Night Fire

by Catherine Coulter

  Burke shook the man’s hand. “A long time, Mark.”

  “Yes, indeed. Welcome home, Burke. Congratulations on your marriage to Lady Rendel. A lovely young lady.”

  After a few minutes of amenities, Mark Brody said, “I examined the girl, Mellie. The man who did this in fact injured her internally. I’m not certain whether or not she was a virgin, but she was quite small and the man was brutal.”

  “Mellie should have been a virgin. She is only fifteen years old.”

  “Not so very young in the country, Burke. In any case, I got the bleeding stopped. She’s very weak from the loss of blood, but she’s a healthy girl. She will survive this. Did you catch the man responsible?”

  Burke shook his head, then said quietly, “Do you think he should be punished for what he did?”

  “I would say yes only because I saw the girl. She didn’t encourage him. She was brutalized. No human being should be treated like that without adequate retribution for the one responsible.”

  “Well, that is something at least,” Burke said. “You will come back to check on her?”

  “Certainly.” Dr. Brody took his leave and Burke headed upstairs.

  Arielle wasn’t in bed. She was dressed in a pale blue silk gown and seated by the window. Her hair was in a braided coronet about her head. She looked lovely, too thin, and sad.

  “Hello,” he said, leaned down, and lightly kissed her cheek.

  She flinched only slightly. He was pleased. “Mellie will be all right. I spoke to Dr. Brody.” He wasn’t about to tell her any of the rest of it.

  “That is a relief,” she said. She looked up at him. “It is an awful thing, Burke.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “To be helpless, weaker than someone else—no, weaker than half the human beings on the earth. It is a fearful thing.”

  He clasped her about her shoulders and lifted her from the chair. “I know,” he repeated and pulled her against him. He gently pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “I will find the man, sweetheart. And I will punish him.” Surprisingly, he meant what he said. There would be no punishment for the man under the law. So he, Burke, would have to be judge and jury. He was, after all, responsible for everyone living on Ravensworth land. He’d failed here, and it was his duty to set things right.

  He lightly stroked his hands up and down Arielle’s back. “Most men wouldn’t consider doing that,” he said. Most women, too, he thought, remembering Mrs. Pepperall’s words. Both she and Sir Edward Pottenham readily blamed the woman, not the man; blamed the victim, not the rapist. How would he himself have reacted if he hadn’t been so completely sensitized by Arielle? Indeed, if Arielle hadn’t been abused, would she still feel so strongly? He prayed his reaction would have been exactly the same.

  Later that afternoon, Burke and Arielle went to the west lawn, where the small gazebo stood, a frothy structure built by Burke’s grandfather. He imagined the gazebo had been the spot for many trysts. Still was, probably. Perhaps soon he could seduce Arielle here, Burke thought. That would be nice, very nice.

  The sun was low in the west, the air redolent with the scents of freshly scythed summer grass. The slight breeze was warm and Burke felt good. He watched Arielle raise her face to the sun.

  He fetched a blanket from the gazebo and spread it beneath a sprawling-branched oak tree. They sat in companionable silence. But she tired so easily. Eventually Arielle ended up with her head on Burke’s lap. She stared at the shafts of sunlight through the leaves. “This is beautiful. Nothing bad could happen here.”

  “I wouldn’t let it,” he said and leaned back against the trunk. “Are you comfortable?”

  “Hmm.”

  He thought she’d fallen asleep, until she said suddenly, “It is difficult to take this waiting, Burke. It seems interminable to me.”

  “We’ll catch the man, Arielle. I told Cerlew to hire a Bow Street Runner. I understand from military friends that those fellows are more tenacious than lice in the hills of Portugal.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Her voice sounded dull, emotionless. Very gently, he said, “What, then, is difficult? What are you waiting for?”

  “For you to demand that I see to your needs. Are you waiting until you’re certain I am well?”

  “Why do you bring it up? You make me think you want me to act against you.”

  “I have become a realist. I simply would like you to tell me when to prepare myself. Not knowing when you will—”

  Perhaps she did want him to act against her. Then she could escape him, a brute, with a clear conscience. Well, she would be in for a surprise. He picked a loose tendril of her hair and wrapped it around his fingers. “Your hair is very soft.” He let his fingertips trail lightly over her throat. She was so smooth and white.

  “I find our situation somewhat strange, Arielle. Here we are, lying at our ease on a blanket, the picture of two perfectly relaxed, happy people, and you are asking me when I intend to begin abusing you and when I shall insist that you begin to service me. It jolts the picture, you could say.”

  “When can we go to Boston?” she asked, ignoring his words.

  “I told you. When the war is finally over. Also, even though Cerlew is a most scrupulous fellow, it wouldn’t be fair of me to simply pick up and leave. There are many decisions to be made about the estate. We could leave in the early fall, perhaps. But we will wait until it is safe. I hear that peace talks are gong well. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  “But Baron Sherard and Nesta are English and they live there.”

  “Yes, but we don’t, and I won’t take any chances with your safety.”

  Arielle had nothing to say to that. He was a complicated man, and slippery. Just when she thought she understood him, he changed like a shadow hand against a window shade. He was concerned about her safety, yet he had abducted her. It was all very confusing. She felt fatigue pulling at her. She hated this weakness, this proof of her body’s betrayal.

  When Burke looked down he saw that she was asleep. He smiled and touched his fingertips to her slightly parted lips. So soft. He decided to take her to London when she regained her strength. He wanted to take her everywhere and introduce her to all his friends. His sister would remember Arielle with fondness—at least he hoped so. And Lannie. He must find out when she was planning on returning to Ravensworth. Although he wanted to have Arielle all to himself, it didn’t occur to him to ask Lannie to remain at his sister’s. Burke thought about his last night in London, the night before he had left to kidnap his bride. He’d dined with Knight at his town house.

  Over brandy, Knight had said, “I say, Burke, isn’t there an easier way to get a woman to marry you?” He had been tossing playing cards negligently on the table between them, some landing faceup, others facedown.

  “Probably, but not this one.” Burke raised his brandy snifter. “Let’s drink to my wife, Knight. And to that wonderful hunting box you are providing for the honeymoon.”

  “Don’t you mean pre-honeymoon? Ah, three jacks up, Burke. That will be hard to beat. You intend to keep her there until she agrees, don’t you?”

  “If I have to.” Burke sighed, then gave his friend a crooked grin and began tossing the cards from his deck. “Sounds as if I’ve gone round the bend, doesn’t it? Perhaps I have. I just know that I have to have her.”

  “I look forward to meeting this paragon,” Knight said and grinned when he tossed the fourth jack faceup on the table. “This is wonderful for you. As for this man, he firmly intends to remain unshackled until he’s old and gray, and the night before it is his fate to be dead or impotent or both, he will beget a legal heir.”

  Burke choked on his brandy, but within a very short time, managed to turn up three queens.

  “I trust, dear fellow,” Knight drawled as he closely scrutinized the queen of hearts, “that this is an omen of good things for you. But I don’t know, Burke. Women can be the very devil, you know.” After wishing him luck,
Knight had left his own house, whistling, to visit his mistress.

  Burke now smiled down at his sleeping paragon. She had loved him once; she would love him again.

  Arielle dressed for dinner that evening. She chose a simple muslin of pale green from her own trunk, not from the gowns Burke had purchased for her. Dorcas fastened the final button and stepped back. “The neckline comes to your chin,” she said, slapping down an errant fold in the skirt. “You hope to keep him away from you,” she added matter-of-factly.

  “Yes.”

  “You look like a girl still in the schoolroom. A decent man would stay away from you.”

  Arielle wasn’t at all certain just how decent Burke was. She said nothing, however.

  When she entered the drawing room some thirty minutes later, Burke’s expression told her that she could wear a rag and he would still want her, desperately.

  He smiled at her, his sweet smile, one that made her feel quite strange and warm at the same time. She pulled herself together. How would he look at her in a month? A year? Five years? That thought brought back the chill of an empty future.

  “You look wonderful,” he said, and before she could move, he kissed her wrist, then her mouth. “Are you ready to be a glutton?”

  She nodded and said as she quickly stepped away from him, “You’re a very handsome man, Burke. I’ve always thought that, but I—”

  “Let’s have our dinner. And thank you for the compliment.”

  Over her fresh mushroom soup, Arielle asked, “What has happened to Rendel Hall? Do you know?”

  “No, and I don’t really care.”

  “You were willing to buy it, Burke—the house, all the land, everything.”

  “Only because I was making plans to have you even then.” He robbed his words of threat for her by smiling broadly. “It doesn’t make too much sense now when I think about it. How could I have had you in my power if you had so much money?”

  “What you did is not amusing, Burke.”

  “No, but then again, I was dead serious.”

  Montague came into the dining room, two footmen on his heels, each carrying huge silver trays. Burke said nothing more until all the food was served; then he nodded dismissal to Montague.

  Even as he did it, he realized Arielle should do the dismissing. She was the mistress, after all. He would have to discuss it with her. He didn’t wish her to feel a visitor in her own house. He wanted her to know that she was truly the mistress here.

  Both of them did full justice to Cook’s offering of lamb cutlets and fresh peas. Arielle looked down at her lemon cream dessert and made a face at it. “I can’t hold another bite. It was delicious, all of it.”

  “You must tell Montague so he can inform Cook of your delight.”

  She nodded, then looked about the massive, dark oak wainscoted walls. The chandelier overhead could, if it fell, slay a good twenty people. It was dusty. She started to say something, then shook her head at herself. Why should she care? She looked at the bank of three long windows that gave onto the front lawn of the Abbey. The draperies were thick, dark blue velvet. Too dark, and the velvet was shiny with age. She pictured pale yellow draperies, perhaps, to make the room airy. Again she shook her head at herself. It didn’t matter if the room looked like a tomb.

  She glanced over at Burke and saw that he’d been watching her, his expression intent. “What are you going to do tonight?” she asked, pleased that her voice sounded as calm as a summer pond to her sensitive ears.

  “You will see,” he said.

  She paled at his words, but he held his peace. He wasn’t in any hurry to adjourn to his bedchamber. He asked Arielle to play the piano for him and she did, singing several Italian ballads that were soft and soothing and sad.

  When Montague entered with the tea tray, Burke gave a start. He didn’t realize the time had passed so quickly. He nodded to the butler and said to his wife, “That was lovely. Thank you. Come and have some tea now, before we retire.”

  Arielle didn’t want to retire, ever. She fiddled with her teacup, crushed a moist piece of raspberry-and-currant tart on the gold-edged plate. “My father sang quite well,” she said.

  “He taught you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I sing, too. Perhaps we can try a duet soon.”

  “Do you play?”

  “Not so well anymore. When it was decided that I was to be armybound, my father said I shouldn’t be bothered with such nonsense. A pity. I much enjoyed playing.”

  “You could begin to play again.”

  “Yes,” he said easily. “Here we are once more, the picture of two relaxed, happy people. Only one of them is terrified that her husband will rip off her clothes and do unspeakable things to her. The picture is awry, Arielle.”

  She ignored him and said, “I think I shall retire now, Burke. May I use my own bedchamber?”

  “No. Pray don’t ask that of me again, Arielle. That ‘no’ will still be in effect in fifty years.”

  “Good night,” she said and rose.

  “Wait for me, my dear. I will come with you.”

  He saw that she’d moved a screen into his bedchamber. It was a Chinese affair that he thought particularly obnoxious, but he didn’t say anything. Within a month, he would be able to destroy it without any demures from her. At least he prayed that that would be so. When she emerged, swathed from neck to floor in a white lawn gown, he was already lying in bed, seemingly engrossed in a fascinating book about the Borgias.

  He was naked; he was determined on his course.

  “Come here,” he said, putting the book on the bedside table and patting the bed beside him.

  Her step lagging, her eyes down, she neared the bed. Burke took her hand in his. “Very good. Now, Arielle, I would like you to take off the nightgown.”

  Her head jerked up and he saw the stricken look in her eyes. His expression didn’t change. He saw her tongue glide over her lower lip.

  “Shall I help you?”

  She shook her head then and quickly, frantically, pulled open the ribbons and unfastened the myriad of buttons. He watched her lift the gown over her head, watched it pool at her feet. He said nothing, merely looked at her. She stood very still, as if she were used to this scrutiny. “You look lovely,” he said at last with great but inadequate sincerity. She didn’t flinch when he reached out his hand and gently cupped her left breast. “Come sit beside me, here.”

  She sat, her hands on her thighs, her legs slightly parted. How many times, he wondered had Paisley Cochrane forced her to do this? Her hands were on her thighs because obviously her former husband hadn’t wanted her trying to cover herself.

  In the dim light it was nearly impossible for Burke to make out the faint white scars. “Look at me, Arielle.”

  She jerked. That was something she wasn’t used to, he thought. Slowly, she raised her head. Her expression for just a moment was pain-filled before she managed to mask all expression so he wouldn’t know what she was thinking or feeling. Very gently he clasped one of her hands. He felt the warm smoothness of her thigh beneath his hand. Long slender legs, she had, sleekly muscled.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “All right.”

  “Come into bed now. I don’t want you to take a chill.”

  He pulled the covers back. She looked undecided, but then slowly, she crawled over him and burrowed under the covers.

  He turned on his side to face her. “Now, you told me you couldn’t bear the waiting anymore.”

  She nodded, her eyes tightly closed.

  “I am sorry to disappoint you, love, but I don’t feel like a ravening beast tonight.”

  Her eyes flew open and she sucked in her breath, blurting out, “Why are you toying with me like this?”

  “Shush,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her. He could feel her fear of him, taste her bloody fear, damn her, hear the small, gasping breaths. He said slowly, “I intend to toy with you until you don’t want me to stop.”
<
br />   “Can I not simply—do it? I will try, truly I will.”

  “Tonight,” he said, ignoring her words as he stroked his fingers through her hair, “I’m going to love every inch of you. I’m going to learn you, memorize you.”

  She looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. Since he’d already decided that there was little enough left, he couldn’t blame her.

  “You have the cutest ears,” he said, kissing the shell of her ear, then nibbling lightly on her earlobe. “Soft and small and very feminine.” He saw the tiny hole and continued. “I shall have to buy you some jewelry. Actually, there are the Drummond jewels—heirlooms, the lot of them—I’ll fetch them for you and you can decide what you would like. There must be pierced earrings. If you don’t like any of it, I will buy you what you wish.”

  She gave him a disbelieving look. Paisley had allowed her to wear his first wife’s jewelry on occasions when there were guests. A rather ugly emerald bracelet had fallen off her wrist one time, and he’d beaten her soundly for her carelessness. Burke was still toying with her and she hated it. She felt off balance, and she was frightened.

  His tongue glided again over her ear, then made a light foray into the inside. It felt odd. She shivered. Perhaps he would give her jewelry, then accuse her of losing it. “I don’t want any jewelry,” she said.

  “Why not? Don’t you look well in jewelry?”

  “I—I might lose it. And you would be displeased.”

  “I see,” he said, and he did indeed understand now. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes, your right ear. I think while I pay attention to that part of you, I should like to feel your breasts against my chest. There, that isn’t so bad, is it?”

  Thirteen

  Burke didn’t think he would be able to sleep, but eventually he did. She was tangled against him, held to him tightly, his arm firmly around her back. He wasn’t concerned that she’d felt him hard against her belly. He wanted her to know that he desired her. He wanted her to realize, eventually, that no matter how much need he had, he wouldn’t force her.