A Night of Forever

by Bronwen Evans

  She lifted a brow. “That almost sounds like jealousy.”

  He was silent a moment. “I don’t share what’s mine.”

  “Yours?” Her eyes widened. “There is no need to put on an act when no one can hear.”

  Damn. He’d not meant to show his feelings. It would not do for her to think she had any hold over him.

  He leaned in. “Victoria was watching. If she reads lips, then we must play the game.”

  Isobel blinked, then nodded. “She’s watching me very closely tonight. I think something I did today might have alerted her that I’m not to be trusted.”

  His face must have shown his reaction, because she glanced quickly to where Victoria stood chatting with several other women. “Don’t look so worried. I don’t think I’m in any danger.”

  He leaned down so only she could hear him. “I’ll be the one to decide if you’re in danger.”

  She rewarded his stern rebuke by giving him a warm and open smile. “I do like this possessive streak, my lord,” she teased.

  She was being playful, but it irked him that her words rang true. He did think of her as his responsibility. He’d drawn her into this dangerous game.

  The idea that she was innocent and living in a house with a madwoman made his gut churn. Victoria was ruthless in her goal of revenge. She’d think nothing of killing a young girl who got in her way.

  “Tonight,” he said. “I want to hear everything. And if I think you are in any danger, I’m taking you to Christian’s in Dorset.”

  Isobel’s teasing smile dropped away. “Fine. But I am not stupid. I know how dangerous it is to cross her. She killed my father and his mistress without a second thought.”

  He wanted to say more, to warn her not to be flippant, but Victoria’s keen gaze was back on them.

  So outwardly he smiled and twirled her among the candlelit dancers, while in his heart he fumed and wished they were already alone in her stables in the gray morning light.

  Chapter 8

  By the time Isobel reached the stable she was cursing herself for wearing her sleepwear. It was not ideal clothing for a stable.

  She should have remained fully dressed, but she’d been scared Victoria might suddenly pop into her room to say good night. Besides, if she was caught slipping fully dressed from her room, she’d not be able to use the excuse of sleeplessness.

  She trod carefully in slippered feet, trying to avoid stepping in animal waste. Fortunately, the groom kept a very clean stable.

  The straw deadened any sound she made, and yet somehow Arend heard her coming. As his large arm swept her into the third stall and pressed her tight to his chest, he put a warning finger to his lips.

  She could feel the heat of his hand through her clothes. The flimsy nightgown and silken robe was no barrier against the virile man she shared the dark with. She was woefully underdressed.

  He peered out of the stall and looked around the stable, obviously checking that they were alone.

  The only light through the open door was from the half moon. It gave enough illumination to make out shapes, and Isobel saw he’d been waiting in the darkened stable for her, still wearing his evening attire.

  “I don’t think you were followed,” he said.

  “I know I wasn’t.”

  Swallowing past the dryness in her throat, she pushed out of his grasp. She needed space between them.

  Quickly she told him of her search of Dufort’s room and her discovery of the map with his name on it. She did not, however, tell him that Dufort might guess he’d had an intruder.

  “Do you still have the map?”

  “Of course,” she said. “It’s in my reticule.”

  He rolled his eyes. “An obvious place to look.”

  “But hard to do without my knowing, since I have it with me all the time.”

  A gleam of humor sparkled in his eyes at her challenging tone. “It’s not with you now.”

  “It’s not something I take to bed,” she said, and her face heated as she heard what she’d said.

  “So I see.” He smiled, his eyes swept her from head to foot, and he moved closer. “Do you think Victoria knows the map is missing? Is that why she has been so attentive?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to lie. “I’m unsure, but they may know someone was in Dufort’s room.” She explained about the feather.

  He pursed his mouth, and then placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “You’re not safe here. They will eventually suspect you, especially if they learn the map is missing. A servant might risk a peek into Dufort’s room, but no servant would look for a map.”

  She shook her head. “They may not even know the map is missing. Dufort might not realize that I didn’t need to move the trunks out from under his bed to see inside them. Or that one trunk was unlocked.”

  She nibbled her bottom lip in thought. “I can’t leave yet. I need to search through those papers. I promise, if I feel threatened, I’ll leave immediately and go straight to His Grace’s townhouse.”

  He was torn. She could see it in his stance. He wanted her to search, but he was concerned for her.

  She reached for his hand where it still rested on her shoulder, and she patted it. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Let me do this. For all of us.”

  They stood looking at each other, her hand still resting on his. The intensity of his gaze warmed her. He looked so genuinely disturbed that she did something totally out of character.

  She stepped forward and pressed a kiss to his lips.

  Without warning, his demeanor changed. He pulled her toward him, closing the distance between them.

  The inadequacy of her clothing made her blush. But that wasn’t the only thing that brought warmth to her face and made her heart beat faster.

  She could drown in the intense, darkening warmth of his eyes. There were no secrets there tonight. No lies. Just want and need and desperate desire. Her Arend, with his high cheekbones and the chiseled jawline that held such stark beauty she wanted to run her fingers over every ridge and valley until she knew him not only by sight but also by touch.

  She couldn’t repress her shiver as she realized she was alone in the dark with a man both forbidden and sanctioned. She should turn and retreat back to the house, yet she couldn’t move.

  She praised God when Arend took the decision from her. He knew what she was feeling, what she wanted, what she was too scared to admit.

  His hand left her shoulder and he reached for her, sliding his fingers along either side of her jaw. As he lowered his head, her heart pounded in her ears, and the primitive beat seemed to fill the eerie silence of the stable.

  When his mouth covered hers, it was as if lightning struck—heat and sizzling desire. She could barely breathe. Then he made her lips open for him.

  The scent of him filled her senses, and his taste stole her reason. It was exactly like the last time, and she loved it.

  Wicked and wonderful sensations bombarded her, leaving her giddy and wanting more. Her head swam with erotic images from her dreams. Images of his hands on her belly, his lips on her breasts, skin to skin as he sought to ease the ache inside of her.

  She clung tightly to his massive shoulders as he thrust his tongue deeper, inciting delicious, melting weakness in her limbs.

  Suddenly Arend drew her hard into his body, and the kiss changed. Became hot. Possessive. Glorious.

  The sinful thrill of being captured against this warm wall of muscle and bone should have unnerved her. But it didn’t. Instead, need, impossible to resist, surged through her.

  She sighed with both craving and relief as her thin, silky clothing slid against her nipples. It was torture. It was agony. It was wonderful, and she wanted more.

  When he suddenly broke off the kiss she cried out in protest. Then she saw the desire shimmering in his hooded eyes.

  She saw the exact moment he surrendered to his need to taste her again. His eyes darkened and his mouth claimed hers once more.

  Thi
s kiss was not one that a man would give a woman he intended to let remain a virgin—and that thought alone thrilled her.

  She snuggled into him and was rewarded when he swept her into his arms and carried her across the stall to a pile of hay, his lips never leaving hers.

  He laid her gently down before following, his heavy body pressing her deep into the hay. She loved the feel of his weight on her. Loved the marvelous mouth that continued to drive her desire higher.

  Wrapping both arms round his neck, she returned his feverish kisses in kind. She strained against him, delighting in his body’s hardness, as his hands began to roam her person.

  The feel of his fingers on the bare skin of her leg was exciting, scandalous, stimulating.

  His other hand undid the belt of her robe, and he rose up enough to pull the material apart.

  Only then did he break the kiss.

  He was breathing heavily and as aroused as she. His eyes never left hers as he reached for the ties of her nightgown that he had exposed when he peeled back her robe. Slowly he pulled at the first tie. As it came undone he pushed the sides apart and kissed the top of her exposed breasts. Then his fingers went to the second tie, and the third, and the fourth, until her breasts were fully exposed to his gaze—and his mouth.

  Eyes gleaming with satisfaction, he drank in her disheveled state. She should have been embarrassed at his study, but she wasn’t. In fact, it made her hot and bothered. She arched her back, almost demanding his attention.

  When he lowered his head, took one peaked nipple tenderly into his mouth, and suckled, she thought she’d reached heaven. She cupped his head and held him there, pressed against her as she panted and writhed. Who knew she would become such a wanton for this man?

  His hand continued molding the contours of her breasts while his mouth tortured her. She barely noticed that his other hand was pushing her legs wider to allow him to settle between her thighs.

  Her body couldn’t help but move beneath him, seeking some form of relief.

  “Easy,” Arend murmured. “Easy, my darling girl. I’ll make it good, I promise.”

  His husky half whisper, the delicious French accent that colored every word, was as seductive as his touch. She almost cried out when she felt a finger slide through her wet folds.

  “So responsive. So beautiful,” he assured her, drawing back to look down her body to where his hand stroked her intimately.

  His gaze flicked to her and she locked onto his hypnotic stare.

  “I want…”

  He pressed a kiss to her bared stomach. “You have no idea what you want, my darling, but I’ll show you.”

  With that promise ringing in her ears he moved lower, pushing her nightgown out of the way, baring her body completely to his heated gaze.

  She was not a coward. She wanted him in every way a woman could want a man. Had she even lived before he touched her? She longed for him, and a shudder of excitement rippled through her. But when his hot breath blew on the most intimate part of her, she froze.

  This was too decadent—he was too decadent.

  With his dark and stormy eyes fixed on her face, as if daring her to stop him, he lowered his mouth. The kiss between her thighs was beyond intimate.

  She could not believe that he was kissing her there. She could not believe she was letting him. It was mortifying, yet at the same time she knew she’d beg him to continue if he stopped.

  Isobel’s fingers threaded through his thick curls, tangling in their silky softness as she clutched his head, urging him closer.

  Anticipation sent a series of tremors ricocheting through her, but it did not prepare her for what he did next. Gently he parted her folds, and his heated lips tasted the very heart of her womanhood. When his tongue slid through her curls and licked the most intimate part of her, she moaned, and her hips lifted in desperate need.

  When he draped one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her wider to his ministrations, her body exploded with want and desire.

  And still his talented tongue licked at her with exquisite expertise, sucking and teasing and nibbling until she lost any sense of time or place and let her dark, dangerous lover take her where he willed.

  She hovered on an airy precipice, her soul teetering on the edge of nothingness. Sensations overwhelmed her. Her limbs went taut, her body shook, and she felt as if she were losing her mind to the pleasure. Then his wicked tongue entered her, and she came apart, plunging over the edge into an abyss of bliss. Writhing against his mouth, her fingers clutched in his hair in the sweet, amazing tide of her release. She cried out his name. “Oh, Arend. Oh, God.”

  At this moment she would let this sensual man do anything to her. She tried not to listen, but her heart begged her to let it love this man.

  She was still humming with the joy of it when he began to move up her body.

  “Beautiful. You are so beautiful,” he whispered in that sensual French accent.

  She reached for him, and slid her palms slowly up muscled biceps to his shoulders. She wished he were naked; she wanted to feel his skin. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. “That was incredible.”

  He smiled and brushed her lips with a kiss so tender she wanted to weep. “There is more, so much more, cherie, but not tonight. Tonight we cannot linger. It’s almost dawn. You must get back. It’s too dangerous, and I want your first time making love to be perfect—in a bed.”

  “Must we leave?” How could there be more than this perfection? No wonder women flocked to him.

  “Yes.” He nuzzled her nose with his own. “Don’t be impatient, my darling girl. Good things come to those who learn to wait. I promise.”

  She sighed in resignation and disappointment.

  —

  She lay back, helpless and limp, while he retied the little ribbons of her nightgown. Reluctantly he pulled her to her feet and knotted her robe tightly together before placing a kiss on her nose.

  He had not expected to go so far with her tonight. Hell, it was close to morning. But the feel of her, the scent of her, the sight of her in her night attire had loosened his control.

  He was still as hard as rock. He wanted to race home while her taste was still on his lips and pleasure himself. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Always in his dreams, Isobel was lying naked before him. From now on he wouldn’t have to imagine. He would remember. And memory was worse than imagination, because imagination had not gifted him with the innocence of her response. His armor was fractured, and now his jaded heart wanted to break free. Its liberation would not help either of them.

  If he didn’t send her back inside soon, he might give in, might take her up against one of the stall walls. He’d hurt her, and that desperate, jaded heart never wanted to see Isobel hurt—by him or any man.

  He wanted her to have choices when this was over. A woman who’d lost her virginity found it almost impossible to make a good match. Men could play but God forbid a woman, but the idea of any other man bedding Isobel filled him with such despair that his body seemed to be consumed with pain. How ironic that of the two of them, it was he who was more likely to be hurt when he had to let her go.

  Wordlessly he took her by the hand to the stable doors. Shouldering one open wider, he checked the open area and then the path back to the house. They were empty.

  “Go,” he said. “I’ll meet you in Richmond Park tomorrow. You are taking Sealey for his outing?”

  “Yes, but I probably won’t have had time to check the trunk again by then.”

  He nodded, relieved. He really didn’t like her still living under Victoria’s roof, but he would see her tomorrow and would reevaluate the situation then.

  He pulled her to him for a last, brief kiss. Then, after a final survey of the courtyard, he pushed her through the door and watched until she reached the house.

  A smile played on his lips as she hesitated and sent him a small wave before slipping inside.

  Filled with warmth—and still randy
as hell—he was about to ease out the door himself when searing pain splintered his head, and everything went dark.

  Chapter 9

  Isobel knew she should wake up, but the dream was simply too delicious.

  Arend’s clever, wicked tongue was on her, gently nibbling her sex between her thighs, softly licking, driving her wild with need.

  Her back arched and her hands clutched his black curls, holding him to her, as she whimpered at the incredible sensations shooting through her body.

  Just when she thought she could not take any more, he stopped. His hot breath caressed the sensitive nub that had hardened into a tight point. He was sending her mad.

  His kisses moved upward, his lips branding her skin…her stomach, her breasts, her nipples as he sucked one into his mouth. Her body shuddered as his hard weight covered her. His swollen manhood pulsed between her thighs.

  Her body tightened in anticipation. She wanted them joined. Wanted him to make her his—forever.

  His caresses brought her to the edge of reason. Desperate to take the final step, she rubbed herself against his erection, begging him to take her.

  And there was his breath on the curve of her throat, his husky whisper in her hair. “Don’t cross me. If you ever betray me, I’ll destroy you….”

  Isobel jumped awake, her body throbbing with both need and fear.

  Well, after the night’s adventure, an erotic dream was hardly surprising. But what an odd ending.

  She flopped back onto her pillow, frustrated and uneasy. How could her mind take something so wondrous and turn it into a threat? She would never betray him. Not in any way.

  She rose and splashed cold water on her face before ringing the bell for her Baxter. She needed to bathe and to dress for her visit to Evangeline.

  Isobel sensed something was wrong the moment she arrived downstairs for breakfast. Dufort was not sitting next to Victoria, as he normally did, nor was he in the room or adjacent corridor. In fact, for the first time she could remember, he didn’t appear to be in residence, leaving Victoria alone.