A Night of Forever

by Bronwen Evans

  “Lady Isobel,” the woman cried.

  Fury bubbled in his blood. “Did she do this to you?”

  “No.” Mrs. Clarke stared at him as if he were crazed. “Of course not.” She blinked, turned her head slowly, and reached for the glass he held. “The woman behind her did. The one with the pistol.”

  A sliver of hope tried to pierce the newly reinforced fortress round his heart.

  “Did Lady Isobel say anything at all?” he asked, with his breath held tight in his aching chest.

  “No.” Mrs. Clarke paused. “Yes. I think her mouth moved, but I didn’t catch what she said. I was so surprised to see a woman dressed as a man. Not Lady Isobel,” she said hastily. “The one who hit me. But it was a woman, and she had a pistol.” Her eyes went wide. “She could have shot me. She might shoot Lady Isobel.”

  Arend tried to hide his frustration and disillusionment. If Isobel hadn’t gone willingly, why hadn’t she tried to call out?

  “Think.” Hadley clipped him on his shoulder, clearly having surmised what he was thinking. “Only a fool would shout out with a gun at her back.”

  He knew what Hadley said was true, but still doubt ate at him.

  “God damn,” Sebastian snarled from the cellar below. “That hurt.”

  A moment later he came back up the stairs with a bloody scratch carved in his cheek. “The tunnel goes in two directions and I have no idea which way they went.”

  He brandished a hairpin. “I slipped on the step and fell flat on my face and this little bugger dug into my cheek. I almost lost my eye.”

  Arend snatched the pin from him. “It’s one of Isobel’s.”

  Sebastian snorted. “It must have fallen out of her hair as they were escaping through the tunnels.”

  “Not possible.” Arend twirled the hairpin around his fingers. “She didn’t have any in her hair when I left her.”

  The other men stared at him blankly.

  Hadley cleared his throat. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” His mouth curved as he remembered their intimate moments. “I removed each one myself. And if I missed any then, they would not have stayed in her hair for very long afterward.”

  Mrs. Clarke tsked, but then she said, almost grudgingly, “Yes, Lady Isobel’s hair was down.”

  A spark of hope bloomed in Arend’s chest, and he raced for the tunnel.

  “Light,” he commanded, and Philip handed him a burning lantern.

  He stepped down onto the dirt holding the lantern high. His gaze swept the ground to the left, then to the right. He bent lower, and swung the lantern wide.

  That’s when he saw something glinting in the dirt a little farther up the tunnel. His heart began to race as he jogged that way, Sebastian close behind.

  “What is it, Arend?”

  He said nothing until the light of the lantern caught yet another pin several yards farther on. This time he smiled wide, his heart unfurling, the pain in his body disappearing. But suddenly his joy was replaced by raw fear. Victoria had his Isobel. He knew what she’d want in return. Him. Well, she was going to get him.

  “Isobel has left us a trail.” He bent and retrieved the first pin. “Victoria took her this way.”

  “Took her?” Sebastian asked.

  “Yes. She’s deliberately dropping the hairpins to show us the way. These little devils are going to be harder to find once we leave the tunnels, so we don’t have much time.”

  Sebastian considered him. At last he pointed out, “It could be a trap. They could be leading us all into a trap.”

  Arend hesitated for a second. Fear for Isobel warred with his desire to keep his friends safe. “True. Only one way to find out.”

  Sebastian slapped him on the back. “We won’t go rushing in, then.”

  And with that, the men raced back to the house.

  Arend studded his person with weapons. Two guns in his pockets, a large dagger in each boot, and a pistol shoved down his waistband at the back under his jacket.

  “Half of the men will go with Philip aboveground,” he said. “The rest of you with me. One of the men will come up to street level every half mile so the others can follow on horseback.”

  Once in the tunnel, Arend and his men traveled for about half a mile and found only one other hairpin. But as there were no other tunnels branching off the main one, Arend suspected his clever Isobel was conserving her ammunition.

  Then they came to a junction where three tunnels branched off.

  It took several minutes to find the signal. Another hairpin lay in the dirt down the left tunnel. It appeared that the floor was rising. It was definitely leading them away from the town, eastward toward the coast.

  Arend dispatched a man to inform Philip and his men of the direction they were taking.

  Chapter 22

  Isobel was relieved that Victoria was unaware of her dropping the hairpins. She’d forced one through the lining of her pocket so she could drop them unobserved. She hoped the men would find them but knew the chances of that were very slim.

  The tunnel had started to run uphill, but after about another mile it began to meander downward once more, and she could now smell the sea. The dirt turned to crunching shells underfoot.

  Just then Victoria let out a series of whistles, and a man appeared in the tunnel up ahead of her. It wasn’t Dufort.

  “Dufort was getting worried, but you made good time. The tide will be turning near first light. We will be ready to leave then.”

  Victoria pushed Isobel toward the man, who grabbed her and began pulling her. Soon she found herself hustled into a large cave. She could definitely hear the sea.

  The floor of the cavern was wet and Isobel struggled to keep her footing on the slippery stones worn smooth over centuries from the waves that obviously filled the cavern at a very high tide.

  “Isobel!”

  At the anguished cry from across the cave, she turned.

  “Father!” And the next minute she’d shaken off the hands holding her and was slipping and sliding across the cave’s treacherous floor into her father’s outstretched arms.

  Tears came, and she could not hold back her sobs as her father wrapped her in his embrace.

  “I thought you were dead. I thought she’d killed you.”

  He didn’t say anything, only held her tight.

  “How touching. Only his mistress died in the fire and some old tramp Dufort found. I needed your father dead. He was asking too many questions. I think he’d begun to understand my purpose. Besides, his wealth was useful. A woman can never have too much coin. Lastly, alive he becomes insurance. He stays alive while he’s useful.”

  Isobel pushed out of her father’s arms and wiped her face with her sleeve.

  “What’s this all about, Victoria? Why is Isobel here? I’ve already promised to do what you asked.”

  Suddenly Isobel understood. Her father had no idea what Victoria was up to. “She needs me for her final act of vengeance. I’m the bait to lure our Lord Labourd.”

  Her father looked between the two women. “You don’t even know the man.”

  “Oh, but they do, dear husband. They are lovers.”

  Isobel felt her face heat, and she could barely look at her father.

  “You look puzzled, my lord. I made sure they met each other after a harrowing carriage ride. I simply let Lord Labourd’s natural suspicions throw them together, and your virginal little daughter was the bait. She managed to hook Lord Labourd’s attention with little trouble.”

  “Then you can let my father go free. You don’t need him—you only need me.” Fear for her father and fear for Arend began to choke her. It was as if she was being smothered and had no idea how she could stop any of this.

  “I never give up an advantage until I’m certain of the outcome. I have to get to France and plan my showdown with Lord Labourd. It should be an even match, for he knows Paris almost as well as I.”

  “He’ll rescue me before you leave these shores.” Her brave
words sounded hollow in the echoing cave.

  Victoria merely laughed and walked into an adjoining cave, where Isobel assumed her men and Dufort were hiding.

  Her father sank back down onto the one area of the cave floor that was covered with sand. “I’m so sorry for bringing that woman into our lives. I thought she simply wanted to marry me for my title.”

  “What’s done is done. We have to stay alert. If we find a way to escape, we have to be ready to take it. She will kill us, maybe not now but eventually. Besides, I refuse to be her bait.”

  “Once in France it will be virtually impossible to flee.”

  She patted her father’s hand. “Agreed. I suggest we escape as the boat is rowing out. We are both good swimmers. If we dive deep enough, the shots won’t hit us.”

  “With you in your gown we’d never outswim the longboat.”

  She considered her father’s words. “I’m hoping Arend and the men will come looking for us and find us. They know Victoria wants to head to France. They will assume it’s soon, since she’s taken me. Unless…”

  Fear gripped her—fear that Arend would think she’d betrayed him. He trusted few people and he’d trusted her when he’d followed her to their room. But she’d disappeared as soon as his back was turned. It might look as if she had run, as if she was the enemy. Would he trust her now?

  Would he think she’d used sex to distract him and then sent him downstairs so she could escape? Would he begin to think Maitland was right?

  Her mind was a hurricane of thoughts, trying to second-guess his reaction to finding her gone.

  She tried to think what Mrs. Clarke would tell him. Did the old woman think she had willingly gone with Victoria?

  Arend would need little to convict her without a second thought. And it would take a miracle for one of the men to find her hairpins on a dirt floor with limited light, and understand what they meant. So no one was coming for them.

  Fear began to give way to panic. Once on the water, likely halfway to France, she knew her father would be thrown overboard. He was no longer useful.

  She asked to use the privy. They took her to a small cave that was obviously being used as a toilet. It stank but she took the opportunity to shed her corset and undergarments, rolling them up and hiding them behind some rocks. If she could leave only a few hooks done up on her gown, once in the water she could slip free of the garment. She’d have a chance to make it to shore, especially in the dark.

  It was risky, but it was the only chance they had.

  Wrapping her shawl around her to hide her dishabille, Isobel rejoined her father, and they began to make their escape plan.

  —

  The men gathered in a copse near the cliff top. Philip’s men had followed the tunnel aboveground, and once Arend and Maitland had found the entrance to Victoria’s cavern hideaway, they’d withdrawn to plan how to capture her before she fled on the dawn tide—and, most important, without Isobel becoming a casualty.

  “The one advantage we have is that they have no idea we have found them.”

  Maitland’s words were true, and the men noted that the smugglers had only posted one guard.

  “They probably have the local watch in their pocket. They will not be expecting any interruptions.”

  Philip smiled. “That is probably why Victoria picked this motley crew to ferry her back to France. They have connections that will ensure they are not bothered by the revenue officers.”

  “It would seem a two-pronged attack should do the trick. A group of us through the front of the caves, and the rest in the back through the tunnels.”

  Arend felt his throat tighten at Maitland’s suggestion. “No. What about Isobel? We have to get her out first. I don’t want her hurt in the crossfire.”

  This time Maitland did not disagree. “It would appear Isobel left us a trail, so perhaps I have been too hasty in my condemnation.”

  Philip scratched his head. “How do you propose to rescue her without alerting Victoria to the fact we have found her?”

  “I have no bloody idea.”

  Hadley looked up. “Well, we’d best hurry, because it’s going to get light soon and the tide is turning. They will be on the move shortly.”

  “I’ll go back through the tunnel and go in alone. Maitland will take half the men but will stay behind me, hidden in the tunnel, and only enter once I have freed Isobel. Philip, you will take the other half of the men and attack from the front. Once you start the attack, I’ll enter and see if I can get Isobel out of harm’s way while they are distracted, then the rest of the men can attack down the tunnels. We will have her trapped.”

  “I can give you ten minutes before I bring the rest of the men in through the tunnel.” Maitland’s words made Arend tense. There wasn’t a lot of time. As soon as Victoria thought she was under attack from the front, she could very well kill Isobel in order to make a quick escape through the tunnel.

  As Arend crept back down the tunnel to the cave his heart pounded so loud he was sure it echoed in the enclosed space.

  Approaching the spot where the tunnel entered the cave, where Victoria had posted a single guard, Arend drew out a small hollow pipe, carefully loaded a poisoned dart, and blew. The dart found the man’s face, and as the guard slowly slumped to the dirt with little more than a grunt, Arend thanked his lucky stars that the tribesmen in Brazil had taught him how to use the poisonous darts and had given him a pipe and a vial of poison when he’d left South America. He’d used one to kill the man who’d slain Jonathan, his partner, but had never thought he’d use them again. Silently he thanked his native friends once again.

  He knew he’d have only one shot where Victoria was concerned, and it had been years since he’d practiced blowing the darts. The poison would take effect pretty much immediately, producing paralysis and then a slow agonizing death.

  A fitting death for De Palma, or the woman who ran the Fleur de Lily, or whoever Victoria really was.

  He cautiously made his way to the entrance of the cave and peered round the rock face. He spotted Isobel huddled on the far side of the cavern, an older gentleman sitting next to her. Thankfully, only one man stood guard.

  He loaded his pipe once more but knew he’d have to creep closer. He took one step and immediately knew he’d made a mistake. His feet hit slippery stone and went from under him. He only had a second to blow before the wind would be knocked out of him from his fall. The dart flew off target hitting the man in the leg but the point must have gotten through his breeches, because with a surprised look on his face he fell with a thud to the floor.

  Isobel jumped to her feet, pulling the old man with her, and scanned the cave wildly until she saw Arend. Carefully but swiftly, she made her way over to him.

  She bent to help him to his feet while whispering to the older man, “Father, into the tunnel quickly.”

  Her father? Arend wondered. But wasn’t he dead?

  “Are you hurt?” she asked Arend.

  “I’m fine,” and he gave a loud whistle—a signal to the men waiting to attack. He’d just pushed Isobel toward the tunnel when a shot rang out and a bullet whizzed past his head. He glanced over his shoulder to see Victoria throw the pistol away and reach for another.

  He shouted for Isobel to run, but she wasn’t where he expected her to be. Arend’s heart ceased beating as he saw her lying facedown on the ground, either from slipping on the wet stones, as he had, or because Victoria’s bullet had hit her.

  This time anger would not blind him. Filled with rage and hate, and with his adrenaline surging, he fumbled in his pocket for the third dart. He managed to load the pipe just as a bullet slammed into his left shoulder, throwing him off balance, and he slipped to the ground once again, the pipe rolling just out of his reach. Before he could scramble for the pistol tucked into the back of his pants, a shadow fell over him.

  “Arend, well met. I underestimated you.” She did not seem to notice the pipe, for her foot accidentally kicked it closer to Isobe
l’s prone body as she leaned over him.

  Arend snarled back at her, “I never underestimated you.”

  She momentarily looked toward the entrance of the tunnel, where they both could hear Maitland and his men coming.

  “It’s a pity I can’t draw out the delight in hearing your last breath on this earth, but I feel the need to flee.”

  “You have nowhere to go. Our men are coming in the front of the cave and through the back tunnel.”

  She laughed then, a madwoman’s laugh. She was finally beginning to crack.

  “Take a look around the cavern. Do you think it only has two exits? I always plan ahead.”

  Arend bit back his curse. She could be lying, but her confidence made him think she wasn’t bluffing.

  She moved closer before glancing back at Isobel’s prone form. “Perhaps there is one way to make you rage for eternity in hell. The last thing you will get to see in this life is me taking Isobel’s life from her.”

  She wasn’t dead already, then. Thank God. But then the blood ran cold in his veins and his mind searched frantically as he tried to conceal his desperation. He wasn’t afraid of dying. Sometimes he thought only death would ease his pain and guilt. What tore him up inside was knowing that because he’d dragged Isobel, innocent, beautiful Isobel, into his sordid existence, she would pay the price with her life. Just as Jonathan had.

  Victoria held the advantage. He had a pistol tucked into the back of his breeches, but if he tried to reach for it, she could kill Isobel before his hand even touched the handle.

  “It’s a pity she’s not conscious, or I could tell her the story of how you tried to refill your family’s coffers by prostituting yourself in Paris.” She leaned closer, “Mademoiselle Boldier boasted of your skills and size.”

  Shame washed over him, and he gave thanks that Isobel and his friends could not hear the details about his deviant past.

  “Nothing to say? You think you’re better than me, but you did what you had to in order to survive, just like me. You sold yourself to Mademoiselle Boldier. You were her salacious slave.”