His mouth tightened. “I wanted to do my part against Napoleon. I wanted to help our injured soldiers.” He grew quiet. “I was at the Battle of Waterloo. It was carnage. So many men dead and badly wounded.”
She should not have brought up such painful memories. His face had lost color under its tan.
Isobel reached across the cloth and placed her hand over his. “Let us hope there will not be another war like that in our lifetime,” she murmured. “You probably saved the lives of many men. Is the army a lifetime calling, then?”
“I used to think so. But after Waterloo my certainty is not as certain. Now I’m older and we are at peace, I would love a family. I would not marry when I was in the army and we were at war. I had no wish to leave a wife and children behind if I died.”
Steady, reliable, attractive. And kind.
“So, you have plans to leave the army?”
He nodded. “I was thinking about resigning my commission and starting up in private practice somewhere. Perhaps in Norfolk, so I’m nearer to my family.”
And a family man.
Arend had never mentioned his family. Sean spoke of his with pride and affection. Arend actively avoided marriage. Sean made no secret of his desire for marriage and family. The rake and the healer. The two could not be more diametrically opposed.
Suddenly she became aware that her hand was still on Sean’s. She drew it back, and in that moment the atmosphere in the room altered.
There was a warmth and longing in Sean’s eyes that had not been there moments ago.
Isobel knew she should be flattered that a man with Sean’s noble character was obviously interested in her. She was flattered. But a noble man deserved an equally noble woman. Until she was able to clear all thoughts—and such wicked, wanton thoughts—of Arend from her mind, she could not, in all good conscience, encourage Sean’s interest.
Chapter 11
It seemed to take forever for Arend to crawl his way out of the mine and into the light. His eyes had been used to darkness too long to be able to tolerate the light, but he couldn’t bear another moment on his poor ragged hands and knees. So, eyes tightly shut, he rolled onto his back under what felt cool enough to be morning sun, and alternately hacked out lungfuls of dust and sucked in fresh, clean air.
He knew two things.
One, he was meant to survive. They had not dropped him down a shaft or taken him far enough into the mine to make it impossible for him to find his way out. And two, he had to be somewhere near Durham.
His tired and battered limbs had summoned extra strength from somewhere to keep him moving thus far, but now it was almost gone. His leg hurt, he was weak from lack of food, and he was desperate for sleep. Not yet. Stay awake. Before he could rest he had to get a message to the others that he was safe and Isobel was not to be trusted.
But you were the one who asked her to meet you.
He wanted to ignore the niggle as it flickered in his mind. In justice, he could not. It was not Isobel who had suggested meeting in her stepmother’s stable. She had not seduced him. He’d been only too eager to sample her innocent yet addictive charms. And she had shown him the map of the mine.
Perhaps Isobel was not to blame.
He thanked his lucky stars that she had managed to show him the map, because if she had not, he would have no idea where he was.
A cool change of temperature over his face could have been a cloud across the sun, but it felt wrong. Arend cracked his eyes open and in the still painfully bright light saw a young girl, about Sealey’s age, standing over him and staring down into his face.
Her clothes were not those of an urchin, nor were they of the gentry. She seemed curious about him rather than fearful.
Perhaps he could convince her to run for some help.
He licked his lips. “Hello.” He sounded like a bullfrog. He coughed. Tried again. “What’s your name?” This time he sounded human.
She blinked, and then considered him, head tilted slightly to one side. “Mother says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”
“Your mother is very wise,” he said, and would have sat up if he hadn’t thought he might fall back down. “But I’m lost, and in need of help.” He smiled. “My name is Arend. See? Now we are not quite strangers.”
This appeared to be acceptable. “My name is Pauline.”
“That’s a pretty name,” he said. “Do you live nearby?”
She nodded and gestured behind her. “Over the rise with Mama, Papa, Johnny, and Seth.”
Help. And food. “Do you think your mother would feed me if I gave her some coin?”
Pauline nodded enthusiastically. “Mama’s just finished baking scones. They smell so good. When Papa and the boys come home for their lunch we can have them then.” She sighed and pouted. “I’m hungry now, but Mama told me to play outside. I came to paddle in the stream.” She pointed to her right.
At her mention of scones, Arend’s belly rumbled. At her mention of the stream, he realized the possible source of the water that trickled through the walls of the mine.
What he wouldn’t give for something to eat and drink. His stomach growled in agreement. “Does your mother not worry that you play near the mine?”
She gave him a scornful look. “I know not to go near the mine. It’s dark and scary.” Then her eyes went wide. “Did you get lost in there, Arend? Is that why you are covered in soot?”
He looked down his body, and he did indeed look a sight. Shirtless under his jacket. Breeches ripped. Every inch of him covered in black soot. He struggled to lift himself on his elbows, and, through the ripped fabric of his breeches saw the reason for his throbbing leg. His knee was bloody and badly swollen. He must have taken a kick before being dumped in the mine.
“Pauline!”
The voice, Arend discovered, belonged to a black-haired whippet of a man who, as he rounded the bend, stopped short when he saw Arend with the girl.
“Home, lass,” he snapped, moving quickly forward. “Your mama’s been calling you. Tell her I’ll be there soon.”
“Yes, Papa,” Pauline said, and ran off at speed without another word.
When she had disappeared from sight, her father glanced toward the mine and then down at Arend. “What kind of fool goes into a mine without a lantern?”
Arend couldn’t help it. The laugh bubbled up from his chest and roared out of his throat as he flung his head back and let his shout echo off the hills.
The man took a step back and stared at him as if he were crazy. It made Arend laugh even more.
When he finally got his emotions under control he said, “You won’t understand the joke, but I most definitely did not enter the mine of my own volition, Mr….”
“Norton,” the man said after a moment. “Sam Norton, local farmer.” He gestured to Arend’s obviously swollen knee and disheveled state. “And you look like a man in a spot of bother.”
Arend swallowed back another laugh. “That I am. Arend, Lord Labourd, at your service—or, more accurately, needing your service. It’s a long story. Perhaps you’ll be kind enough to help me to your home, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Mr. Norton appeared to doubt the title. “A lord, you say? You’d not know it from looking at you. Maybe there are some fancy clothes under all that soot.”
Fancy or not, Arend never intended to wear them again. “I was kidnapped and left in the mine,” he told Norton. “I must get a message to my friends. How far out of Durham are we?”
“Durham?” Norton frowned. “You’re not near Durham. You’re in Bedworth, near Warwick.”
Not Durham? What the hell game was this? “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure I know where I live, your lordship. Now.” Norton bent down, grasped Arend by the elbow, and hauled him to his feet. “My girl will have her mama in a state by now, but if I know my Molly, she’ll have scones and cider waiting.”
Arend’s stomach moaned like a dying horse.
Norton laughed and shoved a sh
oulder under Arend’s arm to support his weight. “To the pump first to clean you up, your lordship, or Molly will skin us both. Then over a pint of cider I’ll hear your story.”
Norton said little during the walk to the farmhouse, but Arend didn’t care. There was only one thought thumping through his head: this mine was not near Durham.
Had Isobel knowingly lied to him?
If she had, God help her when he found her.
—
The pump water had been bracing, the scones and cider perfect, and Sam Norton eager to help him on his way. By the time Arend was able to send his message to the rest of the Libertine Scholars it was almost nightfall. So, weary and needing rest, he took a room at the local inn and waited for a reply.
The reply was not what he expected. It came in the form of a carriage complete with some of the Libertine Scholars and a chilling message from Hadley. He wanted them in Doncaster as soon as possible.
Victoria had escaped.
—
The private room at the Horsemen’s Inn should have been cheerful. All of the Libertine Scholars except Hadley were there, along with Grayson’s brother-in-law Philip, Earl of Cumberland. But with Victoria now free and able to continue her crusade, none of them felt like celebrating.
When Hadley finally walked in, Arend was shocked. He looked as if he’d aged ten years.
He was even more shocked when Hadley marched straight up and wrapped his arms around him. “I thought she’d killed you,” Hadley muttered.
Embarrassed by the display of affection, Arend slapped his shoulder. “I’m hard to kill. But I’m warning you—if you try to kiss me, I’ll tell Evangeline.”
Hadley flushed and stepped back as if he’d been shot. “Don’t be so ungrateful. Since Victoria escaped, I’ve been thinking you were dead.”
As he could have been.
“I have no idea what that bitch is up to.” Arend gestured Hadley to the only empty chair in the large half circle around the fire, while Christian poured the recent arrival a drink. “I was dumped in a mine near Warwick and left. They didn’t restrain me, so once I regained consciousness and my head had stopped trying to break out of my skull, it was relatively easy to find my way out.”
“Easy?” Hadley echoed.
“What you still haven’t explained,” Grayson said in a plaintive tone, “is how you let anyone abduct you in the first place.”
“Yes,” Maitland agreed. “He’s been very quiet about that part. Well, Arend?”
Now it was his turn to flush. “They took me by surprise while I was otherwise engaged.”
“Pleasantly engaged?”
At Grayson’s raised eyebrows, Arend felt he had to elaborate. “Very. I was in the stable with Isobel.”
The ribald comments came thick and fast then.
Hadley shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”
Nor did Arend. It was damnably embarrassing. “I’d just sent her back inside her house when someone walloped me on the back of my skull. The next thing I knew I was in the mine.”
Christian turned to Hadley, his tone troubled. “I was just telling Arend about Isobel’s and Sealey’s abduction, and of our rescue of him. Isobel was not in the house when we freed him. Neither was Dufort. I then received a letter from Lieutenant Colbert saying he had rescued Isobel from Dufort, and that she swore Arend was in a mine near Durham.”
“Another lie from her sweet lips,” Arend muttered.
Christian ignored his comment. “Thankfully, Colbert sent his men to investigate. Of course they didn’t find anything. He didn’t tell Isobel the truth because he did not wish to upset her. As soon as I knew Arend was safe, I wrote to Colbert asking him to take Isobel back to London, and to say nothing about Arend’s rescue. If she is in league with Victoria, I don’t want either of them to know Arend has escaped.”
Hadley slumped back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. “I don’t see what Isobel gains by saying Arend’s in Durham when he isn’t. She might have been misled too.”
Sebastian snorted. “She sent Colbert’s men—and us—searching for Arend in the wrong place. It could have been a distraction so Victoria had time to escape.”
“I don’t know,” Hadley said slowly. “Colbert said Dufort had treated her very roughly. She had a black eye and he had to stitch her cheek together.”
“He hurt her?” Arend felt a violent desire to rip Dufort limb from limb. “The bastard.” And he had to admit the truth. “She did show me a map of a mine in Durham. Perhaps she has been used as a distraction without knowing it.”
All the men sat there drinking silently, gazing into the fire.
Finally, Christian stretched, and sighed. “Isobel is the least of our problems,” he said. “She’s with Colbert, and he can keep an eye on her. I did suggest he be wary and watch her closely while they are traveling back to London, which should take a few days. Victoria needs to be our priority.”
Hadley nodded at Christian. “Agreed. As Simon reminded me, a woman on such a vendetta never gives up. If she runs, it’s because she plans to live to fight another day.”
Arend frowned. “What the hell happened, Hadley? You had her in custody.”
“Yes. I did.” Hadley’s jaw tightened and he looked as though he wanted to punch something. “And the damned woman dragged me over half the country. I thought she was waiting for something, probably rescue, so I decided to stay at an inn outside of town to avoid crowds. She was being a tiresome witch, and I was down to my last messenger pigeon, and I lost my temper. Said that if we didn’t rendezvous with Isobel soon I was going to drag her back to London because Arend was obviously dead.”
“Thank you.” Arend inclined his head in a mocking salute. “I can’t tell you how I appreciate your faith in my inventiveness.”
Hadley scowled. “Well, how the devil was I supposed to know you were safe and well and enjoying the charms of the local farmer’s daughter?”
Sebastian kicked the table leg, making Hadley’s glass jump. “Argue later. What did Victoria say when you threatened to return to London?”
Hadley’s cheekbones turned red. “She told me to stop whining like a spoiled child. That after what she endured at our fathers’ hands, a few days of waiting were nothing.”
Arend wanted to shout the woman’s words down, but in all conscience he couldn’t. What their fathers had done was indefensible—although it didn’t excuse Victoria’s actions toward their families.
“Then,” Hadley said into an uncomfortable silence, “I tied her to the bedposts as I had every other night, and left Martin on guard. And while I was walking, and smoking a cheroot, and feeling sorry for myself, Dufort entered the inn, slit Martin’s throat, knocked Simon unconscious, and made off with her.”
Hadley scrubbed a palm over his face. “God. Poor Martin. The bastard didn’t have to kill him.”
Some people enjoyed the kill. Victoria was one of them, so it wasn’t surprising that Dufort was the same.
Arend grabbed the bottle of brandy on the table between them and poured Hadley a generous measure. Hadley nodded his thanks and took a solid swallow.
“And then?” Christian said.
“And then I sent the damned pigeon telling you to meet me here, and waited for Simon to regain consciousness. He’s the one who told me it was Dufort. He’s also the one who said Victoria wouldn’t give up no matter how long it took. We’ll never be safe as long as she’s alive. Nor will our families. And he’s right.” Hadley took another drink. “Then I came here.”
“Were there any clues as to the direction she took, Hadley?” Philip said.
“Yes,” Hadley said. “But after that damned crisscrossing trail she took me on, I can tell you clues mean nothing. She could have backtracked and gone north instead of south. Simon talked of shipping schedules to America, Africa, or, indeed, Australia, but my bet is on France.”
France. Arend suddenly saw Victoria’s plan. He stopped for a couple of moments, his glass froz
en halfway to his mouth, and then he lowered his arm and placed the glass on the wooden tabletop with a solid click.
“Of course,” he said. “She’ll head back to Paris. She knows that city intimately, unlike London. And she’s likely to still have friends there. She could hide for years, disguising herself once again, until a later date when she’s ready to attack. All the other locations are too far to keep a watch on us or to strike at us at will.”
“She’d need money,” Maitland said thoughtfully. “I imagine she has her money under another name. If we can learn the name of her account…yes.” He clicked his fingers. “That’s it. The money Northumberland left her. We should find someone at the bank willing to disclose if there were any large transfers from the Countess of Northumberland’s account. Then, once we have the details of whom it was paid to, we try to trace the money trail. She must have known she’d need to run at some stage, and she’d want her money in one account.”
“Good thinking.” Grayson clapped Maitland on the back. “Now, whom do we know in the bank who could do some searching for us?”
“Why not use Isobel?” At Arend’s quiet question everyone went silent. “It would be a good test. If she refuses to help us, it could indicate she’s hiding behind Victoria.”
The more Arend thought about it, the better he liked the idea. “We ask Isobel to visit her bank. I could accompany her to look into her accounts and the estates finances. If she can distract the clerk long enough, I might get the opportunity to go through Victoria’s papers too. She might even be able to raise a question about her father’s affairs that would open up Victoria’s accounts.”
“No offense, Arend,” Maitland said, “but I think I should accompany her. I’m known for my investment expertise. If Isobel suggests I’m looking into both her and Victoria’s finances, no bank would even question my interest. Besides, it never hurts to have a duke on hand if necessary.”
Arend was not offended in the slightest. All the same…
“We’ll both go,” he said. “We find the source of Victoria’s money, trace any withdrawals, and find her. She has to have the money sent to her somehow. Now, how do we guarantee Isobel is informed when money is withdrawn from the account and where it’s being sent?”
A Night of Forever Page 13
