Page 87 of A Night of Forever
He turned away from her. “Now is not the place or time to discuss my past. I want to talk about your meeting with Dufort. Did he say anything else?”
Isobel almost cried out in frustration.So close.She could tell that he’d almost decided to disclose at least part of his life. Then fear had entered his eyes, and he’d stepped back.
She let out a long sigh. One day—and she didn’t know how long it would take—he’d share his heart with her. Until then, she’d treat him like any other wounded animal: with love, tenderness, and understanding.
At this moment he wanted to know about Dufort.
“I told you everything downstairs,” she said, and started ticking the items off on her fingers. “I was looking out the window. I saw Dufort below. I raced downstairs onto the street. I followed him for two blocks. He disappeared round a corner. I chased him. He was waiting. He grabbed me and kissed me. I stamped on his foot. He let me go. He gave me the message and disappeared. I came home and waited for you.”
Arend sat on the end of the bed. “There must be something more. Something to give us a clue as to what her plan is.”
“Yes.” Isobel had spent all afternoon pondering the same thing. “The kiss Dufort gave me is the clue. Victoria’s plan has something to do with me. I believe she’s going to make it look as if I’m in league with her, and then manipulate the situation so that you—or one of the other Libertine Scholars—kill me.” It was the only thing that made sense. “If she knows your past, then she knows what killing, or helping to kill, an innocent woman will do to you.”
He blinked, and his chest lifted in a sharp breath. “She won’t accomplish that. I’m not letting you out of this room again until the wretched woman is in custody.”
She smiled at his overprotectiveness. “You agree with my conclusion?”
His hooded gaze didn’t soften. “This is serious, Isobel. Women like Victoria will do anything to anyone to win their sick little games. She is dangerous.”
Isobel took a step closer to him. That outburst told her more about his past life. More than one woman had hurt him. “Then let’s work out how to stop her. Ifyouwere going to destroy us, where would you attack?”
“Where you would not expect me to.” He clapped his forehead. “This house. I’d attack this house.”
She nodded. “Good. How would you get in?”
Arend began pacing the floor. “The front door is guarded and the door is solid oak. She’d have to batter it down, and we’d hear that.”
Just then Mrs. Clarke, the housekeeper, knocked, and Arend bade her enter. She had brought more coal for the fire.
Isobel moved out of the woman’s way and sat on the edge of the bed before rolling onto on her stomach, propped on her elbows, her slippers knocking together as she concentrated on visualizing Victoria’s diabolical plan.
“There is the servants’ entrance down the alleyway,” she said. “It’s not a solid door. Other than by climbing up a wall and through an upstairs window—which is possible, but noisy, and people would probably notice—I can’t see how else any attacker could get into the house.”
“Excuse me, my lady.” Mrs. Clarke had stopped filling the coal bucket. “If you are worried about security, then you are staying in the wrong street in Deal.”
“What do you mean?” Arend almost barked out the words, and the poor woman took a step back at the violence in his tone.
Isobel rose quickly and stepped between them. “Don’t be afraid. Please continue. We are extremely interested to know what you mean. How is this the wrong street?”
She swallowed and curtsied. “Yes, my lady.” She slid Arend a nervous look. “Well, in the early seventeen hundreds the town was notorious for the fact that smugglers made it too dangerous for honest citizens—especially women—to walk about the town. So, to protect themselves, the people of Deal dug a network of underground tunnels. They still run beneath the main streets and houses.”
Chapter 20
“Did you know about the tunnels?” Isobel asked an obviously stunned Arend.
He shook his head and turned his attention back to the Mrs. Clarke. “Is there a tunnel into this house?”
“Oh, yes,” the woman said. “With the entrance hidden in the cellar. I still use it in midwinter when it’s really cold. I can walk to the market at the end of Ashburn Street without getting wet.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Clarke,” she said. “I’m very grateful.”
A smile broke over Arend’s face. “So am I. In fact, Mrs. Clarke, I could kiss you.”
“And I wouldn’t even mind,” Isobel laughed.
“Oh, my lady.” The older woman blushed. “It’s been ages since Mr. Clarke passed away and a handsome devil tried to take liberties.”
“Then it’s well past time.” Arend became serious. “Thank you, Mrs. Clarke. You may just have helped prevent a tragedy.”
