Page 61 of A Night of Forever
“No.” Arend sounded very definite. “Because if I see Colbert smile at you, I might not be able to leave without giving him a fist in the face. I’ll send a servant with a message to His Grace.”
A shudder of wanton need ran through her at this evidence of his blatant possessiveness and jealousy. But even in her exhilaration she was sensible enough to understand that neither of those emotions were the same as love.
—
Arend made the carriage ride to his London residence in silence. Not because he had nothing to say, but because he had too much. Too many words. Too many feelings.
He sat opposite Isobel, his hands gripping the seat, because if he let go he’d pull her into his arms. He wanted her with an intensity that was frightening. It was as if he wanted to take her, to mark her so she could only ever be his.
His body heated, became hard, his desire flaming to fever pitch. Part of him realized he was being driven by a fear that she would slip away from him. If he made love to her, he would gain the power to make her stay. Her reputation would belong to him.
He chased those dishonorable thoughts away. He didn’t want her to marry him because she had to. He wanted her to want him as much as he needed her.
And he needed her. He needed to bury himself so deeply in her sweet warmth that everything else faded away. Perhaps her innocence could cleanse his soul. Then, maybe, he would be worthy of her.
He grew more nervous the closer they got to his family’s townhouse. He wanted to tell her things about his home.Home.He almost laughed at the word. But it wasn’t funny. He’d never considered the townhouse more than a place to sleep and eat. He’d certainly never viewed it as a home, or something that he would one day want the woman he cared for to approve and admire.
“Don’t look so nervous,” she said gently. “I don’t care what your house looks like. I’m just so happy you are sharing it with me.”
Hewasnervous, and the fact annoyed him.
It was only after they arrived at the house and he had handed her down from the carriage that he realized how truly scandalous their situation was. What was he thinking, to take her into his home this late at night without a chaperone? To take her into his home at all?
He quickly slipped her arm through his and together they ascended the steps.
The door opened before they were halfway up, to reveal his butler standing in the doorway.
“Welcome home, my lord.”
“Thank you, Jeeves.” His butler sounded perfectly neutral, but Arend knew he was not particularly welcome, and certainly not when accompanied by a female guest.
His chest tightened as Jeeves ushered them into the dilapidated-looking entrance hall.
“I’m afraid the only fire is in your library, my lord,” Jeeves said. “Allow me to arrange for a fire to be lit in the drawing room.”
Arend could read the censure in the man’s eyes. The drawing room was full of threadbare furniture and contained no paintings. Arend rarely used it, preferring his library or bedroom.
Isobel stepped forward. “Thank you. And perhaps some tea.”
At Jeeves’s hesitation, Arend said, “Lady Isobel Thompson. My fiancée.”
Jeeves didn’t blink. “It is a pleasure to welcome you to your future home, my lady. On behalf of the staff, may I wish you every happiness. I shall organize the tea and see to the fire.”
The man must have heard of Arend’s engagement through the gossip sheets, because Arend himself had certainly not told his staff. And if the engagement had been real, he should have.
Even in his preoccupation he was very conscious of Isobel’s reaction to his home’s entrance hall. He did not miss the compassion that filled her eyes, or the way her lips firmed as she observed the faded wallpaper and peeling stair rail.
“I did warn you.”
“Yes, you did.” An encouraging smile settled on those firm lips as she swept past him, following Jeeves into the drawing room.
He was close enough to hear her sharp, indrawn breath as she took in the state of the room.
It was as if Arend was seeing his home for the first time himself. Through Isobel’s eyes, he noted the large patches of damp staining the wall near the large bay window. Smelled them too. He took note of the tears in the drapes.
Hot spears of shame stabbed in his gut.
He should not have let the house reach this stage of deterioration. He should have renovated long before this.
