Page 97 of A Night of Forever
“Nothing to say? You think you’re better than me, but you did what you had to in order to survive, just like me. You sold yourself to Mademoiselle Boldier. You were her salacious slave.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a slight movement. Isobel’s hand was inching toward the pipe. He needed to keep Victoria’s attention fixed on him.
“Boldier was a means to an end. At least I got out and put those years behind me. But you…you kept reliving the past over and over.”
It worked, for she walked closer, the hand holding the gun, shaking with rage.
“Put those years behind you? Don’t make me laugh. It was so easy to set you up to kill Isobel because you don’t trust women. My plan would have worked if bloody Fullerton hadn’t come to the rescue. Boldier and her deviant games destroyed your ability to form any attachments with women, long before that silly bitch in Brazil got your partner killed.” At the look of disdain on his face she added, “I know you better than you know yourself. Your soul is as black as mine. You were Boldier’s plaything, her toy to do with as she liked, and even though you killed her, your biggest fear is that your friends here will learn what you did in those lost years, rather than the fact you’re a murderer just like me.”
“He’s nothing like you.”
They both looked toward where Isobel now stood upright. A look of utter contempt filled her gorgeous face, and it was all directed toward Victoria.
Victoria swiveled her aim to Isobel.
“He’s a good man, whereas you’re just pure evil. And he does trust.” She smiled at him, a smile that rivaled that of an angel. “He trusts me. He never would have found us so quickly if he hadn’t. He looked for the clues I’d left. He would not have done so if he’d thought for one moment I’d gone with you willingly.”
Arend wasn’t stupid enough to refute her claims. He hadn’t been one hundred percent certain of her. How ironic that he was now, just as they both might die. What a fool he’d been to keep her at a distance.
Victoria’s mouth curled in a sneer. “More like one of the other men searched for the clues.” She must have seen the flash of guilt on his face, for she cackled, “Ah! I’m right.”
“You rave like a madwoman.” He tried to think of something else to say to draw Victoria’s attention so that Isobel would have time to use the blowpipe he saw her holding behind her back. “Just because you cannot trust anyone in your world, don’t presume to know my mind.”
“I know you, all right,” she said, turning the pistol back toward Arend. “A kindred soul. Nothing will ever wash away the things you did, or the things I did. I made peace with my black soul years ago. But you? You’re riddled with guilt that will keep you ever warm in the fires of hell when I kill you.”
With that, she raised her arm, still looking at him. He waited for the shot to burn into him, but at the last moment she shifted and pointed the pistol directly behind her—at Isobel.
Fear threatened to throttle him, but he cried out, “Don’t. It’s me you want to kill, not her.”
Arend’s roar as he launched himself at Victoria mingled with the loud report of a gun, but to his surprise she put up no resistance and crumpled to the floor at his feet. Only then did he see the dart sticking out of her neck.
He rocked back on his heels, slumping down on his haunches as the euphoria at seeing the bitch dead made him feel light-headed. He pumped his fist in the air and let out a cry of victory. He couldn’t wait for Maitland to arrive—his friend would be upset that he hadn’t been here to see Isobel’s excellent shot with the dart.
Isobel. All he wanted to do was pull Isobel into his arms and kiss her, but he could hear the fighting still raging in the outer cavern and knew he should get Isobel out of here before someone like Dufort arrived.
He looked across to smile at her, full of pride at how she’d handled Victoria. Then his heart stopped. She had sunk to her knees, a look of surprise on her beautiful face, and he saw a crimson stain spreading on her left shoulder.
Behind her he saw Dufort standing with a smoking pistol in his hand. Arend watched as if in a nightmare as Dufort lifted a second pistol and aimed it at Isobel’s head. Time stood still. Arend cursed the precious seconds it took him to pull his own pistol free of his breeches.
He fired, and heard a second shot ring out almost simultaneously. He rose with a strangled cry to see Isobel fall sideways and Dufort slump to the floor, two bullets in him.
Maitland stood in the entrance of the tunnel, the barrel of his gun smoking.
Isobel! Arend raced to her side, relief flooding him as he heard her say, “I never knew…being shot…would hurt so much.” She tried to smile through her pain. “You’re not hurt?”
Here she was shot and in pain, and she was worried about him? How had he ever doubted her? He couldn’t reply, though, as he was too focused on ascertaining how serious her wound was. The bullet had passed right through, but he was pretty sure it had broken her collarbone. Blood was still flowing, so he tore off his cravat and stuffed it into the wound.
“I need to get her to a surgeon,” he said, addressing Maitland.
“Go! Victoria and Dufort are dead. We have this under control. Can you also send a missive to Grayson and Christian to let them know?”
Arend nodded and bent to scoop Isobel into his arms. He cringed at her scream of pain as she was jostled. “I’m sorry, darling, but carrying you is going to hurt like a bitch. Be brave.” Then he kissed away her tears and hardened his heart to her pitiful whimpers. To Maitland he added, “Be careful. I’ll send one of the men to alert the revenue officers, but I suspect you’ll have this wrapped up before then.”
Isobel put her hand out. “Maitland, please look after my father.”
“I’ve already sent him with one of the men to Mrs. Clarke’s. He’ll be safe there.”
With that, Arend gritted his teeth against the agony he felt twinge in every muscle of the woman he held in his arms.
