Page 23 of A Night of Forever
For her sake, he hopedhecould resisther.For her sake, he hopedshecould resisthim.That kiss, however, indicated both states were highly unlikely.
Chapter 7
Victoria couldn’t put the announcement of their betrothal in the paper fast enough, and soon society was abuzz with the news. Already there was plenty of speculation as to why Isobel would marry the rakish Frenchman who was only a lowly baron. Had she been poor, his wealth would have been great enough to silence the gossip. But she was not, so thetonwhispered and speculated—all the while agreeing that a man could never have too much money.
Isobel rolled over in her bed and thumped her fist into her pillow. At last night’s ball Arend had been the perfect gentleman. He’d danced his regulation two waltzes with her. He hadn’t pulled her in close. He’d kept the appropriate distance between them. His only kiss had been on her hand.
Through herglove.
Yes, a perfect gentleman.
So why, last night, did she have such a naughty dream of him? And of the places she wanted those lips to kiss, those hands to touch.
Her body heated further remembering the conversation she’d had last night with Cassandra regarding the marriage bed.
“I envy you one thing in regard to Lord Labourd.”
“Really?” Isobel couldn’t think of one thing to be envious of, but then Cassandra didn’t know the truth about their arrangement, and pride kept her from sharing.
“You’ll get to see him naked when he comes to your bed.” Cassandra sighed as she fiercely fanned herself. “I suspect all that muscled flesh would send my eyes and fingers wondering. Take my mind off, you know, the act itself.”
“How do you know he’s muscled?”
Cassandra raised her eyebrows and snapped her fan closed. “You told me, remember? After the musical soirée. You told me he kissed you in the hall and you felt his chest.”
Isobel’s big mouth…
Cassandra added, “At least the vision of manliness is likely to take your mind off the pain of your first time. I’ve heard it hurts like the devil.” She paused. “He’s a large man, and I suspect he’s large down there too. Are you afraid?”
Isobel almost choked on her friend’s words. He was big, very big, it was true. She’d felt the evidence pressed to her stomach. But instead of frightening her, it only made her light-headed, as she longed to lie with him. To touch, caress, and see all of him.
At last Isobel managed to say, “He’s also supposedly one of England’s greatest lovers. I’m pretty sure he’ll make my first time special.”
Just then the portly Lord Denning stepped up and said, “First time for what?”
They had looked at each other and burst out laughing.
She’d privately thought a “first time” with Lord Denning would be extremely distasteful. Yet with Arend…Already her body burned for his touch.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. It would appear she was no different from other red-blooded women who lusted after the handsome, mysterious Lord Labourd. Mystery, she thought, was the attraction. He was a closed book. She wished she could open him up and read his story. How did a man whose family had lost everything except an old, lowly English title happen to be in South America and find a diamond mine?
Perhaps by revealing Victoria’s true nature she would get a chance to see Arend’s too. There was darkness within him, but there was also honor, loyalty, and love. She had no doubt of his commitment to his fellow Libertine Scholars. Why else would he go so far as to become engaged to a woman he did not care for?
The thought of spending her life in love with a man who would not return her affection broke her heart. Imagine living in the same house day after day, close enough to touch, knowing that to do so would invite nothing but rejection. Imagine hiding how one felt, pretending to be nothing more than a part of the furniture. She’d be little more than a servant available when he required.
At that thought, an idea occurred to her.
A servant.
Like Monsieur Dufort.
She did not know if Monsieur Dufort loved Victoria, but she knew he guarded both her person and her interests as tirelessly as would any man in love. If she could find out more about him, perhaps they would have leverage. She might even find out some of Victoria’s secrets.
She’d search his room.
She called for her lady’s maid, Baxter, to help her bathe and dress. From her, Isobel learned Victoria had left an hour ago for morning calls. If Victoria was away from the house, then so too was Monsieur Dufort. She had better work fast in case the number of calls Victoria was making was small.
The moment Baxter withdrew, Isobel made her way on silent, slippered toes to Monsieur Dufort’s room. To her relief—and surprise—it opened easily under her hand. When Baxter had told her that no servant was allowed in Monsieur Dufort’s room, she had assumed the door would be locked. No doubt the household staff was far too afraid of Dufort to cross him.
