A Night of Forever

by Bronwen Evans

  A jolt of pure desire sizzled through Arend at the prospect of pitting his wits against this lovely adversary. It would be a most challenging seduction.

  He took a step toward her, so their bodies brushed. She trembled. It annoyed him how that slight touch aroused him so swiftly.

  Isobel moved quickly, almost pushing her thunderstruck friend forward. Caught by surprise, he caught the other young lady’s arm so she didn’t fall—and that was how he found himself escorting the wrong debutante onto the dance floor.

  Furious at being outmaneuvered, Arend bit the inside of his cheek to stop a curse from spilling out of his mouth.

  If Isobel had no secrets, she would not be so determined to keep him at arm’s length. He was going to uncover those secrets and do whatever it took to stop Victoria. Or die trying.

  Chapter 2

  As usual, Victoria was already in the breakfast room when Isobel finally made it downstairs the next morning.

  Did the woman ever sleep? No matter how early in the morning they arrived home from any of the night’s activities, Victoria always rose early. Isobel envied her boundless energy.

  “Good morning.” The woman smiled as Isobel took a seat across from her, then handed over the morning’s scandal sheet. “Your friend Lady Cassandra caused quite a stir last night.”

  “Really?” Isobel quickly scanned the sheet. Sure enough, there was an item about one of the year’s crop of sought-after debutantes dancing with the most notorious rake in England. The gossip sheet was insinuating that Labourd had finally decided to take a wife. The only other explanation would ruin the reputation of the debutante.

  Sick to her stomach, Isobel pushed all thought of breakfast away. “Oh, no. This is my fault. Lord Labourd asked to dance with me, and I pressed Cassandra to dance with him instead.”

  “Why on earth would you do that?” her stepmother asked, one eyelid flickering in what looked suspiciously like a wink. “He’s a very good dancer, and exceedingly handsome.”

  “For exactly this reason.” Isobel waved the scandal sheet. “What on earth am I going to do to make this right? I have put Cassandra in a terrible situation. Her mother must be in despair.”

  “Come now,” Victoria said. “Perhaps Lord Labourd is looking for a wife. He is of that age. Cassandra would be lucky to capture the attention of such a wealthy man.”

  Isobel considered both Victoria’s words and the implications that ran below the surface. It was not surprising that money and a title were Victoria’s reasons for marrying a man old enough to be her father. But not every woman wanted marriage to be a business arrangement.

  A shudder ran under Isobel’s skin. Thank goodness her father had ensured she herself would never be faced with the prospect of having to marry a man for money. He had left her wealthy enough to remain a spinster if she wished.

  She didn’t wish. As an only child, she’d been lonely. She wanted a family and a home filled with children of her own. Craved them.

  She just had to find the right man.

  Excitement stirred in her at the possibility Lord Labourd did wish to marry. Then she quashed it. Her eagerness was ridiculous. Labourd was most definitely not the right man. She could not visualize him relaxing in a house filled with children and laughter. He was far too dark and serious. And of course he was a rake, not a man to deny himself the pleasures found in other women’s beds.

  It was true that several of his friends were now married. Perhaps they had changed his view on matrimony. Maybe that was why he’d been discussing with Lord Fullerton the fact he wanted a plain woman as a wife.

  Isobel did not pretend that she’d love to find out. She could kick herself now for refusing his invitation to dance.

  “Isobel, my dear.” Victoria sighed and picked up her cup. “You do realize he’s one of the wealthiest men in England.”

  “Really?”

  She pretended that she had not learned as much as she could about his background. His family had lost their lands and wealth, and fled France with only the few possessions they could carry. Victoria too had a knack of finding out all the juicy details society liked to hide. Money—especially the lack of it—was a distasteful subject within the ton, and wealth ensured society turned a blind eye to behavior that might otherwise be condemned.

  “He owns diamond mines in Brazil,” Victoria continued. “Since the diamond mines in India are all but extinct, Brazil is now the only major supplier of diamonds. They can virtually name their price. I imagine any engagement ring he bestows on a fiancée would be dazzling. Imagine it.”

  Isobel could imagine it. In fact, she had to stop herself from holding her arm out to gaze at her ring finger.

  Repressing a sigh, she turned to Victoria. “Then why have so few matchmaking mamas pursued him for their daughters?”

  “Need you ask, my dear?” Victoria lifted a well-shaped brow. “His rakish reputation and his French blood. But”—and Victoria’s sigh held a note of wistfulness under its impatience—“imagine having all that virile masculinity in bed with you.”

  “Really, Victoria!” She felt her cheeks heat.

  Victoria smiled a catlike smile. “Of course you can’t imagine, being a virginal miss. But oh, I suspect being his wife would be filled with indescribable pleasure.”

  The way Victoria purred the word “pleasure” made Isobel want to slap her. “I suspect he would not be in his wife’s bed very often, given the number of women vying for his attentions. He’s not known for refusing many offers.”

  Victoria laughed gaily. “All men have mistresses—paramours, lovers—outside of marriage. Men are base creatures, animals that can’t help but fornicate. It’s expected of them. If you do not understand this particular reality of life, then when you marry you’ll suffer badly.”

  Had Victoria been distressed by the knowledge that her husband had a mistress and kept her in a cottage on the estate? Was that why she’d decided to kill him? If she had killed him.

  “Surely,” Isobel said, thinking of the Duke of Lyttleton’s love for Marisa, “a man in love would never stray.” She could not imagine him ever hurting Marisa that way. He would lay down his life for her. He’d never cheat.

  “Love is an illusion.” Victoria’s eyes hardened to tiny pinpricks. “Men profess love when it suits them—usually to get a woman into bed. Once the desire, need, or want is appeased, love disappears as quickly as a lovestruck girl’s virginity.” She gave Isobel a tight smile. “Lord Labourd is no different from any man in this regard. As long as a wife understands and accepts such behavior from her husband, she will have a much happier existence.”

  Isobel again wondered if Victoria spoke from experience. If so, why was she suggesting Lord Labourd as a suitable husband for her?

  “I hope Cassandra’s mother is not having a fit of the vapors,” Isobel said. “She would definitely not see this as an opportunity for her daughter.”

  “Good,” Victoria said immediately. “Less competition for you. You want a husband. Lord Labourd is looking for a wife.” She waved one hand as if to say the situation was entirely in Isobel’s control.

  “What do you suggest I should do? Walk up to him and say ‘I’ll marry you’?” she said, more than a suspicion of bite in her tone.

  Victoria didn’t seem to be offended. “I thought something a little more subtle. Men do love a good chase.”

  Subtle, perhaps. Deceitful, no. Isobel intended to make a good marriage, one entered into honestly and with a clear conscience. A marriage based on dishonesty and games of intrigue would not survive. “I must go and help Cassandra.”

  Victoria shrugged her shoulders. “What is there to do? Lord Labourd’s attentions can only elevate Cassandra’s position as one of the most popular debutantes this season. If a renowned rake has decided to marry and seeks her out…Well, there is no way her mother would let society see any other tale.”

  That was true. Cassandra’s mother, one of the leading hostesses, was a force to be reckoned with. All
the same, Isobel couldn’t shake a sense of guilt. “I feel I owe her an apology.”

  “If what you say is true, and Lord Labourd had really wanted to dance with you, I suspect that you are the one owed an apology.”

  At Isobel’s obvious surprise, Victoria continued, “You see, I happened to mention to Lord Labourd what a fine wife you would make. In particular, I remarked upon your sizable inheritance, and pointed out how nice it would be to marry a woman who didn’t need his money.”

  Disappointment sank into Isobel’s soul. If Lord Labourd was seriously considering marriage, she wished she had accepted his offer to dance.

  Then the image of Victoria’s fingers touching him intimately returned to taunt her. She did not trust Victoria and she certainly didn’t trust Lord Labourd. He was a rake. Rakes tended not to make good husbands. But he might make an excellent partner in her plan. If she could only convince him. Or had a chance to convince him.

  “I may even,” Victoria said, in a playfully mocking tone, “have suggested he ask you to dance.”

  Something did not add up. If Labourd were Victoria’s lover, why would she suggest Isobel as a potential wife? It was a puzzle she did not have time to pursue.

  She had promised to visit with Lady Evangeline, and take her son, Sealey, for a walk in Hyde Park. If she did not hurry she would be late, for now she would not feel happy until she had seen for herself that Cassandra was weathering the storm.

  She swallowed the last of her tea and made to rise from her chair.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Victoria asked, patting her lips with her napkin before placing it, neatly folded, back on the table.

  “I promised Lady Evangeline that I would take Sealey to the park. There is no need for me to take a chaperone. Since Evangeline was shot outside Lord Fullerton’s house, she and the boy are well guarded at all times by at least ten Bow Street Runners.”

  The slight crease between Victoria’s brows deepened. “Isn’t it a little early for a walk?”

  Isobel shook her head. “I really feel I should pay Cassandra a visit first. Just in case. I also need to know if she wishes me to correct the situation.”

  Victoria laughed, a tinkle of incredulity. “How on earth would you do that?”

  Isobel bit her lip. In all honesty, she had no idea, but calling on her friend was the right thing to do.

  “There may be no need to do anything. Lord Labourd’s attentions, as you say, may benefit her. If they don’t, then I will have to think of something.”

  Victoria studied her seriously, no humor in her eyes. “I’ve told you what to do. Try to ensnare the man yourself. You could do so much worse.”

  Isobel felt her mouth firm, her chin lift.

  But before she could say anything, Victoria lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t listen to me then. However, please remember we have Lady Mary Thorne’s musical soirée tonight.”

  Relieved at Victoria’s easy change of subject, Isobel nodded with more enthusiasm than she felt. “I remember. It’s just that it’s my last chance to see the boy for a few days. I believe Evangeline is off to visit a friend and Sealey will be staying with Lord Coldhurst.”

  “A friend?” Victoria’s eyes sharpened. “What friend? I thought Lady Evangeline has been living in Scotland for the last five years.”

  Isobel shrugged. “Which is probably why she wants to visit old acquaintances. Her mother, perhaps?”

  A look of disbelief passed over Victoria’s face. “I somehow doubt that.”

  She waited for her stepmother to say more, but when Victoria remained silent, Isobel bade her good morning and left to get ready for her outing.

  But a shaft of unease followed her as she ascended the stairs. It was as if she could still feel her stepmother’s gaze upon her back, cold, as if someone had dropped a handful of snow down her gown.

  Chapter 3

  Upon reaching Cassandra’s house, Isobel didn’t even have to leave her carriage to reassure her conscience. The number of flower arrangements being delivered, and presence of a dozen or so men seeking entrance to deliver their calling cards, indicated that Victoria had predicted correctly. The attentions of Lord Labourd had, overnight, turned Cassandra into the most sought-after debutante of the season.

  So Isobel gave herself a little hug and directed her driver to move on. She was particularly happy to see Lord London walking up the steps. Cassandra was half in love with the young Viscount. To think she might have a hand in securing her friend’s happiness warmed her.

  Isobel was still congratulating herself when the carriage stopped outside Evangeline’s house. The carriage door opened. Isobel extended her hand to take that of the footman sent to help her alight, only to find the hand she clasped belonged to none other than Lord Labourd.

  “How lovely to see you again, Lady Isobel,” he said, and before she could steel herself for another lethal assault on her senses, he drew her from the carriage into the light of day.

  Once on the ground, Isobel found herself face-to-face with a solid, masculine chest in an elegant midnight blue waistcoat. In her mind, however, that chest was brazenly, gloriously naked.

  Scrabbling for composure, she seized control of both her mind and her wits and glanced up to deliver a civil thank-you. But that upward glance proved to be a mistake.

  Lord Labourd’s mouth was curved in a lazy smile that instantly doubled her pulse rate. Dark curls framed his face; the few hanging across his forehead tempted her to reach out and push them aside so she could see into his long-lashed, hazel eyes. As if reading her thoughts, he released her hand and brushed the errant curls away.

  She wished she could take a step back, but the carriage blocked her. His eyes glimmered with frank interest and held her riveted in place.

  Fool. She realized she was staring again, and made as if to step round him. He merely angled his body, purposely blocking her way.

  “Excuse me, my lord. I’m late for an appointment, and little boys tend not to be very forgiving.”

  He was studying her as if trying to read her mind. “You’re here for Sealey?”

  Not that it was any of his business, but she nodded her confirmation. “I promised him a walk in the park.”

  A frown formed on his handsome features. “You do realize Lady Evangeline was shot a few days ago.”

  She wasn’t a fool. “I’m not sure what bearing that has. I was told it was an attempted robbery. Are you saying it is not so?”

  She edged round him as she spoke, and a moment later was walking swiftly up the stairs and into the house.

  Labourd’s long legs kept pace with her at a casual stroll. “We assume it was a robbery, but one can never be too careful.”

  Her lips twisted wryly. “Hence the reason there are so many guards around. I suspect Sealey finds the situation very exciting.”

  No sooner had she crossed the threshold when Sealey came racing toward her. “Auntie Isobel,” he cried as he flung his arms round her skirts. “Are you here to take me to the park?”

  In that moment she forgot the dark, brooding man beside her. Totally caught up in the little boy’s smile, she ruffled his curls on top of Sealey’s head.

  Before she could reply, Sealey turned to Lord Labourd. “Are you coming with us, sir?”

  Isobel’s heart sank. Goodness, she hoped not. She’d never be able to relax with Labourd walking beside her. Although…

  To her surprise he flashed a brilliant grin at the young boy. “I think a stroll in the fresh air would be lovely.” He regarded her over Sealey’s head. “I confess I wish to have a word with Lady Isobel.”

  Why did that sentence sound so ominous?

  Did he expect her to object? She had reasons of her own to want to be in his company. Well, he was in for a surprise. “Excellent idea, my lord.”

  The wary look that slid into his eyes was worth every second of the next uncomfortable hour she’d have to spend with him. Already she was aware of her uneasy stomach as it
flipped and flopped, both excited and fearful of spending time in his company.

  Being close to him in daylight was just as seductive as seeing him at the ball. His shoulders filled out his dark navy coat to perfection, while his buff breeches and polished Hessian boots molded to his long, powerful legs. Victoria was right: Lord Labourd was an exceedingly desirable man. But an exceedingly desirable husband? Definitely not.

  Ten minutes later, the large party left Evangeline’s townhouse for the short stroll to the park. Isobel did not need a chaperone. Accompanied by Wendy, who was Sealey’s nanny, and ten burly Bow Street Runners, they were hardly alone. The sight they made must rival the circus.

  It had been an unusually brisk summer, but the day was overcast, and wispy clouds covered the true heat of the sun. The park itself was busy. Isobel noted several raised eyebrows when people saw who was accompanying her. Just last night, the ton had concluded Lord Labourd had set his cap at Lady Cassandra. His presence in the company of a second debutante today indicated Lord Labourd was indeed on the marriage hunt.

  The thought made her smile. “You are causing quite a stir, my lord.”

  “Arend,” he said quietly. “Please, call me Arend.”

  Her mouth dried, but she nodded. “Arend, I’m…” She faltered on his name, the word sounding breathy even to her ears, and that would not do. She cleared her throat, and spoke more decidedly. “I’m afraid you have set the tongues wagging.”

  At his look of confusion, she continued, “You have paid attention to two debutantes—Lady Cassandra in the ballroom, and me in the park. Everyone now assumes you are hunting a wife.”

  His shoulder jerked, then relaxed. The smooth gaze he turned her way, and its blatantly assessing look, unsettled her. “Perhaps the gossips have understood the situation perfectly.”