Page 107 of A Night of Forever
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 looked up into his face and fluttered her eyelashes. “Do you think you can cope?”
