A Night of Forever

by Bronwen Evans

  “Of course. The feather I keep in the door was not where it should have been.”

  “But it was there?” Victoria’s voice could not hide her worry. He nodded in the affirmative.

  Dufort voiced what she was thinking. “I don’t believe a servant would have thought to replace the feather. Has he been in the house?”

  The “he” Dufort was referring to was Arend Aubury, Baron Labourd—her stepdaughter’s fiancé, and her mortal enemy.

  “Not that I am aware of.” That didn’t mean Isobel had not invited him, but when? The only time she’d been alone in the house was this afternoon, and Victoria knew exactly where Arend had been: visiting Lady Evangeline, probably to read her dead husband’s bloody journals.

  Lord Stuart had been a mistake. She should not have killed him until she’d learned more of his investigations. She’d had no idea he’d kept journals. Not until she’d overheard Isobel telling Baxter.

  “Perhaps it was Isobel?” Dufort offered.

  Victoria sat back in her chair and tried to think. Isobel was a clever girl, but not worldly wise. Would she have known the significance of the feather or even noticed it?

  “Is anything missing?”

  He shrugged. “The drawers have been gone through but I keep nothing of importance in them. The trunks have not moved from their positions under the bed.”

  “Is that a no, then?” she asked with impatience edging her voice.

  “I checked the trunks, but I’m sure none of the weapons have been touched, as that trunk was locked. Unfortunately, I must have forgotten to lock the other trunk, but no papers appear to be missing. However, I’m not sure what papers are supposed to be there. You should take a look.”

  She nodded. “Of course, but it can wait.” She glanced toward the clock on the mantelpiece in her study. “I have Lord Beaumont’s ball tonight, and before I depart I want to ensure that everything is in place for tomorrow.”

  “It is. The men know the drill perfectly. I’ve taken them over the plan all week. The boy will be snatched from Richmond Park tomorrow. I’ve told them not to kill Isobel, but you know that if the Runners return fire, there is no guarantee she won’t be injured or killed in the crossfire.”

  “That’s a risk we will have to take. I need her alive just in case. She’s my escape plan should I be caught, and the way to destroy Arend.”

  Dufort rarely showed any emotion, but a pained look crossed his face. “I wish you’d change your mind about this plan. Stop toying with Labourd. A bullet between his eyes is all that is needed.”

  She fought back a snarl. “It’s not all he needs. He needs to suffer as I suffered.”

  “And your plan will achieve that?”

  “Yes. Isobel is the key. So I shall hold you responsible for keeping her safe. It must look as if she aided us in the capture of the boy. As for Lord Labourd, we take him tonight. He cannot go to Richmond Park with Isobel.”

  Dufort nodded, and turned to leave the room. “We have our best man on him. We will know his every move, and before dawn I will personally oversee his capture.”

  “I don’t want him to wake up until he’s deep in that mine.” She eyed him warily. “But I do want him to wake up. Is that clear? If he dies, the man responsible dies.”

  “Have I ever let you down?”

  She rose and made her way to his side, cupping his face in her hand. “No, Patrice, you are the only one who has never betrayed me.” Then she hardened her eyes. “Don’t disappoint me. You know what happens to those who disappoint me.”

  With that, she swept out of the room and headed upstairs to get ready for the night’s ball. She needed a dose of laudanum before she faced Arend across the ballroom, or else she just might ruin everything by slipping a knife between his ribs.

  —

  Arend knew he was being followed. He’d lived in the gutter long enough to recognize the feeling of being a target. Perhaps Victoria was tired of attacking Hadley and he could expect someone to try to slit his throat instead.

  Let them try.

  This cat-and-mouse game was driving him insane. Why couldn’t she face him like a man? Because she’s not a man, she’s a madwoman.

  He almost laughed out loud, but society already thought him odd. Laughing aloud while standing alone at the edge of a ballroom would do more than set gossips a-twittering.

  He’d arrived late to the ball, but he’d had to visit Evangeline before she left for Lathero in the morning. He wanted access to the journals. She was still adamant that the women alone read them. Obviously they contained something of a personal nature she did not wish Hadley to learn about. His own guess was that they told how badly her late husband had treated her.

  He sighed inwardly and wished Hadley luck with his plan to try to rekindle the relationship they once had. Arend knew it would be harder than either of them imagined. Experiences defined the man, shaped who he became. One could never go back. He was a different man now compared to the man he’d been at twenty. And not for the better.

  Perhaps Evangeline and Hadley would be wiser to forget trying to rebuild their old relationship, and focus on creating something new.

  He glanced toward the swirling dancers on the floor, and when his eyes found Isobel in the arms of Lord Bertram, his heart began that annoying stutter, his body awaking as if from a deep sleep and now eager to play.

  A low curse growled in his throat. He’d been dreaming far too much about young, virginal Isobel. Vivid, erotic images that left him burning with a fierce ache.

  Usually he’d simply visit one of his regular, willing partners to relieve his needs, but if this betrothal was to appear authentic, his base urges would have to remain unfulfilled.

  The only outlet he had were his fantasies about her. Isobel in his arms. In his bed. Him in her arms. In her luscious body. He stifled a groan of need.

  The sight of Lord Bertram’s rakish smile as he pressed his fleshy hand to her slender one, trying to look down her bosom as they danced the quadrille, made him want to stride onto the dance floor and plant the man a facer.

  “She’s truly a beautiful woman.” Marisa came up next to him and slipped her arm through his. “For a man who insists this is a convenient betrothal to capture Victoria, you seem very possessive.” When he said nothing, she squeezed his arm. “Don’t let your past cloud your judgment, or stop you from opening your heart.”

  He looked down at her and marveled. If anyone had suffered from Victoria’s schemes, it was Marisa. The carriage accident during her abduction had left her with serious injuries. Isobel, also in the carriage, had escaped the crash unscathed. But Marisa would now never have children of her own.

  “I don’t have a heart,” he growled.

  “Rubbish. You love all of us.”

  He didn’t deny it. These men had stood by him at the worst moments of his life. But if they found out about his lost years…He could not bear for them to think less of him.

  Marisa was looking exceptionally beautiful that evening. Her black hair was piled partly on the top of her head, but with curls flowing down her back. Her gown, a pale blue, made her look ethereal. She looked so much like her elder brother, Sebastian, he sometimes forgot to treat her like a lady, but tonight she looked so stunningly beautiful he had no trouble being careful in what he said.

  “You need to relax.” Marisa continued to watch Isobel dance. “She’s not party to Victoria’s villainy.”

  “Are you willing to wager Hadley’s life, my life, Evangeline’s, or Sealey’s on that possibility?”

  She nodded. “I believe I am. I’ve talked with her a lot. She could just as easily have been killed in that carriage as I. She was genuinely petrified.”

  Arend tried not to show his skepticism, but it was difficult. Marisa was too innocent in the ways of the world to begin to understand the depths to which people would go in order to deceive.

  “I know you have trust issues,” she said quietly. “Maitland told me about what happened in Brazil.”<
br />
  Arend withdrew his arm. “He had no right.”

  “Don’t be angry. I wanted to understand the obsession—don’t give me that dark look, it is an obsession—you have about Isobel. It started when you accompanied her back to London after our abduction.”

  “She was in that carriage for a reason,” he snapped. “Am I the only one worried that we do not know why?”

  “We talked. It’s obvious, really. She was in the carriage because the kidnappers thought she was me.”

  He shook his head and sighed. “She told me she’d been lured into the carriage in Victoria’s name. How could they confuse her with you if they knew she was Victoria’s stepdaughter?”

  “Hmph.” He watched a frown form on Marisa’s perfect forehead. “That still does not mean she is party to Victoria’s plans.”

  “It sure as hell means we should not trust her.”

  Marisa turned to face him and placed a hand on his arm. “That woman in Brazil…I know she hurt you, but I can’t imagine a young debutante being capable of—”

  “Daniela. Her name was Daniela, and she was a year younger than Isobel is now. Her innocence was what attracted me, and yet she seduced me so skillfully I did not even realize what she was doing. I thought I was wooing her when all along she was playing me for a fool. She led me into a trap, and then watched without blinking an eye as her lover slit my business partner’s throat. She would have watched him slit my throat too, had not a group of my workers stumbled upon us.”

  Marisa’s gasp was lost in the music and a burst of laughter from a group of men not far away.

  “Younger than Isobel?” she asked, astounded.

  Why had he shared that dreadful memory? “I appreciate the fact that the world, your abduction, and your injury have not destroyed your ability to see good in people. But I’ve seen and experienced more true evil in this world than you could ever imagine.”

  He hated how her young eyes studied him. What did she see?

  “You are not talking about only Brazil, are you? Maitland said you disappeared for a few years but will not talk about your time away.” She moved in close and whispered, “I wish I could help ease your pain. What happened to you?”

  Too much. No one could ease his pain. But he wished, just for a moment, that it were possible. It was not, so he looked away and let the hopelessness of his situation wash over him.

  “Ah, there you are.” Maitland arrived at his wife’s side. He took one look at Arend’s face and said gently, “Marisa, time for some air.” And with a compassionate look that had Arend writhing, he led his wife away.

  Arend felt exposed. Naked. As though everyone in the ballroom knew his secrets. Suddenly he could feel the dirt on his skin, smell the filth of the streets. Desperate and ashamed, sweating with stress, he slunk back into the shadows as forbidden memories of his years in Paris emerged. It hadn’t only been his time in Brazil with Daniela that made him cautious of beautiful women. Juliette, his Paris lover, had been the first woman to teach him that the fairer sex could be evil…

  “Lie on the bed.”

  The sultry tones of Juliette’s words did not fool him. She was up to something, and that could not be good for him.

  He had already decided that tonight would be the last night he would be her plaything. Jonathan had told him about a ship heading to Brazil, and he had enough saved for passage. If he could just get away…

  South America was a place where fortunes could be found, not made. Diamonds had been discovered. It was a dream, like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but anything was better than his current degrading existence.

  His driving passion had always been to leave Paris and arrive back in London a man wealthy enough to be on equal footing with the men he so admired, his school friends, the Libertine Scholars. Thank God they could not see him now—a bought-and-paid-for toy for a rich lady’s pleasure. A cold wash of shame convulsed his naked body.

  Juliette had tied the blindfold so tightly it dug into his skull, and the silken bonds tying each of his hands to the headboard were almost cutting off his circulation. Surely she could not know he was about to leave her. He’d told no one except Jonathan, and Jonathan was not party to this arrangement.

  Once she had secured him to her liking, he heard the rustle of her silk robe falling to the floor.

  Then silence.

  What would be her choice of pleasure tonight? Her imagination for sensual acts knew no bounds. Pain and pleasure were like a drug to her.

  The silence deepened.

  His long-honed instincts for self-preservation roared to life. Hairs all over his naked body stood at attention.

  After what seemed forever, he felt the mattress dip as she crawled up the bed, running a warm palm over his thigh up to his groin. A waft of orange blossom perfume hit him and he did what he always did. He let his mind go blank, escaping to the darkness.

  Her play was fairly tame this evening, and when she began to pleasure him with her mouth he had to admit fellatio was her specialty.

  As her hot, skillful mouth teased him, drawing out his pleasure and heightening his need, his body’s natural reactions took over.

  His balls tightened, and he let the sensations of his approaching climax consume him, until he felt the bed dip once more and a second set of hands began to roam his body. He was not overly concerned. Juliette loved bringing other women into their play. She was a voyeur at heart.

  A second set of lips followed the second pair of hands. Juliette’s mouth left him just as he thought he’d explode, and he groaned his disappointment. A moment later a different mouth took him deep.

  If he’d thought Juliette knew how to use her mouth to perfection, this woman knew more. Moments later, he roared his release.

  As his body relaxed and the thunder in his ears abated he became aware that Juliette was laughing. It was a laugh of victory, madness, and evil.

  She ripped his blindfold off, and what he saw made the bile rise in his throat. If he had not still been tied to the headboard, he would have torn Juliette’s heart out.

  Angelo. She’d let—or made—Angelo pleasure him. A man. And he’d enjoyed it.

  What did that make him? He already knew. He was a man who had given up every shred of honor and decency for money.

  No, not money. Money was not his goal. He’d given up his soul to be able to stand shoulder to shoulder with his fellow Libertine Scholars. And now…if they ever learned how he’d been living these past few years, they’d despise him.

  But not as much as he despised himself.

  He looked around, hoping no one had noticed the expression on his face.

  Then he saw Isobel, still dancing.

  She looked angelic, her face composed in a smile even though her partner was being a drunken bore whose eyes were glued to her bosom.

  Suddenly he realized something he’d missed. It was obvious Isobel did not want to be dancing with this man, but her composure never faltered. She behaved like a lady. She made no scene. Yet, to everyone watching, it was as clear as a gold coin in a block of ice what she was really thinking.

  Isobel could not be subversive if she tried. She was not capable of deception. Her feelings and thoughts were easily readable. Perhaps Marisa’s instincts were accurate.

  Once the dance finished, he watched Isobel scan the room. She found Victoria first, then continued her search, moving away from where Victoria held court.

  He slid out of the shadows and to her side.

  She started. “I wish you would not sneak up on me like that.”

  Her annoyance made him smile. “Good evening to you too, my darling girl. You look beautiful, as usual.”

  She did, and the pink flush invading her cheeks just added to her beauty. Her deep emerald gown hugged her curves. Its bodice was not cut low, but her corset pushed up her bosom for maximum effect. Her dark hair was styled in an elegant chignon, with strands of pearls woven through. The style emphasized her slender neck, and all he wanted was
to run his lips up the satin skin from collarbone to behind her ear, whispering in French all the things he’d love to do to her, with her…

  “I need a private word with you,” she said in a low voice. “Perhaps some air on the terrace, or a stroll in the garden.”

  He stared at her lips as they moved, wanting to kiss her so badly. “That might not be a good idea. I’m not sure I trust myself.”

  He was rewarded by her slight shiver.

  “I have something I must show you,” she whispered back. “Quickly—Victoria is walking this way. She hasn’t left me alone all evening.”

  He flicked a glance to where Victoria was moving toward them through the throng. “We can’t risk a clandestine meeting here. You need your reputation once this is over. Can you slip out and meet me in the stables at the back of your house at four in the morning?”

  She nodded. “Of course.” And she smiled innocently as Victoria arrived at her side.

  “Of course what?” Victoria asked, acknowledging Arend with a polite nod, as if they didn’t both know she was the woman who had paid for Hadley to be attacked.

  “Of course the next dance is mine,” he replied, only just managing to keep his voice and demeanor civil.

  With that, he held out his arm and escorted Isobel to the floor.

  As the strains of a waltz began, he pulled her in close, loving the feel of her soft curves under his hand. “What do you wish to show me?”

  “Be careful, I believe she can read lips.” Isobel had risen on her toes and whispered the words in his ear, causing every pair of eyes in the room to follow the movement.

  He waited until they were out of Victoria’s line of sight. “Have you found something?”

  She shook her head with a little giggle, trying to make Victoria believe they were merely flirting. “I’ve found a document with your name on it. I’ll tell you more when we meet. Let’s act as if we do not have a care in the world or she will become suspicious.”

  She gazed into his eyes. “You look very handsome tonight, my lord. I am the envy of all other women.”

  “If Lord Bertram had looked down your cleavage one more time, I was going to remove his eyes.”