Night Fire

by Catherine Coulter

  “Arielle, would you please scratch my belly?”

  She jerked back, wondering if he’d seen her watching him. But no, his eyes were closed. That wasn’t possible.

  Very lightly, she laid her palm just above the sheet line. Tentatively she began to scratch.

  “Lower.”

  Her fingertips slipped beneath the sheet.

  “Ah, yes, just a bit harder. That’s right. Don’t stop.”

  His flesh was so warm, she thought, and so smooth. Her fingers went just a bit lower, tangling in the thick hair. Her scratching became more like caressing.

  “God, that’s wonderful.” He sighed deeply. “I can’t do anything about it, though.”

  Arielle pulled her hand away and stared down at him. He was looking mournful—that was the only way to describe his expression.

  “Even though my body wants you this very instant, it’s only that part of me that’s showing true wisdom. The rest of me is deader than a century-old goat. I’m truly sorry. For you, but even more for me, I think.”

  “No, no,” she said, “I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean, that is—oh, you’re doing this to me on purpose, and it’s so very ridiculous.”

  “No, it isn’t ridiculous and we’re both sorry. I know what you can do. At Dr. Body’s next visit, you can ask him how long it will be before I can make love to my wife.”

  He thought she would choke on that outrageous suggestion. He was also aware that the pain was becoming increasingly difficult for him to control. He didn’t want it, but he knew that rest and more rest were required for him to heal. He needed some laudanum. He asked Arielle for it. When he’d drunk the drugged lemonade, he said, “Until I fade away from you, tell me about our guests.”

  Arielle told him of how Alec, in a spate of prefatherhood practice, had played for thirty minutes with Virgie and Poppet. He’d emerged from the nursery, she said, looking a bit dazed, shaking his head. Cannons and battalions and bayonets, he’d said, all handled by two little girls in pigtails and frilly dresses. And a doll named Josephine had been on the sidelines giving strategical advice to Wellington. Josephine, he’d been told, was in truth Uncle Burke’s, but he—Uncle Burke—had allowed her to remain in the nursery. Alec had looked at Nesta’s stomach, shaken his head again, and gone riding. Knight had mocked Alec mercilessly. When applied to about his feelings toward fatherhood and offspring, Knight had drawled in that way of his that he would take another page from his father’s book: Ignore your children. They’ll be better off without all your bad habits. He had no intention of having anything to do with his vague, mythical heir, who would make an appearance—if Knight had his way—in the next century.

  As for Lannie and Percy, their courtship was proceeding with rapidity since the party was shattered and they’d been left to their own devices. Arielle even imagined that they’d spent Saturday afternoon in the gazebo, doing what, she couldn’t imagine. She didn’t speak of Dorcas again, which was fine with Burke. He was too woolly-headed to be intelligent in any case.

  He fell asleep with her soft hand against his cheek.

  It was a cool Wednesday morning. Joshua very quietly closed the door of Burke’s bedchamber and just stood there. He looked aggrieved. Arielle came up at that moment, looked at him, and said. “What is wrong, Joshua? Is his lordship feeling poorly?”

  “His lordship,” said Joshua, his voice biting, “is behaving like an ill-bred mongrel pup. He threw the gruel at me. At me!”

  Arielle frowned. Burke had begun behaving in the most impossible fashion since he’d awakened the previous day. He’d been demanding, irritable, and rude. But to throw his gruel—not at all awful, for Arielle herself had tasted it—at Joshua. It was too much.

  Arielle became militant. “I will speak to him, Joshua.”

  He looked suddenly worried. “He’s in a foul mood, my lady. I don’t know if you should—”

  “He is just behaving like a spoiled little boy. Don’t worry. If he throws something at me, I shall simply throw it back. Him and his interminable headaches. I’ll give him a headache.”

  Arielle, unaware that her new behavior was still something of a shock to those who knew her at all, walked into the bedchamber, her stance aggressive. She stood beside Burke’s bed, her hands on her hips, her shoulders thrown back, a frown on her forehead.

  Burke cocked an eyebrow and said, his voice nasty, “What do you want?”

  “You are being rude. You have been rude since you woke up yesterday morning. I won’t stand for it. It will stop.”

  Burke’s eyes narrowed on his wife’s face. “You are giving me orders in my own home?”

  “You shouldn’t have thrown the gruel at Joshua. He was very upset. Nor, my dear, should you have yelled at poor Joan to get the hell out of your bedchamber before you boxed her ears. She was nearly in tears and I had a difficult time calming her down. Now, as for your behavior with poor George, yelling at him to go stuff a sock in his ear, and to take those damnable papers and stuff them in his—well, I can’t begin—”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “I will pour you some lemonade after I’ve told you about how George feels. Your thick-skinned, thoroughly asinine behavior with him—”

  “I want a brandy.”

  “My dear—Burke, you can’t have—”

  “I want brandy. You get it for me, else I’ll get up and get it for myself.”

  She stood undecided. He was irascible, to say the least. He was behaving atrociously, to be sure. She could not buckle. Finally, she shook her head. “No, not yet. Dr. Brody will be here shortly. You may ask him then.”

  “You are refusing to get me what I want?”

  She merely smiled at the most menacing voice she’d ever heard out of him. “Do be good, Burke. I know you must be feeling helpless and bored, but you will be well soon, I promise you.”

  “Stop treating me like the village idiot.”

  He was flushed. She sat down beside him and placed her palms against his chest. She gently pushed him back against the pillow, leaned over, and kissed him. It surprised him as much as it surprised her.

  He said, “You’re trying to take advantage of a helpless man.”

  “Yes,” she said, “I suppose I am.” She kissed him again, very lightly. She felt his lips part and his tongue stroke over her lower lip.

  “Burke,” she said, lifting her head again, “you mustn’t do that.”

  “Why the devil not? I’m bored to tears and here you are offering yourself to me, knowing that I can’t do a damned thing about it.”

  She grinned and kissed him again. “Do you really believe I could be so very cruel?”

  Twenty

  Knight took his leave two mornings later, accompanying Lannie, Percy, and the girls back to London to Lady Boyle’s.

  He said privately to Burke before his departure, “You’ve had enough company. Time for you to enjoy peace and quiet and whatever else you feel up to doing with your beautiful bride.”

  Burke laughed, then immediately sobered, holding his right arm very still over his chest, his lips a thin line, until the pain eased.

  “Incidentally,” Knight said when he saw Burke had controlled the pain, “I’ve much enjoyed your whining invalid performance for Arielle’s benefit. She, I suppose, had no notion that you’ve been a complete and utter ass on purpose?”

  Burke grinned. “Have I been that obvious?”

  “Only to someone who has known you for twenty years, and even I didn’t realize it right away. I was surprised that Joshua didn’t catch on sooner, but he has now and he told me yesterday, all the while scratching his head, ‘Aye, the major lord is a wily one, that he is. He had Lady Arielle running in rings around him, taking charge, giving him orders, aye, more than that, and she just might strangle him.” Of course, I assured him that you knew exactly how far to push your lady before that fate could befall you.”

  Burke chuckled, very restrained this time, and he was rewarded. The pain wasn’t at all b
ad, to his profound relief. Mark Brody had removed the stitches the previous afternoon, but Burke still had to stay in bed for another day. He was going mad, his act with Arielle and all the servants becoming less an act as each tedious hour dragged by.

  “Thank you for accompanying Lannie and Percy back to London, though I doubt they’ll know you’re even along. Are you to look after Virgie and Poppet?”

  Knight looked a bit disgusted. “Someone has to go with them, else they’ll end up in a ditch and not even notice. Good Lord, the way they’re acting is enough to turn one’s stomach. I’ll see to it that Lannie and the girls are duly installed at your sister’s house, then take myself off. I suppose you’ll be coming to the wedding in September?”

  “I’m glad it is in September. I wouldn’t doubt that Lannie is already pregnant.”

  “If the vacuous grin on Percy’s face is any indication, she must be. Merciful heaven, save me from such a halfwitted fate.”

  “A sated man,” Burke said mildly. “Well, there’s a goodly bit to say in favor of it, Knight.” He gave a deep sigh.

  “Don’t you dare overdo anything until your shoulder is healed,” Knight said.

  “Somehow,” Burke said, “I think my shoulder will be just fine by tonight.”

  Knight merely shook his head. “You will take good care of Arielle.”

  “Naturally. She’s mine.”

  Knight gave him an odd look, then shook his head again. “Oh, one other thing. I believe Alec and Nesta will be leaving for Northumberland shortly. Alec doesn’t want to wait until she is too far into her pregnancy. So you’ll be alone with your bride at long last.”

  “Amen to that,” said Burke, then added with a twinkle in his eye, “Not, of course, that I haven’t enjoyed this visit by all of you immensely. So many good friends to keep me company.”

  Knight gave his friend his opinion very concisely, in the most lurid of prose, shook his hand, and took his leave.

  Arielle visited her husband not thirty minutes later, a snifter of brandy—if his eyes didn’t deceive him—in her hand.

  “Yes,” she said, laughing at his hopeful expression, “it is brandy and it’s for you. You’ve been wonderful, Burke, and I decided you deserved a reward.”

  “A wife both beautiful and compassionate.”

  He downed the brandy, sighed blissfully, and laid his head back against the pillow. “You really think I’m wonderful? Even after the way I’ve moaned and groaned and carried on and driven you nearly to terminal strangulation? Of me, that is.”

  She gave him the most loving smile. It made him swallow. She sat beside him and smoothed the covers over his chest. “You were just bored and didn’t know what to do with yourself. So active and physical a man can’t be expected to perform in a saintly manner when he’s wounded as badly as you were.” She leaned over and began kissing him.

  He found himself momentarily without words. It still surprised him, her kissing him, her taking the initiative. Of course, it was only a kiss. She wasn’t seducing him, for God’s sake. More’s the pity. He kissed her back, then said in his patented complaining voice, “I want you to rub my back. It hurts from just lying here like a damnable lump.”

  “All right,” Arielle said agreeably. “Let me get some of my cream.” She didn’t mention that it was the cream Dorcas used to rub into her back after Paisley had beaten her. She supposed there was no need to. Burke wasn’t stupid. She was, however, relieved that he didn’t say anything about it.

  When he was on his stomach, the covers pulled only to his waist and her hands smoothing the cream into his back, Burke decided there couldn’t be a better way to spend a morning. He moaned with pleasure. Her hands made sweeping motions from his shoulders to his waist, over and over again.

  “Lower,” he said.

  Arielle paused only a moment, then pulled the sheet down a bit farther.

  “Ah,” he said. “I will be your willing slave if you will do that for the next fifty years.”

  Without conscious decision, Arielle leaned forward and kissed the base of his spine. She felt him start, then shudder. She kissed him again, her tongue lightly caressing him.

  “Arielle.”

  He sounded as if he were in pain. She straightened, flushing a bit, and began her massage again. She loved the feel of the deep muscles, the smoothness and warmth of his flesh. He was glad that he was on his stomach.

  He moaned again as her fingers found a particularly tense muscle and massaged it deeply.

  After a few more minutes, she said, “My hands are getting tired, Burke, but I’ll do this again this evening, all right?”

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice muffled into the pillow.

  “Shall I help you turn over?”

  “No,” he said, and he sounded as if he were being tortured.

  She was concerned and it sounded in her voice. “Would you like some laudanum?”

  “No,” he said, trying to calm himself. “I think I’ll stay like this for a while.”

  She lightly ran her hand down his back once more. “I must go now. There is so much to see to. I’ll return to have lunch with you.” She didn’t move for a moment. She was staring at him. Slowly, not really wanting to, she pulled the sheet up his back.

  Then she lightly patted his rear end. His eyes widened with shock. He couldn’t think of a word to say. He heard her skirts, the tapping of her slippers on the hardwood floor, the sound of the bedchamber door being opened and quietly closed.

  She’d been so natural with him. She’d patted his butt. He couldn’t believe it. He was still smiling ten minutes later. He was whistling when she returned carrying their lunch tray.

  Burke watched her in silence as she picked up her nightgown and adjourned to behind the now-mended screen in the far corner of the room. Damned ugly thing, he thought, then sighed, knowing Dorcas’s attack had set them and their burgeoning intimacy back a bit. But she’d kissed him, not only on his mouth but at the base of his spine. That had to count for something. For a lot, as a matter of fact.

  “Arielle.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Hurry up. I’m bored and lonesome.”

  It was his patented whining tone, and she did hurry. A few minutes later, she emerged in her virginal white lawn gown, ribbons tied in cockeyed bows to her chin.

  “I like the way you look,” he said. Actually, if she’d been wearing medieval armor, he would still have liked the way she looked. “Take your hair down. I enjoy watching you brush it.”

  “All right.” Arielle began removing the pins as she spoke. “Would you like me to rub your back tonight?”

  “Yes, I would like that very much.” His mind nearly went into spasms at the thought.

  He watched her brush out her hair. The beautiful Titian color, such a rich, deep red, glistened in the candlelight. His fingers itched to touch it, to touch her. He waited, fidgeting only a bit, and forgot to whine.

  Soon Arielle joined him, sitting beside him on the bed. “I should look at your shoulder and change your bandage.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “I’ll be very careful.”

  He suffered in silence, and it wasn’t from any pain from his wound. That lavender scent of hers smelled so sweet. She leaned close, examining the wound, gently touching the surrounding flesh. “There is no swelling and the flesh looks healthy to me. You heal remarkably fast. I’ll put only a light bandage over it.”

  When that was done, he looked at her hopefully. She grinned. “All right,” she said, completely misunderstanding his look, “I’ll massage your back for you now. Let me turn you over. Slowly, Burke, slowly.”

  He grunted as he rolled over. When she pulled the sheet down to his waist, he felt himself tightening, waiting for her hands on his body.

  He continued to wait.

  Finally, in a voice so soft he could have spread it easily on his breakfast toast, she said, “You are so beautiful, Burke.” And then she started rubbing his back.

  He groaned with the pleasure of
it.

  Her voice was a bit lighter now, teasing. “You are a hedonist, my lord.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I’ve been so worried about you.” Her fingers were caressing him now, not massaging. “I was scared that you would die and I couldn’t have borne it, you know. I was so angry at you that you had saved me, because I knew that if you died it wouldn’t have been fair. You are a much better person than I and—”

  “What the hell did you say?” He twisted up onto his side.

  “Shush, please lie still. Please, Burke.”

  “Don’t you ever say anything so stupid again. Dammit, woman, you’re my wife, and I just happen to love you more than anything in this bloody world, including myself? Do you understand?”

  There was complete silence.

  She leaned over and began kissing him at the top of his spine. She worked her way down, very slowly and very thoroughly.

  “Oh, God,” he said, his hands fisting.

  He felt her hands pulling away the sheet, down to his knees. The air cooled his hot flesh. “Arielle,” he said.

  “Just be quiet.”

  And she continued kissing him. Her hands preceded her, stroking over his buttocks, lightly roving over his thighs.

  His breathing was jerky and he felt his body swell and throb, his muscles tighten, his stomach knot.

  Her hands stroked down his legs, then up. Her fingers slid between his thighs, lightly, ever so lightly, touching him, making him wonder if he wouldn’t soon shatter into a thousand pieces.

  She kissed his buttocks, then his thighs. “So very beautiful,” he heard her whisper and felt her warm breath on his inner thigh. “So different from me. I don’t have all this hair, you know.”