A Night of Forever

by Bronwen Evans

  She kept her voice serious. “Perhaps it’s my fingers you love.”

  “It’s more than your fingers, I can assure you.” Now that Isobel had undone the hooks, Arend sat up and shed his coat and waistcoat. She also helped him draw the fine linen of his shirt over his head.

  She sat still, stunned as usual by the beauty of his chest, so different from her own. Olive skin covered sculptured muscles, all tantalizingly hidden by a smattering of black hair.

  She couldn’t help her response. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his skin above his heart. When she straightened, the depth of heat in his eyes told her what he could not say aloud.

  He reached for her then.

  She loved how Arend’s hands thrust deep into her hair, scattering pins across the bed as he tugged her tresses free.

  He wound the long strands around his hand and pulled gently until her head eased back. Then he ran his tongue up her neck and took her lips in a drugging kiss.

  Usually she loved how he seized control. Tonight, however, it was her turn.

  She groped for one of his nipples and pinched it gently.

  His grip on her hair loosened, and Arend hummed into her mouth. “Someone wants to play.”

  She pushed at his chest until he relented and collapsed theatrically back against the headboard. His sexy smile made her body pulse with need. Seeing his raised eyebrow she said, “You don’t get to be in control all of the time.”

  His fingers released her hair and wrapped around the headboard at his back. “I’m all yours, ma cherie. Do with me what you will.”

  She’d never get a better invitation. “Then do not let go of that headboard unless I give you permission.”

  His grin widened in challenge. “And if I do?”

  “I shall leave you to pleasure yourself.” Hearing such shameless words come out of her own mouth made her face as hot as her body. “Although that would be a sight I’d love to see.”

  Something between a groan and a laugh rumbled low in his chest. “Hard to do with my hands positioned above me.”

  “I’ll just have to do it for you, then,” she said, and earned another rumbling laugh.

  She wished he’d laugh more. The sound was both comforting and teasing.

  She loved the rush of pleasure that invaded her senses with the knowledge that she had Arend under her command. She leaned forward and tasted his lips with her tongue, gliding it over them before slipping it into his inviting mouth.

  The taste of him intoxicated her. She could become addicted to his kisses—was addicted to his kisses. His head strained toward her as she teased him, withdrawing and then surging back to take his mouth in what she hoped was a commanding kiss.

  She let her hands travel down over his perfectly flat stomach until she encountered the top of his breeches. She fumbled with them, trying to free his erection, yet unable to see what she was doing because she didn’t want to stop kissing him. Still, her fumbling only seemed to excite Arend more, as his hips lifted and pushed against her fingers.

  Finally she managed to unbutton his fall and free the sleek, hard length of him. Only then did she break the kiss and pull back enough to look down his magnificent body. His erection jutted almost to his navel, and a liquid drop glistened at its head.

  It was too much of an invitation. She scooted down his body with little finesse, simply focused on tasting him.

  She knew exactly what to do.

  With the tip of her tongue she touched the slit at the top of his penis. His body shuddered beneath her. She loved the reaction and couldn’t wait to see this man lose control because of her. Eagerly she leaned closer and ran a moist line up the long, hard length of him.

  A groan broke the silence of the room. Once again, his hips jerked. She wrapped her hand around his staff, holding firm, gliding the skin up and down his length until his eyes closed and his head dropped back against the headboard.

  She was thoroughly aroused by the sight of him, his arms taut, muscles bulging as his hands gripped the headboard until his knuckles turned white. The thick heaviness of his member thrilled her. She recalled what it was like to take him into her body, and her womanly core pulsed with need.

  Sometimes she wished he was not so honorable.

  She lowered her mouth and slipped the head of his penis between her lips, letting her tongue play around the underside while her hand continued to caress him.

  His eyes flew open. “Sweet mother of God.”

  She must be doing something right.

  She held his wild gaze, taking him deeper into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked harder, faster.

  “God,” he ground out as his hips began to lift and fall in time to her ministrations, “this feels so good.”

  As he pushed deeper into her, she could feel his cock hitting the back of her throat, making her eyes water, but the tension coiling deep within his body seemed to resonate in her own.

  “I want to use my hands. Give me permission—please…”

  Without taking her mouth from his cock, she shook her head.

  “If you keep going, I’m going to come.”

  She stopped for a moment and murmured, “That’s the idea,” then returned to her self-appointed task of driving him mad.

  He was beautiful in his passion. Fierce, vulnerable, desperate. All these emotions showed in his eyes, in his taut jaw, as he tried to fight off his release, as he tried to halt his loss of control.

  Isobel continued to play, licking the small slit at the top of his cock, wrapping one hand firmly round his shaft, while the other weighed and fondled his sacs.

  Then she took him in, watching every nuance of his face as she sucked him harder, faster, and deeper, teasing, tantalizing, torturing him until a fine sheen of sweat gleamed on his chest.

  The next thing she knew, he let out an almighty groan and his hands wrapped in her hair, holding her tightly to him as he grunted and lifted his hips to power deeper into her mouth.

  She should stop. He’d let go of the headboard. But watching him lose control was breathtaking, and she loved the sight of Arend in his passion. She could feel her own arousal heighten too, her body nearing its release.

  She let him take over, control her, move her head as he pleased, as she drew him closer to the edge of reason. His chest heaved, his breathing grew ragged, and his eyes burned into her as he watched his cock disappear deep into her mouth.

  She could feel his sacs tighten in her hand as she gently squeezed them, and his moans grew louder and louder. Then he cried out her name, gave a final thrust deep into her mouth, and his hot seed spurted into her throat.

  At that exact moment, her own world of the senses exploded, and she cried out around him.

  Slowly Arend’s hips stopped moving. She continued to suck him gently as he became flaccid.

  Finally he collapsed. “Christ. That was amazing.”

  She crawled up to lie beside him, still fully dressed. “I enjoyed it too.”

  “Give me a minute,” he said, “and I’ll see to your pleasure.”

  “There is no need,” she said. “I found pleasure all by myself in simply watching and tasting you.”

  “Then”—he gave her a wicked smile—“it hardly seems fair to deny me the chance to taste and watch you too.”

  “Later. I promise.” She kissed him, long and deep. “Right now, you need to go downstairs and talk with the others. If Victoria is coming, she’ll do it soon. Why else would she test me so?”

  He brushed her hair away from her face. Her pins would take some finding. “You should come too.”

  She shook her head. “No. Maitland is frustrated and hurting. I understand, but I’m tired of being his whipping boy. You need to talk with them and devise a plan. If Victoria’s people sneak in, it will be to target this room. Perhaps kill you in your sleep, and blame me—or vice versa.”

  He pulled her to him and kissed her soundly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She cupped his f
ace in her hand. “I know. Now get dressed and go.”

  With a sigh he rolled off the bed onto his feet and pulled his shirt over his head, ignoring the waistcoat and jacket. “I’m not sure I like this more dominant side of you.” As he leaned across the bed to kiss her he added, “Unless you’re naked. Then I think I’ll quite enjoy it.”

  She was still giggling when he left.

  Chapter 21

  By the time Arend finished telling the men about the hidden tunnels and what they believed Victoria’s plan could be, Maitland seemed to have grudgingly accepted that he owed Isobel an apology.

  “I’ve been a bastard, haven’t I?”

  This was one of the few times that agreeing with a duke might not be politic. “It’s not me you need to apologize to.”

  Maitland swiped a hand over his face. “I know.” He looked tired. “Thank goodness Marisa is still asleep.”

  “This is frustrating for all of us,” Arend said. “We all want her caught. I know you’ve suffered, Maitland. But so have Hadley, Christian, and Grayson. I promise you, we will capture her. You will have your justice.”

  “I’m getting sick of sitting around waiting for her to strike,” Sebastian said.

  Nobody disagreed.

  Arend blew out a breath. “Then let’s not wait any longer. I agree with Isobel. Victoria will strike, and she’ll come for me. Best we make plans. I suggest we take turns sleeping at the top of the stairs, and have someone positioned at the door of our bedchamber.” He lifted a brow. “Any other ideas?”

  The men hunkered down and began to strategize.

  —

  Isobel scrabbled around the bed and floor, collecting the pins Arend had scattered everywhere. She hadn’t brought many with her in their rush to Deal.

  Still on hands and knees, she didn’t turn when the door to her room opened, merely calling over her shoulder, “That was a quick conversation.”

  When she got no answer, the hairs on the back of her neck did more than tickle. Slowly she stood up and turned round.

  Victoria stood in the doorway, dressed in shirt and breeches, with a large pistol pointing directly at her. Quietly she closed the door behind her.

  “You’re either very brave,” Isobel said, keeping her voice steady with an effort, “or completely deranged. One scream from me and the men will come running.”

  Victoria was unbalanced. Isobel could see the madness in her eyes.

  “One scream”—Victoria bit out each word—“and you’ll be dead.”

  “But it would be worth it, knowing you’d be caught.”

  The madness in Victoria’s eyes dimmed and her mouth firmed. “I don’t think you’ll scream. I think you’ll come with me without making a sound.”

  “No.” Isobel slipped her hands into the pockets of her gown, the pins she’d collected still in her hands. “Not likely.”

  “I have your father,” Victoria said. “He’s still alive. If you don’t come with me without making a fuss and alerting everyone to my presence, he’s a dead man.”

  Stunned anger blazed through her. “Do you think I’m stupid? You killed him in that fire.”

  “Did I?” Victoria’s eyes shone with devilish delight. “Then how is it that no one ever found his signet ring? It would not have burned away to nothing.” And with that she pulled out Isobel’s father’s ring.

  Isobel felt as though all her breath had been sucked out. Her father had never, to her knowledge, removed that ring. He had been wearing it the last time she’d seen him. The day of the fire.

  “How? Why?” One moment she’d been certain Victoria was lying yet again; the next, she was full of hope that her father was alive.

  Victoria chuckled. “I plan ahead. I thought you’d know that about me by now.”

  She cared nothing for Victoria’s plans or cleverness. “Where is he?”

  “Safe with Dufort.”

  There was nothing safe about Dufort. “Then if I go with you, you’ll kill both him and me.”

  Victoria shook her head. “If you come quietly with me now, I swear that your father will go free and unharmed.”

  She didn’t believe a word. “And me?”

  Victoria looked pointedly at the bed. “That will depend on your lover, on whether he thinks you have betrayed him or if he believes I’ve taken you by force. Dufort’s kiss should have been enough to make him doubt your innocence and your virtue. Arend has a hatred and distrust of beautiful women.”

  Isobel tried to hide the emotions that flooded her, but something must have shown on her face, because Victoria smiled.

  “I see you understand his issue with trust,” she purred. “Perhaps I’ll explain why as we go on our little journey.”

  “He won’t believe I’m in league with you.”

  But deep inside her, Isobel’s hope was crumbling. If she slipped away after being seen in Dufort’s arms, it would damn her in Arend’s eyes. He’d think that she’d used her womanly charms to pacify him, then flown to her real lover.

  “I see the doubt in your eyes,” Victoria said. “What’s it to be? Death for you and your father? Or live to fight another day?”

  Isobel tried one more trick. “Why should I care if you kill my father? He’s in league with a woman who hurt my friends.”

  Like an evil stepmother, she almost cackled. “Your father is not bright enough to understand why I wanted to marry him. He merely owed me money he could not repay, so to hold on to his home, your dowry, and everything else, he made a deal with the devil. He merely thought I wanted his title.” She leaned closer. “I had much grander plans. I simply needed his title to hide behind—an enemy hiding in plain sight, so to speak. I had hoped the Libertine Scholars would not think to look at one of their own social standing. If you feel he should die for being stupid…”

  She really had no choice. If only she could leave Arend a message. If only there was a way to let him know she had not gone of her own free will.

  She clenched her fist, and almost winced as a hairpin dug into her palm. Then an idea struck her. Hairpins. She could leave a trail. Would he see them? Would he understand their meaning? It was unlikely, but she had to try.

  Victoria cracked the door open, peered into the dark corridor, and then beckoned with the pistol. As Isobel preceded her down the stairs, she wished Marisa had given them a room on the very top floor, as it would have taken longer and given her a greater chance of the men hearing them trying to leave. When they moved quietly past the closed door of the drawing room, she heard the men’s raised voices.

  If only someone would see her.

  They had reached the kitchen when someone did. Without any warning at all, Mrs. Clarke stepped out of the larder and into her path.

  The housekeeper started to smile, and then noticed Victoria behind Isobel.

  “Run!” Isobel mouthed.

  But the startled Mrs. Clarke was still taken aback. Before Isobel could do anything, Victoria pushed her out of the way and punched Mrs. Clarke hard in the temple. The woman dropped like a stone and hit the floor with a crash.

  “One sound,” Victoria hissed, “and I’ll shoot her.”

  So Isobel stayed where she was, silent and still, until once again Victoria beckoned her forward. The men would find Mrs. Clarke. Mrs. Clarke would tell them of Victoria. God knew what they would make of it—or what Arend would believe.

  When should she start dropping the pins?

  The men would realize Victoria had entered through the cellar. She wouldn’t begin her trail until they were underground.

  The last thing Isobel wanted was for Victoria to know they were aware of the tunnels’ existence. Therefore, when Victoria gestured her through the cellar entrance underground, Isobel made sure her stepmother heard her gasp of surprise.

  “Not so clever, are you?” Victoria sounded smug. “Your precious Libertine Scholars don’t know about the tunnels. The servant must not know either, as no one has used them since we were alerted to your arrival. She’ll thin
k we went out the back door.”

  So they had used feathers.

  When they entered the tunnel it was completely dark and smelled of dankness. When Victoria lit a lantern, Isobel saw that a set of steps led from the cellar to the floor of the tunnel. A few feet further on, the tunnel split and went off in two directions.

  It was after Victoria ushered her down the last step onto the dirt that Isobel dropped her first pin. She dropped the second pin only a few footsteps later, when they took the left tunnel. She tried to score a heel in the floor to leave a trail, but the dirt was too compact.

  How on earth would the men think to look for her tiny little hairpins?

  But they were all she had.

  —

  The plan, Arend decided, with satisfaction, was solid.

  Philip would take up position in the kitchen near the cellar, with two of the Runners outside the front door—to prevent an escape that way—and another two at the back. Maitland would sleep on the landing in front of his and Marisa’s room. Sebastian and Hadley would be hidden in Arend’s room with him. Marisa and Isobel would be safe in the attic room above.

  After tonight, if Victoria’s people entered the house, there would be no escape.

  He, Sebastian, and Hadley accompanied him up the stairs.

  When they reached his room, he stopped at the door. “Wait here. I’ll make sure Isobel is decent.”

  The words had hardly left his mouth when there was a cry from Philip downstairs. All three men exchanged tense glances.

  Then Arend flung open the door shouting for Isobel.

  But the room was empty and Isobel was gone. Nothing had been disturbed. There didn’t appear to have been a struggle. It was as if she had just walked out.

  “No.” Anger and hurt battered at his heart. She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t.

  “She’s gone.” Sebastian shook him. “Arend, Isobel’s gone. Come on. Philip’s calling.”

  His heart crumpled in on itself and on a bitter laugh, he turned and followed the others downstairs.

  They found Philip cradling Mrs. Clarke who had a nasty bump on her right cheek. She was beginning to regain consciousness.

  Arend found some sherry in the larder and poured a small glass. The housekeeper was struggling to sit upright when Arend crouched to hold the glass to her lips.