Night Fire (11 page)

“Who are you? What do you want?”

He said nothing.

“Where are you taking me?”

His arms tightened about her waist. “Keep quiet,” he said softly against her left ear.

Arielle sagged. It was too much. She'd been helpless for so long; then she had the first small, sweet taste of freedom. Now it was gone. He would probably rape her and beat her. He was a man, and would do that extremely well. She would have given anything to have a pistol at that moment. Anything.

“What did you do to Geordie?”

Burke said nothing. He heard her fear and it bothered him. He tried to disguise his voice. “He is all right. He won't be harmed, I promise you.”

“Please tell me what you want.”

“In good time. Why don't you rest? Our ride is long.”

Was the stupid man out of his mind? Rest? To their mutual surprise, she fell asleep, leaning back against him. He was relieved. He would have had to blindfold her to keep her from seeing where he was taking her.

“I'm indeed a madman,” he said, looking straight between Dandy's ears.

He eased Arielle into the crook of his arm. He now was free to look at her to his heart's content. Her bonnet was a simple affair, pale yellow crepe and ribbons, and the bow beneath her chin was untied, the bonnet now on the back of her head. He couldn't keep his fingers away from her lovely hair. Soft and thick and that incredible color. He wished it were October. He rather thought the shade now more a mixture of brilliant fall leaves. I am become a fanciful madman, he thought. He gently pulled the bonnet off and tied its ribbons around the saddle pommel. He pulled the pins out of her hair, then smoothed it out with his fingers. He pictured her hair spread about her face, over his pillow, with him above her, and she was opening to him, welcoming him, yielding to him.

His own moan brought him out of that damnable erotic dream, and for the time being, he kept his eyes on the road ahead. Dandy moved at a steady pace. They had only about eight more miles, their destination Knight Winthrop's small hunting box just two miles north of Shepherd Smeath.

When he looked down at her again, it seemed to him that she was regaining some of her color. Her pallor had alarmed him. Her mouth drew him, her lips so soft-looking and full, a pale pink color. And that straight little nose of hers. He could picture her nostrils flaring in anger. Their children would have stubborn jaws, he thought, running his fingertips lightly along hers.

Burke recognized the leaning road sign. It said Rowhams to the left and Shepherd Smeath to the right. He turned Dandy to the right. The road narrowed, and oak trees met over the road in a rich green canopy. He passed old Hookham's farm, situated just where Knight had promised it would be. The hunting box was set back from the road, a small, rectangular, two-story house, covered with ivy and smelling of rich summer rose and hibiscus blossoms.

Burke dismounted, holding Arielle carefully. It would suit him if she didn't awaken just yet. He managed to unlock the door and get her upstairs into the charmingly furnished master bedchamber. He covered her, then left, locking the door behind him. He settled Dandy into the small stable, then took himself back to the house.

When Arielle opened her eyes, she didn't move. She was no longer on a horse. No man was holding her. She kept herself perfectly still. Looking about, she realized she was lying on a bed canopied with rich blue brocade. A single knitted quilt was covering her. She was fully dressed, even her slippers still on her feet.

The man was nowhere to be seen.

Slowly, she sat up. There was no more nausea, nothing. She stood, took a step, and saw that the ribbon on her left slipper was unknotted. She leaned down and fastened it tightly. She straightened and looked around. She had no idea where she was. The room was neither predominantly masculine nor feminine, but the furnishings were expensive, she could tell that much. The armoire was oak and intricately carved, as was the small commode, and the pitcher and basin atop it were fine porcelain. The pale blue-and-green carpet was soft and lush.

The door was locked, of course. What had she expected? To find her reticule with her money still inside and an open door?

Arielle walked quickly to the wide window and pushed aside the draperies. She was on the second floor, but that made no difference to her. She quickly unlatched one window and shoved it outward. She climbed up on the ledge and looked down. It was a good twenty feet to the ground. At the very least she would break something and be in a worse fix than she was in now. Still—

The door opened.

Arielle whirled around. She clutched at the top of the window frame. “Burke,” she said, so surprised that she couldn't think straight.

“Come down, Arielle. I don't wish you to hurt yourself.”

“No,” she said precisely and put one foot down on the stone ledge outside the window. “You stay away from me or I will jump.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you want to jump out of the window?”

“All right. You are quite correct, I am being precipitous. First you will tell me what you want—then I will decide whether or not to jump.”

This was sticky, he thought. He'd expected screams, yells, tears, whatever, but not a negotiator on a window ledge. She seemed perfectly calm.

“You wouldn't let me in your house,” he said, a bad beginning, but for the moment his brain was dead.

“So? It is—was—my house. I didn't allow Evan there either, but he bribed that old fraud butler of mine.”

“I wish I had known,” Burke said. “I could have bribed him too.”

“I repeat, my lord, what do you want?”

“I want to feed you, Arielle. It is late afternoon, you know. When was the last time you ate?”

She cocked her head at that and answered automatically, “An early breakfast.”

“Well, then, I'll go fetch our dinner.”

She watched him turn on his heel and stride toward the chamber door.

“Wait.”

“Yes?” He didn't turn.

“This is ridiculous. I don't want anything to eat. I demand to know what I'm doing here.”

“Soon,” he said, closed the door after him, and locked it. Arielle was left standing with one foot inside, the other outside, not having the faintest idea of what to do. “This is all very strange,” she said aloud, but still left the one foot outside.

Oddly enough, she wasn't really afraid now. Burke was a gentleman and he could be managed. At least she hoped so. But why had he abducted her? She saw him clearly in her mind, saw him pull her against him and kiss her. She felt his tongue against her lips, felt the heat of him. And she knew, of course; she knew what he wanted.

He wanted her to be his mistress. He would treat her as a man treated a woman, and it would be worse because she wouldn't be his wife. A mistress must be treated awfully badly. No, wait. That couldn't be right. No. Perhaps mistresses were treated better than wives. After all, couldn't a mistress simply leave? She wasn't bound legally. Yes, being a mistress had to be preferable by far.

“Well, I won't do it,” she said aloud to the silent room. She was already planning to move the armoire in front of the door. It looked strong enough to take a siege. She turned, about to climb back into the room when her skirt caught on the jagged stone edge and she was pulled backward out the window.

She screamed once.

A
rielle twisted about in the air and stared into Burke Drummond's startled face. Her only clear thought was: I'm going to smash him.

And she did. Burke, at the last moment, dropped the ladder and held out his arms. It didn't help. She landed against his chest, arms and legs churning, and sent both of them flying backward onto the ground.

It had rained the day before, and the grass was thick and springy. Thank God for no rocks, Burke thought. The breath was knocked out of him, but he didn't loose his hold on Arielle. She was locked against the length of him, his fingers laced together behind her back.

Arielle was terrified, not for herself, but for him. She tried to wrench herself free but couldn't. “Burke? Are you all right? Burke?”

He opened one eye to see her face very close to his, and she looked scared out of her wits. That was nice, he thought; she was worried that she'd killed him.

“Why did you jump?” he asked with an air of great interest and with but the one eye open. He still wasn't able to cope with the other eye.

“Don't be ridiculous. I didn't. Let me go.”

“No, hold still. You're hurting me.”

“You deserve it.”

Both eyes were well focused now. “Ha. If I hadn't been here, you silly half-wit, you would have broken a leg, an ankle, your damnable neck.” He moaned then for effect.

“All right, so you saved me from possible injury. Now let me go. I want to leave here. I must be on my way to Southampton. My ship leaves tomorrow and—”

“No,” he said and closed both eyes.

He became aware of her sprawled atop him, one thigh between his legs, her breasts against his chest. It would have been wonderful had he not been lying on his back on the ground, looking up at a sky that was no longer clear but filled with ominous, blackening clouds. Without warning or a word, he rolled onto his side, bringing her with him. They were nose to nose.

Consequences were beginning to force themselves into his brain, and the thought that she hated him so much, or feared him so much, that she was willing to jump was enough to give him pause.

“Why did you jump?”

She snorted. “You are utterly absurd. I told you, I didn't jump. I was going to push the armoire in front of the door to keep you out, but my skirt got snagged on something outside the window and I got yanked out. Oh, God, it isn't fair. What do you want, Burke?

He was so relieved that she hadn't jumped that he wanted to sing. He wasn't as yet certain about dancing. So he said, “I want to get us inside. I just felt a raindrop on my left ear.”

He hauled both of them to their feet. “Come along.” He held her hand firmly, and when she dug in her heels, he simply dragged her around to the front of the hunting box.

“I must get to Southampton.” She tugged frantically at his hand. “Damn you, you're pulling my arm off!”

He said nothing, merely jerked her through the front door and slammed it.

“What have you done with Dorcas and Sam? Where is Geordie? If you've hurt them, I'll—”

“I would have pushed the armoire away easily enough,” he interrupted. He released her then and watched her back away from him. Her hair was a tangled mess, her pale yellow dress ripped beneath her right arm, the ties of one slipper streaming behind her foot. She looked wonderful.

“The armoire is solid oak, very heavy.”

“Nonetheless, I am a hero, as you once told me, and heroes can shove armoires aside with little effort.”

“I want to leave now.”

He grinned at her. “Do you like this place? It belongs to a friend of mine. It's called Hobhouse. After whom, I haven't the foggiest notion. Rather pedestrian name, I think.”

Arielle gave scant attention to the dark-beamed ceiling, the picturesque paneling, the diamond-paned windows. “I like this place about as much as I do you. Now, my lord, I wish to leave.”

He took a step toward her and she shrank back. He stopped cold in his tracks. Now he saw fear in her eyes. He hated it. Of course any female of reasonable sensibilities would be feeling none too secure alone with a man who was not her husband in a hunting box that was stuck in the middle of nowhere, and that was exactly where Shepherd Smeath was.

“Don't be afraid,” he said. “Come into the drawing room and have a sherry with me.”

“I want to leave,” Arielle said, not budging.

“You are not leaving just yet.” He held out his hand, continuing in his best military commander's voice. “I will carry you, you know, if you don't obey me.”

Obedience, she thought; that was what power brought. She had no doubt at all that he would force her to do whatever he wanted. At least a glass of sherry wasn't bad. She shrugged, not looking at him, took two steps, and stumbled out of her slipper.

“Hold still,” said Burke. He went down on one knee and tied the ribbons around her ankle. Arielle looked down at his thick dark brown hair. Paisley had had a bald spot directly on the top of his head. She shuddered, then forced herself to hold still.

“Done,” said Burke and rose. He gave her his most engaging smile. “Not, of course, that I wouldn't have much preferred carrying you.”

She slithered past him into the drawing room. He followed, went to the narrow sideboard, and poured each of them a glass of sherry.

When he handed the glass to her, he felt the chill of her fingers and frowned. “Are you cold?”

“No,” she said. She was frightened.

“Very well. Do sit down, Arielle.”

She sat. The drawing room was decorated as elegantly and simply as her upstairs bedchamber, the furnishings consisting of a pale blue silk sofa and two matching chairs with tables scattered about. There was but one carpet in the center of the room, and it was a rich rose color.

“I won't be your mistress,” she said, without preamble. “I won't. So you might as well take me to Southampton now.”

“My mistress?” He was so surprised that his mind shut itself down.

“That's correct. I won't do it.”

Burke walked to the fireplace and leaned a shoulder against the mantelpiece. He gave his sherry a long meditative look, then said easily, “Perhaps I have missed something here. I've kept in pretty close touch with myself the past weeks, and I'm nearly certain that I've never asked you to be my mistress.”

“I would hope that you already have one.”

“Well, I do, as a matter of fact, but only until—”

“Excellent. Then leave me alone.” She tossed down the sherry and jumped to her feet.

“Sit down, Arielle.”

She knew that preemptory male tone of voice. She sat, not daring to look at him, her eyes on her folded hands in her lap.

“You believe I am so desperate for a woman that I have to abduct one to satisfy my lust? You are not being remarkably complimentary, Arielle. Nor excessively reasonable.”

“Well, no, it is just that—”

“What makes you think I view you as good mistress material?”

She looked at him then, eyes wide and confused. “Why else would you indulge in this elaborate ruse?”

“You believe that because you now are poor I wouldn't want you for anything else?”

“So you know about that, do you? Mr. Lapwing has been quite busy, I see.”

“Yes, and anxious to please the Earl of Ravensworth. It was he who so obligingly told me of your proposed flight to America. He has a young wife, you see, and so to capture an earl in his solicitor's net would make him more appealing to the lady.”

She said nothing, but she knew all about old men and young wives. She couldn't really see Mr. Lapwing beating his wife, but one never knew, not really. Burke was making it sound as if the wife ruled Mr. Lapwing, a concept that was utterly alien to her.

“I
am
poor,” Arielle said. As long as he was standing there by the fireplace, a good ten feet from her, her voice was cool and firm and she could attempt to reason with him. “Dreadfully poor. Indeed, that hundred pounds in my reticule is all I have in the world. I am going to live with my half sister in Boston.”

“Actually,” Burke said, ignoring her words, “Mr. Lapwing also told me about your half brother, Evan Goddis. A bastard, that one. And also about your dead husband's illegitimate son, Etienne DuPons. It gets complicated, does it not? Did you wish to marry that Frenchman? Did he back out when he realized you were poor?”

She stared at her hands, then at him. “Don't be mad.”

To her surprise, he laughed, a self-mocking laugh. “I am, my dear, but I cannot help it. Indeed, just today when I held up your carriage, I determined that there was no help for my condition. I've accepted it. But it is all your fault.”

Everything a man did that he disliked he blamed on a woman. There was no surprise in that. Arielle didn't bother to contradict him. “I want to leave,” she said again.

“I'm sorry, Arielle, but I can't let you go.”

“But why not? Why are you doing this? You are a gentleman, are you not? You said you didn't want me for your mistress, so—”

“I can't seem to recall saying anything of the sort, but since you are so very certain, perhaps I don't indeed want you for my mistress. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced you're quite right. I—”

“Please don't mock me.”

“All right,” he said, his voice and his expression very serious. “No, I don't want you for my mistress.”

“Then, well—what is it?”

She looked at him, those large clear eyes of hers seeing right into his soul, if only she would really
see
with them. He took a very deep breath and plunged forward. “I want you for my wife.”

Arielle drew back, pressing herself against the sofa.
Wife
! “You're mad.”

“I believe we've already agreed on that. I am serious, you know. I have wanted you since I met you at Bunberry Lake three years ago. I fought against it for a while for the simple reason that you were so damnably young. But you were always there, in my mind, with me in Spain and finally in France. Thinking of you after the Battle of Toulouse saved my sanity.” He arched a brow at the word. “Perhaps ‘sanity' isn't correct. Let me just say that you kept me whole amidst carnage that could destroy a man's soul. I didn't know you'd married until I came home. It turns out that Lannie's only truly important letter never got to me. But your husband is dead and I'm not and you're free. Marry me, Arielle. Be my countess, my lover, and the mother of a future earl.”

Arielle stared at him, through him really, beyond to what he would do to her. She'd already seen him in that nightmare, and she saw him again clearly over her, able to hurt her as Paisley hadn't, seeing herself as the supplicant again, the slave to his master. She blinked and saw him now, his man's body, so tall and strong and powerful. So very controlled and self-assured. Invincible. The pain he would cause her, that was the reality of things, not the words he was saying. She wouldn't be able to ever escape him. Oh, God, the pain. A sob caught in her throat. She turned her head away, rose very slowly, and walked to the door.

“Arielle?”

Her hand closed on the silver lion's head handle.

“Don't go. Come back here.”

She shook her head, not turning.

“Come here.”

His man's stern voice.

She shook her head again and pushed down on the heavy latch. It clicked down but the door didn't open. His hand was pressed against it above her head. She hadn't even heard him come toward her. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to get hold of herself. He said he wanted to marry her. It was insane, he was insane.

“What if I tell you that I don't want to marry you?” she whispered. She was terrified at her own words. What would he do? Would he strike her now?

Burke said nothing. He was looking down at her, wishing he could see what was in her mind. “Were you so much in love with your husband?”

She tasted bile. “Why would you think that?”

“You seem still to be grieving for him.”

“No, I'm not,” she said, and that was all.

“You will marry me, Arielle. I have made up my mind, you see, and if you feel I'm coercing you, well, then, I suppose you would be quite right. Consider yourself coerced. You will not leave until you're wed to me.”

“No.” She whirled about as she yelled that one word and struck her fists to his chest. In the next instant, she brought up her knee, but he was faster and her knee struck his thigh. She felt his arms close around her, holding her so tightly that she couldn't move. Why had she done it? she wondered blankly. So stupid, so very stupid. Now he would hurt her. She felt the pain begin inside her, knowing what was to come. She'd not felt this pain for so many months, but she hadn't forgotten. She would never forget. She waited, unaware that she was crying, silently, hopelessly.

Burke slowly moved one hand up to press her head to his shoulder. “Shush,” he said, kissing her hair, “it's all right, Arielle. No, no, love, don't cry. Please, don't.”

“Let me go.”

“Not yet. I have this most inexplicable need to protect my manhood. I am fortunate that you aren't a perfect markswoman.”

She didn't understand his jesting, not at all. It was an act, it had to be an act to draw her in. He would turn on her in a flash. It was inevitable.

He was so strong. She had no chance. She didn't struggle, merely leaned against him, waiting. Waiting.

Nothing happened.

She continued to wait, and nothing continued to happen.

“Would you like a cup of tea, perhaps?”

“Yes,” she said, praying he would release her. If she could put distance between them again, she'd be safe, at least for a while. She'd learned to think and live in minutes. She'd thought she'd forgotten that habit during the months after Paisley's death. It came back to her, as naturally as breathing.