Page 98 of A Night of Forever
“I’ll be fine,” she murmured. “I think this will hurt you more than it will hurt me.”
Isobel was trying to be brave. He kissed her once more as he entered the tunnel. Her nails dug into his arm. “You might be right.”
Chapter 23
Isobel could hear Arend pacing the corridor as the doctor Mrs. Clarke had summoned dressed her wounds. Mrs. Clarke patted her hand where she gripped it against the pain as the doctor stitched.
“I think Lord Labourd will wear a hole in the floor if I don’t go and let him in soon,” the housekeeper said.
“I don’t want him to see me crying. You know men can’t stand tears.”
Mrs. Clarke smiled indulgently. “Especially from the women they are in love with.”
Was he in love with her? Isobel wasn’t so sure. She’d seen the guilty look on Arend’s face when she’d bragged to Victoria about his trust in her.
The one thing she was sure of was that she loved him.
Regaining consciousness only to see Victoria standing over him, her pistol pointed at his heart, Isobel had known she could no longer deny what she felt. She’d have gladly given her life for him.
Would he have done the same for her?
She knew Arend was in the hall waiting to see her, but, whether from the large dose of laudanum, the shock of finding out her father was still alive, or being shot, she didn’t want to see him just yet.
She needed to have a clear head. Otherwise she might very well say or do something she’d regret.
Like plead with him to trust her. To love her…
She had more pride than that.
She’d thought they could have a life together, but their future was far from certain.
She was so deep in thought she hadn’t noticed the doctor had finished his stitching. He liberally sprinkled the wound with basilicum powder and then wound an awkward bandage over one shoulder, binding her arm tightly to her chest.
“It is uncomfortable but necessary,” he explained when she objected to the restriction. “The arm must remain still while the collarbone mends.”
The doctor replaced his instruments in his bag while Mrs. Clarke cleaned up the bloody cloths and the bowl of blood-tinged water. When the doctor left the room Isobel called the housekeeper to her.
“I’m very tired,” she said. “Please keep any visitors away until I’ve had some sleep. The laudanum is muddling my wits.”
Mrs. Clarke looked doubtful. “What about his lordship?”
What indeed? “Especially his lordship. He’ll worry if I keep falling asleep. Tell him I’m fine, and ask him to look in on my father.”
Mrs. Clarke looked even more uncertain, but agreed to do as Isobel bid her.
As soon as the housekeeper slipped from the room, Isobel feigned sleep.
She wished she could really drift away. The throbbing in her shoulder felt as though an enthusiastic drummer boy were using her as his drum.
She heard Arend enter the room. Sensed him tiptoe to her bedside. It took an enormous amount of self-control for her not to open her eyes and drink in his beloved face. But she was terrified that if she did so, if she gave way now, she’d be lost.
She deserved a husband who loved her unreservedly. She’d never thought about wanting a love match until she’d seen what the wives of the Libertine Scholars had. They had husbands whose worlds would crumble without them. Husbands who would lay down their lives for their wives, their families.
She wasn’t sure what Arend would lay down his life for.
A featherlike brush of a finger on her cheek almost undid her. Had she fooled him? She wasn’t sure.
“Sleep well,ma cherie.We have much to discuss later.” He placed a brief kiss on her lips before walking quietly from the room.
