Get out of here. Leave.
“I am most definitely not a good man,” he said in his most offensive drawl. “You think you know me. You know nothing. Thank you for agreeing to help us with the bank. I shall see you tonight.”
He managed to give her a stiff bow and stalk to the door. Soon this entire nightmare would be over. Soon he’d be able to walk away and never look back.
A good man.
Why did he care what Isobel thought of him?
He opened the door and stepped out into the silent house. A few moments later he was on the street, walking as fast as he could. It didn’t matter where. He could still hear the stealthy footsteps of his old demons behind him, chasing him once more.
—
It took Isobel almost a minute to shake off the shock of Arend’s reaction. What had just happened? The change that had suddenly come over him was terrifying—as if he were Pandora’s box and she’d unknowingly opened the lid.
The self-loathing she’d seen in his face when she’d said he was a good man horrified her. She was still shaking from the revulsion in his voice as he’d derided himself.
Fingers tightly clasped, she sat back in her chair and tried to understand what his last words had revealed. Arend really did appear to hate himself. Loathing seemed to scald every letter when he spat the word “good.” Marisa said he’d lost contact with the Libertine Scholars for five years. Was it that he simply blamed himself for his partner’s death because a woman had fooled him? Or had something even worse happened that caused him to hate himself?
Her heart swelled with pity. What must Arend feel like to be so traumatized by his past that he did not believe he deserved a future?
Suddenly the anger and hurt pressing tight in her chest fell away. Until her father’s death, her life had been, if not idyllic, at least happy, warm, and safe. At the beginning of this season, being safe had been her goal.
Had Arend ever, in his life, felt safe? A hated Frenchman, a poor refugee, a title and lands without the wealth to maintain and support either one, his only security the friends he loved and had to leave behind…
It must have been hell. She could understand Arend’s driving need to find that security. To restore his wealth. He was a proud man.
She tried to imagine how she’d feel if her father had died leaving her penniless. How she would feel to have to rely on anyone, even so-called friends…She shuddered. How far would she go to be self-sufficient? To survive on her own? What would she sacrifice?
Anything, except the ones she loved.
Was that what Arend had done? Sacrificed everything, and lost those he cared for anyway? What a weight of guilt must consume him over his partner being killed by a woman Arend thought he’d loved.
She understood. She felt guilty that it was her stepmother who was their enemy, who had caused so much pain to those she’d come to care for.
She drew in a sharp breath. She wouldn’t leave an animal in pain. How, now that she understood Arend better, could she turn her back on him?
He thought he was dark and worthless. Every fiber of her being told her that Arend, though troubled, was at heart honorable, good, and worthy of love.
She wanted to help ease his sorrow before he did something stupid—like sacrifice himself for his friends. To help him she would have to get very close. Something fluttered in her stomach at the idea. She would help him capture Victoria. She would also have to risk him capturing her heart—exactly what Marisa had warned her not to do.
Other women had tried to help Arend and failed, Marisa had told her. Isobel narrowed her eyes, and her nostrils flared. She wasn’t just any woman. She was a woman who understood guilt. If she had gone to the magistrate herself with Taggert’s evidence about the fire, perhaps Victoria would have been stopped months ago. When Taggert’s body had been discovered, she’d been too scared. She’d been a coward, and her cowardice had cost Marisa her ability to bear a child. It had almost cost her life.
Oh, yes. Isobel understood what guilt could do to a person. She lived with it every day.
This time she would not be the coward. She’d make sure Victoria was stopped. If that meant she had to put her heart, reputation, and body on the line to help Arend, then that was what she would do. Wasn’t it ironic that the only man who consumed her was a man who was more scared of love than she was? Perhaps together they could absolve each other’s guilt.
She rose with a heavy sigh. The one thing she knew for certain was that seducing Arend was not the way to his heart. Too many women had tried that route and failed. The only way to touch the heart of a man who did not trust was to prove her trustworthiness.
As she walked upstairs to rest before the ball she realized it wasn’t only Arend to whom she had to prove herself. None of the Libertine Scholars and their wives were sure of her allegiance.
How could she resent their lack of trust when she could empathize with their feelings? They had each been through so much at Victoria’s hands.
Of all of them, Marisa’s lack of faith in her hurt the most. She’d discuss it with her friend.
But not tonight.
Tonight she would concentrate on Arend.
—
Two hours later she sat in the carriage with Lieutenant Colbert, Maitland, and a distraught Marisa, listening to Marisa beg her forgiveness for not revealing the truth about Arend’s capture.
Sean had apologized to her upon his arrival at the house. He’d explained how torn he’d been at not revealing that Arend had been rescued from elsewhere, and presented her with the biggest arrangement of the most beautiful flowers. She was not hurt by his subterfuge because they hardly knew each other.
But Marisa…
Isobel drew in a deep breath. Be the bigger person here. “It’s forgotten, Marisa. Really. I understand the position you were in.” She gave Maitland a very pointed look.
Maitland merely turned cool eyes on her.
Marisa looked from Isobel to her husband and back. “I have also been adamant you were not party to Victoria’s plan.” She turned back to her husband, brows raised.
Maitland nodded. “I concur. She has always defended you.”
That knowledge eased Isobel’s heart a little. She reached across and patted Marisa’s hand. “And I’m grateful. But the men are not going to believe me until I can prove otherwise. Given what they have been through, I do not blame them.” She smiled and sat back. “Really. I have nothing to fear. I’m innocent, and I mean to work with His Grace and Arend to prove it.”
Marisa eyed her warily. “Arend will take a lot of convincing.”
Isobel lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. “I’m just as determined as they are to capture Victoria. I know she killed my father, and by God, I will be there when she admits it.”
Maitland said, “Well said. As we have to wait until Monday to visit the bank, I suggest we relax tonight and enjoy ourselves.”
Envy snaked down Isobel’s spine as Marisa smiled lovingly at her husband. She turned away quickly and caught Sean watching her closely. In the darkness of the carriage her cheeks burned. She raised her hand to touch the healing scar. If not for Arend she would have stayed home. The injury would start more gossip. Most knew she’d been kidnapped, and the scar would add a degree of realism to her story.
When they arrived Maitland descended from the carriage and then turned to assist his wife. Next Sean alighted and turned to help Isobel descend.
Was it her imagination, or did he hold her hand a little longer than necessary? Guilt dampened her spirits like a fine mist. She had probably been too friendly with him, which was unfair of her. In her defense, she had been angry with Arend for using her. She hoped her actions had not encouraged the young lieutenant. If he intended to pursue her, he would only be hurt.
One man, and one only, consumed her.
—
Arend stood at the top of the steps watching as Lieutenant Sean Colbert, in his pristine uniform, turned to help Isobel from the carriage
.
She smiled at Colbert as she descended—a warm, open smile that she seldom shared with him.
He felt his jaw clench and his vision narrow as Colbert held her hand a moment too long. But, instead of frowning at Colbert’s forward behavior, Isobel rewarded him with another dazzling smile.
Even recognizing the emotion as petty jealousy, Arend had to exert his will to control it. In the past two weeks, thanks to Isobel, he had run the gamut of emotions: desire, fury, exasperation, and now jealousy—the last an emotion he rarely experienced.
Cursing Victoria and all her works, he descended the stairs to intercept Isobel. When she entered the ballroom it would be on his arm, not Colbert’s.
“Good evening, Lady Isobel. You look beautiful tonight.” He loved the blush that colored her cheeks. Her sparkling eyes seemed to see into his soul, and he almost did not notice the scar. “Your Grace.” He bowed first to Marisa, and then to Maitland. “Colbert,” he said, hoping his tone conveyed the warning he could not put into words.
It must have, as he saw Maitland hide a grin and the smile on Isobel’s face dim.
Colbert bowed. “Good evening, Lord Labourd. It’s splendid to see no lingering injuries from your ordeal.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I am in excellent health.” Arend knew it was rude, but some possessive force made him take Isobel’s arm, draw it through his, and then turn away from Colbert to lead her up the stairs to the receiving line.
“Arend,” she said under her breath, “please slow down. I am not a racehorse.”
He tried to rein in his possessiveness, but all he could think about was how to get Isobel as far from Colbert as quickly as possible.
“Arend.” She tried to tug her arm free. “You’re being abominably rude. We should wait for the others. I invited the lieutenant as my guest.”
Don’t respond, don’t respond…
The hell with it. “For a guest, the lieutenant was being overly familiar.” But he shortened his stride and glanced down at her.
She was looking at him strangely, and a smug little smile played around her lips. “I don’t believe so. All he has done this evening is hand me down from the carriage.”
Annoyed that he had disclosed more of his feelings than he intended, he refused to be drawn into any further comment.
He guided Isobel through the receiving line, into the ballroom, and then across the floor to where Serena and Beatrice stood talking with a group of ladies. He bowed to them all, handed Isobel into their care, and then decided he needed to find the other Libertine Scholars and a drink.
They were, as he’d guessed, in the card room playing faro.
“Arend,” Sebastian said as he strolled up to their table, “would you care to sit in on a hand?”
He shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ll watch.”
“Have the gossips been silenced already?” Christian gave him an evaluating head-to-toe study. “I thought you’d stay near Isobel.”
He should have. But he could not stay in Isobel’s presence when his emotions owned him. He felt far too vulnerable. “I will, of course, dance the two waltzes with her. That should allay any gossip that I might end the betrothal because of her disappearance.”
Christian’s eyebrow rose. “And who will protect her from those rakes who might see your desertion as permission to take liberties?”
Damn. He had not thought of that. He made to turn but caught the beginning of a sardonic smile on his friend’s face. That and the knowing look that passed between Christian and Sebastian made him stop and turn back.
He’d done his fair share of teasing when these two had fallen under the spell of a woman, but he did not appreciate being on the receiving end. “Isobel has the ladies to protect her,” he said, through almost gritted teeth.
“True.” Sebastian played another card. “Except for when the ladies are dancing. I remember quite clearly how easy it is to draw a lady just that little bit too close. Many an ample bosom have I—”
Arend didn’t wait for Sebastian to finish. He swung away from the table and stalked out of the card room to the sound of Christian’s and Sebastian’s laughter.
He reached the ballroom just in time to see Colbert bowing low over Isobel’s hand. Whatever he was saying made her laugh and slip her arm through his as he led her onto the dance floor.
Thank bloody Christ it isn’t a waltz, was Arend’s first thought. His second was that while he admired Colbert, at that instant he’d like to beat the worthy lieutenant black and blue.
The evidence was right in front of him. Colbert wanted Isobel. Worse, his interest was not that of a rake. It was the interest of a good man who wanted a certain woman to become his wife.
He stood at the edge of the dance floor in silent battle with himself. He wanted to tear Isobel from Colbert’s arms. But once this mess with Victoria was over, he had promised Isobel she would walk away with her reputation intact. His making a scene at a ball where she was already the subject of speculation and gossip was not the way to achieve that goal.
The litany You don’t want to let her go played over and over in his head. That he’d treated her as an enemy from the day he’d met her made any possibility that she might choose to go through with the marriage ridiculous.
He was being torn in two. One part of him wanted her with every beat of its heart, wanted to bury his face in her scented heat, taste the fragrance that was only ever Isobel. The other part of him was screaming in agony, begging to flee before it was too late…while the nauseating smell of burning flesh filled his lungs.
Frustrated, restless, he prowled the edge of the ballroom.
When he’d returned from Brazil he’d been too full of self-loathing and pain to think about the future. He’d achieved the wealth that had been his sole driving goal for so many years. But he had no idea what he wanted now that he’d achieved it. Perhaps he’d never believed he would restore his family’s wealth, and now that he had done so, he felt as if he didn’t deserve it.
He hadn’t even spent any money on the restoration of his London residence or the barony estate. Creating a home had never mattered to Arend. A house was simply a place to sleep. But a woman like Isobel deserved a proper home, one like Christian had created for Serena. The thought that Isobel might one day see the wreck his home had become filled him with shame.
It was torture watching her laugh and smile up at whatever Colbert said to her as they glided across the dance floor. Running a hand through his hair, Arend wondered why he suddenly thought he might one day deserve a chance at a proper life. After everything he’d done, giving up his pride, his honor…But as he watched Isobel, he found himself thinking about the one thing he did not deserve but now wanted desperately—a real home and family. Children, even.
The thought of bringing a child—his child—into the world had always sickened him. Normally the idea of that child inheriting his disposition, or, God forbid, his father’s, almost made the idea of being a eunuch something to consider.
Was it Isobel, the idea of her innocence, that suddenly made him long to see what a child he might make with her would look like? Would it have her smile? Her cute nose?
The winding path of his lonely life suddenly felt too long, its echoing emptiness uninviting. Isobel could fill it with her laughter, her intelligent banter. With passion.
Looking back over his thirty years of life, Arend suddenly understood clearly that sometimes one did what one had to in order to survive. He had never intentionally done anything to hurt anyone else. He’d merely hurt himself. Even his partner’s death had not been entirely his fault. He’d been a fool. But was he a fool who was worthy of love? He was not sure.
In his more rational moments he now doubted Isobel was complicit in Victoria’s plans for the downfall of the Libertine Scholars. She simply wasn’t capable of such coldness. It was clear to all who read Lord Stuart’s journals that Isobel’s father had loved her, and that she had reciprocated those feelings. She would never be party
to killing her father.
Only yesterday, Arend had learned that Evangeline’s dead husband, Lord Stuart, had received a letter from Taggert’s sister detailing his suspicions about the fire, and saying that if anything happened to Taggert she was to tell Lord Stuart it was due to Lady Northumberland.
The music came to an end, jarring his thoughts. While Arend gazed at the couples leaving the floor, Colbert bowed over Isobel’s hand, lifting it to his lips and placing a lingering kiss on her knuckles. Yes, he owed Colbert a damned good thumping.
A tremor ran through him. He was at the top of a cliff with fire behind him and churning seas below. He had to either leap from the cliff and pray there were no rocks below or stay where he was and burn.
When one reached for a dream, one risked the fall.
Risked it all.
He’d done that before and found diamonds, but he had paid a very high price.
Was he about to pay an even greater one? Now that he knew what he wanted, would Isobel have none of him? If so, he deserved her rejection. Who would take a risk on a man who could not trust?
The thought had scarcely formed in his mind when she turned her head and their eyes met. The longing, forgiveness, and desire in her gaze wrapped around him. The next moment he was moving toward her, as if he were a puppet on a string and his feet were being directed by her hand.
When he reached her side Colbert must have seen something in his eyes. The lieutenant placed her hand in Arend’s. “You are a very fortunate man, Lord Labourd,” he said.
“I am,” Arend said. “I’m beginning to understand exactly how lucky.”
At his words Isobel’s smile flashed bright, and a lively blush swept her beautiful face, her scar forgotten.
“You look very flushed, my dear,” he said. “Perhaps some fresh air?”
She nodded her approval, and with her arm linked through his they made their way around the dance floor to the terrace, greeting those eager to be able to say they had conversed with the couple of the moment.
Once on the terrace, Arend didn’t speak until he’d led Isobel away from the house and deeper into the garden. A slight shiver shook her slender frame and he cursed as he realized the night was chilly and she did not have her wrap.
A Night of Forever Page 16
