Page 52 of A Night of Forever
Arend nodded. “I was, but not by his men. And not in Durham.”
Her face went deathly pale and her hands curled into fists. “You all lied to me.”
He wasn’t sure to whom the “all” referred, but he assumed that neither Lieutenant Colbert nor any of the ladies—including Marisa—had told her the full story of his rescue. “Nobody lied. You knew I was safe.”
“And that was enough.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and it almost unmanned him.“Was.”She swiped angrily at the tear. “It isn’t any longer. No one trusts me. What can I do to prove my innocence? I’ve done nothing to earn anyone’s distrust. I thought Marisa was a friend, but even she—” She broke off and stiffened her spine. “Fine. At least I know where I stand. I am here under His Grace’sprotectionbut not to protect me. It’s to keep me prisoner to ensure I can’t betray or hurt any of you.”
Pain. Uncertainty. Mortification. Anger. They were all there in her words, her tone, her stance. But he could discern no deceit.
“It’s true,” he said. “You’ve done nothing—that we know of—to earn our distrust. However, you’ve done nothing to earn ourtrusteither. You came into our lives as a party to Marisa’s kidnapping. An innocent party, perhaps. But can you not see why we all have to be careful? Currently we neither trust nor distrust you. We simply are trying to puzzle the situation out.”
“Should I let Victoria kill me?” she said, sounding tired now. “Or would that too be part of my nefarious plot?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He squashed any inclination to comfort her. What would be the point? “Do not take it so personally. I trust no one except my fellow Libertine Scholars. I trust them with my life.”
To his surprise, she didn’t seem to take offense at his bluntness. “Marisa explained some of your experience in Brazil, and I understand it’s hard for you to trust. It is not easy for me either. You are a formidable man with a formidable reputation. I was petrified to approach you about my father’s death, to trust you to help me. Yet I found the courage. Can you not do the same?”
Arend stared down at the Persian rug, indecision eating at his soul. Trust had nothing to do with courage and everything to do with past experience. The war between his past experience and his present reality was tearing him in two.
Isobel had directed Lieutenant Colbert to Durham, many miles from the mine in which he was actually prisoner. She could not dispute the truth. Nor did she try. If Victoria had wanted to kill Isobel and blame him, why would she have given Isobel a map to the Durham mine?
None of this made sense.
“Perhaps,” Isobel said, her brow creased as she thought, “Dufort and Victoria had no idea I had the Durham map. There were a great many papers in that trunk. It’s possible it was more prudent to drop you in a closer mine.”
He nodded. “It is possible.”
How ironic. He could not deny that his heart prayed Isobel was innocent. The idea that she might have betrayed him left Arend feeling bleak and furious. In the past he’d conveniently ignored honor when necessity had dictated, but the idea of watching Isobel hang turned his stomach. What would he do to protect her if she was, in fact, guilty?
Maybe she had been waiting for an apology for his distrust, because after a silence that she allowed to last a little too long, she sighed. “Perhaps you and I should end our betrothal now. I’m sure Lieutenant Colbert would help me find evidence that Victoria killed my father.”
Damn Lieutenant Colbert. Arend would wager his finest stallion that Colbert wanted her to be innocent because he too had fallen under her spell. But from all accounts he had heard of the man, Colbert was not the sort to allow a pretty woman to lead him by the nose.
For the first time since his return from Brazil, Arend felt a spark of hope light within him. He might be a fool for anticipating the possibility that his life might hold something more than aching, ravenous darkness. But what if Colbert was right and he was wrong? What if Isobel was the one woman in whose arms and heart he’d find solace and salvation?
What if? What if? Arend shoved a hand through his hair, frustrated enough to want to pull it out.
“My lord?”
He blinked, realizing that he had again allowed himself to become distracted by his need for her. “I beg your pardon. I was thinking.”
“I would appreciate an answer. Will you trust me, or shall I go to Colbert?”
Maitland had given him a way to find out whether Isobel was indeed a conniving, deceiving bitch like Victoria.
“There is a way,” he said, “for you to prove you are not working with Victoria.”
“Anything.”
Her immediate response, the light of hope in her face as she leaned eagerly forward, made his pulse rise.
“You’re aware that Victoria is fleeing England. It’s logical that she will need money to take passage across the Channel, and plenty of money to hide in France. We wish to learn more about her financial situation.”
All her eager hope faded. “I have no idea about her money.”
Arend had not expected her to be privy to details. “But you know whom your father banked with.”
“Yes.” Her smile flashed like sunlight off water, and it lifted his heart. “I do. Thomas Coutts and Company at fifty-nine, the Strand.”
