Night Fire

by Catherine Coulter

  Burke finished lighting the logs in the fireplace. He rose and stretched, leaning his shoulders against the mantelpiece, staring at her intently. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Oh, yes, very much.”

  “I’m glad. Now, Arielle, take off your clothes. All of them.”

  Sixteen

  She stared at him, unwilling to understand his words. She’d been so happy, so relaxed, and now—

  His voice grew sharper. “Are you having difficulty with your hearing, Arielle? I said to take off your clothes. I want to see you naked.”

  Paisley’s orders, Paisley’s words. Her fingers fluttered to the top button of her gown. She felt the smooth silk, felt the ribbed thread that framed the buttonholes. She saw the buttons parting, saw herself naked and helpless. Her hands dropped to her sides. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this. You were so nice to me—”

  “You think that since I am nice to you I will forgo my pleasures?” He straightened to his full height and took a step toward her.

  She made a small, frightened sound, deep in her throat, and her fingers raced to unfasten the long row of buttons.

  “After you’re naked, I think I want to see you on your knees. Perhaps you will take me in your mouth tonight, as you did that evening in the stable. I remember that you were quite well trained.”

  She stopped and her hands fisted over her breasts. She looked at him, at his set face, his cold eyes. The events of the day careened through her mind. She was shaking her head at his words, at what she was thinking, feeling. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Your little whisper isn’t tremendously affecting, Arielle. Are you going to do as I tell you, or shall I get the riding crop?”

  She watched him stride to the far side of the bedchamber, open a drawer in the armoire, and pull out a riding crop. She stared dumbly at it.

  “No,” she said. “No.”

  “No what?”

  He was slapping the riding crop against his palm.

  “You won’t hit me.”

  “Won’t hit you? Whyever would you believe that I wouldn’t hit you? All men are the same, Arielle. We all enjoy hurting those unable to defend themselves; we positively relish humiliating our wives, giving them pain. Surely you know that.”

  “No, no, you’re not like that.”

  His gaze was intent as he took several steps toward her, the riding crop still slapping rhythmically against his palm.

  She didn’t move. She wasn’t looking at the riding crop, only at his face. “You’re not like that,” she repeated, with more conviction. She sounded as if she really believed what she was saying, not merely hoping it was true.

  “You believe that, do you?”

  “Yes, I do. You’re not that kind of man, Burke.”

  “Take off your clothes, Arielle.”

  “No, I shan’t. I won’t let you shame me like that.”

  “You will defy me? Disobey me?”

  “Yes, if that is what I’m doing.”

  He walked up to her and took her chin between two long fingers. She did not draw back. He lifted her face. “I can beat you whenever I wish. I can draw blood. I can make Evan Goddis’s little mark on your back appear like nothing at all. I can make you do whatever I want.”

  “Yes, you can.” She drew a deep breath. “But you won’t. You love me.”

  “You believe that? I’m a man, Arielle. Don’t you believe all men to be deceitful bastards, cruel and sadistic animals?”

  She never looked away from his face. “Not you.”

  “Well,” he said, looking down at her pale face, “what do I have here? A wife who finally believes in me? A wife who finally trusts me?”

  Her eyes darkened, dilated, the pupils black. It was fascinating to watch. Her voice was shaking as she said, “You’ve done it on purpose.”

  “What have I done on purpose?”

  “Since we’ve been married,” she said slowly, “you’ve done all of it on purpose.”

  “What? Can’t you answer sensibly?”

  “You’ve pushed me and pushed me and pushed me until—”

  “Until you pushed back?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what happened when you did, Arielle?”

  “Nothing, because you won’t hurt me. You would never have hurt me, despite what you threatened.”

  “Fancy that,” he said and smiled at her.

  She grabbed the riding crop and flung it across the room. “You and your damned prop.”

  He laughed, a rich, deep sound. He couldn’t contain himself. He caught her about her waist and lifted her high. She stared down at him, grabbing his upper arms.

  “Now all I’ve got to do is fatten you up. And then—”

  “Then what?”

  “Why, I’ll have perfection in a wife, that’s what.”

  “Being that you’re already perfect, of course, it is only fair that your wife swim in the same pond?”

  “A charming metaphor. Yes, we shall swim together.” He lowered her to her feet but still held her close against him.

  She rested her cheek against his shoulder and wrapped her arms about his waist. “You’ve scared me so very much.”

  His arms tightened about her. “Will you forgive me?”

  “I don’t know. I still—”

  “You wonder if sometime in the misty future I will turn on you? I won’t. I want you to be happy, Arielle. I want you to be happy with me.”

  She sighed deeply, and he wondered what she was thinking.

  “Let’s go to bed, all right? And no, you don’t have to take your clothes off in front of me unless you want to. And no, you don’t have to even kiss me unless you want to. And yes, you can dress and undress behind that ugly screen once it’s mended.”

  He kissed her softly on her closed mouth and stepped back. He began humming, a particularly graphic ditty popular in the army some three years before. He undressed, neatly folding his clothing, as was his wont. He didn’t look at her.

  Arielle watched him. Then she smiled. She took off her own clothes and fetched herself a nightgown from the armoire. As she was tying the ribbons at her throat, she noticed he was watching her. He was simply standing there, naked and lean and powerful, and she looked away, but not immediately this time.

  He stretched, the orange fire behind him creating planes and shadows on his body. “I’m gong to bed,” he said. “Come when you wish.” He lay on his back, the covers pulled to his chest. She climbed in beside him.

  “If you would like, Arielle,” he said, not turning to face her, “you may give me a good-night kiss.”

  She did. It was a bit more enthusiastic than the one beneath the magnolia tree.

  George Cerlew, a young man of immense sincerity and regular and conscientious habits, stepped into the estate room and was relieved that the earl was there.

  “My lord.”

  “Yes, George? You have more interminable work for me?” Burke saw that his steward was nearly trembling with excitement.

  “No, my lord. That man, Ollie Trunk, he wants to speak to you. He said it was urgent.”

  Burke rose from his chair. “Get him immediately.”

  Ollie Trunk was looking smug. “I got ’im, milord,” he said without preamble. “The little bastid what did in that poor little girl.”

  “Who was it?”

  “One of the stable lads. Arnold is his name.”

  “Good God,” Burke said. “Are you certain, man? Why, Arnold has been here at least six years. He’s conscientious, quiet, and—” Burke stopped, shaking his head.

  “’E was braggin’ about it, the stupid sod,” Ollie said with disgust. “Braggin’! I’d matched up the bit of cloth you’d found, milord, with one of Arnold’s coats. It matched, perfect. So I got ’im drunk over at the Duck and Drake in Nutley, and off ’e went with ’is braggin’, about ’ow all the girls couldn’t keep their ’ands off ’im, damned dumb cove.”

  “We have a problem here, gentlemen,” B
urke said to George and Ollie.

  “I don’t see—” George began, only to be cut off by Ollie.

  “’Tis obvious as the wart on your nose, if you ’ad one. ’Ow could Arnold get into the Abbey to do away with the girl?”

  “He raped her but he didn’t kill her,” Burke said, more to himself than to the other men. He cursed softly and fluently, earning himself a bit more respect from Ollie.

  “That’s the way of it, milord.” He shrugged. “’Course, it could ’ave been an accident after all.”

  “No, I think not. Good work, Ollie. I must give this some thought. I wish you to remain, all right?”

  “You’re the bloke what’s payin’ me to sniff,” said Ollie.

  “Keep sniffing,” said Burke. “Concentrate on all the people who live here. Have Joshua and Geordie go with you, Ollie, and fetch Arnold here to me. Now. I will deal with him.”

  Burke had given thought to what he would do when the man who’d raped Mellie was discovered. He felt calm and coldly furious. When Alec Carrick came into the estate room, he said, “You can stay if you wish. But here is what is going to happen.”

  When he’d finished, Alec said in some astonishment, “My God. And I’d remembered the English countryside as being rather a bore. This is incredible. I will help you if you will allow me to. Any man who would do such a thing deserves everything he gets.”

  That sentiment, Burke thought, would most certainly please his wife.

  By the time Arnold, one arm held by Ollie, the other by Joshua, entered the estate room, Knight had joined Burke and Alec.

  “I won’t have this, my lord!” Arnold shouted as he was shoved into a chair. “This scum here, well, he’s making it all up. It ain’t true, none of it.”

  “Is that so?”

  “This is ’is jacket, milord,” said Ollie. “And the piece of cloth found near the girl.”

  “I fear it is a perfect match, Arnold,” Burke said.

  “It weren’t rape!” Arnold shouted. “It weren’t. Little Mellie, well, she and me, we’ve played here and there, me plowing her for a good long time now, mainly at the gazebo. She was just mad at me, that’s all.”

  “Why, then, Arnold, were you wearing a mask?”

  “I told you, she were mad at me. I didn’t want her to go blabbin’ it around that I was the one who done it. Somebody might’ve listened to the little trollop.”

  “Arnold, Mellie was fifteen years old.”

  “So? She and me, we’ve been fucking for over a year now. Hot little bit, that Mellie.”

  “You raped her. You forced her against her will. No one harms a woman or a girl who is under my protection. Now, do you want to know what is gong to be done with you?”

  “Nothin’! I don’t deserve nothin’! She was just a little slut, that’s all.” Arnold saw the murderous rage in the earl’s eyes. Suddenly he jerked away from Joshua, sent his elbow into Ollie’s stomach, and dashed toward the estate room door. He jerked it open and fell into the hall at Arielle’s feet.

  “Arnold! What is wrong? Why are you here in the house?”

  The men erupted from the estate room. For several minutes there was utter pandemonium.

  When Arnold was again securely held by Joshua and Ollie, Burke said, “Take him back into the estate room and keep him there.” He waited until all the men had left before he said to Arielle, “Arnold raped Mellie. Ollie discovered the truth.”

  “Oh, no. Did he kill her as well?”

  “I’m not certain,” he said. “Go along now, Arielle. I will finish with Arnold.”

  “What will you do?”

  Burke grinned. “Arnold, my dear girl, is going to become a proud sailor in our Majesty’s Navy. For a term not less than five years.”

  “But that doesn’t sound bad, not really.”

  “It is hell, worse than hell. It is a better punishment than Newgate. Trust me.”

  Arielle stayed outside the estate room door, listening. Suddenly she heard Arnold’s yell and knew that Burke had told him. Well, it served him right. Her step was lighter, but niggling at the back of her mind was still the question of whether or not Arnold had murdered Mellie.

  The question was answered late that afternoon. Burke told Arielle to remain when Ollie asked to see him again. They were in her favorite room. Arielle was telling him how she wished to redecorate it.

  “It’s over, milord,” Ollie announced.

  “What’s over exactly, Ollie?”

  Ollie looked sideways at Arielle, and Burke said quickly, “You can speak in front of my wife. Out with it, man.”

  “I found the key, milord. Rusty and old, but it works on the small door to the servants’ stairs.”

  Burke felt as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders. “Where?”

  “In the stable, near the tack room. Arnold, naturally, says ’e knows nothing about it, but the lad’s crazy if’e don’t deny it.”

  “Yes,” said Burke.

  “It’s over,” said Arielle. She stuck out her hand to Ollie Trunk, who stared at it as if it were a snake to bite him. “Thank you so much. You are an excellent detective, sir.”

  To Burke’s delight, Ollie blushed. “Well, now, your ladyship, it’s just that I—yes, good I am. Now, there’s thing to do, milord. I can still take old Arnold over to this Cap’n Mortimer so’s ’e can be a good sailor. But as it appears ’e might have croaked the girl, do you want ’im ’ere?”

  Burke was silent for several moments. Finally he said, “No. We have no real proof that he murdered Mellie. The key wasn’t in his things, it was simply in the stable, where anyone could have seen it and used it. It is, of course, probable that Arnold did kill her because she threatened to tell everyone he raped her, but we’ll let the Navy keep him from now on.”

  Burke handed Ollie the letter he’d written to Adrien Mortimer, the toughest captain to sail under England’s flag. He shook Ollie’s hand. “My thanks also,” he said.

  “It’s over,” Arielle said again. She turned to her husband and found herself smiling shyly up at him. “Did I tell you today that I think you’re wonderful?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “Not today.”

  “Perhaps I shall.” She laughed. “It is teatime, sir, and our guests will wish to know what has happened.”

  Arnold and his fate were discussed over tea, then over dinner.

  Alec Carrick said, “A pity that the war between America and England is nearly resolved. We could have had the Americans impress this Arnold into their navy. That would have cooled all unacceptable instincts in him.”

  “That poor girl,” said Nesta.

  “She was a slut, no morals at all,” Lannie said to Nesta. “At least that’s what I heard. And Mellie’s mother, well, she was a harridan and a thoroughly unpleasant woman. She couldn’t keep a man near her, husband or otherwise.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Arielle. “I know men who are sluts and they don’t get raped. Or murdered.”

  That, Arielle thought as soon as the words were out of her mouth, was like a cannon firing into the mist.

  There was complete silence for a very long time; it seemed at least an eon to Arielle. Then Burke said: “She’s right, of course. Not only are men the stronger, but they can’t conceive of a man being raped. That is, no man I know could even begin to understand rape in regard to himself.”

  “There is another point,” Knight said. “Once women were willy-nilly thrust up on that pedestal back in medieval times, what with the Virgin Mary cult and all that, purity was their main claim to everything that was good in a woman. If they weren’t pure, they weren’t good. Unfortunately, that notion still persists. Thus, if a woman has lovers, she is bad. If a man has mistresses, he is all the more exciting, both to women and to men.”

  “Being a rake,” said Percy, “is not my way. I’m one of those men who enjoys keeping himself safe and true and loyal. Indeed, I am a domesticated creature.”

  Lannie gave him a droll look. �
��Oh, dear, and I so wanted excitement in a husband, not some sort of pet. Are you tame, sir?”

  Nesta laughed and waved her fork toward Arielle. “Remember that little boy who didn’t want to play with us?” She continued to the table at large. “Arielle and I locked him in a shed. He wasn’t trained, as it turned out.”

  “After six hours I should think not. Oh, that poor child. I hadn’t thought of him in years.”

  “I wonder,” said Burke, “if you two didn’t ruin him in some way for life.”

  “It boggles the mind to think of what possible directions his ruin could have taken,” said Knight.

  “What kind of husband were you hoping for, Arielle?” asked Lannie. “Does Burke suit you?”

  Actually, dear Lannie, the last thing I wanted in my life was another husband. “With proper attention I suppose he will suit,” she said, aware that Burke was smiling at her. “Eventually.”

  “Like Percy,” said Burke, taking another helping of crimped salmon, “I am a faithful being. Hearth and home and a loving wife, and I count myself content.”

  “Alec doesn’t like home or hearth,” said Nesta. “He likes excitement and travel and change.”

  “You make me sound like bad husband material, my dear,” said Alec. “Surely I am more acceptable than that. I have been as domesticated as you could wish for nearly five years now.”

  “But all we’ve done is travel. Seven months ago we were in Macau.”

  “Actually, Alec,” said Arielle, grinning at him, “you sound more and more like a stray dog. A very interesting stray dog, but nonetheless—”

  “Help me, you three,” said Alec.

  “Not I,” said Knight. “I’m not married. I don’t intend to indulge in it—forgive me, ladies—”

  Arielle interrupted him, blurting out, “Why should you ask our forgiveness? I didn’t wish to wed either, and I didn’t ask any gentleman’s forgiveness—”

  “Until she met me,” Burke said easily. “Then she begged me to escort her to the altar. She said she would die without me, fade away, swoon with every other breath. I simply had no choice in the matter.”