Night Fire

by Catherine Coulter

  “At Ravensworth Abbey? Only two days. Come and sit down, Arielle.”

  She plucked at her riding skirt, her nervousness, her skittishness, palpable. “I—I don’t know, my lord—”

  “That girl called me Burke. Don’t you remember? Won’t the woman do the same?”

  Of course she remembered. And what did he mean talking of the girl and now the woman? She wanted to leave, quickly. “Very well, Burke. I think I should return to Rendel Hall.”

  “Nonsense. You are mistress there. If you are late, will the butler order you to your room without your dinner?”

  That made her smile. “Probably not, though he would try to dash me down with one of his looks.” The god’s truth was that the old man always gave her sly, knowing looks.

  He watched her gracefully ease down onto the grass and spread her blue riding skirt about her. She carefully folded her gloved hands in her lap. He ached just looking at her.

  “I trust you aren’t wounded this time?”

  He sat beside her and was surprised when she pulled away to place more distance between them. “Yes, but nothing much, really. A saber thrust in my side.”

  She grimaced. “I’m sorry. Have you much pain this time?”

  “Not now.”

  “Will you remain in England?”

  “Yes, since Napoleon is out of the way. It is time I did earllike things and earned my title and my keep.”

  “Surely there is more than enough to occupy you.”

  I don’t wish to speak of this nonsense, he thought. He was frustrated. He wanted to tell her he wanted her to marry him. Now, today.

  So, instead, he said, “Do you remember what you told me three years ago, Arielle?”

  She cocked her head to one side and stared at him as she sorted through her memories. It was there, of course, there with the feelings she’d felt then, the feelings she’d had after he’d left. She’d told him that she would be waiting for him with all the other ladies. Oh, no, she thought. She began shaking her head. “Why?” she asked.

  He chuckled, trying to mask his tension. “You have become a fickle woman, I see.”

  She had to change the course of this—she had to. “Is your wife at Ravensworth? What is her name? Have you children?”

  That startled him, and he arched a dark brow. “Why would you think me married?”

  Because you have to be. “I just assumed that you would be. You are the earl and have need of an heir. You are older now, fully grown, and I—” She ground to a halt, so embarrassed that she could only stare at the loose blades of grass that would certainly stain her skirt.

  “I was fully grown that first afternoon three years ago, Arielle. As I recall, you told me so yourself.”

  “I was a child, a foolish, trusting child. I didn’t know anything.”

  Her bitterness was a live thing. What the hell had happened? Was this because of Paisley Cochrane? He said calmly, “I am back now to do as I ought. You are right. As the Earl of Ravensworth, I have need of an heir. For that I shall need a wife.” He smiled at her and despite his best intentions, all the tenderness he felt for her was in his eyes. “Have you any thoughts on the subject? Any recommendations, perhaps?”

  No, she thought wildly, he couldn’t mean what she thought he did. Oh, no. He couldn’t want her, at least not as a wife. She was used and dirty and—It would mean bedding him, doing all those disgusting things, being beaten again and crying with the pain, the helplessness. She realized that she was shaking her head. She jumped to her feet. “No, I have no thoughts. Well, actually, yes, there are many lovely ladies who live hereabouts. I am certain you will see them all very soon. I must go now. Really, I must.”

  Burke stared up at her. He saw fear in her eyes, and distaste. He tried to retrench quickly, saying mildly, emotionlessly, “Don’t go yet, Arielle.”

  “I shouldn’t be here, alone with you.”

  “That didn’t concern you when you were fifteen. It doesn’t concern me now. Come, stay, and let’s get acquainted again. I was sorry to hear of the death of Sir Arthur. I wrote you.”

  Arielle watched him uncertainly. He seemed controlled enough, calm enough. Perhaps she’d misunderstood him. She had nothing but lovely memories of him. He’d always acted the perfect gentleman, but still, he was a man and thus unpredictable, not to be trusted.

  “Yes, I received your letter. Thank you. Of course I couldn’t reply.”

  “I knew that, yes. You were very young.”

  Not only was I young, I was foolish and stupid too. “How is Lannie? And Poppet and Virgie?”

  At least she’s not bolting, he thought. He said easily, “Lannie is just the same, perhaps even more so. I shall probably become her nemesis again now that I am home. My steward, Cerlew, is the current recipient of all her melodramatic wrath. Lannie is very adaptable, as you probably remember. She said she missed you. As for my nieces, they’re really quite cute.”

  “Excellent,” said Arielle.

  And that was that? he thought. Burke looked out over the placid lake. “I remember thinking that you and I were friends. That is no longer true?”

  Friends. To be friends with a man was an alien thought. It required trust, a commodity that was elusive, indeed a commodity that was most unlikely in her experience.

  “No,” she said honestly, “I don’t believe it is.”

  That drew him up short. “Whyever not? I haven’t grown two heads, and I am still accounted an honorable man.” He’d meant his words to sound light, humorous, but her expression remained grave, withdrawn.

  He wasn’t aware, would never have guessed, that she was seeing him in that moment as a very real threat to her. She was seeing a large man, powerfully built, so much stronger than she that he could easily break her, easily intimidate her, easily beat her with little effort on his part. As for his good looks, that made her distrust him all the more. A man who had been a young girl’s dream hero for months was likely nothing more than a chimera, a foolish fantasy woven from unreal cloth. Then her father had died and Evan had taken control of her life. She’d blocked out the Earl of Ravensworth just as she’d blocked out every other man who’d come into her ken. A gentle breeze lifted his dark brown hair, ruffling it, and he sent impatient fingers through it. His eyes were a dark brown, his eyelashes thick and lush, the envy of a woman. His face was strong, and even without speaking, he held the aura of one born to command, one who was used to being obeyed, one who would not tolerate not being obeyed.

  She felt fear, cold and harsh. He was a man. He wasn’t to be trusted. No, she wouldn’t believe his offer of friendship. She was no longer gullible and stupid.

  “Arielle?”

  “What?”

  “What’s wrong? Have I said something to distress you?”

  A handsome and charming man, a strong man, could dissemble, could draw one in before springing for the kill. He was holding out his hand to her, a strong brown hand that could hurt so easily, could slap her, could mark her. She ran her tongue over her dry lips. She found herself looking at him, and her fear grew. Unlike Evan, the Earl of Ravensworth in riding clothes was an impressive sight, from his close-fitting jacket of pale blue to his sparkling black Hessians. Then, quite suddenly, she saw him naked. She saw him standing just as Etienne had stood, his back to the fireplace, the flames framing him, casting him in shadowy lights.

  She sucked in her breath and leaped to her feet.

  “Why won’t you tell me what is wrong?” His voice was soft and reasonable-sounding, the voice of an adult soothing a frightened child.

  “I must go. Good-bye.”

  She rushed away from him and climbed onto Mindle’s back. She realized she hadn’t untied Mindle’s reins and sat there a moment, feeling stupid and afraid.

  She saw him rise slowly, brush the soft earth from his thighs. He was coming to her, and she was so afraid that she felt frozen in place.

  Burke didn’t understand. He was hurt and angry and confused. Slowly, he untied Mindle�
�s reins. He saw Arielle staring at his hand as he lifted the reins to her.

  Her eyes bothered him; her pupils were large and fixed. What the devil was wrong?

  “I wish to visit you,” he said, his voice formal. “Will you be at home tomorrow?”

  “Why?”

  He smiled, showing straight white teeth. “To renew our friendship. For whatever reason, I think I’ve set myself an awesome task. Perhaps you will tell me.”

  What am I to say? What am I to do? “All right,” she said, and he felt fury at the ungraciousness in her voice. He wasn’t a damned troll, for God’s sake. He wasn’t ill-looking or old. He had all his teeth; he wasn’t fat and didn’t intend to become so. He was titled now and he was rich. What the hell was wrong with her? Aloud he said mildly, “I will see you in the early afternoon, then. After luncheon. Good-bye, Arielle.”

  She looked at him, uncertainty in her eyes. He couldn’t do anything to hurt her, not at Rendel Hall. She would make sure that Dorcas was there. She nodded and click-clicked Mindle forward.

  Burke didn’t move, merely stared after her. He watched her gallop her mare through the shallow end of the lake, sending spumes of spray flying upward, soaking her riding habit.

  Their first meeting hadn’t gone at all as he’d envisioned.

  Indeed, it had been a fiasco.

  She wasn’t the Arielle he remembered.

  This Arielle he didn’t understand. He wanted this Arielle even more. He shook his head at himself. Why had God, in his infinite wisdom, created this particular woman and destined him for her?

  He patted Ashes’s nose. “Well, old fellow, I’ve got my work cut out for me, hmm?”

  Ashes obligingly whinnied.

  “What the devil is wrong with her?”

  Ashes whinnied again.

  “Why did she treat me like I was carrying the plague?” Ashes was silent this time.

  Arielle was cold, so cold her teeth were chattering. She was naked, tied down to the bed, her legs and arms spread wide, her wrists and ankles tied with satin strips to the bedposts. He was there, of course. She saw him standing by the fireplace, his pose relaxed, a riding crop in one hand. He was slapping it lightly and rhythmically against his open palm. He was fully clothed.

  She didn’t plead; it would do no good. She stared at the riding crop, knowing it would strike her soon, nearly feeling the stinging pain each stroke would bring. But he’d tied her down on her back. Usually she was facedown on her knees on the floor. She swallowed painfully, unable to still her shivering.

  Then, suddenly, there were others. At least six men were now in the room and they were drinking brandy. She didn’t know how she knew it was brandy, she just knew. They were laughing, talking loudly, but she couldn’t make out their words. One man looked toward her and made some obscene gestures with his hands. She watched, dumb with terror, as the men came over to the bed, circled it, and stared down at her. They all had riding crops. The man closest to her head leaned down suddenly, grasped her jaw between his thick fingers to hold her still, and kissed her hard.

  She tried to pull away, tried to scream for him to leave her alone. She felt all their hands now, touching her, slapping her. She opened her mouth but there was no sound.

  Just as suddenly, all the men were gone, all except him—Paisley. He was yelling insults at her, his voice contemptuous, telling her that she was so sexless she couldn’t interest any man. He’d even gotten them drunk, he yelled at her, but still they didn’t want her. She was a worthless trollop, of no value at all, even as a diversion.

  She wanted to scream at him that she was glad she was worthless, glad that no man wanted her, but still she couldn’t seem to make any sound. She felt tears sliding down her cheeks, tasted the salt in her mouth. Now he was grinning at her. He tossed the riding crop to the floor and opened his breeches. She stared at him. His sex was hard, ready.

  Now, he told her, now he would take her. At last. He climbed over her, sitting back on his heels. He leaned down, his hands rough on her body, and suddenly she screamed, loud, piercing screams.

  It wasn’t Paisley coming into her body.

  It was Burke Drummond.

  Arielle sat up in bed, fully awake. Unconsciously, she was rubbing her wrists and her ankles, as if soothing them from the straps. It was a dream, she said over and over to herself. But why had Paisley become Burke Drummond?

  She’d felt a threat from him, that was why. The poor man had probably not meant a thing, yet her fear of men had made him evil and rough and harsh, like Paisley Cochrane.

  She huddled down under the mound of covers, trying to get warm. The room wasn’t cold, but she was, and the cold was from deep inside her. She wondered blankly if she would ever be warm again.

  “Her ladyship is not receiving today, my lord.”

  Burke looked at the old man’s expression and knew he could probably bribe any information he desired from the fellow. Why didn’t Arielle boot him out, for heaven’s sake?

  “Tell her the Earl of Ravensworth is here to see her.”

  “She knew of your visit, my lord. She told me to give you her apologies.” Philfur studiously flicked a piece of lint from his black sleeve. “It is possible that her ladyship isn’t as ill-disposed as she seems.”

  Well, he was right, the miserable old bastard. Burke hadn’t been privy to such a blatant bribery attempt in a very long time. “I trust she is not,” he said finally, his voice bland. “Tell her that I shall return on the morrow. My best to her.”

  “Certainly, my lord.”

  Burke stood there a moment longer, undecided. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to give in to this nonsense. He knew she wasn’t ill. He knew, deep down, that she simply didn’t want to see him. The question was, why? Did he repulse her? For some reason was she afraid of him? Was she still grieving for that miserable excuse for a husband?

  He walked thoughtfully toward the Rendel stables, where he’d left Ashes and Joshua. Joshua had asked if he could accompany him and he’d agreed, not really paying much heed to his batman. No, he corrected himself silently, no longer a batman. Joshua was now his valet. When he reached the slate-roofed stables, he saw Joshua in conversation with an older man whose wiry, lean body didn’t fool Burke for a minute. The man was as strong as he was, perhaps stronger.

  “My lord,” Joshua said. “I’d like you to meet Geordie. He’s Lady Rendel’s groom and the head stable lad.”

  Now this was odd, Burke was thinking, but he nodded politely and said, “Geordie.”

  “Me lord,” said Geordie, and Burke was aware of being studied and assessed and weighed. He felt at once amused and annoyed.

  “We will return tomorrow, Joshua,” he said finally, ignoring Geordie.

  “Aye,” said Geordie. “Tomorrow, me lord. Joshua.”

  “What the devil was that all about?” Burke asked as they rode down the narrow drive away from Rendel Hall.

  Joshua leaned forward and scratched his horse’s ear. “Well, Major Lord, I came because I wanted to know what happened to that sweet, mouthy little girl I’d met three years ago. And Geordie, he wanted to know all about you and what you intended toward Lady Rendel.”

  Burke turned in the saddle, his hand fisting on the reins. “Joshua, have you any idea how very—” Burke stalled. He chewed on his lower lip, searching for words to convey his indignation without insulting his longtime batman and friend.

  “Yes, Major Lord. Forward, that I’d call it myself.”

  “But you don’t like women.”

  “That’s true enough, but this little one—well, I never thought of her as exactly a female, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I haven’t the foggiest notion of what you mean. Arielle—that is, Lady Rendel—not a female?”

  “As I said before, Major Lord, a mouthy little thing she was, but not a mean splinter in her body. And open for all to see.”

  “As in honest, I presume?”

  “Yes. Flat out leveled me, me dislik
ing the fairer sex the way I do. Now Geordie, he’d kill for the lass—that’s what he calls her. Told me, he did, that she booted out all the servants right after her husband died. They’d been loyal to him, you see. He heard one of them carrying on about her and what a slut she was, and, well, he said it made him furious as spit. Lady Rendel hired him on and he protects her, you might say.”

  “You learned all this in the few minutes I was being told by a thoroughly reprehensible butler that I wouldn’t be admitted?”

  “Yes. Now, Philfer, that’s the butler, Geordie said Lady Rendel didn’t get rid of him, miserable old fool that he is, because she’s too kind.”

  “Fine. She should pension him off. He’s obnoxious, dishonest, and hasn’t an honorable or loyal thought in his damned brain.”

  Joshua merely nodded, falling into silence, his report completed. Burke chewed over what he’d been told. Why did she need Geordie to protect her?

  Arielle let the lace curtain gently fall back into place. He was gone. He hadn’t made a scene. She turned stiffly away from the window, willing the images from the nightmare to leave her. When Philfer told her an hour later that Lord Ravensworth would return on the morrow, she said nothing, merely nodded.

  It was that evening that her half brother paid her a visit. Philfer admitted him. Evan was standing in her drawing room before she’d even known he’d come.

  She rose slowly, wondering wildly where Dorcas was. She was alone and she was afraid, again.

  Four

  “Good evening, Arielle. I have not intruded.” Arielle stared at her brother. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again, Evan,” she said, voice chill. “How did you manage to get admitted to my house?”