Page 2 of A Night of Forever
Arend froze, the horror of this moment shocking him to stillness.
Maitland loved this woman, and Arend was probably going to have to tell him she was dead. The sick feeling churning in his gut reminded him that for some, love was real, attainable, and everlasting. Maitland would never get over this loss. The Libertine Scholars had helped Arend through the worst, darkest days of his childhood. He was here for Maitland now, for all of them. He always would be.
But first things first. Arend needed help to lift the debris.
He clambered out up to the top of the ditch, and, with a heavy heart, approached Maitland. He watched Maitland and Hadley laying the woman passenger on the grass. She was beginning to stir.
“Hadley.” He tried to keep his voice calm and steady. “I need help.”
Not calm or steady enough.
Maitland’s head jerked up. He was no fool. One look at Arend’s face and he sprinted for the ditch, flinging himself down the slick grass without a thought to his own safety. “Marisa. God. Marisa.”
Arend followed, but more slowly, giving the man room to process the tragedy. Wishing there was something he could do that didn’t involve standing over another dead friend, or beside a grieving one.
Then a cry from Maitland. “She’s alive.”
And, sure enough, Arend saw one little foot jerk.
He raced to help Maitland lift the wreckage off his injured wife and carry her to the shelter of the trees.
She might be alive, but she was badly injured. When he saw the large splinter of wood that protruded from her stomach, Arend suddenly found himself praying to a God who long ago had deserted him.
Please, for Maitland’s sake, let her live.
As they laid her gently on the grass it was obvious that only a surgeon could remove the wood.
“I’ll go.” Arend stood up. “I know the area. We’ll need a cart. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
And he ran for his horse, responsibility for Marisa’s life and Maitland’s happiness heavy on his shoulders.
He had to get help, and fast. The best chance was the army base not far away, near Merville.
Ignoring the stirrup, Arend vaulted into the saddle, turned his horse to the northeast and urged him into a gallop.
This disaster was not supposed to happen. Not to Maitland. Or Lord Hadley Fullerton. Or Sebastian Hawkestone, Lord Coldhurst; Christian Trent, Earl of Markham; or Grayson Devlin, Viscount Blackwood. They didn’t deserve the tragedies they’d suffered. Unlike him, his friends were honorable.
Honor. Arend blinked water from eyes narrowed against the wind as his horse ate up the ground. He wasn’t sure he remembered what the word meant.
They thought he was like them. He wasn’t. Seven years ago he’d forsaken all honor. He’d do anything to atone for that period in his life, anything to once again merit these men’s admiration and friendship.
Disasters happened to him. They should. He deserved them.
He found the barracks and rode straight to the regiment’s commanding officer.
Using Maitland’s name and title without scruple, Arend commandeered a fresh riding horse, eight mounted soldiers, two horses harnessed to a cart, and, most important of all, a surgeon, and was on his way back within the hour.
But would it be fast enough?
Chapter 1
LONDON,LADYBEAUMONT’SBALL—THREE MONTHS LATER
Isobel wished he didn’t affect her so. She couldn’t understand why he made her pulse leap, her body heat, and her lips slightly part, as if in anticipation of a smile, a word, a kiss…
She disliked him intensely.
Yet ever since he’d tried to interrogate her as he’d escorted her home, after she’d been abducted and had endured a harrowing carriage ride with Lady Marisa, the Duchess of Lyttleton, Lady Isobel Thompson could not get Arend Aubury, Baron Labourd, out of her head. Did he think she was stupid?
