A Night of Forever

by Bronwen Evans

  But to give in to his body’s desires would be unwise. His mind could not be distracted by lustful urges if he was to defeat a woman as clever as Victoria.

  “I swear I will protect your reputation,” he told her. “If your reputation becomes damaged, I will, of course, honor our betrothal.”

  Perhaps those words were a mistake, for more fear filled Isobel’s eyes, and he watched her expression change from open to guarded.

  “What do you expect this betrothal will gain?” she said.

  “That’s an excellent question, Isobel.” Understanding her instinctive resistance, Arend started to explain. “First, if we are to investigate Victoria, we need to spend a lot of time together. Unless we are betrothed, my reputation as a rake will damage yours.”

  She nodded. “That makes sense. So you wish me to pretend to be your betrothed?”

  “Yes. It would only be a temporary arrangement until we find evidence against Victoria. Then I can always give you grounds to cry off. Any lady may withdraw from a betrothal. You simply announce that you and I don’t suit.”

  “The only thing I’m worried about—well, one of the things I’m worried about—is society’s reaction to our sudden betrothal. It’s all a bit rushed, and they may assume…Please, get up.” She reached down, took his hand, and tugged it. “You are making a spectacle of yourself.”

  Still holding her hand, he rose to his feet, and then returned to his seat on the bench, glancing around the park as he did so. People were staring. He didn’t care, but for her sake he should have thought his plan through more carefully. He should’ve started to court her earlier so gossip did not erupt.

  “Besides,” Isobel said, “Victoria is going to be highly suspicious.”

  “Or she will think you’ve taken her advice.”

  Isobel shook her head. “No. She will be suspicious that you have suddenly taken an interest in me. Why would you propose to a woman you hardly know?”

  She was right. “This is why it is very dangerous for you. She may think you’re simply securing your future. On the other hand, she may guess you have some inkling of the truth, and will try to ascertain the extent of your involvement.”

  Her chin lifted. “It’s just as dangerous for you.”

  He shook his head. “She already knows I stand against her. Now she’ll know I’m entering her game—one where she holds the cards and makes the rules. I will be playing blind. However, if we are to win, I have to take a seat at the table.”

  He could tell by the flush on her cheeks that she understood what he was saying. It was also clear that she recognized the dangers she faced, and that they gave her pause. “You should be scared,” he said, with as much gentleness as he could. The back of his neck crawled at the thought of her possibly being in danger. “If we are to work together, your reputation will become a matter of speculation. But our betrothal should shield you from the worst suppositions. It will not shield you from Victoria. If anything, it will focus her attention on you.”

  Isobel sat silently, weighing her options.

  He shook his head. “I can see you have reservations. Hell, I have reservations. I don’t like putting you into a situation filled with such danger.”

  Suddenly she laughed. “I’m in danger anyway. My abduction and near death in that carriage accident are testimony to that fact. I think I’ll feel safer knowing you are watching over me.”

  God, he hoped he could protect her, but he would be unable to watch over her twenty-four hours a day. If Victoria got the slightest hint that Isobel was a willing participant in his game, that she was on his team, her life would be worth nothing.

  Any oddity associated with this betrothal would scarcely affect him. Society already had cast him as a villain. His rakish ways and outrageous deeds were overlooked only because of his wealth. As a gentleman, he should give her one last chance to make the sane choice.

  “I realize this is a momentous decision. Why not take the day to consider my offer? Give me an answer tonight. I shall be at whatever function you are attending to hear what you have to say.”

  The sounds of the park suddenly intruded on them. He’d completely blocked them from his mind, focusing instead on finding a way to get inside Victoria’s stronghold. Isobel was the key. Either she was innocent and would help him prove her stepmother was a killer, or she was party to this evil and would think she was fooling him. Either way, he would have to play this game of double cross carefully until he knew for sure which side Isobel was really on. He hoped he knew already, but there was too much at stake to assume. He could not afford to underestimate Victoria.

  Isobel stood, called to Sealey, and then turned to face him, a pretty pink flush on her cheeks.

  “I shall consider your plan and give you my response tonight.” She gazed round the park at those still staring, and when she continued, her voice was filled with amusement. “You will be in a pretty pickle if I do not accept. Either way, you are well and truly routed from your confirmed bachelorhood. I can already imagine the crush of mothers with eligible daughters at every event tonight.”

  He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “Only until you accept my proposal.” Her shiver fueled his confidence that the answer would be yes. He knew he affected her. Careful, he warned himself. If she was no longer a virgin by the end of this hunt, he would be married to her in truth.

  He knew he was in deep trouble when that thought did not scare him as it should.

  Because the thought should terrify him. If she was not involved with her stepmother’s schemes, he could never tie himself to a woman as pure and innocent as Isobel.

  He’d done things he was not proud of. He’d sunk as low as a man could go, driving himself relentlessly, desperately, only to discover he could not outrun the baseness of his own nature, never escape the self-recrimination. And when for a shining moment he’d believed there was hope he could rise above his past and cleanse his soul, a beautiful woman had made him party to his best friend’s murder. A friend who had known what he’d done to survive, yet still helped him. She’d murdered his friend and left Arend an exceedingly wealthy man. A good man, an honest man, was dead, and he—neither good nor honest—was alive.

  His friends thought he walked on water, the big adventurer who’d had so much success in finding a diamond mine. They had no idea how low he’d sunk before Jonathan had saved him. Before his naivety and lust had gotten Jonathan killed. Guilt ate at him every day, and he could never fill the aching void in his soul. He did not deserve joy or passion or a family.

  He deserved everything Victoria might do to him.

  So, for once, he would do the right thing. He would be the hero his friends thought him—and if he could not defeat Victoria, if his death appeased her, then so be it.

  Chapter 5

  Upon leaving the park, Arend went directly to Gentleman Jack’s. Tension wound tight in his neck. Excitement at the commencement of the game warred with worry at his lack of plan.

  The betrothal was a start. It would give him the opportunity to uncover Isobel’s secrets.

  Was her request for him to investigate her father’s purported murder merely a clever ruse to learn what was contained within the journals?

  He arrived at Gentleman Jack’s to find a good crowd watching the fights. There were plenty of men he could pummel to work off some of this tension.

  As he removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, waiting for his turn in the ring, he knew he was the subject of gossip.

  “It would seem you’ve lost your bet.”

  He knew who was speaking before he turned round. Bloody Philip Flagstaff, the Earl of Cumberland.

  “You owe me five hundred pounds,” Philip drawled. “If the gossips are to be believed.”

  “Save your congratulations,” Arend said through gritted teeth. “I’m still waiting for her answer.”

  Philip’s eyes went wide in mock horror. “Swipe me down with a feather—it is true. I thought the men were in their cups. Didn�
��t we make a pact that we would not consider matrimony until we were at least fifty?”

  Philip was aware of the enemy they faced but, to protect Isobel, Arend wanted as many people as possible to believe that his betrothal was real. “One does what one must for the sake of begetting the heir.”

  Philip’s eyebrows rose. He lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “I’m putting on a good show, old chap. Once I heard to whom you were betrothed, it became obvious that you have a plan.”

  Arend ignored his knowing wink. “Once you have met the right woman, there is no need to wait. I prefer to marry her now while I’m young enough to enjoy her and the children we may have.”

  He spoke loudly enough for several of the men standing close to hear, and soon he was the subject of congratulations and teasing in equal measure. It wasn’t often that one of London’s renowned rakes stepped willingly into matrimony.

  “She is a beauty,” Lord Rutherford proclaimed. “And of course she has a very large dowry. I believe her father left her more than comfortably off. Not that you need her money.”

  No. He only needed Isobel. “She is yet to accept me,” he told the rambunctious crowd.

  “Of course she’ll accept you,” one man jeered. “You’re wealthy beyond measure, in your prime, and handsome to boot.”

  “He’s also a total jackass,” Philip said.

  Arend took the banter, teasing, and congratulations in stride. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before his turn came to get into the ring.

  He spent the next twenty minutes pounding his sparring partner, easing the knots that still had every muscle tight.

  But even slamming his fists into someone couldn’t ease his dread of telling his friends what he’d done. He hadn’t shared his plan with any of them. He was sure the Libertine Scholars would not agree with his using Isobel in this way.

  As he stepped out of the ring, dripping with sweat, a towel hit him between the eyes. With muffled thanks he rubbed it over his head and brow, and only when he lowered his hands did he see who had thrown it.

  Hadley stood there, hands on hips, thunder on his face. “What the bloody hell are you playing at?”

  Arend tossed the towel back. “Keep your voice down.”

  “You should have talked to us first.” Hadley had lowered his voice, but judging by the white-knuckled fists balled at his side, he was still fuming. “The ladies are not going to be pleased about this.”

  “I don’t give a toss what they think.” Not true, but he couldn’t afford a conscience. “You and I both know we are running out of time. Victoria said—”

  “God damn it,” Hadley exploded. Then, recalling where he was, he went on in a moderated snarl. “I told you not to talk to Victoria. Tangling with her is dangerous.”

  “Too late.” Arend turned his back and began to dress.

  But Hadley wasn’t finished. “Why bring Isobel into this at all?”

  Arend closed his eyes briefly. God grant him patience. “As a matter of fact, she came to me.” Hadley’s look of disbelief made him add, “Isobel thinks Victoria had something to do with her father’s death. It seems the fire that killed him and his mistress was deliberately lit.”

  Hadley’s heavy frown eased a little as he considered this new information. But he wasn’t completely appeased. “That still doesn’t mean you have to bloody marry her.”

  Enough was enough. “Christ,” Arend muttered. “I need a drink.” And he turned and stalked out of Gentlemen Jack’s, not caring whether or not Hadley followed.

  In the street he hailed a hackney carriage, gave his destination, and climbed in. But before he could close the door, Hadley and Philip shoved in behind him. Although he felt like tossing them both out, he restrained himself. All three of them sat in stony silence until the hackney drew up at Arend’s home.

  “I’ll be damned if I’ll let you chew my ear off without a good brandy in hand,” he said. “You might as well come in.” He descended from the hackney and went up the steps to his front door, Hadley and Philip at his heels like determined dogs.

  As usual, he felt a prick of shame at the state of his home. Jeeves, his long-suffering butler, chastised him constantly about not spending some of his wealth on his dilapidated townhouse. But he didn’t deserve to live in comfort, to spend his money on himself when Jonathan…

  Hadley and Philip had seen his home often enough that they barely noted the sorry state it was in.

  Once the men were settled in the drawing room, he poured them all brandy and flung himself into his favorite chair next to the fire. The first gulp of liquid made his insides glow. A few more, and he wouldn’t care what either man said.

  Philip raised his glass. “Here’s to a successful engagement, and to Victoria’s comeuppance.”

  Arend could drink to that. And did.

  “Here’s to hoping we bloody well don’t get Isobel killed,” Hadley said. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”

  He drank to that too, then decided two toasts were enough. “What else were we to do?” he said. “This is the perfect way to prove that Isobel is innocent. In addition, we now have someone in Victoria’s household who can pass us information.”

  Hadley leaned forward in his seat. “Victoria is not that stupid. Any information that Isobel learns is likely to be information Victoria feeds her. It will, most likely, lead us into a trap.”

  “But it will be a trap we know is a trap,” Arend argued. “That makes a huge difference.”

  The other two exchanged a glance. “I don’t see how,” Philip remarked gravely.

  Arend was sick of their gloomy outlook. “Does anyone have a better plan?” When the two men remained silent, he remarked, “I thought not.”

  The fight appeared to have gone out of Hadley. “Just be careful. I’m leaving town for a few days, traveling to Lathero.”

  He regarded Hadley through half-closed eyes. “Evangeline agreed to go, then?”

  “Yes. We need some time away from all of this to see what is left between us.”

  Arend nodded. He was happy for his friend. Five years ago Evangeline and Hadley had been torn apart. Now reunited, they were both unsure if they could pick up the pieces of their past love affair. They deserved time to find out.

  “Sebastian has agreed to look after Sealey,” Hadley said. “I also heard Evangeline say Isobel might take the boy to Richmond Park. Would she let Isobel near her son if she thought her in league with Victoria?”

  “I’ll accompany them,” Arend said. Nothing would happen to Evangeline’s son if he could prevent it. “The boy’s life should not be trusted to Isobel until we know for certain whose side she is on.”

  Hadley’s smile held both relief and gratitude. “Thank you. I would feel easier if you were with them. I wish I could have as much faith in Isobel as Evangeline does, but I won’t risk anyone I love. That includes you, Arend. Please be careful. Now I must be on my way.”

  Hadley swallowed the last of his brandy, put his glass on the table at his elbow, and shoved to his feet. “Now. You”—he turned to Philip—“make sure he stays out of trouble. And you”—he stabbed a forefinger in Arend’s direction—“go and tell the other Libertine Scholars what you’re up to. They can’t protect you if you keep them in the dark.”

  Arend had the grace to feel sheepish. They were all in this together. And then his usual sense of guilt took over. How long would that togetherness last when they—who were now his friends—learned of the true depths to which he’d fallen?

  All of them were the sons of fathers who had believed they had the right to do anything they wished to anyone. Sons of fathers who had kidnapped and almost undoubtedly raped Victoria. And yet all of these men, his friends, had grown into honorable, fine, decent men. All except him.

  He’d thought, when the clues to their villain led them to Angelo and the Top Hat, London’s finest molly house, that his sordid past would be revealed. It hadn’t been. Not yet. But it could be a card Victoria was yet to play. Angelo had known
about Arend’s past, so it was almost certain Victoria did too.

  He wondered, icy dread freezing the blood in his veins, if he’d have the strength to deny Victoria anything if she threatened to tell his friends—these fine, honorable men—what he had done to survive.

  Was that why Victoria was leaving her vengeance against him until last?

  He poured another glass of brandy and tossed it straight down. Only then did he realize both men were staring at him. “Did I miss something?”

  “I said,” Philip said, “that with Hadley away, I’m more than happy to watch your back. You’re distracted.” He looked pointedly at the glass in Arend’s hand. “You’re also getting close and you are probing, which makes you a target. Even when you’re not distracted, you take too many risks.”

  “At the moment life is a risk for us all,” Arend said.

  “You more than most.” But Hadley’s pained expression faded into resignation. “Tell the others. Let them help you, and for God’s sake be careful.”

  “I will.” Arend waved him away. “Now, go to your lady and bother her instead of me.”

  Philip waited only until the door closed behind Hadley before continuing the conversation.

  “How are you going to find out if Isobel is in Victoria’s pocket, so to speak?”

  Arend gazed into the fireplace through hooded eyes. “I’m still working on that.” He lifted the decanter. “More?”

  “Please.” Philip held out his glass to be refilled. “May I offer a suggestion?”

  Arend nodded as liquid splashed into Philip’s glass. “At this point I’m out of ideas and I’d like to present the others with a real plan.” He refilled his own glass, replaced the decanter on the table, and leaned back in his chair. “The floor is yours.”

  “Your betrothal,” Philip said, as if he weighed each word before he released it, “is a perfect foil. Seduce her. Take her to your bed. Make Isobel fall in love with you. Then, even if she is in league with Victoria, she’ll desert Victoria for the man she loves. If she’s not in league with Victoria, the worst you’ve done is make another woman lose her heart to you.”