Page 54 of A Night of Forever
Fear flooded his nostrils, his pores, his being.
Angelo had warned him that Juliette played twisted games, but the lure of her contacts had made him throw caution to the wind.
Now, here he was, hers for whatever amusements she desired. Flesh, bought and paid for.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flicker of movement, and a moment later Juliette approached the bed. When his brain made sense of what he saw, what she carried, his heart slammed into his throat and he wrenched at his bindings with desperate fury, cursing Angelo, cursing her. Cursing them both.
She stopped by the bed. Held the tongs with their glowing metal circle up to his face. “This,” she whispered, savage exaltation in her voice, “is so you will always remember you belong to me. I will follow you all your life. You will never escape.”
For a heart-stopping breath he thought she was going to brand his cheek. Then, with a mad, triumphant cackle she whirled away. His screams of agony as she slammed the red glowing metal onto his left buttock and held it there, made her howl with laughter.
And there, in the middle of agony and humiliation, with her gloating triumph ringing in his ears, and the smell of his own seared flesh turning his stomach, he made himself a promise. If he survived that night, he would make her pay.
“Are you well, Arend?”
Isobel’s concerned question pulled him back to the present.
Anger soared up in him at her enquiry. He knew the color had drained from his face at the memory. He’d shown weakness. And to Isobel, of all people.
He ignored her query, tried to ignore the last few mortifying moments, and tried to remember what they were talking about before the past had risen up and punched him in the face.
She had called him a good man. She was wrong. He knew who and what he was. A man not worthy of redemption. How could he expect any woman to love him when he couldn’t love himself?
Get out of here. Leave.
“I am most definitely not a good man,” he said in his most offensive drawl. “You think you know me. You know nothing. Thank you for agreeing to help us with the bank. I shall see you tonight.”
He managed to give her a stiff bow and stalk to the door. Soon this entire nightmare would be over. Soon he’d be able to walk away and never look back.
A good man.
Why did he care what Isobel thought of him?
He opened the door and stepped out into the silent house. A few moments later he was on the street, walking as fast as he could. It didn’t matter where. He could still hear the stealthy footsteps of his old demons behind him, chasing him once more.
—
It took Isobel almost a minute to shake off the shock of Arend’s reaction. What had just happened? The change that had suddenly come over him was terrifying—as if he were Pandora’s box and she’d unknowingly opened the lid.
The self-loathing she’d seen in his face when she’d said he was a good man horrified her. She was still shaking from the revulsion in his voice as he’d derided himself.
Fingers tightly clasped, she sat back in her chair and tried to understand what his last words had revealed. Arend really did appear to hate himself. Loathing seemed to scald every letter when he spat the word “good.” Marisa said he’d lost contact with the Libertine Scholars for five years. Was it that he simply blamed himself for his partner’s death because a woman had fooled him? Or had something even worse happened that caused him to hate himself?
Her heart swelled with pity. What must Arend feel like to be so traumatized by his past that he did not believe he deserved a future?
Suddenly the anger and hurt pressing tight in her chest fell away. Until her father’s death, her life had been, if not idyllic, at least happy, warm, and safe. At the beginning of this season, being safe had been her goal.
Had Arend ever, in his life, felt safe? A hated Frenchman, a poor refugee, a title and lands without the wealth to maintain and support either one, his only security the friends he loved and had to leave behind…
It must have been hell. She could understand Arend’s driving need to find that security. To restore his wealth. He was a proud man.
She tried to imagine how she’d feel if her father had died leaving her penniless. How she would feel to have to rely on anyone, even so-called friends…She shuddered. How far would she go to be self-sufficient? To survive on her own? What would she sacrifice?
Anything, except the ones she loved.
Was that what Arend had done? Sacrificed everything, and lost those he cared for anyway? What a weight of guilt must consume him over his partner being killed by a woman Arend thought he’d loved.
She understood. She felt guilty that it was her stepmother who was their enemy, who had caused so much pain to those she’d come to care for.
