A Night of Forever

by Bronwen Evans

  Sighing, he closed his eyes. A minute’s rest. Then he’d keep moving.

  —

  Isobel awoke draped over a galloping horse, while a heavy fist wrapped in her clothing anchored her in place with vicious pressure.

  She hurt everywhere. Especially her face. Her cheek throbbed in time with the animal’s pounding hoofbeats, and she tasted blood in her mouth. As she turned her head the horse stumbled and her cheek slammed into its neck, and she cried out. Not just because of the pain, but because she had seen the rider’s face.

  He’d been glancing back over his shoulder, but she’d recognized him immediately. Dufort.

  It was too much. She closed her eyes and, to her shame, vomited. The contents of her stomach emptied over Dufort’s coat, breeches, and Hessians and blew back along the length of the horse. The man’s snarled curses were as vicious as the punch he slammed into her spine. She cried out again, hoping he’d drop her to the ground. She had to go back. Had to find Sealey. Had to make sure he was safe.

  If they were galloping away from the house, then had the rescuers won? The way Dufort had been checking over his shoulder made her think all had not gone according to Victoria’s plan.

  Isobel’s own escape plan hadn’t worked well either. Her current position, the pain in her face, and her stomach’s revolt had silver stars dancing before her eyes. She fought the urge to fall into oblivion once again. If she was to escape, she had to be ready to take any opportunity to flee.

  Night was falling. Soon it would be too dangerous to travel at this speed in the dark. The horse was already laboring. A tired horse could stumble.

  She could fall.

  Just when Isobel thought she’d slip into a faint at any moment, the horse began to slow. She lifted her head and saw a coaching inn in the distance.

  “We are stopping there for the night,” Dufort growled. “If I hear one word from you, I shall bind and gag you. If I have to, I’ll knock you out again. Do you understand?”

  She tried to nod, but the movement made her nauseous. “Yes,” she finally whispered.

  When they were still some distance from the inn, Dufort reined in the horse and let Isobel slide off. The moment she hit the ground her legs buckled under her and she fell to the dirt. Dufort didn’t even look at her. He dismounted and left her where she fell. Both of them knew she was in no condition to run.

  “I want to walk the horse from here,” he said. “It needs time to cool down. If we are asked, I shall say you were thrown and lost your mount several miles back. That should allay any curiosity over your appearance.” His mouth twisted in disgust as he regarded his coat and breeches. “Or mine.”

  Isobel didn’t care a fig for Dufort’s appearance. But hers? She must look dreadful.

  She raised her hands to her hair, where more than a few pins had fallen out. Most of her hair now tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. One glance at the rest of her—covered in dirt and blood, her clothes ripped and ragged—told her she looked as though she had been dragged through a hedge, if not worse.

  Dufort leaned down and grabbed her hand. “Move,” he said, and hauled her to her feet.

  She stood there, swaying, utterly unable to take a step.

  With a curse, Dufort seized her around the waist and lifted her up so she sat sidesaddle on his horse.

  “Don’t get any bloody ideas,” he said as he tossed the reins over the horse’s head and began to lead it along the road. “I’ll shoot you if I have to.”

  If I have to…Her brain began to function. Then he needed her alive, and she needed to make sure she stayed that way. For the moment it meant she would obey him. But the first chance she got to make a successful escape, she would take it.

  As they got closer to the inn she recognized where they were, and her hope soared. They were heading north, toward York. Now she knew where Dufort was taking her: Durham, where she believed they were holding Arend. To that damnable coal mine—she would bet her life on it. She was betting her life on it. And Arend’s.

  As they encountered more people, the stares Isobel’s condition provoked were obvious.

  One kindly looking elderly man stepped forward. “Are you all right, miss?”

  She merely smiled, nodded, and let Dufort answer.

  “I’m escorting my sister home,” he said, “from a visit with our aunt. The silly lass took a tumble from her mare several miles back. If you see a white mare with a patch of brown on its flank, please send word to Lady Northumberland. I work for her.”

  This seemed to pacify the man and others who had gathered.

  “You should get the doctor to look at her face.”

  Gingerly Isobel touched her cheek. Her fingers came away sticky with blood. He’d split her skin. It was odd that even with her life in jeopardy she was concerned that the cut would leave a scar. How ridiculous.

  “Aye,” Dufort said. “We’ll do that when we get home.”

  When they reached the inn, Dufort handed the horse over to a young stable boy. “I’ll be out to check on him shortly.” The boy nodded, and led the horse away leaving Dufort to hustle Isobel into the inn.

  Dufort took a room and ordered food for them. They were on their way upstairs and almost to the room when one of the doors ahead opened and a man stepped out.

  Isobel almost cried out in relief.

  It was Lieutenant Colbert, the army surgeon who had operated on Marisa after their terrible carriage accident. Not only did he know a little about the plight of the Libertine Scholars, but she could see from the expression in his eyes that he recognized her.

  His face grew grim when he saw her wounds, and he was about to speak when she forestalled him with a slight shake of her head.

  His gaze slid from her face to that of Dufort’s behind her, and he must have caught her warning, because he said nothing, and simply stayed in his doorway and nodded at Dufort as the man pushed her past.

  Dufort allowed her to eat. To her embarrassment, however, he would not leave the room while she relieved herself, although he allowed her to use the chamber pot behind a screen.

  Then he tied her to the bed and gagged her. She was so tired that she didn’t care that the bindings cut into her flesh. The lieutenant would save her. She didn’t know how, but he would.

  “I’m going to check the horse,” Dufort said when she was secure. “Don’t cause me any trouble, or I’ll make what’s left of your pretty face even worse.” And he left, locking the door behind him.

  She tried to stay awake, but exhaustion stole into her body like an evil spirit, and her eyelids fluttered closed.

  Seconds later, minutes, or hours later, the door opened. Careful fingers untied her bound wrists, and she was lifted from the bed into strong arms, and into the peaceful dark.

  —

  When Isobel woke she was in a soft bed under a warm quilt that smelled of fresh country air, and Lieutenant Colbert was smiling down at her.

  “The lady doth awake,” he teased.

  She started to return his smile, but stopped as stiffness in her cheek reminded her of her injury. “Thank you for rescuing me.” She blinked and looked round her. “Where am I?”

  “You are back at the Merville barracks,” he said. “You could not be safer.”

  She could…if Dufort was in custody. “And Dufort, the man I was with?”

  His smile dimmed. “Slipped away, I’m afraid. He must have seen all the activity when my men and I freed you.”

  She started to throw back the covers and stopped, suddenly realizing she appeared to be wearing only a man’s large shirt.

  “I had one of the wives bathe and clean you up,” the lieutenant said. “The only clothing to hand happened to be one of my shirts.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Forgive me, Lieutenant, for I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I have to leave as soon as possible, and if you will indulge me once more, I also need your help. Dufort is holding Lord Labourd prisoner. The others—the Libertine Scholars—have to be
told, and we have to get to him before Dufort does, or Arend is a dead man.”

  The lieutenant’s eyes sharpened. “Do you know where he is?”

  She nodded. “In a coal mine just south of Durham. The real map is lost somewhere with my reticule, but if you give me some paper I’ll draw one from memory.”

  The lieutenant gathered paper and ink and brought it to her. “I’ve already sent word to your stepmother, Lady Northumberland, and—”

  “Oh no!” This time Isobel did not care about propriety. She threw back the covers. “Where are my clothes?”

  “But my lady—”

  “My stepmother is the person who is hunting the Libertine Scholars.” Isobel’s words tumbled out mixed with desperate panic. “She kidnapped me, and Lady Evangeline’s boy, Sealey. Dufort took me from the house where they were holding us when it came under attack. I hoped the attackers were the Libertine Scholars and that Sealey is safe. But it might not be so. I have to get word to them.”

  The lieutenant swore under his breath. “I beg your pardon, my lady.” He ran a hand over his face. “I’ve really made a mess of this rescue.”

  “Not from where I sit,” she said, and meant it. “Now if you could find me some clothes and a horse, I will—”

  “No,” he said grimly, “you will not. You are not fit to travel. I had to stitch your cheek, and I’m concerned about infection. I cleaned the wound as well as I could, but…”

  Isobel’s hand flew up to touch her cheek and encountered padding. In her haste to help Arend she hadn’t even considered her wound.

  “His knuckles split the skin along your cheekbone,” Lieutenant Colbert said with gentle concern. “I’m afraid it will leave a scar, perhaps three inches long.”

  “Three…” Isobel had never considered herself a vain woman. She was not a beauty, but she knew she was passably pretty and took pride in her appearance.

  Now Arend was the only man she wanted to find her attractive. Would he think her repulsive? But then she remembered their engagement was a ruse, and that he had seduced her solely to discover her true allegiance. The wound in her cheek was nothing compared to the wound in her heart.

  She swallowed hard and kept her voice soft. “There is not a lot I can do about my injury, but I can help Lord Labourd.”

  “You are a very brave woman.”

  She had to look away from the pity in Lieutenant Colbert’s eyes. From now on, would everyone look at her like that? She hoped not.

  She did not reply but turned to finish her map. She tried to remember the exact distance before Durham that the road to the mine started. Finally, satisfied, she handed him the map.

  “I shall send word to each of their lordships’ London houses,” the lieutenant said, “and to their country estates. That way at least one of them should learn our destination.”

  It was not enough. “How long will it take us to get to Durham? If Dufort gets there first…”

  “Please, my lady.” The lieutenant patted her shoulder. “Don’t upset yourself. I’ll send word and a copy of the map to our barracks in Yorkshire. My men will be waiting for Dufort by the time he gets there. He is traveling on horseback. We use carrier pigeons. The men should have rescued Lord Labourd before Dufort even reaches York.”

  “Very well.” Isobel tried to stop the worry gnawing on her empty stomach. “I must get up.”

  The lieutenant gave her a little bow. “I’ll send Mary to help you dress while I organize the carriage for the trip north. You will have a hearty meal, I will replace the dressing on your cheek, and we will leave for Durham after lunch.”

  She reached for his hand. “Thank you.”

  He really was a very nice man. His intelligent eyes were full of warmth, and his smile turned his usually stoic features rather handsome. He was not much taller than she, but his shoulders were broad and he was obviously in fine physical condition.

  Why could she not fall in love with a man as kind and compassionate as Lieutenant Colbert?

  Instead, her wretched, traitorous heart thumped excitedly for only one man. Stupidity, thy name is woman. Arend didn’t value her as anything other than a means to defeat his enemy.

  Lieutenant Colbert placed his free hand over hers and cleared his throat. “It’s my pleasure. I’m so very glad I was there to aid you in your moment of need.” With that, he bowed over their joined hands and left.

  It was only a few moments before Mary arrived.

  “Lieutenant Colbert has asked me to accompany you on your journey, my lady,” the woman said. “Let’s get you bathed and dressed. The cook is busy making you something to eat before you leave.”

  Isobel could not recall when she’d last eaten. “I admit I am famished.”

  When Mary produced her garments, all cleaned, mended, and pressed, Isobel could have kissed her. Then, for the first time in two days, she slid under warm water and let it ease her muscles and aches. She forgot everything but the pleasure of its silky glide against her skin.

  She allowed the washcloth to drift over her breasts. For a brief moment longing engulfed her and held her in its spell as she recalled the tender pressure of Arend’s lips against her skin, and the pleasure he had coaxed so easily from her. Her nipples hardened and her body tightened with one very special memory.

  She prayed that when this business was over, she could erase his sensuous assault from her mind. It would be torture to marry another when her body wanted only him.

  —

  Once Isobel and Mary were seated in the carriage, Isobel could no longer control her tension and worry for Arend.

  Outside the carriage window the lieutenant and several of his men rode easily beside the equipage. The sight should have reassured her. It didn’t. Her stomach knotted and roiled, and her cheek throbbed with every heartbeat.

  It would take a few days for them to reach Durham, and Isobel had never had much patience.

  When they stopped for the night at a suitable coaching inn, the lieutenant ordered a private dining room for them.

  After she had freshened up, Isobel joined him. He held out her chair, and when she had taken her seat he ordered the meal to be served, together with a bottle of champagne. Once they were alone again, he poured the champagne and raised his glass.

  “I have received word from Lord Markham,” he said. “They are only a day behind us. Apparently they have been awaiting instructions from Lord Fullerton, who is traveling with your stepmother. They did rescue Sealey and capture her but she is leading them all on a merry trail. They think she has Lord Labourd. She has demanded an exchange, Arend for her, yet she won’t tell them where the exchange is to take place. They are very pleased to learn the location from you.”

  Isobel stared into her untouched champagne. “If we reach Arend first, she’ll have nothing to bargain with.” Please let Lieutenant Colbert’s men get to Arend first.

  “I also learned why you are so determined to rescue Lord Labourd. I believe congratulations are in order.” He tilted his head and lifted one brow. “Is he not your fiancé?”

  Furious heat flowed up her face as she realized he must have seen her momentary confusion. She’d never been so mortified, but she refused to lie to a man who’d been nothing but kind and compassionate to her. “Yes. And no.”

  His eyes widened. “Perhaps you will explain.”

  She shrugged. “The betrothal is a ruse. For some reason my stepmother was anxious for us to become engaged. I discovered it was because she and Dufort planned to frame Arend for my murder. She wanted to see him hang.”

  The lieutenant studied her as she spoke, and by the time she stopped, his brow was furrowed and thunderous. “This concerns me greatly. You, rather than Arend, could still be their target. Dufort might be coming for you.”

  “If, as you say, they have captured Victoria, wouldn’t Arend be more of a prize?” Refusing to give in to the fear generated by his words, she took a mouthful of the beef.

  However, he would not let go of his train of thoug
ht. “I suspect with her plan in ruins, Lady Northumberland will be desperate. Either one of you would do.”

  “Lieutenant—”

  “Please, call me Sean.”

  She nodded. “Sean.” Such a solid name. “Do you not think that allowing me to escape and go after Arend might be part of her plan?”

  The fear she had held in check suddenly swept over her skin like a cold rain. Could she be leading everyone into a trap? Would they think she was in league with her stepmother?

  This time it was Sean’s turn to shrug. “Do they know you are aware of where Arend is being held prisoner?”

  “I can’t be sure.” She tried to recall if Victoria had given any hint that she knew about the map. Isobel had retrieved the map almost two days before she was captured. During that time, neither Victoria nor Dufort had acted any differently toward her.

  Besides, she had dropped her reticule in the park. It had not been with her when Dufort kidnapped her.

  She felt her muscles relax and gave a faint laugh. “I’m being silly. They have no idea I took the map. I’m sure of it.”

  He took a sip of his drink and sat thinking for a moment. “Stop overthinking the situation. Lord Fullerton has Lady Victoria, my men will soon free Arend, and you are safe here with me.”

  She certainly felt safe. In fact, he made her feel safer than she’d felt in a long while. Was she not looking for a safe man? Men in uniform always drew the eye, but Sean also seemed steady and reliable, as well as attractive. Not dangerously attractive, like a certain Frenchman—

  “You’re right, of course,” she said. “Please, take my mind off this mess. Tell me about yourself, Sean. What of your family?”

  He seemed surprised but pleased at her interest.

  “My father is Viscount Vidal,” he said, readily following her lead. “I’m his third son. The family estate is near Great Yarmouth in Norfolk. My eldest brother will inherit the estate. My second brother went into the Church. I chose to go to medical school in Edinburgh.”

  A viscount’s son. Interesting. She wondered if he enjoyed army life. “How did you come to be in the army?”