Isobel could not be sorry. “She was killed?”
Arend nodded. “I tried to get to her, to stop her attacker, but one of her own men knocked me down. I was only partially conscious, but I saw her die. The man slit her throat. Luckily Jonathan arrived and dragged me away. We made the boat. The rest is history. Her death was my fault.”
Isobel didn’t understand. “Why on earth was her death your fault?”
He let go of her hand and rose to stand at the window. For a few moments he gazed through the glass and down into the street.
“Because,” he said finally, “if I hadn’t tried to leave that night, she would not have been near the docks. Her enemy would not have been able to ambush her.”
“What utter rubbish,” Isobel snapped. “Even I know that no one deals in the seedy underworld without expecting a knife between the ribs at some point. If Juliette hadn’t died at her enemy’s hand that night, it would have been on another.”
“I know that.” He swung to face her. “It’s not really her death that eats at me. It’s the fact that I let her use me for so long. The things I did. The things I allowed her to do to me. Victoria was right. I let Juliette make me her slave. I’m soiled, dirty.”
“No, Victoria was wrong.” She crooked her finger at him and patted the spot next to her. He came to her and carefully eased onto the bed beside her.
“We all make mistakes—that’s how we learn right from wrong. Making mistakes and overcoming obstacles are how we learn what is important to us, and what sort of people we want to become.” And she would overcome the obstacle of his self-loathing because it was important to her. To both of them.
“I don’t think you’ve ever made a mistake in your life,” he murmured.
He was definitely wrong there. “Oh, I made the biggest one of all. I expected you to trust me when you didn’t know me. I now understand that trust is earned. It’s not a right. I should have simply loved you with no conditions.”
He huffed out a half laugh. “I didn’t make it easy for you to love me. I kept you at arm’s length.”
“You did trust me, though. And by believing in my innocence, you saved both my father and me.”
Those beautiful eyes went sober. “I did have a moment of doubt. But that’s only because, once again, I was afraid of being made to look a fool. Pride is definitely a sin of mine.”
“Only one of many,” she teased. “I do love it when you sin with me.”
He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Hurry and get well, and I’ll take a great deal of pleasure in sinning with you.” He paused. “Until I can make you my wife. If you’ll still have me.”
“Silly.” She loved that hint of vulnerability in his voice. “Of course I’ll have you.”
“So.” He became almost businesslike. “I can apply for a special license. Your return to London, injured from a fall from a horse—the story we shall share—will cause fewer raised eyebrows if you are already my wife.”
She wanted to marry Arend so badly. But she also wanted her dream—a wedding with all her friends and family present, in her family chapel where her parents had been married.
She hesitated. “Would you mind if we waited until I am healed?”
A flash of something like fear crossed Arend’s face. “Of course we can wait.”
Did he think she was putting him off? “I do want to marry you. So much. But I want a proper wedding, with my friends and Father, at home. He would be disappointed at a special license.”
Now it was his turn to hesitate. “Then would you mind if I asked my brother to officiate?”
Bringing more than one family back together. She blinked back tears. “What a wonderful idea. That would be perfect.”
“I’m not a patient man, as you know. I wish it could be tomorrow.”
“Me too.” She cupped his cheek in her hand and gave him a wicked smile. “But I want to be completely healed for our wedding night. The thought of making love with you, to you, gives me something to look forward to while I’m recovering.”
A look of feigned horror crossed his face. “Do you expect me to wait until our wedding night to make love to you again?”
She giggled and snuggled closer to the man who owned her heart. “I’m hoping my collarbone mends quickly. The idea of making love with you is a very strong motivator to heal.”
His lips sought hers, and he kissed her with gentle passion. “You will be worth the wait.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I could do with some of that laudanum now. I need to get my rest so I can get well as fast as possible.”
Arend quickly did her bidding and lay with her as sleep took her once more.
She would cherish this moment forever. The feeling of falling asleep with the man she loved holding her tenderly, whispering how much he loved her, filled her with such joy her heart wanted to burst with happiness.
Perhaps she’d ask him to do this every night for the rest of their lives.
What a wonderful idea.
Epilogue
“Oh, Isobel,” Marisa said, doing a complete turn in the middle of the room. “Portia will love this when she gets to see it.”
Isobel, now Lady Labourd, stood near the roaring fire in the drawing room of her new home and basked in the praise of her decorating skills.
It was Christmas Eve, and although it had not snowed yet, the London air had a definite snap to it. All the Libertine Scholars and their families had stayed in London for the festive season because Portia and her new baby, a beautiful son named Jackson, who had been born safely two weeks previously—much to the relief of all—after Portia had spent the last three months of her pregnancy in bed, could not travel in the cold. Portia was the only one of her friends who had yet to see any of the redecoration.
Tonight Portia and Grayson would join them for a short time. They would all be together again for the first time since they had stopped Victoria.
“My wife”—Arend emphasized the word—“has an excellent eye. She had the good taste to marry me, did she not?”
Arend’s words sent everyone into a fit of laughter. But Isobel didn’t care. His praise meant the world to her.
Since returning to London after their marriage almost a month ago, she had spent every waking moment turning Arend’s dilapidated ruin of a townhouse into a beautiful home. She’d worked hard to make him proud of his home, and of her.
Tonight was the grand unveiling. She had invited all of their friends and their families to share in their joy, and to get them all in the Christmas spirit.
What a year it had been.
Over the past few weeks, she’d gone from room to room, knowing exactly what she wanted to do to turn this wrecked and broken house into a home. A home they would fill with love and children. She’d given an inordinate amount of attention to the decoration of the nursery, hoping she could already be with child.
It was more than possible. Arend had barely let her out of bed for the first week of their marriage. As they had been staying in her father’s house, where Arend’s brother, Curtis, was also a guest at the time, it had been somewhat embarrassing.
She had not complained, though. Making love with Arend was touching heaven. After almost two months of abstinence while her injuries healed completely, they’d simply enjoyed the intimate pleasures of learning each other as man and wife.
Now Isobel looked round the drawing room at her friends and their children, and she felt almost giddy with happiness. She was so lucky to have such amazing women as friends. She hoped she was with child. It would be so wonderful to see all their children grow up close in age, and become firm friends just like their parents.
It was the men’s camaraderie and love for each other, fostered since childhood, that had helped them through the hardest of times. Watching them, Isobel was struck by how similar they were, despite their differences. They were all extraordinary, vital men dedicated to honor, family, and of course love.
Arend strolled to her side and slid his
arm round her waist. “I’d like to make a toast to my wife’s talents and”—his smile died—“to new beginnings.”
“Hear, hear,” Isobel’s father said.
A bustle at the drawing room door announced Portia and Grayson’s arrival, with Philip and Rose accompanying them.
Rose was Portia’s best friend. She was also, if Isobel gave any credence to gossip, Philip’s lover. Isobel wondered briefly why the pair did not marry. They effectively acted like a married couple.
But she was not going to focus on mysteries tonight.
“Aunt Isobel.” Sealey tugged at her dress. “Father gave me a present. Would you like to see it?”
Isobel gave Hadley a quick glance before crouching down to examine what Sealey held. “Of course.”
He opened his hand, and immediately a small ball went whizzing down to the floor, unrolling from a piece of twine before rolling back up again. And then down. Then up. “It’s a bandalore.”
“How clever,” Isobel said, enchanted. “May I try?”
Sealey dutifully handed her the toy and instructed her how to operate it. She tried, but managing the bandalore was much harder than it looked.
“You are not very good,” Sealey said when she handed it back to him. “But I can lend it to you so you can practice, if you’d like.”
She straightened and ruffled his curls. “That’s all right. I’ll get Lord Labourd to buy me my own.”
“Good idea.” And the boy sauntered off to tease Beatrice’s son, Henry, with his toy.
“You’ll make a wonderful mother.”
She turned to see Marisa watching her with a warm smile. “I hope so. I shall take lessons from you.” She nodded at the two-month-old baby in Marisa’s lap. “Little Stephen is not so little anymore.”
“Isn’t he blooming with health?” Marisa said proudly.
Little Stephen had been found on the steps of one of her orphanages when only a few days old. Marisa had taken one look at the tiny, undernourished newborn and claimed him as her own. Even knowing he might not live, she had taken him home. She’d surrounded him with so much love and care that the baby had done more than survive. He’d thrived. Isobel suspected he would be the first of many.
Helen, Marisa’s younger sister, wandered over to sit beside her. “I want one. This little fellow makes me want to get married tomorrow, but I need to find a husband first. Not an easy thing to do.”
Isobel laughed. “You will be the most beautiful debutante of the season. You will have your pick of men.”
“True,” Helen said, and then sighed. “However, all of you have ruined conventional marriage for me. I want what you have—a man I can admire and love. These men”—she indicated the men all sitting comfortably at the other end of the room—“are unique. One of a kind. I could wait quite some time to find a man good enough.”
Marisa bumped Helen’s shoulder gently with her own. “You are so young, sister dear. Don’t settle for second-best. Wait for your prince.” She looked over to where Maitland sat, a grin on his face. “The wait is well worth it.”
Isobel could not disagree with that.
—
“What do you think they are talking about over there?” Sebastian asked Arend.
“Us, of course,” Christian said before Arend had time to answer.
“That’s a frightening thought,” Grayson muttered. “Portia is driving me insane. After almost three months of bed rest, she is so full of energy, I’m struggling to keep up.”
Arend noted Philip watching the women and children studiously.
“It’s about time you produced the next heir, is it not?” he asked Philip. “We have all been waiting for you to propose to Rose.”
A shadow passed over Philip’s face. “Not yet.”
“Come now,” Grayson said. “You have been with Rose since Robert’s funeral. You make a perfect couple. Rose is obviously in love with you.”
Philip’s head snapped up. “Love?”
Sebastian laughed. “Of course. Why else would one of the wealthiest widows in England—a woman renowned for shedding lovers faster than last season’s gowns—have remained faithful to only you for almost two years?”
Arend watched Philip intently. The slashing red over the man’s cheekbones was a dead giveaway.
“Rose,” Philip said, through gritted teeth, “is not in love with me. This arrangement suits us both. You’re well aware that she’s sworn never to remarry.”
Women in love were entitled to change their minds about marriage. Isobel had.
“Perhaps,” Arend suggested carefully, “she has found a man who makes her want to break that oath.”
To Arend’s amazement, Philip tossed back his whiskey and cursed. “I hope not,” he said. “Or she shall be disappointed.” And Philip shoved out of his chair and moved away to help himself to another drink.
“What the hell was all that about?” Maitland asked, incredulously.
“I have no idea,” Grayson said. “But Robert’s death affected him badly. His brother only went to Waterloo because of Philip, and then Robert died there, saving Philip’s life. Philip never expected to become the Earl of Cumberland. Certainly not like that.”
“No,” Arend said quietly into the silence caused by Grayson’s sober words. “But the past cannot be changed. Perhaps he needs to learn that love heals all wounds.”
He looked at his friends—more like brothers, really. Before his marriage, he’d finally confessed to them what had happened to him during his missing years in Paris. Why had he waited so long to trust in their genuine love for him? Other than admonishing him for not asking for their help when he needed money, his relationship with them had only deepened.
“The healing power of love. Now, that’s something I can drink to,” Christian agreed. “Here’s to love. And the power of its healing touch.”
—
Isobel was bone weary, but the evening, her first private dinner party as Lady Labourd, had been a huge success. While Arend was seeing off the last guests, she took a moment for herself and curled up on the rug by the fire to bask in the warmth—not only of the flames but also of family. Her father was staying with them. So was Curtis, her new brother-in-law. Both men had gone up to bed an hour ago.
Lost in thoughts of how wonderful it was to be free of Victoria’s threat, Isobel did not hear her husband’s return until he sat down behind her, thighs on each side of her body.
“You look tired, love,” he murmured. “I told you that, after spending two months with little activity, trying to get the house redecorated by Christmas would exhaust you.”
She let her head fall back to rest against his shoulder. “I’m a happy tired.”
“Good,” Arend said, brushing his lips against the nape of her neck. “I never want to see you unhappy.”
Unhappy? How could she ever be unhappy with Arend in her life? She adored him. Once he’d unburdened himself of his past, they had turned a corner. They shared everything, always communicating, even when they were angry with each other—which wasn’t often.
Turning within her husband’s arms, she pressed a long, lingering kiss on his lips. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”
“You might have mentioned it,” he said gravely. “But I can never hear it enough, my beautiful wife.”
They sat together by the fire for a while, talking quietly about the night, their guests, and how wonderful it was to be free of their villain.
Finally, when Isobel could hide her yawns no longer, Arend stood and scooped her up in his arms. “Time for bed,” he whispered.
She gave him her most seductive smile. “But not to sleep, I hope.”
“Perhaps we should.” He studied her with narrowed eyes as he mounted the stairs to their room. “You do look tired.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Never too tired for you to make love to me,” she whispered close to his ear. “I must admit, however, that I might leave it all up to you tonight.” She look
ed up into his face and fluttered her eyelashes. “Do you think you can cope?”
In answer, he began to take the stairs more quickly, and Isobel’s excitement and arousal sped up in response.
Once he’d carried her inside their bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him, he took her mouth in a long, lingering kiss as he lowered her to the floor.
“I will never get over how erotic I find this act to be,” he said. “Undressing you every night is like unwrapping a new, exciting present. I can’t believe how fortunate I am to receive the gift of your love.”
They undressed each other slowly by the glow of the embers burning in the grate. Once naked, they lingered before the bedchamber fire to taste and touch.
She let her hand glide over his back, down to his left buttock. He no longer flinched when she touched him there. While she’d been recuperating in Deal, he’d found a tattooist and had her name and the words “love forever” tattooed around the outside of the brand. It was his way of cleansing his memories, and to show how her love helped him.
In his turn, he skimmed his finger over the scar on her shoulder from the bullet, and shuddered. “I almost lost you.”
She smiled up at him. “But you didn’t.”
He picked her up and carried her to their bed, laying her down on the pale sheets.
“I praise God every day for that.” He stretched out beside her. “I’d be empty without you.”
Isobel wound her arms around his neck, drawing him in for a kiss. “I love you, Arend. I’m here, and I’ll never leave you. This is our home. This is where we will raise our children.”
He gazed down into her eyes. “I hope you’ll remind me how much you love me every day for the rest of our lives.”
She raised herself and kissed him again. “Only if you do the same to me.”
His hand moved to cover her heart, brushing her nipple and making her wriggle and gasp. “I swear to make sure you are left in no doubt as to how much I love you. And I intend to prove it right now.”
He gave her a soul-searing smile as he bent to kiss her once more. The touch of his lips against her bare skin set her on fire.
A Night of Forever Page 29