Sebastian shook his head and gestured for him to keep his seat. “The women are well protected at Grayson’s.”
“And he has most of Colbert’s men there,” Philip said.
“But Marisa is here,” Maitland snarled. “Not in London.”
The men all started talking at once, each trying to be heard over the other.
“I think it was a ruse.”
Isobel’s voice wasn’t loud, but it stopped Maitland in his tracks. “Do you indeed?” he said, with a ducal bite to his tone.
Arend decided this woman who held his heart in a vise was far too clever for her own good. “Why is that?” he asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she said. “He could have snatched me and used me for leverage. Instead, he merely”—she hesitated, her face flushing a rosy red—“kissed me and delivered his warning.”
Arend knew what Maitland was going to say the moment he opened his arrogant mouth.
“Perhaps Dufort is your lover,” he said. “And, knowing Arend saw you kissing Dufort like a strumpet in the street, you’re trying to distance yourself from him and your stepmother.”
Isobel paled, and her eyes sought Arend’s. “You saw me?”
He nodded. “I too had been trailing Dufort.”
Her chin lifted but her mouth trembled. “I did not willingly kiss him. He pulled me into an embrace before I could stop him.”
He tried to read her, but, as usual, he began to doubt what his eyes clearly saw: innocence. Her eyes held his. There was no guilty slide away. Her expression remained calm, but there was hurt in the set of her shoulders, and her trembling lips firmed.
Trust her.
He held her gaze and took the plunge from the top of the cliff. He would believe her. “I agree that they are most probably planning a move on us. If not, they would have taken you. Dufort might have known I was following him—hence the kiss. If you were his lover, he would have taken you to keep you safe from us. If you weren’t, he would have taken you for leverage. Therefore, it’s safe to assume they have one more plan. Victoria intends to move against me before she quits England.”
“You believe her?” Maitland threw his arms in the air. “I never took you for a fool.”
Was he a fool? “I think Dufort knew I was following him. He kissed Isobel on purpose so I’d see and report back. Divide and conquer.” He glared at Maitland. “It’s working.”
Maitland wasn’t convinced. “Are you willing to stake your life on it? Stake all our lives?”
He considered the question and eyed Isobel. She leaned forward slightly in her chair, as if willing him to defend her. This time he could read her clearly. She hoped he believed her.
Trust her or lose her.
“I’d stake my life on Isobel’s word rather than the word of a twisted woman like Victoria or a lapdog like Dufort.” It wasn’t an out-and-out declaration of his belief in her innocence, but he’d chosen a side.
He shifted his gaze to Maitland. “Besides, we can watch Isobel. We can’t watch Victoria or Dufort. Who knows when they’ll strike?”
He sensed, rather than saw, Isobel slump in her chair. When he finally had the courage to glance back at her, the pain on her face told him his lack of a decisive declaration of trust had hurt her badly. His heart gave a hard kick in his chest.
Maitland laughed. It was an unpleasant sound, full of malevolence and menace. “I’m thrilled you believe Isobel. What the hell is wrong with you? The woman has you so tied up in lust you would sell your grandmother were she still alive. We all know about your past experience with femmes fatales.”
“Steady on, old boy.” Philip gripped Arend’s arm, pressing him back into his seat before he could launch himself at Maitland. “That kind of talk is not helping anyone.”
Isobel rose, and all the men with the exception of Maitland did so too. “It certainly isn’t. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll retire.”
She shot the still seated duke a look of pure loathing. “It would seem you gentlemen have much to discuss. There is nothing more I can add. Either believe me or do not.”
Arend crossed the room and opened the door for her. He didn’t want to get into another “discussion” with Maitland. He’d say something he’d regret or he’d plant a fist in his friend’s face. He couldn’t face either prospect.
She glanced at him and slowed as she passed. “There is no need to follow me. I’m not going anywhere.”
He moved closer. Lowered his voice. “I don’t intend to follow you. I intend to talk with you. In private.”
She hesitated, then nodded and walked out.
Arend gave the room’s occupants a single, scorching glare and left the room in her wake, slamming the door behind him.
Stalking after her as she made her way up the narrow staircase to the sleeping chambers above was both heaven and hell. The swaying of her bottom as she moved made his body tighten and throb, and images flooded his mind: Isobel on all fours, glancing over her shoulder at him, her pert, naked bottom an offering for his hands and mouth, her tight heat open to his cock—
He smothered a groan. Maitland had been right about one thing. This woman sent his world spinning; he could not deny that. When he heard her laughter or her soft voice in his ear, his defenses crumbled and he wanted to believe in a happy future with her.
By the time he entered their room, she was standing by the small fire in the grate opposite the bed, her back to him. To a stranger, to a man who did not know her as well as he did, she might look fragile, but he knew that she was made of steel.
Arend closed the door behind him and crossed the room to stand at her side.
He took her tiny hand in his. “I believe Victoria will try something.”
“She won’t go after one of the wives.” Isobel didn’t look at him but stared down into the fire. “She’ll go after you. She must have a very good plan, one she’s positive will succeed, if she was willing to give up the chance to capture me. The easiest way to lure you out would have been to take me then. Why didn’t she?”
“That’s what the others will be discussing,” Arend said steadily. “And their conclusions will not look good for you. They will assume you’re lying to save yourself.”
Now she turned her head to look at him. “I don’t care what those men downstairs think. But I care deeply what you think.”
He lifted his hand and cupped her chin. “I believe you.”
To his surprise he realized he was speaking the truth. He did believe her.
She studied him silently for several moments before her luscious lips curved up in a smile. She moved into him, and he enfolded her in his arms, stroking down her back.
“I was so worried you wouldn’t believe me either,” she murmured into his chest. “It’s as if Victoria takes joy in making me look guilty. I almost wonder if she’s still planning to have you kill me, so that when you find out I’m innocent you’ll have to live with the guilt.”
Arend’s chest went rigid beneath her fingers. “Damn the woman. I think you’re right. She knows about my past.”
He had been in Paris at the same time as Victoria. She’d operated Fleur de Lily, known Angelo, and known what Arend had become for that short period in his miserable life. He might try to fancy it up by saying he was Mademoiselle Boldier’s lover, but in reality he was her kept man. And the things he’d had to do to please her would shock even the devil himself.
If Victoria knew how Juliette had died, if she knew the guilt that ate at him every day…
Was she using his memories to taunt him into making a mistake?
He closed his eyes against the embarrassing and humiliating memories. “She knows about my past,” he repeated.
—
Which was more than Isobel knew. She pressed for answers. “About the woman in Brazil?”
“Yes, and more. She knows I have a deep distrust of women.”
There was more? She tried hard to control her frustration. “One day you’re going to have to le
t me come closer. It’s hard to understand you when you won’t tell me anything.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Believe me, you are better off not knowing.”
She drew back. “I don’t believe that. Whatever has happened in the past has made you the man you are today, and I happen to be falling in love with that man.”
His body went rigid. The silence lengthened.
“It means a lot to hear you say that,” he said finally. “I’m not proud of my past. Even the other Libertine Scholars don’t know about that time. If I tell them, tell you, you’ll never look at me the same way again.”
She didn’t believe that either. “You are scared you’ll lose them? Lose me?” When he nodded, she said, “Never.” Here was the moment, so she took a stab in the dark. “This has nothing to do with what happened in Brazil, does it?”
He gently pulled away but kept both her hands in his. “No, it happened before Brazil. I went to Brazil sick in my soul and desperate to lose myself in a place where no one would know me.”
So lonely. So hopeless. Her heart swelled with compassion. “I thought you’d gone there for the diamonds.”
His laugh held a tired, defeated edge. “Ironic, isn’t it? I went to Brazil to punish myself, ended up as rich as Croesus, and managed to cause a man’s death. But I come back to England and no one gives a damn. I have wealth, therefore I have no sins. Nothing of the past matters. No one cares what happened to me in the five years I was away.”
A flash of understanding assailed her.
“You feel too guilty to spend your wealth. You did not kill anyone in Brazil. Would Jonathan expect you to live like this? You told me he was a good man. He would have understood.”
He shrugged. “But I’m not a good man.”
How could he believe that? “I think you are.”
The edge of his mouth curled up. “You don’t know me well enough yet. That’s what scares me.”
This time she did not let him keep her at a distance. She moved into his arms and kissed him.
It was a kiss intended to show him that no matter what had happened in his past, she would stand by his side.
The kiss, as it always did between them, turned fierce. His mouth consumed her, and the familiar heat and desire rose within her.
He was expert at using sensuality to divert her. But not this time.
She broke the kiss and stood looking up at him, breasts heaving. “This thing that has made you sick to your soul—is it something you did? Or is it something someone did to you?”
The flash of pain that lit his eyes made her want to step back into his arms and comfort him, to tell him she didn’t care what it was.
But she did care. She cared because it still ate Arend up inside. He blamed himself for something, either imagined or real—and it appeared to be more than the death of his partner in Brazil. Until he could forgive himself, he would never heal. He would forever hold her at a distance, and his heart would never be whole.
He turned away from her. “Now is not the place or time to discuss my past. I want to talk about your meeting with Dufort. Did he say anything else?”
Isobel almost cried out in frustration. So close. She could tell that he’d almost decided to disclose at least part of his life. Then fear had entered his eyes, and he’d stepped back.
She let out a long sigh. One day—and she didn’t know how long it would take—he’d share his heart with her. Until then, she’d treat him like any other wounded animal: with love, tenderness, and understanding.
At this moment he wanted to know about Dufort.
“I told you everything downstairs,” she said, and started ticking the items off on her fingers. “I was looking out the window. I saw Dufort below. I raced downstairs onto the street. I followed him for two blocks. He disappeared round a corner. I chased him. He was waiting. He grabbed me and kissed me. I stamped on his foot. He let me go. He gave me the message and disappeared. I came home and waited for you.”
Arend sat on the end of the bed. “There must be something more. Something to give us a clue as to what her plan is.”
“Yes.” Isobel had spent all afternoon pondering the same thing. “The kiss Dufort gave me is the clue. Victoria’s plan has something to do with me. I believe she’s going to make it look as if I’m in league with her, and then manipulate the situation so that you—or one of the other Libertine Scholars—kill me.” It was the only thing that made sense. “If she knows your past, then she knows what killing, or helping to kill, an innocent woman will do to you.”
He blinked, and his chest lifted in a sharp breath. “She won’t accomplish that. I’m not letting you out of this room again until the wretched woman is in custody.”
She smiled at his overprotectiveness. “You agree with my conclusion?”
His hooded gaze didn’t soften. “This is serious, Isobel. Women like Victoria will do anything to anyone to win their sick little games. She is dangerous.”
Isobel took a step closer to him. That outburst told her more about his past life. More than one woman had hurt him. “Then let’s work out how to stop her. If you were going to destroy us, where would you attack?”
“Where you would not expect me to.” He clapped his forehead. “This house. I’d attack this house.”
She nodded. “Good. How would you get in?”
Arend began pacing the floor. “The front door is guarded and the door is solid oak. She’d have to batter it down, and we’d hear that.”
Just then Mrs. Clarke, the housekeeper, knocked, and Arend bade her enter. She had brought more coal for the fire.
Isobel moved out of the woman’s way and sat on the edge of the bed before rolling onto on her stomach, propped on her elbows, her slippers knocking together as she concentrated on visualizing Victoria’s diabolical plan.
“There is the servants’ entrance down the alleyway,” she said. “It’s not a solid door. Other than by climbing up a wall and through an upstairs window—which is possible, but noisy, and people would probably notice—I can’t see how else any attacker could get into the house.”
“Excuse me, my lady.” Mrs. Clarke had stopped filling the coal bucket. “If you are worried about security, then you are staying in the wrong street in Deal.”
“What do you mean?” Arend almost barked out the words, and the poor woman took a step back at the violence in his tone.
Isobel rose quickly and stepped between them. “Don’t be afraid. Please continue. We are extremely interested to know what you mean. How is this the wrong street?”
She swallowed and curtsied. “Yes, my lady.” She slid Arend a nervous look. “Well, in the early seventeen hundreds the town was notorious for the fact that smugglers made it too dangerous for honest citizens—especially women—to walk about the town. So, to protect themselves, the people of Deal dug a network of underground tunnels. They still run beneath the main streets and houses.”
Chapter 20
“Did you know about the tunnels?” Isobel asked an obviously stunned Arend.
He shook his head and turned his attention back to the Mrs. Clarke. “Is there a tunnel into this house?”
“Oh, yes,” the woman said. “With the entrance hidden in the cellar. I still use it in midwinter when it’s really cold. I can walk to the market at the end of Ashburn Street without getting wet.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Clarke,” she said. “I’m very grateful.”
A smile broke over Arend’s face. “So am I. In fact, Mrs. Clarke, I could kiss you.”
“And I wouldn’t even mind,” Isobel laughed.
“Oh, my lady.” The older woman blushed. “It’s been ages since Mr. Clarke passed away and a handsome devil tried to take liberties.”
“Then it’s well past time.” Arend became serious. “Thank you, Mrs. Clarke. You may just have helped prevent a tragedy.”
With that Arend stepped forward and placed a swift kiss on her lips.
Mrs. Clarke giggled. “Go on with y
ou.” Then she turned to Isobel. “The townsfolk try to keep the tunnels a secret from outsiders, but most of the smugglers born and bred in Deal know of them.”
“Thank you,” Isobel said.
“It was nothing, my lady.” Mrs. Clarke curtsied again and smiled. “I’m pleased to help such a lovely couple.”
Mrs. Clarke thought them husband and wife. Isobel felt the heat radiating from her cheeks. She hated the deception.
Once Mrs. Clarke had left the room, Isobel asked the question she couldn’t ask in front of her. “Do you think Victoria knows we are lovers?”
Arend appeared surprised. “You said she told you so when she kidnapped you.”
Of course. “So she would assume we share a bed?”
He nodded. “Your point is?”
“I’m thinking about what they will do when they sneak through these tunnels and into the house.”
“If they sneak in.” He frowned. “Surely they must be aware that we know about the tunnels.”
She smiled. “But we didn’t know.”
She rolled onto her back as Arend sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard. It was difficult to concentrate with him posed in such a way. All she could think about was straddling him and…
She looked away from the glorious sight. “I think they have been watching us to see if we have been using the tunnels. That’s why Dufort walked past my window. He wanted to see how I’d leave the house. I’ll wager they have also put feathers on the tunnel door.”
Arend crooked his finger at her, and she gave in to the need to crawl up the bed and straddle him. “I love that brain of yours,” he whispered against her ear.
For one moment her world halted. She wished he could simply love all of her, not just her brain.
Be brave.
She slid her hands inside his jacket and began to unhook his waistcoat. “What else do you love about me?”
A wary look entered his eyes, but when her hand fitted over his growing erection, a wicked smile settled on his lips.
“I do love the way your mind works,” he said. “And if you let me slowly undress you, I shall demonstrate what else I love about you.”
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