Her hand flew to her scar, but he pulled it away. “Beautiful,” he repeated, and placed a kiss on her wound.
His words humbled her, and she knew she was blushing. “You are very good at giving pleasure.”
He stepped forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I am when I am with you.”
She wanted to believe him, was desperate to believe him, but he’d been with women far more experienced than she.
He must have seen something in her face. “Truly,” he said. “I love the innocence and awe you bring me when we are together.”
Innocence. Was that what he wanted? “I won’t be innocent forever,” she whispered. “Then what? Will it still be as special?”
He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it. They stood watching each other, both seemingly desperate to make this relationship work, and neither of them knowing how.
“You should go,” she said. “Philip will be waiting.” But she couldn’t let him leave with such naked pain on his face. “Be safe. Wait for me in Deal.”
He hesitated, then nodded and, without another word, slipped out the door.
Chapter 18
Isobel paced the floor of her bedroom in the house at Deal. She felt as though she had been there forever, trapped and confined. But in fact, she had arrived in the town only the day before. And she’d found both Philip and Arend still in one piece.
They’d found no sign of Victoria, however.
They’d found no leads at all.
But there was one perfect consequence from the trip. Marisa had assumed she and Arend were lovers—well, they were lovers, of a sort—and as a result, Isobel had woken this morning with Arend lying beside her in bed, sound asleep.
It was wonderful. Amazing. Perfect. She’d simply rolled onto her side and watched him as he slept. Watched his chest slowly rise and fall. Watched his mouth soft in relaxation, his handsome face tranquil, his jaw less taut. She hugged the moment to herself and wished with all her heart that one day he could shed the strain of his past as easily when he was awake as he did when he slept.
It had been awkward sharing a room because Arend was adamant that he would not force her to wed him by getting her with child. Deep inside, she respected and admired his stance, but she longed to feel the intimacy of their joining once again. Seeing him in the throes of passion had been a revelation to her. It was as if, for an instant, his walls came down and the man he could be if he just forgave himself was revealed.
She pushed the drapes aside and peered out to the street below, wondering when Arend would be back.
He had gone out early with Christian to speak to a smuggler with ties to France and a reputation for being the best at escaping the revenue men’s interest. Victoria would only use the best. She could certainly afford it.
Before they’d left, the men had instructed Isobel and Marisa to stay inside. The last thing they wanted was for Victoria to spot either of them and learn that the Libertine Scholars were in Deal.
They were right, of course. To be seen would be very silly.
Isobel was about to turn away and go downstairs to find Marisa when something in the street below caught her attention. She looked closer and went still. Her eyes had to be playing tricks. She pressed her palms flat against the glass, balancing on her toes to get a better look. She had been right. It was Dufort. Dufort was walking along the street in front of their house, as bold as brass.
She hesitated for only a moment, then made her decision. If she could follow him, he might lead her to Victoria.
Before her fear could get the better of her, Isobel grabbed her bonnet and raced down the stairs and out onto the street.
Fortunately, Dufort was tall enough that he stood out from the crowd, and she could follow at a distance without losing him. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. In fact, he seemed to stop at almost every street vendor, even buying an apple from someone in a shop doorway.
Every time he stopped, she turned away and pretended to look in a shop window. But this time when she turned back, her breath clogged in her throat. He was gone. Frantic, she glanced around, scanned the street to her left, her right. She couldn’t have lost him. He had to be up ahead. So she quickened her step, lengthening her stride so she was almost running when she reached the corner—
And Dufort stepped out right in front of her.
“My beauty, we meet again.”
She opened her mouth to scream. At the same instant, he jerked her against him and covered her open mouth in a bruising kiss.
She tried to push against his chest, but he’d effectively pinned her arms to her sides, making it almost impossible to move. And that travesty of a kiss went on, and on, and on. The stench of his breath and the rancid taste of his mouth made the bile rise in her throat and almost choke her.
Through her panic, all she could think of was how angry Arend would be that she’d revealed their presence.
Just when Isobel thought she really was about to faint, Dufort broke the kiss and immediately clamped a hand over her mouth.
“No need to scream,” he growled in her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m to give you a message.”
How could he have come to give her a message? How did Victoria know they were in Deal? That she was in Deal?
“Oh,” jeered Dufort. “Did you think I usually dawdle along the road, wasting my time with hawkers? I was the bait to draw Arend out. But I can make do with a pretty little bird instead. I’m going to remove my hand. One scream, and I’ll slice you open. Perhaps give you matching scars.” Slowly he removed his hand.
Isobel wanted to both scream and spit in Dufort’s face, but she had no doubt he would do exactly what he said. “What’s your message?”
Instead of answering her, he ran his hand down her back and over her bottom.
Revolted and furious, she stamped down hard with her heel, grinding it into the top of his boot. “Take your hands off me.”
“Bloody witch,” he snarled. But to her amazement he did as she told him.
“If you have a message,” she said coldly, “give it to me and go.”
“With pleasure.” His smile was like that of a man who had discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. “Tell your fiancé and his friends that if they don’t turn tail for home and let Victoria leave England, one of their women will die.”
She almost laughed. “As Victoria has been trying to harm their wives since the beginning, I doubt this message will sway any of them.”
“No?” He stepped back. “You tell them.”
And then he was gone, lost in the crowd.
Isobel stood on the street corner, totally at a loss. What a strange warning. And why hadn’t he simply dragged her off? They could have used her for leverage.
Judging by the look of the people around her, Isobel could have screamed her head off and no one would have interfered even if she’d put up a fight.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. It felt as if someone was watching her. Had Dufort returned? Sent someone to take her after all?
She swung round, scanning the crowded street. But there was no one obviously coming for her. For a moment she stood there, undecided as to what to do next. Then a cart rumbled past, dipped a wheel into a deep puddle in the street, and sloshed dirty water all over her dress. It was definitely time to return to the house.
—
Betrayal! Arend stepped back into the shadows, numb.
He’d been leaving a tavern down by the docks when he’d first spotted Dufort and set out to tail him. Now he almost wished he hadn’t followed the man.
He waited for familiar red-hot anger to rise within him, but it didn’t. It seemed as though the blood in his veins had turned to ice the moment he’d spotted Isobel kissing Dufort.
His heart cried out that it wasn’t true. That she would never betray him. But his brain had other ideas. If Isobel were innocent, then surely Dufort would have snatched her. Victoria would then have had a hostage to use to bar
gain for her freedom.
He’d told her to stay in the house, yet here she was. Out on the street. Meeting Dufort. Kissing Dufort.
He closed his eyes against the pain of his vision, but all he saw was Isobel. She was a temptress, and she didn’t even have to try. The only woman since the bitch in Brazil who could drive him so wild he’d let down his guard. She haunted him, even in his dreams.
With all his soul he wanted to believe Isobel innocent of duplicity. But was she too making a fool of him?
It was then Arend realized Dufort had gone.
Fool. He’d been so distraught at what he’d seen that he’d frozen and lost the perfect chance to follow the man.
But he could follow Isobel. With a heavy heart, he waited for her to pass him on the other side of the street. She was walking back in the direction of the house. And she looked upset.
God. He wanted to believe she was his, not Victoria’s.
Trust. He breathed in deeply. She’d asked him to trust her. So he would do the mature thing. He would ask her where she’d been today, and what had happened.
He hoped she would tell him the truth. He hoped that the truth proved her to be innocent, because if she was guilty, she would hang as surely as would Victoria.
How would he live without Isobel in his life?
With these dark thoughts in his head, Arend dogged Isobel’s steps back to the house and watched her slip around to the rear and disappear through the servants’ entrance. Undecided about what to do, he found a place where he could watch the back door. Would she come out again? Was this part of Victoria’s strategy?
He struggled with the need to find her, to demand an explanation. But he simply didn’t know what to do.
So he watched. And waited. And his heart chilled and ached.
Finally, as dusk fell, he returned to the front entrance, walked up the steps, and into the house.
He found his friends in the drawing room with brandy and glum expressions. “Have you seen Isobel?”
“No,” Sebastian said. “I assumed she was in your—her room.”
The men chuckled at the slip.
Doubt churning in Arend’s gut made him ignore Sebastian’s insinuation. It was the truth. He slept in her bed, shared intimacies with her. It hurt to think all of that was false.
“The tavern landlord has agreed to notify me should anyone fitting Victoria’s description be seen in the area,” he said instead.
“I can’t understand how they are moving around Deal without being seen,” Hadley exclaimed. “Someone must be hiding them. The money is being sent here, but is that a diversion? Someone else may collect the money on her behalf.”
Arend knew he had to tell them. “I saw Dufort on the main street today.”
All eyes riveted on him.
“Was he alone?” Sebastian asked. “Where did he go to?”
Should he lie? “I lost him in the crowd.”
Sebastian’s raised eyebrows indicated his disbelief. “You lost him?”
“Did he see you?”
Hadley’s question made him start. He’d been so stunned he’d completely taken his eyes off the departing Dufort.
“In all honesty,” he said, “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” But Dufort had seen Isobel, so Victoria knew they were here.
He had to tell them. “He saw Isobel.” Arend didn’t have to tell them everything—the kiss, for example.
“Oh, that’s great.” Hadley surged to his feet. “We have to do something. If Victoria knows we’re here, she’ll be on the next boat to France.”
“What,” Maitland said with deceptive mildness, “was Isobel doing out of the house?”
Arend had been waiting for him to ask the question. Maitland’s wife believed in Isobel, but Maitland himself had lost much, and his heart was full of anger and the need for revenge.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose she thought she was helping by doing her own reconnaissance.”
Maitland folded his arms across his chest and said nothing, but his eyes conveyed precisely what he thought.
“Victoria’s going to slip away, isn’t she?” Hadley turned to look at each of them, his despair evident. “We’ll never find her now. There are too many boats trading between here and France for us to stake them all out. And we’ve found no one willing to reveal her hiding spot no matter the price. Nor will they tell us if she has booked passage with them.”
The pain on Hadley’s face tore into Arend’s soul. He owed these men everything. When he’d been an outcast they had given him safe haven. They hadn’t cared that his family had no money, or that they were predominantly French, or that his father was a mere lowly baron. How could he not tell them?
“Isobel was kissing Dufort.”
Chapter 19
It killed Arend to say those words.
Maitland sat bolt upright. “Are you telling us she met with Dufort?”
“No. I’m saying I saw her in his arms being kissed. There is a difference.” A fine line, for sure, but still a difference. Trust her. He wanted to trust her.
“Christ,” Sebastian muttered. “No wonder you lost sight of the man.”
“Enough.” Maitland shoved to his feet. He’d managed four strides toward the door before Arend seized his arm.
Maitland shook him off.
Arend grabbed his jacket. “Don’t you bloody touch her. It could have been innocent—”
“Innocent?” Maitland broke his hold and shoved him away. “We’ve said that since day one, and yet whenever these two villains strike, Isobel is always there. I want answers. Get out of my way.”
Maitland was beyond reason. Beyond control. Arend didn’t waste time arguing. He tackled the Duke and took him to the floor, holding him there in desperate despair.
“Duke or not,” he ground out as Maitland bucked and twisted underneath him, “you won’t treat Isobel like the enemy until we’ve heard her side of the story. I won’t allow it.”
Maitland’s answer was a curse and a solid punch to Arend’s left cheek that caused stars to flare and pop in his vision.
The next thing he knew, Hadley had grabbed him, Philip had seized Maitland, and they were dragging the two of them apart. Everyone was struggling and fighting and snarling at each other.
“For God’s sake,” Sebastian shouted over the din, “this is not helping.”
And the door crashed open.
As one, they all swung around to see who had dared interrupt their “discussion,” and there she stood, glaring at them all. Beautiful. Outraged. Isobel.
“What on earth is going on?” She sounded as angry as they had. “Marisa’s asleep, and I can hear you cursing each other from upstairs.”
For the first time since they’d arrived in Deal, Arend wished Isobel had stayed with Portia and the other wives. Grayson’s home was well guarded, and he and Christian had taken steps to ensure the women’s safety.
“A slight disagreement, my dear.” He jerked his arm out of Hadley’s grasp and straightened, brushing his clothes into order—and pretending he didn’t still see the ghosts of stars behind his eyes, or ache where Maitland’s solid punch had caught him.
“Slight?” She sounded as incredulous as she looked. “Well, stop acting like children. I have something I wish to talk to you about in private. Excuse us, gentlemen.”
“No.” Maitland jerked his arm out of Philip’s restraining grip and stalked toward her. “You are not excused. If you have something to say, we want to hear it. I want to hear it—and I won’t be as easy to manipulate as Arend, as I’m not in lust with you.”
“Damn you, Maitland.” Fists clenched, Arend took a step closer to the towering and scowling nobleman. “One more word and I’ll—”
“That’s enough.” Isobel stepped into the room and closed the door. “Quite enough. From both of you. What I wish to say is no secret. Embarrassing, but not secret. As for you, Your Grace”—she swept Maitland head to toe with disdainful contempt and then skewered hi
m with a cold stare—“you wait until Marisa hears what you just said to me.”
Maitland’s face flushed, but she ignored him and, turning away, took a chair by the fire. To Arend’s amusement, it happened to be Maitland’s.
“I feel the need for something stronger than tea,” she said. “Here, in a smugglers’ paradise, there should be plenty of fine French brandy.”
“Of course.” Arend had to admire her courage. Confronted by five large, angry men, she appeared as calm as if she were having afternoon tea with her friends.
Philip poured her brandy, Hadley and Sebastian righted fallen chairs and rearranged the seating, and soon everyone was settled in their seats to hear Isobel’s explanation of the morning’s events.
Isobel sighed. “I know you’re going to reprimand me, but I left the house this morning.”
“Why?” Arend tried to remain calm. “I told you we had to stay hidden. Philip and I were the only ones allowed to leave, and in disguise. If Victoria knows we are here, she may well run before we can find her.”
Isobel shook her head. “She’s not running. In fact, after my conversation with Dufort this morning, I’ll swear she’s going to attack again.”
“So,” Maitland growled, “you admit you met with Dufort.”
“No.” She looked Maitland straight in the eye, refusing to cower. “I did not meet him. I followed him. I saw him from my bedroom window, walking up the street as bold as brass. So I slipped out to follow him.”
Then why were you kissing him? Arend had to bite his tongue to stop from asking the question he was desperate to have answered.
Maitland stared first at him, and then at Isobel. It was a cold, hard, unforgiving look. “And?”
“And”—her mouth twisted, and for the first time Arend thought he saw uncertainty in her face—“Dufort gave me a message for you.” When they remained silent, she continued quietly, “He said that if you don’t leave Deal immediately, one of your wives will die.”
“I’ll kill her.” Maitland shoved to his feet, cursing. “I swear I’ll kill her.”
Worried that he meant Isobel, Arend started to rise.
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