Night Fire (6 page)

“Ye mean that pathetic little slice of water between Drummond and Leslie land?”

“Aye, that's the one. You make it sound like a tiny, scummy pond.”

He said nothing more. She was mocking him and smiling. Not a tremendous smile, but a smile nonetheless. Perhaps she was beginning to heal now that she'd seen that Evan Goddis was naught but a man, and not a very nice one at that. He took his leave of her, watching until she was out of sight.

Arielle slowly guided Mindle to the edge of the gentle blue-green water. When Mindle raised her head and whinnied, Arielle automatically stiffened.

Then she saw a man. She couldn't make out who he was. But she recognized his stallion. It was Ashes.

Burke Drummond was home.

A
rielle was flooded with feelings she'd believed had never really existed; feelings that, if they had existed, had belonged to that other girl, the one with the soft, gentle memories.

That stupid, gullible, naive other girl.

From the distance that separated them she thought he still looked the same. He was standing beneath an oak tree, tall and lean and powerful. Very handsome he was, a hero, a man who'd been very kind to a young girl those three long years ago. That spring afternoon they'd met for the first time, here at Bunberry Lake, flowed through her mind, and she felt a strange sort of inevitability.

She realized belatedly that he was home because the war was over. She'd been so isolated, not only on the estate but in her own mind, that she'd paid little attention to the happenings in France. Napoleon, she'd heard from someone, had been incarcerated on an island somewhere.

Burke was waving to her. “Come here,” he called.

His deep, rich voice crystallized the memories. Odd that she should remember that voice so clearly. She touched her fingers to her cheek and smiled at another memory. She was remembering the crimson plume of her riding hat she'd worn that long-ago afternoon. She wondered briefly what had become of it.

Arielle waved back, then directed Mindle slowly and carefully through the shallow end of the lake.

Burke had known, had been certain, she would come. He'd wondered, mocking himself, if this newfound sensitivity of his would prove accurate. This first time he hadn't wanted to go to Rendel Hall to see her. He hadn't wanted to see her in another man's house. He hadn't wanted to call her my lady and acknowledge that she'd belonged to Paisley Cochrane.

Ashes whinnied again and pulled on his reins, nearly jerking them free of the yew bush branch. Burke felt his pulse increase.

He watched her guide her mare through the shallow end of the lake, some twenty-five yards distant; watched her as she neared. It was fitting, he thought, that he should see her here for the first time in such a long time. So many years. If only he hadn't been so bloody noble before. It could have been he who had been her husband. He could have taken her at sixteen. He shouldn't have waited.

She was drawing closer. She looked the same on horseback, her back straight as a rod, her riding skirt flowing about her, an ostrich plume brushing her cheek. It wasn't red, but a pale gray. Odd that he would remember that. He'd wondered, many times, what he would feel at this moment. Would he look at her and laugh at the romantic fantasies of a young man, fantasies that had staled in the intervening years? Would he still want to drag her to him and make love to her until they were both stupid with it?

When he saw her, he didn't want to do either. She was pale, and her pure blue eyes were wide on his face, pupils dilated. He wanted to hold her, to press her face against his shoulder, to stroke her rich hair, to pour out all the dammed-up words that were stored inside him.

“Burke.”

Her voice was soft, thin-sounding. Burke realized he was holding his breath and released it. He grinned up at her. He felt wonderful. All the questions, the doubts, had disappeared. She was Arielle and she was his. Her marriage to Paisley Cochrane meant nothing. She would belong to him. Forever.

He realized, had realized long before this meeting, that he couldn't rush his fences. She had no idea of the depth of his feelings. Lord knew, he hadn't either, until just this moment. He must go easy.

“Hello, Arielle. Come down and join me.” As he spoke, he raised his hands to draw her out of her saddle. To his surprise, she pulled back. She kicked her booted foot free, slid out of the saddle, and tethered Mindle next to Ashes.

“I remember the first time I met you, you wouldn't allow me to assist you, but that was because my arm was in a sling. And this time, Arielle?”

“I'm not helpless,” she said. She wondered where those words had come from. She wondered why she was here.

“You still have Titian hair.”

“What? Oh, that.” Her fingertips nervously touched her hair. “Something I don't suppose anyone could change.”

“You are taller.”

“Yes. I was a bit later than most girls, but I did grow up.”

He heard something odd in her voice. “Yes, delightfully so,” he said and gave her a warm smile. She didn't smile back, merely stared up at him, as if he were a ghost.

Arielle wished now that she hadn't come to Bunberry Lake today. Strange, how many different things he made her feel. He'd changed; she saw that. Oh, he was still charming and kind to her, but his face was more severe, hardened perhaps, as if he'd seen more than a man should have to see. He still had the marvelous dimples that deepened when he smiled, and the thick brows that flared slightly, giving him a slightly rakish and inquisitive look.

“You're home finally,” she managed to say. “It's been a very long time. How long have you been here?”

Burke couldn't take his eyes off her. She was no longer the fifteen-year-old girl, such an open book to him, so completely guileless. This Arielle was nervous and uncertain, perhaps even wary of him. She was also a mystery to him, and she fascinated him. Her body was much the same, he saw. Too slender, he was thinking, but he could see the curve of her high breasts, the narrowness of her waist. No longer the coltish angles of a young girl, but a woman's slenderness. But it was her face that drew him now, as it had three years before. The purity of her features, the innocence of—He broke off his thinking, realizing that she'd asked him a question and that instead of replying, he was staring at her like a besotted ass. As he had three years before.

“At Ravensworth Abbey? Only two days. Come and sit down, Arielle.”

She plucked at her riding skirt, her nervousness, her skittishness, palpable. “I—I don't know, my lord—”

“That girl called me Burke. Don't you remember? Won't the woman do the same?”

Of course she remembered. And what did he mean talking of the girl and now the woman? She wanted to leave, quickly. “Very well, Burke. I think I should return to Rendel Hall.”

“Nonsense. You are mistress there. If you are late, will the butler order you to your room without your dinner?”

That made her smile. “Probably not, though he would try to dash me down with one of his looks.” The god's truth was that the old man always gave her sly, knowing looks.

He watched her gracefully ease down onto the grass and spread her blue riding skirt about her. She carefully folded her gloved hands in her lap. He ached just looking at her.

“I trust you aren't wounded this time?”

He sat beside her and was surprised when she pulled away to place more distance between them. “Yes, but nothing much, really. A saber thrust in my side.”

She grimaced. “I'm sorry. Have you much pain this time?”

“Not now.”

“Will you remain in England?”

“Yes, since Napoleon is out of the way. It is time I did earllike things and earned my title and my keep.”

“Surely there is more than enough to occupy you.”

I don't wish to speak of this nonsense, he thought. He was frustrated. He wanted to tell her he wanted her to marry him. Now, today.

So, instead, he said, “Do you remember what you told me three years ago, Arielle?”

She cocked her head to one side and stared at him as she sorted through her memories. It was there, of course, there with the feelings she'd felt then, the feelings she'd had after he'd left. She'd told him that she would be waiting for him with all the other ladies. Oh, no, she thought. She began shaking her head. “Why?” she asked.

He chuckled, trying to mask his tension. “You have become a fickle woman, I see.”

She had to change the course of this—she had to. “Is your wife at Ravensworth? What is her name? Have you children?”

That startled him, and he arched a dark brow. “Why would you think me married?”

Because you have to be. “I just assumed that you would be. You are the earl and have need of an heir. You are older now, fully grown, and I—” She ground to a halt, so embarrassed that she could only stare at the loose blades of grass that would certainly stain her skirt.

“I was fully grown that first afternoon three years ago, Arielle. As I recall, you told me so yourself.”

“I was a child, a foolish, trusting child. I didn't know anything.”

Her bitterness was a live thing. What the hell had happened? Was this because of Paisley Cochrane? He said calmly, “I am back now to do as I ought. You are right. As the Earl of Ravensworth, I have need of an heir. For that I shall need a wife.” He smiled at her and despite his best intentions, all the tenderness he felt for her was in his eyes. “Have you any thoughts on the subject? Any recommendations, perhaps?”

No, she thought wildly, he couldn't mean what she thought he did. Oh, no. He couldn't want her, at least not as a wife. She was used and dirty and—It would mean bedding him, doing all those disgusting things, being beaten again and crying with the pain, the helplessness. She realized that she was shaking her head. She jumped to her feet. “No, I have no thoughts. Well, actually, yes, there are many lovely ladies who live hereabouts. I am certain you will see them all very soon. I must go now. Really, I must.”

Burke stared up at her. He saw fear in her eyes, and distaste. He tried to retrench quickly, saying mildly, emotionlessly, “Don't go yet, Arielle.”

“I shouldn't be here, alone with you.”

“That didn't concern you when you were fifteen. It doesn't concern me now. Come, stay, and let's get acquainted again. I was sorry to hear of the death of Sir Arthur. I wrote you.”

Arielle watched him uncertainly. He seemed controlled enough, calm enough. Perhaps she'd misunderstood him. She had nothing but lovely memories of him. He'd always acted the perfect gentleman, but still, he was a man and thus unpredictable, not to be trusted.

“Yes, I received your letter. Thank you. Of course I couldn't reply.”

“I knew that, yes. You were very young.”

Not only was I young, I was foolish and stupid too. “How is Lannie? And Poppet and Virgie?”

At least she's not bolting, he thought. He said easily, “Lannie is just the same, perhaps even more so. I shall probably become her nemesis again now that I am home. My steward, Cerlew, is the current recipient of all her melodramatic wrath. Lannie is very adaptable, as you probably remember. She said she missed you. As for my nieces, they're really quite cute.”

“Excellent,” said Arielle.

And that was that? he thought. Burke looked out over the placid lake. “I remember thinking that you and I were friends. That is no longer true?”

Friends
. To be friends with a man was an alien thought. It required trust, a commodity that was elusive, indeed a commodity that was most unlikely in her experience.

“No,” she said honestly, “I don't believe it is.”

That drew him up short. “Whyever not? I haven't grown two heads, and I am still accounted an honorable man.” He'd meant his words to sound light, humorous, but her expression remained grave, withdrawn.

He wasn't aware, would never have guessed, that she was seeing him in that moment as a very real threat to her. She was seeing a large man, powerfully built, so much stronger than she that he could easily break her, easily intimidate her, easily beat her with little effort on his part. As for his good looks, that made her distrust him all the more. A man who had been a young girl's dream hero for months was likely nothing more than a chimera, a foolish fantasy woven from unreal cloth. Then her father had died and Evan had taken control of her life. She'd blocked out the Earl of Ravensworth just as she'd blocked out every other man who'd come into her ken. A gentle breeze lifted his dark brown hair, ruffling it, and he sent impatient fingers through it. His eyes were a dark brown, his eyelashes thick and lush, the envy of a woman. His face was strong, and even without speaking, he held the aura of one born to command, one who was used to being obeyed, one who would not tolerate not being obeyed.

She felt fear, cold and harsh. He was a man. He wasn't to be trusted. No, she wouldn't believe his offer of friendship. She was no longer gullible and stupid.

“Arielle?”

“What?”

“What's wrong? Have I said something to distress you?”

A handsome and charming man, a strong man, could dissemble, could draw one in before springing for the kill. He was holding out his hand to her, a strong brown hand that could hurt so easily, could slap her, could mark her. She ran her tongue over her dry lips. She found herself looking at him, and her fear grew. Unlike Evan, the Earl of Ravensworth in riding clothes was an impressive sight, from his close-fitting jacket of pale blue to his sparkling black Hessians. Then, quite suddenly, she saw him naked. She saw him standing just as Etienne had stood, his back to the fireplace, the flames framing him, casting him in shadowy lights.

She sucked in her breath and leaped to her feet.

“Why won't you tell me what is wrong?” His voice was soft and reasonable-sounding, the voice of an adult soothing a frightened child.

“I must go. Good-bye.”

She rushed away from him and climbed onto Mindle's back. She realized she hadn't untied Mindle's reins and sat there a moment, feeling stupid and afraid.

She saw him rise slowly, brush the soft earth from his thighs. He was coming to her, and she was so afraid that she felt frozen in place.

Burke didn't understand. He was hurt and angry and confused. Slowly, he untied Mindle's reins. He saw Arielle staring at his hand as he lifted the reins to her.

Her eyes bothered him; her pupils were large and fixed. What the devil was wrong?

“I wish to visit you,” he said, his voice formal. “Will you be at home tomorrow?”