however, they had narrowed the list of earls with young wives down to twelve. Victoria was one of them. Even more interesting, Lady Victoria’s life before she married the Earl of Northumberland was a mystery.

  Arend loved mysteries. His eyes narrowed on his prey. He knew deep in his gut that Victoria was their villainess. What of her stepdaughter? Was she an accomplice?

  The bitch Victoria had taunted him this evening. Their recent conversation had been full of double entendres. She’d played a malicious devil’s advocate regarding Isobel, almost as if she wanted him to investigate her stepdaughter.

  And she’d touched him intimately. It was like being caressed by a scorpion, and just as arousing. But he’d played the game. Both of them were engaging in the dance of intrigue.

  Was the young virginal-looking Isobel also party to murder? He hoped to hell she was, because on the dance floor he had felt her eyes upon him. Felt them as if they were her fingers. Their touch had made him burn.

  If he could seduce Lady Isobel, he might get the answers he sought. Best of all, he might uncover the evidence he needed to stop Victoria before she hurt any more people he loved.

  Seduction, however, was a dangerous strategy. If the lovely Lady Isobel was not party to Victoria’s evil plan, then he would be guilty of ruining an innocent’s reputation. And then…And then, his inconvenient conscience said, you might have to marry her.

  Would that be so bad?

  Yes.

  No.

  Through half-closed eyes Arend studied Isobel as she chatted to another of the year’s pretty debutantes. She didn’t fool him for a moment. Apparently deep in conversation, the chit was trying to pretend she wasn’t watching him. But she was, and he found her inept deception amusing.

  He did not, however, find her beauty amusing. Beautiful women were both annoying and dangerous. He’d been trying to ignore the throbbing awareness she caused within his loins whenever he saw her. With her delicate, fine-boned face, flawless ivory skin, and womanly curves, she only had to smile to arouse him. Her blue gown flattered her slender, shapely figure, and he tried not to focus on her firm, high breasts, fixing his gaze to her face instead.

  She wore her rich, dark hair pinned up in an elaborate style, pearls woven into the soft curls. He wondered what the thick tresses would feel like against his naked skin. A naked Isobel. The thought jarred him out of his sensual haze. She could be the enemy.

  She looked so young and innocent, but Arend knew how deceptive a woman’s looks could be.

  A beautiful woman had killed his friend, and almost killed him, all for greed.

  Naïve fool that he’d been, he’d thought Daniela loved him. But she’d loved another, and that man had almost taken everything from him, including his life.

  Luckily for Arend, Daniela had made a mistake and shown her colors too soon. He’d have quite happily married her—only to die knifed in the heart in his sleep.

  This time he wasn’t going to be a gullible fool. This time he knew he was dealing with an evil bitch. This time he was prepared.

  What he now wanted to know was, who was aiding Victoria? How did she know their every move?

  Ever since he’d accompanied Lady Isobel home after the carriage accident that had almost cost Marisa her life, he’d had his suspicions. Why had Isobel been kidnapped too? She had nothing to do with the Libertine Scholars and the vendetta they faced.

  Was she a spy? Had she been placed in that carriage so they would discount her involvement? Had she been made to look an innocent victim so she’d be drawn into their circle and from there freely feed Victoria information?

  His feet moved slowly toward his target, his eyes never leaving her face. When she finally locked gazes with him, the impact made him feel an instantaneous heat—an unwanted physical response, one he thought he’d taught himself to ruthlessly control. He refused to be hostage to a beautiful woman’s charms ever again.

  A wave of restless energy surged through him. He shouldn’t be looking forward to this challenge so much.

  To his satisfaction, he saw he wasn’t the only one of them affected. She had stiffened at his approach, wary and unsettled, the flush upon her face revealing that all her feminine instincts were on keen alert. He watched her shiver, and—damn it to hell—he felt a response, could feel himself hardening, all his male instincts roaring to vibrant life.

  As he reached her side he heard her quick, indrawn breath. Oh, yes, she’d be ripe for the plucking. She was already under his spell and he’d not yet turned on the charm.

  To seduce her would be easy, enjoyable, and bloody dangerous. He believed he’d crushed his weakness for beautiful women, but Lady Isobel still drew an unwarranted reaction from him.

  For the first time in a very long time, his body was wound tighter than a drum. And all for a woman he should not want, never mind with such ferocity.

  “Good evening, Lady Isobel.”

  She glanced quickly round as if looking for someone, anyone, to save her from the big bad wolf, before finally saying, “Good evening, my lord.”

  Was he mistaken, or had Isobel stepped closer to her friend? The young lady would not save her.

  “Are you e
njoying the ball?” Her low, husky voice sent a further charge of heat along his nerve endings. She feigned calm when he sensed her fear. Why was she afraid of him?

  “May I present my friend Lady Cassandra.”

  He took Cassandra’s hand in his, and in his most seductive French accent said, “Enchanté, mademoiselle.”

  Lady Cassandra stood blinking, staring at him, totally captivated even when he released her hand.

  He turned back to Isobel. “May I have the pleasure of this dance, Lady Isobel?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Did my stepmother put you up to this?”

  Interesting. That response he had not expected. Isobel was not dazzled by his attention. He appeared to be losing his touch.

  He gave her one of his most seductive smiles and took her gloved hand, running his thumb over her palm. “No. I spied you from across the room and did not wish to miss the chance to dance with the most beautiful woman here tonight.”

  To his surprise her prickly demeanor did not melt.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “But my dance card is full.”

  She was lying. He knew that, and she knew he knew, or her partner would be here to take her onto the floor.

  Annoyance flickered to interest. She’d expect him to do the polite thing and bow out, did she? Then the lovely Lady Isobel had a lot to learn about him. Her education might as well start now.

  He made a show of glancing around. “It would appear your partner has been detained.” And he held out his arm. Unless she caused a scene, there was little she could do but take it.

  She did not take it. Instead, she smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry, Lord Labourd, but I’m sure you’ll understand if I cry off accepting your…kind invitation. My feet are dreadfully sore. New slippers, I’m afraid. However”—she turned to her friend—“I’m sure Lady Cassandra will be my savior and partner you instead. Since you seem so eager to dance.”

  To Arend, the defiance in her gaze, in her stance, was a challenge incarnate. She might have won this battle but she would not win the war. Too many people’s lives depended on his success. The lives of the people he cared about most. Since he was estranged from the only family he had left, his vicar brother, he would claw through the devil’s own flames to protect his friends.