Page 102 of A Night of Forever
She wanted to see him. “Yes, but I’d love a cup of tea and something to eat first. I want to be able to remember what we talk about, and the opiates are making my mind so muddled.”
“I can certainly do that.” She winked as she stood up. “Mrs. Clarke has a tray ready and waiting.”
When Marisa left, Isobel closed her eyes, meaning to let the sun in the room warm her. She must have dozed off, because the next thing she was aware of were soft, familiar lips kissing hers.
Her eyes flew open, and she looked into familiar hazel eyes. The most beautiful eyes ever, and they stormed with swirling emotions. Arend’s eyes.
Her heart warmed, and she hardly noticed the pain.
He pulled back and took a chair that had been placed near her bed. Then he reached for her hand. “Isobel,” he said, “I love you.”
Chapter 24
Even with dark smudges under her eyes, her hair a bird’s nest of knots, and her mouth open in shock, Isobel was still the most beautiful woman Arend had ever known.
Beautiful. And surprised.
He did not blame her. He’d surprised himself by the declaration, but at least he knew he spoke the absolute truth.
“Don’t worry,” he hastened to say. “I’m not expecting you to return my feelings. I understand I cannot make you love me—and that you have very good reasons for not doing so.”
He glanced down at her little hand in his. His thumb massaged her palm in slow circles while he gathered his thoughts.
“I just want the chance to tell you that, deep down inside, I’ve always known you were trustworthy. I just couldn’t bring myself to open up and let you in. I used the excuse of what Daniela did to me in Brazil to make everyone think I didn’t trust women. But that’s not true.”
Her hand curled around his. “It’s all right,” she said.
“No, it’s not.” He had to make a clean breast of this now. No holding back. “I’ve been a coward. I don’t have an issue with trust. I have an issue with fear. I’m not a good man, Isobel. My fear is that if a woman gets too close, she will learn the truth about me. About who I am. I’ve done things that—”
“Stop.” She squeezed his hand, hard. “You don’t have to tell me. I don’t care. The man I know—the one who pulled me from that dreadful carriage weeks ago—is a man I can love.”
Her words hit him like a cannonball to the chest. “But I thought—”
“I know.” She squeezed his hand again, but more gently this time. “You are not the only one who has learned something these past few weeks. You can tell me what has been eating you up inside, but only if you want to, and because it might help you forgive yourself. The only person who cares what happened in those five lost years is you. You don’t seem to be able to get past your memories of that time, and because I love you, I hate seeing you hurting.”
When she struggled to sit up, Arend leaped to help her, plumping up her pillows. But she couldn’t hide her grimace of pain. Isobel wasn’t the only one who hated to see a loved one hurt. He poured her more laudanum and offered it to her.
She shook her head and grimaced again. “I want to remember this conversation. It’s important. And I need to say something too.”
He returned the glass to its place beside the bottle and sat down again. “Tell me.”
“I was wrong.” She licked her dry lips. “I was wrong to insist that you share your past with me. I know the man you are. Good, kind, loyal, honorable, and”—her mouth curved up at the corners—“so sensual my body cries out for your touch even when I feel like I’ve been trampled by a bloody big bull. No, listen to me, please. I don’t care if you never share those lost years with me. But I hope you can find the strength to talk to someone—a friend like Hadley, for instance—so you can move on.”
His body shook, fine stress tremors he hoped she couldn’t discern. “You are my friend, are you not?” he asked. “You told me you wanted to be my friend.”
“A friend,” she whispered. “Yes, and so much more.”
“Then I could tell you.” He watched her face. “Or are you worried that whatever I share might change your opinion of me?”
She looked at him, seemed to really look at him. “I’d kiss you senseless right now if I had the strength—and if this shoulder didn’t ache like the devil.” She sighed. “Arend. I’d never think any less of you. In fact, if you have risen above terrible darkness to become the man I know and love, I will admire you even more.”
“You say that now.” Sweat trickled down his back. “But we are more than friends.” Was sharing his burden the right thing to do? What about sharing it with her? He’d promised himself that he would be honest and trusting, the qualities she wanted in a husband—the very qualities that now might cause her to walk away. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You’ll never lose my love.”
How could she sound so certain? “So you would marry me without knowing my past?”
“In a heartbeat.”
