Night Fire (10 page)

“All right. Spend the night with Laura. We will discuss it in the morning. And, Burke, you aren't being disloyal. You aren't yet married to the chit. After the parson has locked you away but good, you can remove the word ‘mistress' from your mind and your dictionary forever, if you so wish. But tonight, forget this girl and let Laura, ah, ease you.”

Burke said yes. Knight accompanied him to a small, respectable-looking house on Curzon Street. As for Laura, she was everything Knight had promised. She was soft, warm, endowed with immense breasts, and very responsive. Burke didn't believe she was feigning pleasure, but it didn't really matter. He was hurting with need. And when at last he thrust into her, he arched wildly, his head thrown back, and he cried out, “Arielle.”

The shock of release was so great that he lay sprawled atop her, unable to move. He was mildly surprised to realize that he was breathing.

“Have you been living in a monastery, my lord?”

Burke had difficulty raising himself onto his elbows. “I imagine you would think so,” he said, smiling down at her. “I am sorry I was so carried away, but—”

She hugged him and kissed his bare shoulder.

“It's all right.” She moved beneath him and he was instantly hard again, filling her, his powerful body quivering with renewed need.

He smiled and leaned down to kiss her, thoroughly. Everything he did this time was thorough in the extreme, much to Laura's delight.

She watched him sleep. He was a beautiful man, a wonderfully normal man in his sexual demands, and he enjoyed a woman's pleasure. Who was this Arielle? His wife? No, she didn't think he was married. He didn't
act
married. Who, then? When he awoke some thirty minutes later, again hard and ready for her, she gave herself to him without hesitation. “I shall cock up my toes, happy now,” Burke said on a deep sigh.

Laura giggled and ran her toes up his leg. She looked at him straightly and said without preamble, “I am currently without a protector. I should like to belong to you, my lord.”

Burke felt wonderfully sated, his senses dulled and hazy. He hadn't kept a mistress for a good four years. There simply hadn't been the opportunity, what with the army picking up and leaving without a moment's notice. But there was Arielle to consider; he fully intended to marry her as quickly as possible. He knew even as he thought it that he was indulging in a man's inimitable reasoning: he should keep a mistress until his marriage. That would save him losing control with Arielle.

He felt Laura's muscles tighten about him, but thankfully, he'd indulged sufficiently to remain cerebral for the moment rather than corporal. She was lovely, no doubt about that, and she satisfied him sexually, no doubt about that either. He cursed softly and pulled away from her body. He rolled onto his back and cradled his head on his arms.

“I don't know,” he said.

“Is it this Arielle?”

He froze, then remembered crying out her name. He cursed again, pungently.

“Forgive me, my lord—your wife, perhaps?”

“No.” Then he sighed and said, “She will be—it's just a matter of time and, well, ruthlessness, if you will.”

Laura didn't understand that, nor did he completely. He knew only that he would do whatever was necessary to have Arielle.

He felt Laura's soft hand stroking down his side. He felt her fingers slide over his belly to find him and caress him. He should have been dead as summer ashes, but he wasn't. “All right,” he said and turned toward her yet again. “Until I marry.”

Laura was pleased. She was also sore, but she discounted that as unimportant.

RENDEL HALL

“No, Dorcas, I won't speak to anyone until I have signed the deed over to whoever it is who has bought Rendel Hall. You know as well as I do that something could change at the last minute.”

Dorcas nodded agreement. She watched her young mistress rise from her chair, her embroidery dropping unheeded to the floor. She saw her walk to the front windows and stand staring out over the front lawn. She'd been present when Arielle had spoken to Mr. Jewells two days before, telling him of her decision and instructing him to aid Mr. Lapwing. He'd looked at her oddly. He'd also sweated profusely.

“What is the matter, Mr. Jewells?” Arielle had asked.

“Oh, nothing, my lady. Surely you wish to consider, do you not, perhaps—”

“No, I don't. Please don't worry that you will find yourself without your steward's position. That is one of my conditions. The buyer must agree to it.”

She didn't care much for Mr. Jewells, a man she regarded as one of Paisley's minions, a tubby man with large spectacles and an oily manner. But he was efficient, as he constantly assured her of that fact. He'd said little more and quickly left her.

She found herself even more surprised when Paisley's solicitor, Mr. Jeffrey Chaucer, arrived. If Mr. Jewells had seemed distracted, Mr. Chaucer seemed fairly frantic.

But now she had a buyer, for everything. She hadn't yet informed Mr. Jewells of this fact, or Mr. Chaucer. She supposed she didn't want more arguments from either man. Coming up the drive was a small carriage. She pressed closer to the window. It was Mr. Lapwing.

He looked distraught, no, more than that, she thought, studying him as he followed on Philfer's heels into her drawing room. He looked as if the world had fallen on his head. She'd heard about his new, very young wife and wondered if that lady were the cause.

“Sir?” she said.

Mr. Lapwing looked at Dorcas briefly, saying, “I should like a word with you, Lady Rendel, privately.”

“Certainly,” she said.

He didn't speak again until they were alone.

“What is wrong, sir?”

Lapwing drew a deep breath. “Jewells and Chaucer, they've robbed the estate blind. They've fled England.”

Arielle merely stared at him. “But how?”

“You gave Chaucer power of attorney. He mortgaged Rendel Hall and all the tenant property to the hilt. Jewells has taken all the tenant money since your husband's death. There is nothing left. Nothing. My God, this is ridiculous. Didn't you make inquiries? Didn't you—”

“No. I believed what Mr. Chaucer and Mr. Jewells told me. But the money I've spent since my husband's death—”

“Jewells simply borrowed it through Chaucer. They would have continued doing that until the bank foreclosed.”

Arielle sat down. “I haven't a sou then, is that what you're telling me?”

He looked extremely unhappy as he nodded. “I'm sorry, my dear. I shall keep the creditors at bay as long as I can, but news of this fraud will circulate soon enough. Then—” He swallowed at the dazed look on her face. “I am sorry.”

“Of course you are. I don't suppose that my buyer is still willing. Not that it matters a whit to me.”

“I don't know. I haven't yet spoken to him.”

“Who is he? Since it is now academic, I might as well know.”

“Burke Drummond. The Earl of Ravensworth.”

Arielle sucked in her breath, turning as pale as a human being could be.

“My lady!” Lapwing reached out his hand toward her, but Arielle automatically pulled back.

“Have I absolutely nothing left, sir?”

He shook his head. “Time, is all. I am hopeful that you will have another month, but I cannot be certain even of that.”

He wondered what this poor child would do now. He disliked her half brother, Evan Goddis, excessively. He couldn't see her living with that bounder, but then again, where else could she go?

“Do you know the whereabouts of your half sister, Baroness Sherard?”

“No.” She didn't meet his eyes for a long time. Then she raised her head. “I have been living in a fool's paradise, I believe the expression is. I never really trusted either Mr. Jewells or Mr. Chaucer, but I couldn't be bothered with it. It is truly all my fault for being a fool.”

That was true, he thought, but he didn't want her paying such a heavy price. “I have given this some thought, Arielle. Why do you not marry again?”

She shrank back, turning paler, if that were possible. She said nothing, merely shook her head back and forth.

“I know it isn't a full year yet since Lord Rendel died, but your need is pressing, truly. You are a lovely young lady, my dear. Surely there are many gentlemen—”

“
No
! No, pray don't mention that again, Mr. Lapwing. You will speak to Lord Ravensworth? You can tell him that he will certainly pay very little for the estate now.”

“Yes, I will.”

“Good,” said Arielle. With the news that she was now a pauper, perhaps Burke would leave her alone once and for all. “Please excuse me now, sir, but I have a lot of thinking to do.”

When Mr. Lapwing told Burke of the situation, the earl smiled, rubbed his hands together, and said under his breath, “Now I've got her.”

He began making plans even before Mr. Lapwing was out the door.

A
rielle couldn't believe her eyes. She reread Nesta's letter. She wanted to shout with relief. She wanted to dance. Instead, she reread the letter again.

Nesta and her husband, Baron Sherard, were in Boston, Massachusetts, in America. Arielle's letter of seven months earlier, telling them of Paisley's death had finally caught up to them, or they to it, as the case was. They were inviting her to come to America and stay with them.

She offered a prayer of thanks heavenward. She was finally safe. She couldn't wait to tell Dorcas. With the letter clutched in her hand, Arielle dashed out of the drawing room only to come to an abrupt halt in the entrance hall. There was Philfer in close conversation with Evan. She saw money change hands. She'd always believed Philfer an obsequious fraud, and now she saw that it was true.

It didn't bother her in the slightest. The nasty old man would shortly be cast out. Then he would earn what was due him. She called out gaily, “Evan. Welcome. Do come in. I would speak to you of my news.”

Philfer jerked about, turned a remarkable shade of gray, but Evan, all aplomb, merely smiled and walked toward her.

“Well, good morning, my dear sister. What is your marvelous news?”

“You will be the first to know, Evan. I am leaving as soon as possible for Boston.” At his blank look, she added, “It's a large city in America.”

“I know,” he said. “Who's in Boston?”

“Nesta. She's inviting me to stay with her for as long as I wish.”

“But what about Rendel Hall and all your responsibilities?”

“You mean Paisley Cochrane's home? I am as certain as I can be that it will continue on a proper course.”

He said nothing, and Arielle was too happy to care. She wasn't about to tell him of her miserable situation, one rendered inconsequential now. Let him find out in his own time, perhaps when the creditors came and kicked Philfer out. She pictured it in her mind. The old man would huff and hem and haw, and it wouldn't matter. As for the rest of the servants, they would have no difficulty finding new positions. Geordie, now, he was different. She hoped he would agree to come with her to America.

“Well,” Evan said finally, “I suppose this is what you wish. Good luck, Arielle. I shall be in charge of things while you are gone, all right?”

She wanted to laugh in his face. His greed was so ill-disguised. “Yes, certainly, Evan. You will see to everything whilst I am away, I'm sure.”

“Oh, you can trust me implicitly, Arielle.”

It occurred to her then that it might not be possible to transfer power to him without his finding out about Jewells and Chaucer. And she didn't want that to happen until she was gone. “Well, perhaps I shouldn't. No, I don't believe I shall.” No explanation for him. She smiled brightly. “Is there anything in particular you wanted Evan?”

He wanted to strangle her with his bare hands.

“No,” he said, trying desperately to moderate his voice, “no, nothing really. When will you take your leave? Who will accompany you?”

“I'm leaving for Southampton on Thursday.”

“That is but two days from now.”

“Quite so.” She'd decided at that very moment. Surely there would be a ship leaving from that huge harbor in the near future. “I shall take Dorcas and Geordie with me, if they wish to go. Now, I am quite busy. I'm certain Philfer will be delighted to show you out. He was obviously quite delighted to show you in, after all.”

She turned on her heel and sailed from the drawing room, humming, paying him no more heed.

 

Etienne DuPons was nervous, excited, and overly warm in the long black wool cloak. He privately thought it ridiculous to dress up as some sort of silly highwayman, but Evan had insisted.

“We can take no chances that you are recognized,” Evan had said. “After it is done, then no matter.”

Etienne pulled his horse back into the shadows of a giant oak tree. The servant, Geordie, would be riding just ahead of the carriage. He didn't want to kill the man, merely take him out of the game, so to speak.

Where was Arielle
?

He felt lust just thinking about her. He closed his eyes for a moment, seeing her again on her knees before him, her soft hands caressing him, her mouth touching him. His own moan brought him back to the present.

Where was she
?

He heard a horse galloping toward him. Slowly, he drew the pistol from his wide belt and carefully cocked the trigger. He peered through the thick foliage, holding himself tensely still. Several moments passed. Finally, he saw a man riding toward him, a stranger. He quickly pulled his horse back in the shadows again, cursing softly under his breath.

Where the devil was she
?

 

It occurred to Burke as he waited in the shade of a thick-branched maple tree that he had never told Arielle that he loved her, had loved her for three years, and that he wanted to marry her. He hadn't seen her since that Friday morning when he'd kissed her and left her, so furious and frustrated he'd wanted to spit. He'd become a madman when Mr. Lapwing had told him she was selling up and leaving England.

A madman. He shook his head, his eyes still trained on the road, knowing full well that no sane man would do what he was planning. Well, the devil, he thought. When he'd discovered from Mr. Lapwing that she'd been robbed by her solicitor and steward, he had ridden to Rendel Hall immediately. To this moment he still wasn't certain what he would have said to her if he'd been allowed into the house.

It was probably just as well that he hadn't seen her. He might have acted precipitously. His visit to Mr. Lapwing on the previous day played in his mind. If he hadn't gone—oh, God, he would never have found out that Arielle was leaving England. But he had gone—

“I see, my lord,” Mr. Lapwing had said, turning and twisting a quill between his fingers. “Obviously if you wish the Rendel property, I am certain you can buy it from the creditors at an excellent price.”

Burke shook his head. He wanted nothing to do with the Rendel property. It was just that he didn't want Arielle to feel compelled to marry him because she hadn't a sou. No, he wanted her freely because she wanted him. He would find a way to salve her pride by filling enough of her purse.

“It no longer matters, my lord,” Mr. Lapwing continued. “Your decision will have nothing to do with Lady Rendel.”

“What? I'm sorry, I was thinking of something else. What no longer matters?”

“Any of it, my lord. Lady Rendel received a letter from her sister inviting her to come to Boston to stay. Lady Rendel is leaving tomorrow, I believe. We are still at war with the Americans, but I did manage to locate a Dutch merchant ship for her that will be safe enough.”

Burke could only stare at him. To hell with her pride, was the first thought that struck him.

It was still in his mind.

“I am a madman,” he said aloud, and Dandy, a huge raw-boned stallion he was certain Arielle had never seen before, obligingly whinnied. He became very still when he heard the hoofbeats coming. That would doubtless be Geordie—and Joshua's problem. He waved a hand and saw Joshua's return wave.

The road was flat and fairly straight, so both of them could see Geordie a good thirty yards before he reached them. When he did, Joshua, a mask over his face, rode from his hiding place, an enormous pistol in his hand.

“Halt and deliver!”

Geordie pulled the bay up and whirled about toward the voice. Stupid fellow. For heaven's sake, he had no money worth speaking of.

A man swathed in a long black cloak, a black wool mask tied about his head, appeared from the shade of the trees, “Don't move, or I'll kill you.”

Oh, God, Geordie thought, the fellow's an amateur. Geordie had no intention of doing anything. “I won't move,” Geordie said quickly, holding himself as still as one of those London actresses doing attitudes.

“Get off your horse and lie facedown on the road.”

Geordie did as he was told, one eye on the pistol in the man's gloved right hand. The man sounded familiar, but at the moment he couldn't place him.

Joshua quickly tied Geordie's hands behind him, fastened a mask over his eyes, and said, “All right, let's go now. Don't give me any trouble, else I'll cosh you good.”

“Yer mad,” said Geordie. “What do ye want with me?”

“Not a thing,” said Joshua and shoved Geordie into the woods. He turned, waved toward Burke, and disappeared.

Burke felt the tension mount. His heartbeat quickened; his palms were clammy. Then he saw the carriage, the single driver. Arielle and her maid, Dorcas, were within.

The tricky part, he thought.

He rode to the middle of the road, drew his pistol, and waited.

The driver, Samuel, took one look at the man and the evil black gun pointing at him and stood up, yanking the horses to a halt with all his leveraged strength.

Arielle grabbed for the leather strap and missed. She was flung facedown beside Dorcas on the opposite seat.

“Well, I never!” yelled Dorcas.

Arielle drew herself up and stuck her head out the carriage window. “Sam, whatever is the mat—” Her voice dropped like a stone into an abyss at the sight of the highwayman.

“What do you want?” she asked, thinking about the one hundred pounds in her reticule, all the money she had in the world. It wasn't fair. Where was Geordie?

“Get out,” the man said to her.

“No,” Dorcas said and grabbed Arielle's arm. “The man's bad, he'll hurt you.”

“Release me, Dorcas. He will probably just take my money and let us go.”

With those words, Arielle opened the carriage door and jumped down to the dusty road. To be robbed in broad daylight was too much. Where was Geordie?

Burke stared down at her. She looked beautiful, but so pale and scared. He didn't want her to be frightened, but he saw no hope for it. His breathing deepened, quickened. “Come here,” he said, trying to flatten his accent so that she wouldn't recognize him until he had her.

“Take my money,” she said, flinging her reticule at him. “Damn you.”

Burke caught the reticule and weighted it in his palm. “How much have you got?”

“Surely enough for the likes of you,” Arielle said, gritting her teeth.

“I will count it later, and we will see. Where were you off to, sweetheart?”

He saw her go even more pale, if that were possible. “To Southampton, to leave this accursed country.” To his surprise and amusement, she stamped her foot. “Just go away. It isn't fair. What do you want anyway? What did you do with my man?”

“He isn't harmed, I promise you. As for you, well, I do have plans.”

As he spoke, he walked Dandy toward her. She took a step back. He spoke again, wanting to distract her. He didn't want anyone hurt in this madman's fantasy. “When does your ship leave?”

“Tomorrow, early morning. Please, I must be there. I cannot miss my chance.”

“And where do you go?” He was nearly close enough.

“To Boston, to my sister. Can you not rob someone else? I—truly, I haven't much money, and I need it, desperately. I cannot arrive in Boston—”

God, he hated the pleading. One more step and Burke, without warning, reached down, circled her waist, and hauled her up against him. She was perfectly still for several moments; then all hell broke loose. She was wearing gloves and thus didn't hurt him. She would have scored the flesh off his face had her hands been bare.

“Stop it, now,” he said, squeezing her tightly about her ribs. She gasped for breath and from pain, but continued to hit at him. If he was a madman, she was certainly a witch.

Burke toppled her and she landed stomach-down in front of him. As if from a great distance, Burke heard Dorcas screaming, yelling insults at him that he doubted his salty sergeant had known. As for the driver, he just stared, openmouthed.

Arielle twisted about frantically, trying to lurch up, but Burke's hand came down hard at her waist, holding her still.

“Don't move, Arielle, or you'll just hurt yourself.” His words had no effect at all, and he made his voice as mean as he could. “Stop it or I'll knock you unconscious.”

She quieted.

A believable threat, he thought. He yelled to Dorcas, whose furious face was regarding him from the carriage window, “She won't be harmed.” He dug in his heels and Dandy raced forward down the road. He realized suddenly that he'd said her name aloud. He cursed silently.

Arielle felt the breath whoosh out of her at the stallion's pace. “How do you know me?”

He said nothing.

“You called me Arielle. Who are you?”

He kept his mouth shut. He didn't want her to recognize him just yet. When he revealed himself, he wanted the both of them to be in more comfortable surroundings. She would doubtless be more amenable to reason if she weren't slung on her stomach over his saddle.

“Where are you taking me?” She didn't expect him to say anything this time. Her face was pressed against his thigh, and the wool of the black cloak was scratchy. She could feel the strength of him, the muscles bunching and pulling as he guided the horse with his legs. And she could feel her own fear begin to grow at that moment. The palm of his hand was against the small of her back, and it felt hot and strong.

The rocking motion of the horse was making her nauseous. “I will throw up if you don't let me sit.”

“All right,” he said, frowning a bit. She was small, with not nearly enough strength to overpower him. He pulled his horse to a halt and brought her astride in front of him. Her gown rode up to her thighs and he had a marvelous view of her stocking-clad legs. He swallowed, saying nothing.

He placed both arms around her, holding the horse's reins in front of her. “Don't move or you'll go back down again, and if you retch, well, you'll just have to live with it.”