Night Fire

by Catherine Coulter

  “Why is she giving up?” Dr. Armbruster spoke more to himself than to Burke the following day. “I don’t understand it. She is young, beautiful, and not long married, I fancy. Why?”

  In that instant, Burke made a decision. He spoke at some length with Dr. Armbruster. The doctor left to pay his overdue visit to the vicar. While Burke waited, he sat beside Arielle and began his ritual of stroking the cool, damp cloth over her face.

  He spoke of the past, as he usually did. It passed the time and it seemed to keep her calm. On some level, he was certain that she heard him and understood. “My brother, you know how he was, Arielle, all bluff and good-natured, loved jests as much the dozenth time as the first. Well, he also had the most stubborn streak you can imagine. I was usually the recipient of it. He made up his mind about something, and nothing I could ever say or do would change it. I remember once—Lord, that was so long ago—Father gave me a pony. Victor was his name. He was dun-colored, strong as the devil, and he ate his head off. Well, my brother wanted Victor. The instant he saw him, he wanted him. Strange as it may sound, the pony wanted my brother just as much. But he was mine. And I would be damned before I gave him up. Do you know what my brother did?”

  “My lord, the vicar is here.” Burke momentarily ignored Mrs. Ringlestone.

  Burke quickly rose to face the frail old man. He was very slight, with scraggly hair and a gentle, tired smile. He smiled at Burke now and shook his hand. “It is good of you to come, sir,” Burke said. “Please sit down. I have something very important to ask you.” He told him what he wanted.

  The vicar, seeing nothing at all amiss with the earl’s analysis of the situation, nodded, saying, “I must ask my bishop, of course, my lord, but—”

  “You realize that time is of the essence. She could die anytime.”

  “Oh, dear, of course you are right. What shall I do?”

  “Simply perform the ceremony. I myself will speak to the bishop later, after she is well or—” He couldn’t say the word. Finally he managed to continue. “Surely the bishop will agree. It is an emergency, after all.”

  “It is most irregular, my lord, but still—I can’t think it bad, no, not at all. Perhaps we can get the special license later.”

  “I shall fetch our witnesses.”

  “But her responses, my lord—she won’t be able to say that she agrees or not.”

  “Of course she will,” Burke said. “Please prepare yourself, sir. I will bring the women here immediately.”

  Thirty minutes later Burke was seated on the bed beside Arielle, holding her hand. She was delirious, but that was just as well for the moment.

  Dr. Armbruster stood on the other side of the bed. Mrs. Ringlestone and Ruby stood behind the vicar.

  “Dear beloved,” the vicar began. “We are here for an act of mercy and an act of grace and goodness. We will unite this—”

  “It wasn’t like that!” Arielle yelled.

  “No, I know it wasn’t.” Burke’s voice was pitched low. “Hush now, love. You’re getting married.”

  “He won’t get away with it.”

  “No, certainly not. I shan’t let him. Trust me.”

  The vicar cleared his throat. “Well, let me see—this man and this woman will unite their lives, God willing, and—”

  “Father, please don’t leave me.”

  “I’m sorry, love. No, Arielle, I won’t leave you. Never.”

  “—what the Lord our God has ordained, let no man put asunder.”

  “Amen,” said Burke.

  “Now, Lady Rendel, you must repeat after me. “I, Arielle Leslie Cochrane, do solemnly take you, Burke Carlyle, ah, Beresford Drummond, for my wedded husband—”

  “She can’t do that,” said Burke. “When you wish her to say ‘I do,’ tell me.”

  “I will not go with you. Never.”

  “No, sweetheart, I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  “‘—till death do us part.’ She should say ‘I do,’ my lord.”

  “Arielle, listen to me. No, damn you, listen.” He grasped her chin between his fingers and held her still. In his hardest voice, he instructed, “Say ‘I do,’ Arielle. Say it now, or you will regret it.”

  “I do.”

  “Excellent. Well done, my dear.”

  “How odd,” said Dr. Armbruster. “She does respond well to a harsh voice.”

  The vicar was wondering what the devil was the relationship between these two. “And now you, my lord. Oh, dear, this is so very irregular.”

  Mrs. Ringlestone sniffed at that moment. Ruby looked bug-eyed and weepy.

  Burke calmly repeated his vows after the vicar. He was smiling down at Arielle as he said “I do.”

  “I pronounce you man and wife, my lord. Oh, dear, is she conscious?”

  “Yes, barely,” said Dr. Armbruster. “You have done very well, my lord, yes, indeed.”

  Mrs. Ringlestone and Ruby left the bedchamber to fetch the small cakes and wine. “Though it’s not a proper wedding breakfast, my lord, still we must do something.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said the vicar. “If the young lady, ah, doesn’t make it, well, she will pass to our dear Lord a virtuous woman. You are all kindness, my lord.” He suddenly looked worried. “Both of you must sign the wedding papers. How—”

  “Fetch them,” Burke said, “and I will see to it that she signs her name.”

  Dr. Armbruster didn’t doubt for a minute that the young earl would have the paper signed. He watched as burke lifted his countess against his chest, placed the quill between her fingers, and told her in a very harsh voice to sign her name. The vicar sucked in his breath, surprised that the young lady instantly did what she was bidden. He took the paper and saw that her name was quite legible. He shook his head. “Very unusual,” he said yet again.

  Burke wanted to laugh, but didn’t. He was too frightened. Arielle was quiet now, ominously so, sagging against his chest. He gently laid her down.

  “She’s sleeping,” said Dr. Armbruster, and he sounded both surprised and relieved. “It is sleep, I promise you. Perhaps you were right and her lack of will was because she wasn’t your wife and thus felt herself damned. As your mistress, she felt guilty. When she became pregnant out of wedlock, her feelings of guilt and hopelessness were intensified. By wedding her, my lord, you have expiated her guilt, made her feel worthy again, given her safety and refuge. And thus she regains her will to live. It is an interesting theory, one that I shall discuss with my colleagues in London.”

  Arielle’s supposed pregnancy, Burke thought, had been a fine and, in his opinion, necessary touch. It had certainly brought the vicar around much more quickly.

  “You have paved your path to heaven,” said the vicar, “by lifting this fallen young woman from her ditch of sin. The good Lord will look kindly upon your fine deed.”

  “It was I who seduced her,” said Burke, who couldn’t stand this utter nonsense another moment. “Aren’t I the one to be judged harshly?”

  “You are a man, my lord,” said the vicar without a blink. “If you will recall your scripture, you will remember that the woman, the temptress, holds the power of evil. A man may be weak, my lord, but not many men would perform such a noble service as you have this day. I will pray, devoutly, that the young woman becomes deserving of the honor you have bestowed upon her.”

  No hope for it, Burke thought. When Ruby and Mrs. Ringlestone came back into the bedchamber bearing trays of cakes and wine, he was profoundly relieved.

  She was his wife. She didn’t know it, but that was all right.

  Now she had to live.

  “Please pray for her, sir,” he said to the vicar as he helped the old man on his way. “I love her, you see, and I don’t want to lose her now. I don’t think I could bear it.”

  “Since she has both Armbruster and our good Lord on her side, I venture to think she will survive, my lord. I will visit tomorrow.”

  Burke, elated, weary, and so scared he could scarce think straight, res
umed his vigil by his wife’s bed.

  Arielle opened her eyes. She felt lazy and strangely at peace. However, she soon realized she hadn’t the foggiest idea of where she was. She slowly looked about, nothing the long narrow windows whose draperies were tied away, admitting weak rays of sunlight; the few pieces of furniture; the single wing chair that was drawn up next to the bed. And the heat of the room. A fire was blazing in the fireplace. She realized she was sweating and she wondered why the devil her maid had built up such a blaze.

  It was summer, wasn’t it?

  “Dorcas,” she called out, but nothing came from her mouth save a flat croaking sound. “Oh, dear,” she whispered. She wanted to sit up, but the pile of blankets covering her was too heavy.

  Why was she so weak? She raised her hand and pushed the hair off her forehead and realized that someone had braided her hair. The thick braid felt lank, heavy and oily.

  She lowered her arm and tried to think. “Paisley,” she whispered, thinking he’d brought her here. She felt that awful fear wash through her. No, he was dead, a long time ago, months ago. A lifetime ago.

  “Hello. Is that really you, Arielle?”

  She turned her face toward the sound of the voice. A man’s voice. Deep and calm. Burke’s voice. What was he doing here? She tensed.

  “No, no, my dear, don’t be frightened. You are all right now—at least I think you are. Your eyes certainly look bright. Welcome back.” That wasn’t even close to what he was feeling at the moment, but there was no reason to frighten her by yelling aloud and dancing about the bedchamber. His smile grew wider. She was all right, truly, finally.

  She opened her mouth and this time, with great concentration, she managed to say, “What are you doing here? Where is here?”

  “I will answer everything. First, would you like something to eat? Drink?”

  Her mouth watered immediately. He smiled and walked away from the bed.

  She heard him calling outside the chamber door to someone named Mrs. Ringlestone. When he came back, he held out a glass of water. “Here, let me help you. Don’t be alarmed.”

  He held her up while she sipped at the water. She couldn’t seem to get enough.

  “Very good,” he said and gently eased her back down. “Mrs. Ringlestone—she’s our cook—she’ll bring up food. How do you feel?”

  “Fine,” she said. “Just weak.”

  “No wonder. You’ve been very ill. You’ve had me so scared I promised years and years of devout rectitude if you would but come back whole.”

  “How long was I ill?”

  “Eight days. You came down with an inflammation of the lung, the result of your mad dash into the storm. Do you remember?”

  She frowned, trying to recall, but it only made her head throb.

  He saw the sudden tensing of pain and said, “Don’t try to remember. Just relax and get well again.”

  “You’ve lost weight, Burke.”

  He grinned, knowing that he had and strangely pleased that she would notice.

  “You shouldn’t have. You’re too thin now.”

  He made a vow not to give her a mirror. Not only was she as skinny as his malacca cane, her skin was pasty and her glorious hair was dull and lifeless.

  “But you,” he said, “look wonderful.”

  She stilled at his words, and he cursed himself silently for rushing his fences. “Ah, Mrs. Ringlestone, some food for our patient. Arielle, my dear, this is our cook, Mrs. Ringlestone.”

  “My lady,” said Mrs. Ringlestone.

  “Hello,” said Arielle.

  Burke lifted her against the pillows. Mrs. Ringlestone had prepared some hot barley soup and warm bread piled high with butter. There was also a small crock of honey.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Ringlestone. I’ll watch to see that she doesn’t spill the soup on her lap.”

  Arielle didn’t think to protest that comment; she was too busy getting a spoonful of soup into her mouth.

  Burke watched her, a slight smile on his lips, and quickly eased down beside her when he saw she was too exhausted to continue.

  “More?” he asked as he took the spoon from her.

  “Please.”

  She seemed to fall asleep shortly thereafter. Burke removed the tray, only to almost drop it when she said, very clearly, “Where is that little man with the scraggly white hair?”

  So she did remember something.

  When next she awoke, it was nearly dark. Burke had sent Mrs. Ringlestone and Ruby on their way an hour before, and he was sitting in a chair next to Arielle’s bed, reading a book of John Donne’s poetry. He wasn’t particularly interested in the poet, but Knight’s library downstairs didn’t have a great selection. One moment he was half attending to a poem about men not being islands when he sensed she was awake. He didn’t know how he knew, but he just did.

  “Hello,” he said before she even raised her eyes.

  “May I have some water?”

  “Certainly.”

  She downed an entire glass. Surely she would have to relieve herself, he thought, and wondered what the devil he should do about it. He doubted she had the strength to handle the task herself. He said, “Are you hungry? Mrs. Ringlestone left some food for you.”

  She nodded and said nothing more. When he left the bedchamber, she looked about for the chamber pot. I must make myself move, she thought.

  She did, barely. She couldn’t imagine being this weak and shaky. She also didn’t think she would manage, but she did. When the door opened again to admit Burke and her dinner tray, she was half standing, half sitting at the end of the bed, clutching the bedpost. Her nightgown was bunched up about her knees and she was breathing heavily.

  She looked pale and sweaty. Burke didn’t say anything. He merely set the tray down on the table next to the bed. “Let me help you back into bed.”

  Her chin went up. “I don’t need your help. I just need another minute to—”

  She felt herself being scooped up and gently placed in bed.

  This time she managed to feed herself a good deal before she became too tired and allowed Burke to feed her the rest of the chicken breast. She gave a sigh of contentment afterward and leaned back against her pillow.

  “Did I almost die?”

  He placed his cup of hot black coffee on the tray. “Yes,” he said, “yes, you did almost die. You scared the hell out of me. But you’re fine now.”

  “You’ll let me leave, then?”

  He shook his head. “It wouldn’t do at all. Not now.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I spent all your hundred pounds on the doctor.”

  “You what?”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “I didn’t have any money with me. I had to give the doctor yours.”

  “You will certainly pay it back.”

  “I had fully intended to provide you with a generous quarterly allowance. You needn’t worry.”

  “Burke. Now you listen to me. I won’t hear any more of this nonsense, and I have no intention—”

  “Hush. Would you like a bath? Your hair is a bit on the edge.”

  A bath sounded so marvelous that she forgot her grievances for the moment. “Yes, but you can’t stay.”

  “You’ll need my help, Arielle.”

  She said neither yea nor nay to that. When at last the tub was filled, Burke helped her out of bed. She was so thin, he thought, so fragile. Except for her will, thank God.

  He helped her to the tub, then turned her to face him, holding her firmly against him. “Now attend me. I have taken care of you since you became ill. I did everything for you. There is no reason for you to feel embarrassed with me now. You can’t do this alone. I will help you into the tub, then I’ll wash your hair for you. All right?”

  She said in a low, pained voice, “Everything?”

  “Everything.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll tell you why later, when you’re back in your bed.”

  He helped her of
f with her nightgown, efficiently and matter-of-factly. Once she was in the hot water, he unbraided her hair and brushed out the tangles.

  “Let’s wash your hair first,” he said. It was quite a chore, something he wasn’t at all used to doing, but he managed. Once he’d gotten all the soap rinsed out, he said, “I’m going to change your bed now. You wash the rest of you, all right?”

  Arielle was beyond embarrassment. She was shaking with weakness, but she didn’t say anything.

  Burke rose and looked down at her for a moment. Her breasts were covered by the water, but he knew their shape, feel, and texture quite well. Lovely breasts, almost too large for her slender torso, and he’d cursed himself every time he’d taken care of her because he’d become hard instantly. He forced himself even now to tamp down thoughts and images so lustful that he nearly trembled, and headed for the bed.

  He’d just finished changing the bedding when he heard a cry behind him. He whirled around to see Arielle trying to climb out of the tub, a towel in one hand, the other hand flailing about wildly. She lost her balance and went tumbling to the floor before he could move.

  Ten

  Arielle lay on her back, her arms and legs sprawled, feeling like a great fool.

  “Arielle.”

  She saw the fear and worry in his dark eyes and quickly said, “I’m all right, just clumsy.” She wanted to cover herself, but she hadn’t the strength. It was too much. She turned her head away from him and choked back a sob.

  He gathered her and the towel and lifted her into his arms. He carried her to the fireplace and sat down in a chair. He began to dry her. Instead of fighting him, she was pliant, her head against his shoulder. He tried to keep his hands off her, but it was impossible. His fingers stroked over her left breast. I won’t look, he thought. I won’t respond. I won’t be a damned animal. But he couldn’t help himself. He looked and saw that her nipple was taut, and it nearly did him in.

  He pretended he was going into battle, reaching for the cold, emotionless control that had kept him alive more times than he cared to think about. He didn’t linger, was nearly rough, until he got to her feet. They, at least, were safer than the rest of her, but even there he found beauty. Her feet were narrow, finely arched. He was looking at her toes when he said, “You are too thin. We’ve got to feed you ten times a day.”