Page 7 of A Night of Forever
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But my dance card is full.”
She was lying. He knew that, and she knew he knew, or her partner would be here to take her onto the floor.
Annoyance flickered to interest. She’d expect him to do the polite thing and bow out, did she? Then the lovely Lady Isobel had a lot to learn about him. Her education might as well start now.
He made a show of glancing around. “It would appear your partner has been detained.” And he held out his arm. Unless she caused a scene, there was little she could do but take it.
She did not take it. Instead, she smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry, Lord Labourd, but I’m sure you’ll understand if I cry off accepting your…kind invitation. My feet are dreadfully sore. New slippers, I’m afraid. However”—she turned to her friend—“I’m sure Lady Cassandra will be my savior and partner you instead. Since you seem so eager to dance.”
To Arend, the defiance in her gaze, in her stance, was a challenge incarnate. She might have won this battle but she would not win the war. Too many people’s lives depended on his success. The lives of the people he cared about most. Since he was estranged from the only family he had left, his vicar brother, he would claw through the devil’s own flames to protect his friends.
A jolt of pure desire sizzled through Arend at the prospect of pitting his wits against this lovely adversary. It would be a most challenging seduction.
He took a step toward her, so their bodies brushed. She trembled. It annoyed him how that slight touch aroused him so swiftly.
Isobel moved quickly, almost pushing her thunderstruck friend forward. Caught by surprise, he caught the other young lady’s arm so she didn’t fall—and that was how he found himself escorting the wrong debutante onto the dance floor.
Furious at being outmaneuvered, Arend bit the inside of his cheek to stop a curse from spilling out of his mouth.
If Isobel had no secrets, she would not be so determined to keep him at arm’s length. He was going to uncover those secrets and do whatever it took to stop Victoria. Or die trying.
Chapter 2
As usual, Victoria was already in the breakfast room when Isobel finally made it downstairs the next morning.
Did the woman ever sleep? No matter how early in the morning they arrived home from any of the night’s activities, Victoria always rose early. Isobel envied her boundless energy.
“Good morning.” The woman smiled as Isobel took a seat across from her, then handed over the morning’s scandal sheet. “Your friend Lady Cassandra caused quite a stir last night.”
“Really?” Isobel quickly scanned the sheet. Sure enough, there was an item about one of the year’s crop of sought-after debutantes dancing with the most notorious rake in England. The gossip sheet was insinuating that Labourd had finally decided to take a wife. The only other explanation would ruin the reputation of the debutante.
Sick to her stomach, Isobel pushed all thought of breakfast away. “Oh, no. This is my fault. Lord Labourd asked to dance with me, and I pressed Cassandra to dance with him instead.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” her stepmother asked, one eyelid flickering in what looked suspiciously like a wink. “He’s a very good dancer, and exceedingly handsome.”
“For exactly this reason.” Isobel waved the scandal sheet. “What on earth am I going to do to make this right? I have put Cassandra in a terrible situation. Her mother must be in despair.”
“Come now,” Victoria said. “Perhaps Lord Labourdislooking for a wife. He is of that age. Cassandra would be lucky to capture the attention of such a wealthy man.”
Isobel considered both Victoria’s words and the implications that ran below the surface. It was not surprising that money and a title were Victoria’s reasons for marrying a man old enough to be her father. But not every woman wanted marriage to be a business arrangement.
A shudder ran under Isobel’s skin. Thank goodness her father had ensured she herself would never be faced with the prospect of having to marry a man for money. He had left her wealthy enough to remain a spinster if she wished.
She didn’t wish. As an only child, she’d been lonely. She wanted a family and a home filled with children of her own. Craved them.
She just had to find the right man.
Excitement stirred in her at the possibility Lord Labourd did wish to marry. Then she quashed it. Her eagerness was ridiculous. Labourd was most definitely not the right man. She could not visualize him relaxing in a house filled with children and laughter. He was far too dark and serious. And of course he was a rake, not a man to deny himself the pleasures found in other women’s beds.
It was true that several of his friends were now married. Perhaps they had changed his view on matrimony. Maybe that was why he’d been discussing with Lord Fullerton the fact he wanted a plain woman as a wife.
Isobel did not pretend that she’d love to find out. She could kick herself now for refusing his invitation to dance.
“Isobel, my dear.” Victoria sighed and picked up her cup. “You do realize he’s one of the wealthiest men in England.”
“Really?”
She pretended that she had not learned as much as she could about his background. His family had lost their lands and wealth, and fled France with only the few possessions they could carry. Victoria too had a knack of finding out all the juicy details society liked to hide. Money—especially the lack of it—was a distasteful subject within theton,and wealth ensured society turned a blind eye to behavior that might otherwise be condemned.
