Page 83 of A Night of Forever
He had to tell them. “He saw Isobel.” Arend didn’t have to tell them everything—the kiss, for example.
“Oh, that’s great.” Hadley surged to his feet. “We have to do something. If Victoria knows we’re here, she’ll be on the next boat to France.”
“What,” Maitland said with deceptive mildness, “was Isobel doing out of the house?”
Arend had been waiting for him to ask the question. Maitland’s wife believed in Isobel, but Maitland himself had lost much, and his heart was full of anger and the need for revenge.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose she thought she was helping by doing her own reconnaissance.”
Maitland folded his arms across his chest and said nothing, but his eyes conveyed precisely what he thought.
“Victoria’s going to slip away, isn’t she?” Hadley turned to look at each of them, his despair evident. “We’ll never find her now. There are too many boats trading between here and France for us to stake them all out. And we’ve found no one willing to reveal her hiding spot no matter the price. Nor will they tell us if she has booked passage with them.”
The pain on Hadley’s face tore into Arend’s soul. He owed these men everything. When he’d been an outcast they had given him safe haven. They hadn’t cared that his family had no money, or that they were predominantly French, or that his father was a mere lowly baron. How could he not tell them?
“Isobel was kissing Dufort.”
Chapter 19
It killed Arend to say those words.
Maitland sat bolt upright. “Are you telling us she met with Dufort?”
“No. I’m saying I saw her in his arms being kissed. There is a difference.” A fine line, for sure, but still a difference.Trust her.He wanted to trust her.
“Christ,” Sebastian muttered. “No wonder you lost sight of the man.”
“Enough.” Maitland shoved to his feet. He’d managed four strides toward the door before Arend seized his arm.
Maitland shook him off.
Arend grabbed his jacket. “Don’t you bloody touch her. It could have been innocent—”
“Innocent?” Maitland broke his hold and shoved him away. “We’ve said that since day one, and yet whenever these two villains strike, Isobel is always there. I want answers. Get out of my way.”
Maitland was beyond reason. Beyond control. Arend didn’t waste time arguing. He tackled the Duke and took him to the floor, holding him there in desperate despair.
“Duke or not,” he ground out as Maitland bucked and twisted underneath him, “you won’t treat Isobel like the enemy until we’ve heard her side of the story. I won’t allow it.”
Maitland’s answer was a curse and a solid punch to Arend’s left cheek that caused stars to flare and pop in his vision.
The next thing he knew, Hadley had grabbed him, Philip had seized Maitland, and they were dragging the two of them apart. Everyone was struggling and fighting and snarling at each other.
“For God’s sake,” Sebastian shouted over the din, “this is not helping.”
And the door crashed open.
As one, they all swung around to see who had dared interrupt their “discussion,” and there she stood, glaring at them all. Beautiful. Outraged. Isobel.
“What on earth is going on?” She sounded as angry as they had. “Marisa’s asleep, and I can hear you cursing each other from upstairs.”
For the first time since they’d arrived in Deal, Arend wished Isobel had stayed with Portia and the other wives. Grayson’s home was well guarded, and he and Christian had taken steps to ensure the women’s safety.
“A slight disagreement, my dear.” He jerked his arm out of Hadley’s grasp and straightened, brushing his clothes into order—and pretending he didn’t still see the ghosts of stars behind his eyes, or ache where Maitland’s solid punch had caught him.
“Slight?” She sounded as incredulous as she looked. “Well, stop acting like children. I have something I wish to talk to you about in private. Excuse us, gentlemen.”
“No.” Maitland jerked his arm out of Philip’s restraining grip and stalked toward her. “You are not excused. If you have something to say, we want to hear it.Iwant to hear it—and I won’t be as easy to manipulate as Arend, as I’m not in lust with you.”
