Page 58 of A Night of Forever
He took her chin in his other hand, and with gentle fingers turned her face so he could look in her eyes. “Are you in league with your stepmother?”
That was such an easy question for her to answer that Isobel’s heart slowed and she relaxed.
“No.” She held his gaze as she answered truthfully. “I am not. Not now. Not ever. I want her caught as much as you do.”
He sat silently, watching her, as if assessing the truth. And she let him see that she had given him an honest answer. That she hid nothing from him. That she spoke only the truth.
Finally he sighed and pulled her close, pressing a gentle kiss beside the scar marring her face. “I believe you.”
She sucked in a breath, but instead of joy, anger leaped up to speed her pulse.Nowhe believed her? “Why now? What has changed?”
“I know you loved your father. If you are not party to his death, it’s unlikely you’re party to Victoria’s other villainy.”
Although she understood his reasoning, the fact that he needed more than her word hurt. “So my word is still not good enough.”
He flinched. “It hasn’t been. It is now. If you vow to always tell me the truth, then I shall try my hardest to believe you. However, you must understand that my natural inclination is to distrust. I can’t change who I am overnight. Will you give me time?”
She wanted to hug him in the same way she’d hug Sealey—protectively and lovingly. “Why do you need me to give you time? Soon this will be over. Are we not going our separate ways?”
It was only then that she noticed the pressure of his thumb stroking her palm through her glove.
“I know I’ve been difficult,” he said at last. “My behavior toward you since the day we met has not always been pleasant or polite. But…” He hesitated and swallowed hard. “But I would like to make this engagement real, and—”
At her sharp intake of breath he stopped speaking. Then, before she could ask him what was wrong, he gave a harsh laugh and surged to his feet with her in his arms. A moment later she stood alone on the garden path, all his comforting warmth gone from around her.
“Forgive me.” His voice held the bleakness of a winter landscape. “Of course it’s impossible. How could you marry a man like me?”
Howcouldshe?
He started to turn away, but she lunged after him and seized him by the jacket.
“Please,” she said, terrified that he would shake her off and walk away. “Don’t leave. You merely took me by surprise.”
Sufficient surprise that she now had no idea what to do next.
She was desperate to help him, to show him in a way that would silence any doubt in his distrustful mind and wounded soul that she would never betray him, no matter what dark secrets his past held. All she cared about was the man he was now.
If he let her, she could love him with all her heart. All he had to do was open his own heart—even a crack. But for him to open to her, she had to open to him. God, was she brave enough to share all of herself with a man who hid everything about himself from her?
Yes. She was. She would be. She was fighting for her happiness. For both of them.
And he was still standing there. He hadn’t left. She still had a chance.
“Please, Arend.” She gestured to the bench. “Sit down again.”
He hesitated, then did so.
She waited only until he appeared to be settled on the bench, and then she clambered back onto his lap. His surprise at her actions showed in the way he stiffened and tried to draw back. But she refused to let him get away so easily. Pretending she noticed nothing wrong, she snuggled into him as she had before. A few moments later his arms slid around her and drew her close.
Her heart lifted. Sang.
She could do this.
“Do you know what my goal was,” she said, keeping her tone relaxed, almost dreamy, “when I came to London at the start of the season?”
His arms tightened around her. Slackened. “To find a husband like any other debutante.”
She nodded. “True. But what kind of husband do you think I was after?”
