Night Fire (7 page)

“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 disliking 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.

“G
ood 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?”

“You are not very gracious, sweet sister. I merely came to see how you were. Your butler—I can't remember the old fellow's name—well, he wasn't at his post and the door was open. I trust you don't mind that I came in?”

She cocked a brow at him, knowing deep down that he was lying. Philfer not available to answer the front door? Impossible; at least she would have thought so. Had Philfer let him in? For a bribe? It was an unwelcome thought.

“I suppose you wish some tea or something?”

“I should appreciate a brandy, if that is all right.”

Brandy, she thought, remembering so vividly the nightmare of the previous night.

She nodded and walked to the sideboard. She poured him a drink and handed it to him. She suddenly remembered that night so long ago when she'd escaped to him for protection and his fingertips had traced the new welts on her back. What had he been thinking while he'd been doing it? How much money he would charge Paisley for her return?

“You will not join me?”

She shook her head. “What do you want, Evan? Quickly. I want you out of my house.”

He sipped the brandy, looking at her closely. “I already told you. Why would I lie?”

You are a man, she wanted to shout at him. It is natural to you, everything that is awful and deceitful is natural to you, but she said only, “If you wish to hold to that tale, who am I to quibble?”

“So gracious,” he said.

“I believe I told you I never wished to see you again. I didn't lie, Evan. I want you out of my life.”

“And I want you to know how very sorry I am. I really had no idea that Paisley Cochrane was such a—”

“Enough,” she shouted.

“Very well. My father isn't dead, Arielle, and I can prove it to you. I can prove that I wasn't lying. I ask you, wouldn't you have protected your father at all costs, even sacrificing me?”

“In an instant,” she said, “were it you.”

He ignored her words and continued slowly. “He is in Paris, very ill. I must go to him. Here is my letter from him. Read it. Read it and know that I didn't lie to you. I wouldn't have hurt you knowingly, Arielle, I swear it.”

Without meaning to, Arielle took the single sheet of paper and unfolded it. The handwriting was spidery, the ink blue-black, the number of words minimal. The letter stated simply what Evan had just told her and was signed “Your loving father.”

She handed the letter back to him. “So he is alive. What do you want me to do about it?” She paused, her eyes glittering. “Ah, I see now. How stupid of me. If your father is alive, then my mother was never married to Arthur Leslie and I am thus a bastard. That is it, isn't it, Evan?”

He looked pained. “Surely you can't imagine that I would announce this to the neighborhood. I am not such a blackguard as that.”

Ha, she thought. “Then what do you want?”

“I need money,” he said baldly.

“For money you will keep silent about my lack of proper parentage?”

“No, that isn't at all what I meant.”

“You are really quite an amazingly paltry person, you know. However have you managed to spend the twenty thousand pounds you got for me in a mere three years?”

He ground his teeth. But then again, what had he expected? She was giving him a look of contempt, and it angered him so much that he wanted to strike her.

“Yes, indeed,” she said when he remained silent. “A pity. I doubt your sire is worth it.”

“And your sire, Arielle? Your sire's good name?”

“It is called blackmail, Evan.” She smiled at him and said very slowly, “If you wish it to be known that your half sister is a bastard, so be it. Believe this, Evan: I really don't care.”

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Damnation, he had thought his silence would be worth something to her, but it obviously wasn't.

“Why, nothing at all. You and your threats are quite ridiculous. Go away, Evan.”

“Very well, I will take my leave now. Thank you for allowing me time with you, Arielle.”

“I wouldn't have if Philfer had been at his post.”

“No, I don't suppose you would have. Well, what could I have expected? To be forgiven for mistakes that I couldn't help?” He sighed deeply, and again Arielle felt a spurt of uncertainty. She shook her head at herself. No, it still came down to twenty thousand pounds. He couldn't lie about that. Paisley had kept records.

“Good-bye, Evan.” She turned on her heel and walked from her own drawing room. She didn't look around to see if he followed her. From the corner of her eye she saw Philfer emerging from the kitchen. There was a furtive look in the old man's expression, but she paid him no heed as he began to make excuses, and just continued on her way to the small, informal dining room.

To her surprise, Dorcas was sitting there, looking tense.

“Is he gone?”

“I assume so. I am surprised you didn't come in astride your brave charger, lance in hand, to rescue me.”

“What did he want?”

“To blackmail me. You see, he's claiming his father is alive, which, if he is, means that I'm a bastard. He wants money to keep quiet about it. I told him I didn't care.”

“John Goddis alive? That is absurd. I was with your mother when his body was brought to her, his chest torn open with a bullet wound. He was dead, the filthy bounder. Quite dead.”

Arielle frowned down at a chip on her plate. “Why would Evan try such a thing, then? Didn't he know you were there?”

Dorcas shrugged. “I suppose he didn't. Why would he know? He wasn't there, the lying sod.”

It was all very interesting, Arielle thought as she took a bite of her braised ham.

 

Dinner in the stately dining room at Ravensworth Abbey was a different affair. Midway through the boiled leg of lamb, garnished with young carrots and the greenest parsley Burke had ever seen, Lannie announced that she was traveling up to London in precisely three days.

Burke thought about the silence that would replace the chattering complaints and was hard pressed not to applaud her decision. He managed not to shout for joy and to say politely, “I see. Will you stay at Ravensworth House?”

“No, with Corinne and Lloyd. She has invited me, you know. And the girls, of course.”

He hadn't known and was frankly surprised. Even Lannie sounded a bit surprised. His elder sister made no qualms about her feelings. Lannie was a fool and that was that. Why the invitation?

“How long will you stay in London?”

Lannie forgot about her lamb and her boiled bacon cheek and sat forward, her face flushing with excitement. “There is so much happening now in London, Burke. All the foreign royalty and Czars and things! Corinne wrote me that there are balls every night, even though the Season is long over, and there is so much gaiety.”

“Yes, when I was there, there was more than I could stomach.”

“Ach, you are a man. So tedious. I shall visit my modiste—Madame Giselle is her name. Now, don't screw up your mouth like that, Burke. You won't have to worry that I will be spending
your
money. I have my widow's jointure, you know, and I have been very careful since Montrose died, aware, of course, that my very existence is dependent on your continued good will and—”

Burke looked up from the gooseberry tart on his plate and pretended rapt attention to Lannie's monologue. He would have Ravensworth Abbey all to himself. He would ask Arielle to visit him. He could see if she admired his home, he could—He broke off those inviting thoughts. What if she refused to see him again?

“—Corinne wrote me about a gentleman, if you must know the truth of the matter, and I can see that your male curiosity is at its peak. Well, his name, if you insist upon knowing, is Percy Kingstone, and he is, unfortunately, only a baronet, Lord Carver, I believe. However, according to Corinne, he is a catch and quite a charming man, and I shall—”

The gooseberry tart continued under study on its plate. No, Arielle couldn't do that. He wouldn't allow it. He loved her and he was going to wed her. His very stubborn jaw set and his eyes narrowed.

“—and of course I shall take Virgie and Poppet, even though you know as well as I that they get in a fret when closed up in a carriage. It will simply—”

I shall treat this just like a military position, he decided, picking up his wineglass. He swirled the ruby-red liquid about, and he saw her hair. That glorious, rich Titian…He cursed softly. He would do whatever was necessary.

“—I
know
you will insist, dear Burke, so I shall have James informed that I will take the carriage. As for grooms and protection, perhaps I should have at least one outrider.”

He raised his head and looked at his sister-in-law. He realized that she'd been speaking, nonstop in fact. Having no idea of the subject, he merely nodded, saying warmly, “Whatever you wish is yours, Lannie,” and prayed devoutly that, like Salome, she hadn't asked for his head on a platter.

Later in his library, Burke's favorite room in this pile of a mansion, he sat in front of a blazing fire, his legs stretched out, a snifter of brandy cupped in his hands. Odd that it should be so chilly in June. Perhaps his blood had thinned out from all his years in Spain and Portugal. He found himself wondering what Knight was up to. He'd seen him only briefly in London upon his return to England, and he'd been damnably weak from the wound in his side. After he wed Arielle, he would invite Knight to visit. Arielle would like him; all the ladies did. He frowned at that. No, Knight was a man of honor; he would never poach on another's preserve. Burke remembered suddenly those three blissful days in Portugal when he and Knight had been at loose ends and looking for an adventure of the tender sort. They'd found just what they'd sought. Her name was Gabriela and she was quite pretty and more than willing to be indulged by two English officers. Fortunately, she was also possessed of a sister, Sancha, who was equally toothsome. Suddenly Burke felt himself growing randy as he thought about those three exhausting days. He cursed softly at his obvious reaction and rose.

He wanted Arielle. Damn her eyes.

 

Burke became cunning in his frustration. He had no doubt that she would try to avoid him again. The next day, he instructed Joshua to keep an eye on the front entrance of Rendel Hall. As for himself, he kept the garden at the back of the Hall under observation, feeling like an utter ass but doing it nonetheless. An hour later Joshua came to him, ducking behind trees and bushes like a soldier behind enemy lines.

“Her ladyship is going to the stable, Major Lord.”

“Please, Joshua, that sounds very odd now. Call me anything, just delete the ‘major.'”

“Aye,” said Joshua, giving the earl a meditative look. “What do you plan to do with the lass?”

“Lass?”

“That's what she is,” said Joshua. “A girl who's much too young to be what she is, leastwise that's what Geordie told me.”

“I plan to keep her company, that's all,” said Burke. “Did you think I was going to whisk her away to a faraway land and hold her my prisoner?” He laughed before Joshua could respond, then continued seriously. “Go back to the Abbey, Joshua. You've done well.”

Joshua nodded, but he fully intended to visit with Geordie after Lady Rendel and his master had left. The earl was tip over arse in love, a phenomenon hitherto unseen by Joshua, leastwise as regarded the earl, and he wanted to find out more about the lass.

 

Arielle patted Mindle's soft nose. “A bit of exercise for you today, my girl. Thank you, Geordie. I won't need you today. I plan to remain well on Rendal land.” No, she thought, staring at Mindle's worn leather saddle, no excursions for her today. No Bunberry Lake, no visit to Leslie Farm. A simple gallop over the north field, that was all she intended.

“If yer certain, lassie.”

“I'm certain.”

Geordie hefted Arielle into the saddle, then stepped back. He gave her a brief salute and smiled.

“I shall be back in an hour or so. Mr. Jewells will be coming.” She clicked Mindle forward, and soon Arielle felt the wind pulling at the pins in her riding hat.

She didn't see him until he was nearly beside her, and then it was too late. For an instant, she thought it was Paisley, then Etienne, and she froze. She pulled Mindle to a halt and tried to find just a shred of composure.

“Hello,” she said finally, not meeting his eyes.

“Arielle. I am glad you came out for a ride.”

“What do you want?”

“To see you, of course. Just as I wished to see you yesterday, but you refused me. I really should like to know why.”

“I was not well.”

He studied her pale face. He could tell her that what she didn't do well was lie. Her hair was a bit ratty from the wind and two thick strands hung down, nearly curling around her right breast. He started to reach out his hand and quickly drew it back. He was losing his mind, what remained of it. “What was wrong with you?”

Lying was a foolish solution because it was no solution at all. “I had the headache.”

“Ah,” he said. He was aware in that moment that she was trying to pull her mare away from him, and it angered him to the point of fury.

Arielle found herself staring at him. He was indeed handsome, perhaps more so than she remembered, for his features were more finely planed, more chiseled perhaps. He wore his thick brown hair longer now that he wasn't a military man. But his brown eyes were the same, rich and bright with intelligence and deep with expression. He was dressed in a royal blue riding jacket, his breeches the same shade, his Hessians a gleaming black. He looked utterly powerful and in control and ruthless. She was terrified of him, and all because of that foolish nightmare.