Page 62 of A Night of Forever
“Well, my lord,” Isobel said. “Your house would profit from a woman’s touch.”
It was the kindest understatement possible.
They sat in silence on slightly musty-smelling chairs until the staff had lit the fire and brought them tea.
Arend poured himself a large brandy. He needed it to fortify himself for the revelations he’d be expected to make tonight.
“Jeeves,” Isobel said, sounding brisk and efficient, “would you ensure the fires are lit upstairs, please? His lordship wishes to show me through the house so I may see how much work is needed to make this our home.”
The corner of Jeeves’s mouth lifted slightly. It was the closest Arend had ever come to seeing his butler smile. “Very good, my lady.”
Once Jeeves had closed the door behind him, she turned to Arend. “I hope you don’t mind me ordering your butler about.”
“Not at all.” He began building his internal fortress. “I heard the word ‘upstairs.’ Anything that takes you nearer to my bed is fine with me.”
He wanted his words to frighten her, or warn her, or both. Part of him hoped she’d run before he had to make any more revelations. Coward.
Her face turned a delicate shade of pink, and the monster in him rose up and howled. He should escort her home immediately, because if she stayed, if she walked upstairs with him, he knew what would happen.
Instead she shocked him by saying, “Tea and a chat first, I think. You promised to share some of yourself with me, and at the moment, the part I want to share does not require a bed.”
“Very well.”
He slumped into the chair opposite her, teetering on the brink of an abyss. His choice was now to bare his soul and risk possible hurt again, or to close down forever and starve his very essence to death. He had promised to try to believe in her innocence. He would try.
“Your family must have had a large number of paintings.” She indicated the faded outlines on the walls.
“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “My mother sold them one by one after my father’s death.” At her steady, assessing gaze he added, “We had no money.”
She nodded, only sympathetic interest in her face. “I believe most of the French nobility fled France with little to their names.”
“At least my family kept our heads,” he said, and cursed himself when her face paled at his blasé reply. “We fled before the Reign of Terror mainly because my father learned he would inherit the title of Baron Labourd from a very distant English cousin. His estates in France had been unprofitable for many years. Ironically, my father had perfect timing. Not long after we left, most of France’s nobility were driven to an appointment with Madame la Guillotine.”
“Fate, perhaps?”
Arend didn’t believe in fate. “Perhaps. However, my father ran through his new estates’ money like it was water. He never seemed to understand that spending more than one earns results in dire consequences.”
Isobel sat forward in her chair, and the firelight bathed her face in a golden hue. “What kind of consequences?”
Arend sighed and rubbed a palm over his face. God, he felt tired.
He got up and poured himself another drink. “My father was befriended by the Duke of Lyttleton, Maitland’s father, and suddenly our money woes disappeared.” He laughed, but there was no joy in him. “Father thought he’d found a pot of gold under a rainbow, but the rainbow had only one color: black. Our savior, the Duke of Lyttleton, was the devil in disguise.”
Chapter 14
“I have heard about Maitland’s father. Marisa has shared a little of her husband’s upbringing.” Her face had taken on a look of cold revulsion. “His father was a monster.”
Arend sat down and tossed off half his glass of brandy in one gulp. If he kept talking, he’d need to keep drinking, and then Isobel would have to carry him upstairs. At least then her virtue would be safe.
If he were a gentleman, he would drink the entire decanter. But he was weak. Like his father.
He didn’t want her to leave, so he set the snifter on the table still half full.
“His Grace soon owned my father,” he said. “And my father did anything he requested. When I learned he’d refused to take part on the night the others raped Victoria, when I learned he’d walked out, I had some respect for him. That died when I discovered he was only interested in saving himself. He didn’t want to lose his soul completely, so would not join in with those perverted wolves, but he left a young girl to their mercy.”
He itched to pick the snifter up again and drain it dry.
Isobel’s hand shook a little as she took another sip of her tea. She set the rattling cup back on the side table.
