Night Fire

by Catherine Coulter

  “Shush, sweetheart. Go to sleep. Someday you will believe me, you know. Someday you will trust me. Many men have told me that I’m quite the adequate friend, and perhaps you will come to think so as well.” He heard another small gasp. “All right, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I’m afraid. Your sex is—” Her voice dropped like a stone from a cliff.

  “My sex is what?”

  “Big and hard.”

  He felt his insides clench at her words. “I can’t help it, you know. I want to be inside you, very much. It’s the way I am made, Arielle.”

  “Then why haven’t you?”

  “Come inside you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You haven’t asked me to,” he said simply. He heard her suck in her breath, and he smiled into the darkness.

  Suddenly, without warning, she reared up, jerking away from him. “You’re cruel. You mock me and—” She paused, and he knew that she was terrified of what she’d done. He waited. “Why can you not just be done with it? I—I cannot bear it. Please, Burke, just be done with it.”

  He hadn’t expected this assault. She was so disbelieving of him, so uncertain of him, that she wanted him to force her, just to have it over with. She was so far from feeling desire that in dark moments, he feared of ever reaching her. Even if he were gentle, he knew she would hate it, feel that he was violating her.

  “Lie down, Arielle.”

  His voice, cold and imperious. She tried to control her breathing, control her fear. Slowly, she uncurled her body and eased down beside him, her eyes shut. At least it would be done and over with soon. But if he didn’t like her, what would he do? He will beat you, you half-wit, she told herself. That’s what he will do. But it was better than not knowing. It had to be better.

  She felt his large warm hand stroke over her breasts, downward over her ribs, and come to rest in the hollow of her belly.

  “Part your legs.”

  She did.

  She felt his fingers searching, felt the warmth of him as he touched her. Then he kissed her mouth. She wanted to scream and run, but she didn’t move.

  “You want to know what I’m going to do to you, Arielle?”

  She said nothing.

  “I’m going to slip my finger inside you. There, how does that feel?”

  She said nothing, but he felt her stiffen.

  “You’re very small,” he said, and she heard pain in his voice and wondered at it. She was frozen, rigid, waiting. “Even my finger is stretching you.”

  “I can’t help it,” she finally said.

  His finger went deeper, and he wondered if he was hurting her. He hadn’t expected this smallness. He had expected that she wouldn’t make a sound even if he did hurt her. “What can’t you help?”

  “Paisley,” she said, turning her face into his shoulder.

  “Paisley what?”

  “He couldn’t—go very far—couldn’t—”

  Burke stared into the darkness, his thoughts tumbling wildly against one another. No, it wasn’t possible, was it? “Are you a virgin, Arielle?”

  “A virgin? How could I be a virgin? No, well, I don’t know.”

  “Did your—did Paisley come inside you?”

  “He tried, but—yes, a bit, but—he said I wasn’t a woman, that I was too skinny and he disliked my body. I couldn’t arouse him properly, and he forced me down on my knees, so he wouldn’t have to see my face, he said, and he tried and tried and—God.”

  Burke gathered her into his arms. “It’s all right,” he said, over and over until her trembling lessened. “He didn’t let Etienne take you?”

  “He would have, but he died first. He made me be naked in front of his son and made me take him in my mouth to show Etienne how obedient and well trained I was and—”

  “I understand. It’s all right.”

  “He wanted me to be pregnant, so he told Etienne he could have me until I was.”

  The words were awful. They were, hopefully, also somewhat cathartic. Burke clamped down on his rage and said in a light, cool voice, “How wonderful that the damnable old bastard died. What a sick old bedlamite. Don’t you agree?”

  She was surprised at his words and his tone, and realized suddenly that it was indeed very fortunate. “Yes,” she said. “You’re right about that.” She was silent for just a moment, then added, “If I hadn’t been such a coward, I would have murdered him. I thought about it, you know, but in the end I was just too afraid.”

  No, he thought, she’d been too well trained, terrified not to be obedient. A possession didn’t turn on its master.

  “I would have murdered him too. Now, kiss me and let’s go to sleep.”

  To his utter delight, she did. Shyly, her lips closed, but it did rank as a kiss.

  Fourteen

  “Oh, Lord Castlerosse, forgive me. I didn’t mean to interrupt you and—”

  “You aren’t, Countess,” Knight said easily, turning away from the long windows to face her.

  He looked at her closely. In but a brief moment, he saw her hesitation about coming into a room that held only a man; saw her decide that no matter what the man tried, he couldn’t hurt her because of the servants close by, and finally attempt a smile to put him at ease because, after all, he was her guest.

  He was a good friend of Burke’s, Arielle was thinking. It was important to be nice to him. She’d realized the previous evening that he was a handsome man, not as handsome as her husband, but still—That wayward thought brought her up short. He had the blackest hair imaginable, thick and a bit too long for fashion, she suspected, and eyes a golden sort of brown, a fox’s eyes. He exuded power, strength, and dominance, both physical and mental, just like Burke, and that scared her. She stopped cold.

  Something, Knight thought, had made her hesitate yet again, and he said in his casual drawl, “Won’t you join me, ma’am?”

  “All right,” Arielle said. She felt like a fool, behaving like this, and came into the room.

  Knight wished she’d realize that he wasn’t going to attack her. “Your gown is lovely, if you don’t mind my saying so,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought that that particular shade of yellow would complement your hair, but it does.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Do you think you could call me Knight?”

  “Your name is unusual.”

  “I suppose so. My mother was infatuated with King Arthur, you see. She was realistic enough to know that Lancelot or Galahad or Gawain simply wouldn’t do, not in modern England, so she decided I could simply embody all of them.”

  “Arthur isn’t bad.”

  “I remember once telling her that. Her reply to me was that she didn’t think I’d prove worthy enough to bear that exalted name. Behold a man who is all and none, a concept, a designation.”

  Arielle smiled. He was charming and amusing. He didn’t seem at all threatening. “My father was a scholar. He thought Arielle sounded poetic and ancient enough for his tastes.”

  Knight chuckled. “I tease Burke that his is a pedestrian name. He naturally tells me that he was named after Edmund Burke, but I know that’s a corker. What has he told you?”

  “Me? Oh, nothing. Would you like a cup of tea, perhaps?”

  “I don’t think so. Actually, I was just admiring the prospect from the windows. It is lovely.”

  “Yes, I think so too. I’ve rather taken over this room, I suppose you could say. It is so bright and airy, and the prospect onto the western garden is, as you said, quite nice.” She added, a frown furrowing her brow, “I suppose I should ask Burke if he doesn’t mind.”

  “Why should Burke mind?”

  “It is his home. His orders and wishes take precedence.”

  “Well, Burke has his estate room and the library. If he said he wanted it, I would suggest you tell him smartly that he simply can’t have it.”

  Saying such a thing to a man who was her husband and her legal owner was such an outrageous notion that she had
to laugh.

  Knight laughed with her, although he wasn’t certain of the jest. He then saw that there was a chair between them. It made her feel safe, he realized with a start. Knight made no move to come around that small barrier.

  “Burke tells me that he met you when you were still a young girl. Fifteen or something close to that age?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice becoming clipped. She hated to be reminded of that silly little girl, that gullible and stupid twit who’d known nothing about anything and believed the world to be her own private preserve.

  Knight wasn’t daunted. He was charming when he applied himself, and he was fully applied. He wanted to find out all he could about her. Burke loved her beyond anything. Her wariness made Knight feel extraordinarily protective, a feeling he wasn’t at all used to. It frankly surprised him. He imagined if Burke felt the same, no, much more so.

  “Your husband is a fine man, Arielle. We have known each other since we were boys in short coats. I think perhaps he is a bit at loose ends, as am I. We were both in the army for so many years, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. We all wanted peace. It is just that it is difficult to adjust to a life without the regimen and challenge of the army. Even the endless frustration with the War Ministry. Burke was wounded in his side at Toulouse.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said again. She’d seen the scar but hadn’t said anything to Burke, as well as the scar on his upper arm and on the outside of his thigh.

  Hell, he wasn’t gaining much ground.

  Arielle wasn’t stupid. As she’d realized she was silly to be afraid of this man, she also saw now that he wanted to know if she was worthy of his friend. He wanted to protect Burke. It was a novel idea. Truly novel. She laughed, unable to help herself.

  This time Knight was totally at sea. His dark left eyebrow shot up. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I was just thinking how unusual this is, my l—Knight. If you would like to continue singing your friend’s praises, I will not object.” And she smiled at him.

  It was a lovely smile, albeit sarcastic. Knight brushed a small bit of lint from his coat sleeve. “Burke won’t see any other woman now that you are his wife. He is honorable and faithful.”

  “Poor Laura What’s-her-name,” Arielle said, and her voice sounded wonderfully flippant even to her own ears.

  She was still congratulating herself when he said, “He was wild for you when he was in London before you wed. He was, I guess you’d say—well, he was hurting, the way a man hurts when he, well—It was I who offered him Laura.”

  “You offered? Goodness, do you own an entire string of women, sir? Sort of like a horse stable? You offer mounts to your friends?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Knight said and felt a fool, something he truly detested. “What I meant was that I knew of this woman and I suggested to Burke that—”

  Arielle slashed her hand through the air. “I don’t want to hear about his mistress. Honestly, I have heard quite enough, both from you and from Burke. It is absurd.”

  “What precisely is so absurd?”

  “All of you.”

  “All of you what?”

  “Men, my lord. Even the noble Burke Drummond, your very dear friend, is still a man. That won’t ever change. Not ever. If you will excuse me now, I must see Mrs. Pepperall.”

  Knight held his temper. “There is really no reason for you to be afraid of me, Arielle.”

  That drew her up short. What had Burke told his friend? “I am not afraid of you, sir. However, I don’t like people who dissemble.”

  “I’ve never assumed that all women were cunning, treacherous bitches,” he said mildly. “I think it rather unreasonable for you to assume that all men are lying bastards.”

  “I don’t agree with you. You were waiting here, hoping I would come, were you not? Well, let me reassure you. I will not stick a knife into your friend’s heart, if that is what worries you. I did not, as a matter of fact, murder my first husband. Now, have you any other questions you would like to put to me?”

  “No, but I would like to say that I hadn’t meant to frighten or anger you. I wanted to begin trying to become your friend.”

  She stared at him. Another novel concept. “No, that is impossible.”

  “Because I am a man?”

  “As you hinted, this is a very odd conversation, Knight. Understand that you are a guest at Ravensworth Abbey. You will be treated like a guest, with all due deference. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  Knight watched her leave the room. He made no move to stop her. She was quite perceptive and intelligent. He hadn’t been expecting that, but he supposed he should have. After all, Burke didn’t easily tolerate stupidity in anyone, neither man nor woman. She was also lovely. When Burke had tried to describe her to Knight, he hadn’t been that able to put the Titian hair with the blue eyes with the slight figure all together. But she seemed to hate men, all men. Poor Burke. In love with a woman who not only was afraid of him but despised him as well. Given that her first husband had abused her, Knight supposed he understood. But to paint every man with the same brush, that bespoke pain that went very deep.

  Arielle leaned back against the closed door for many minutes, her eyes closed. She hadn’t believed her feelings were so close to the surface. But Knight had drawn her out in a matter of minutes. She had to be more careful. What if Knight told Burke of their conversation and Burke became angry with her? She hadn’t been at all gracious; indeed, she’d been rather rude. She opened her eyes finally to see a sharp-featured man dressed in footman’s livery watching her. She’d never seen him before. He was thin, nearly scrawny, his uniform baggy. His hair was sparse, a circle around his head with the top sporting two long strands. He had a sharp, jutting chin and very dark eyes.

  “Who are you?”

  The man smiled, showing a space between his front teeth, and bowed to her, a rusty movement, one that he wasn’t used to doing. “Me name’s Trunk, milady. Ollie Trunk. The earl ’ired me, said ’e needed me. I’m the new footman.”

  “Very well, Trunk,” she said. “Welcome to Ravensworth Abbey.” She gave him a brief nod and walked away. A very unlikely-looking footman, she mused, wondering what Montague thought of this new addition to his staff. Trunk. What a name.

  She spent the remainder of the morning with Virgie and Poppet, enjoying herself immensely as she drank five cups of imaginary tea. Luncheon passed well enough. Lannie excused herself soon after to prepare herself for the evening, and the men adjourned to Burke’s library. Arielle felt tired, but she wouldn’t give in to it. She called Dorcas to help her change into her riding habit.

  “You look peaked,” Dorcas said without preamble.

  “Just a bit.”

  “You’ve been too busy with all these people in the Abbey.”

  “Well, Lannie and the girls live here. As for the Lord Castlerosse and Lord Carver, I doubt they will prove much trouble.”

  “Still,” Dorcas began, but she didn’t continue because she was concentrating on braiding Arielle’s hair.

  “I just met a new footman,” Arielle said. “I think he is someone Burke hired to find out who killed Mellie. A Bow Street Runner, perhaps.”

  “You’ve still got that bee in your bonnet,” said Dorcas, her voice sharp. “The girl was a little slut and she felt remorse, unusual for a female with no moral fiber, but sometimes it does happen. She did herself in, nothing else.”

  Arielle couldn’t believe her ears. Not Dorcas too. “I’ll admit I didn’t know the girl, but, Dorcas, Mellie was only fifteen years old.”

  “Well, I did know her. Don’t matter, not a whit. I can’t see that his lordship would want a stranger poking about the Abbey, all because of Mellie’s death. Does it make you feel safe to believe a murderer lives here?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “It is all balderdash,” said Dorcas and placed a final fastener into Arielle’s hair.

>   Arielle stared into her mirror, seeing Dorcas’s face reflected behind her. “Do you also believe me a slut, Dorcas? Paisley didn’t rape me, but only because he wasn’t able, but he beat me and forced me to do unspeakable things. Do you believe I wanted it? That what I got was all my fault? Do you believe I really asked for it? Should I have killed myself?”

  “You were always a lady, Miss Arielle, always. Certainly you didn’t ask to be beaten. You would never give in, never flaunt yourself, not to Lord Rendel, not to that Etienne DuPons, not to Lord Ravensworth. Whereas Mellie did ask for that man—whoever he is—to take her. There, your hair is finished. Go along with you now.”

  Arielle went along. She was very confused. She heard the men’s voices coming from the library and kept going. She wanted to be alone for a while, to think, to feel the fresh air against her face. While Geordie was saddling up Mindle, Arielle found herself looking at each of the stable lads. Had Jaime, perhaps, raped and killed Mellie? He was rough-mannered, she knew, a large, muscled young man. Or perhaps it was Lambert, a silent, dark-spirited man who rarely said anything to anybody. But none of these men could get into the Abbey.

  “Shall I accompany ye, milady?”

  “No, thank you, Geordie. I’m only riding to the lake. It’s a lovely day, you know.”

  “Aye, I do,” said Geordie. He gave her a leg up and watched her canter Mindle down the winding drive.

  She was thinking about the previous night, lying in Burke’s arms, the night dark and heavy, telling him everything, even of Paisley’s plan to give her to his illegitimate son, Etienne. She shivered now, remembering. He’s said nothing of it so far, but then again he did have guests to entertain.

  She tied Mindle to a low branch on a willow tree by the lake. It was a glorious summer day. The water was calm and clear, the air sweet with the smells of thick grass and flowers. She sat down near the edge of the water and leaned her head back against the trunk of a maple tree. Insects buzzed around her head.

  “Do wake up, dear sister.”