Night Fire (8 page)

Burke realized they were simply staring at each other. Silence hung uncomfortably between them. He said abruptly, drawing on years of measured control, “I should like you to visit the Abbey on Friday for tea.”

She almost began to shake her head, then stopped herself. Better to get it over with; then perhaps he would leave her alone. There was nothing at all dangerous for her in visiting Ravensworth Abbey. Lannie with all her chatter would act a perfect buffer. “All right,” she said finally.

“That is what you told me before, your exact words, as I recall. Can I believe you this time?”

There was a sting to his words and she drew back. What did he want from her? Her chin went up and her voice was as cold as a January day in Yorkshire. “You may be certain that I shall send word if I contract another illness.”

“I thought the headache only brought ladies down once a month.”

Airelle jerked back in her saddle as if she had been struck. He was dangerous and he wasn't a gentleman. Without another word, she whipped Mindle away from Burke and lashed her into a gallop.

Burke was caught off guard. He cursed himself loudly for his stupidity and his utter impertinence. “Arielle! Wait up!”

He saw her turn back at his shout just for an instant, and in that brief period of time, Mindle veered to the left and took a fence mid-stride. Burke felt his blood run cold. “Arielle. Watch out.”

It was too late.

Her scream caught in her throat. Mindle didn't make it over the top rung of the wooden fence. The mare struck her hind legs and twisted frantically in the air. Arielle saw the narrow ditch just on the other side of the fence and stretched Mindle out as far as she could. The mare gained the other side of the ditch, but her front legs crumbled and Arielle felt herself flying over her head. The world was a jumbled blur. She wasn't afraid—everything was happening too quickly.

She hit the rocky earth hard and that hurt her shoulder, a blinding hurt, but only for a moment, because her head hit a rock and she fell unconscious.

Burke had never been so afraid in his life. He set Ashes forward, controlling him firmly, and felt the mighty stallion sail over the fence, clearing the opposite ditch by a good four feet. He drew him up and dismounted. Mindle was standing now, her head lowered, blowing hard.

But it was Arielle who held his attention. He realized he was praying as he knelt down beside her. His long fingers sought the pulse in her throat. It was strong and steady, thank God. Slowly, his movements as detached as he could make them, he felt each arm and leg. Nothing broken. But internal injuries. She could be bleeding inside and she could die, and there would be nothing he could do about it.

He shook himself. He removed her riding hat, then began to probe her head. There was a growing lump behind her left ear. He sighed with relief. Pray heaven that the most she would suffer was a concussion. She would be all right—she had to be. Burke eased down beside her, leaning against the trunk of a maple tree, and gently lifted her head onto his thighs. He touched her nose, her chin, her high cheekbones. Her brows were a bit darker than her hair, he noticed, and absently he stroked a fingertip over them, smoothing them. He stared down at her, mesmerized. He said softly, “I want you, Arielle. Marry me.”

She moaned.

He cushioned her head on his open palm and, without meaning to, his other hand lightly caressed her throat. He wanted desperately to touch her and he didn't deny himself. He lifted his hand and laid it on her breast. Her heartbeat was strong beneath his palm. He closed his eyes, his body so filled with the strange lust-tenderness she evoked in him that for many moments he couldn't think a cogent thought. He moved his hand from her breast to her upper arm. He was losing his mind. For God's sake, she was lying here unconscious and all he could think about was bedding her.

“Arielle, wake up. Come on, open your eyes.”

He shook her shoulders.

She moaned again and opened her eyes. She stared up at him, at first not understanding.

“It's all right,” he said. “You will be just fine. You took a tumble. Does your head hurt?”

Arielle realized she was lying on her back, her head nestled against his hand. It was his fault that Mindle had taken that fence. All was his fault. She said harshly, “Yes, I certainly see too many of you.”

Burke grinned down at her and held her firmly when she tried to pull away from him. “Hush and be still. You'd best not move for a while.”

She saw that movement of any sort was beyond her. A fierce pain slashed through her head and she swallowed convulsively, closing her eyes.

“Shush,” he said softly. “Do you need to be sick?”

The thought of retching in front of him was unnerving. She said nothing, merely kept her lips tightly closed and prayed.

“Take light breaths and don't move.” He began to stroke his fingertips over her forehead. It wasn't near the lump, but it did seem to ease the pain a bit.

“You shouldn't have run away from me. I was wrong to be so flippant, but you angered me and I struck back. Perhaps you will contrive to forget it, and to forgive me for my strange lapse. I am usually a gentleman, you know.”

At the moment, she wouldn't have cared if he were the devil. “I want to go home,” she said. “I want to die in my own bed.”

It was a pity they were so close to Rendel Hall. He would have preferred to take her to the Abbey. But Lannie was still there, and a fussing Lannie could easily send Arielle or any sentient human being to the hereafter with a sigh of gratitude.

“All right. Let's stay here just a few minutes longer, until you feel more the thing again.”

Arielle said nothing. She felt the warmth of his thigh beneath her shoulders. She felt his left hand on her shoulder, light and gentle. She hated this weakness. She hated the fear that stirred itself to life as if it were a living thing inside her. She hated being dependent on him, even though it was just for a little while. She wasn't aware that tears were streaking down her face.

Burke saw the tears and felt as though he'd been struck. He couldn't bear it. He wiped the tears away, speaking to her, trying to ease her.

“It's all right,” he said and repeated the words again and again. “You'll be all right very soon now.” And even as he spoke, she lurched up onto her knees and lost the little breakfast she'd eaten. She continued to retch, dry heaves, for there was nothing in her stomach, and he held her shoulders to keep her steady, then supported her, knowing the awful weakness that followed sickness. He handed her his handkerchief and she wiped her mouth. He wanted to take her home with him and never let her out of his sight again. He wanted—

“I want to go home now,” Arielle said, not looking at him. She was drowning in misery and pain, and there was no help for it. “Please, I want to go home.”

“All right. Will you trust me enough to let me do what I think is necessary?”

She felt too awful to reply. No, she didn't trust him, but she couldn't see that she had any choice.

She felt his hands slip around her thighs, felt him lifting her in his arms as he himself rose.

Lord, she was light, he thought. Too thin, too slight. He carried her to Ashes. “Hold on,” he said, and cradling her in one arm, he managed to mount the stallion. “I'll send Geordie for Mindle. Don't worry, she'll be all right.”

During the short ride back to Rendel Hall, neither one of them said anything. Burke held her very close, his ears tuned to any sound she might make.

To his relief, Geordie took charge quite efficiently. Burke carried Arielle into Rendel Hall, up the stairs, and down the narrow hallway to her bedchamber. Something in him stirred as he realized that it wasn't the master suite. He was aware of the old woman, Dorcas, dogging his heels, making false starts and stops, wringing her hands until he finally said, “Bring me some water. She needs to wash out her mouth and bathe her face.”

Then there was that old ass, Philfer, acting as though Burke had intruded into
his
domain. He blessed Geordie, who said to Philfer with great conciseness, “Shut yer trap, old man. Fetch his lordship a brandy and let the doctor in when he comes.”

Dr. Mortimer Arkwright, bent and thin as a stick as he neared his sixtieth year, greeted Burke in the dour voice that had been a part of him for nearly fifty of those years. The old man had brought Burke into the world and for that, Burke was profoundly grateful. He'd also thought Dr. Arkwright long dead and blurted out as much.

“Not yet,” said Dr. Arkwright, giving Burke a nearly toothless grin. “I'm retired, but the Rendel stable lad caught me fair and square. Being I was so close, I thought it silly to send the lad on for Mark Brody. You know Brody, don't you?”

“Yes, I met him three years ago when he first came.” Burke then told the doctor what happened.

“Arielle Leslie, poor little girl. Well, lad, let's take a look. What were you doing with her anyway?”

Good question, thought Burke, but he didn't reply, merely walked more quickly toward Arielle's room.

“She's grown up,” said Dr. Arkwright as he stared down at Arielle. “Well, my dear, open your eyes and tell me where you hurt.”

Arielle said only, “My head. Dreadful. Please make it stop.”

Dr. Arkwright grunted. “I approve a woman of few words. Now, open your eyes, that's it, and tell me how many fingers I'm holding up.”

Burke stepped back, saying nothing, watching the old man efficiently treat Arielle. Oddly, Dr. Arkwright turned to Burke after a few minutes, saying, “I can't give her any laudanum just yet. Concussion. Wake her up every couple of hours and ask her who she is and where she is. In eight hours or so, some laudanum. I'll leave instructions.”

Dorcas finally regained her senses. “His lordship doesn't live here. He merely brought her home.”

Dr. Arkwright looked at Burke, then grunted again. “So that's the way of it, hmm?”

Burke found himself leaving with Dr. Arkwright. “You're certain she'll be all right?”

“If I didn't think so, I wouldn't be leaving. Don't be such a fool, my boy. The chit will be singing songs in her bath by tomorrow morning. If you were her husband, you'd be there to sing with her.”

“That's true enough,” said Burke. “It scared me witless when she flew over her horse's head.”

“Natural enough reaction,” said Dr. Arkwright. “She's a beauty. I wondered how she'd turn out. Haven't seen her for three years, you know; last time was just before Sir Arthur died. I suppose you'll be back tomorrow to see her?”

Burke nodded. He watched Dr. Arkwright climb into his small brougham and leave.

“Is she all right?”

“Yes, Geordie, she'll be fine. Dr. Arkwright swears it. You'll keep an eye out, won't you?”

“Aye, that I will. The lass promised me some haggis, and I'll remind her about it tomorrow morning.” Geordie scratched his head. “Old Philfer can be got around.”

Burke didn't want to leave, but he couldn't find another choice for himself. Finally he returned to Ravensworth Abbey and spent a very long afternoon and night.

“Is she singing yet?” was his first question when he greeted Dorcas the following morning.

The old woman smiled, and Burke saw she was missing almost all her back teeth. “Very nearly. Do you wish to see her, my lord?”

Burke couldn't believe it. Everyone in Arielle's employ seemed eager to promote him. Only Arielle was fighting tooth and nail. “Certainly,” he said, all calm and confident, and followed Dorcas up the stairs.

“You were with Arielle since she was a child, were you not?”

“Yes, a sweetheart she was, open and chatty and clean of spirit, if you know what I mean.”

“A pity she changed.”

“What can you expect? It was bound to have happened. Ah, lovey, I've a visitor for you.”

She turned in the doorway and motioned to Burke. He heard Arielle call out, her voice harsh and wary, “No, Dorcas. Please, I don't wish to see—”

“Hello, Arielle. It's just me. You look well again. Does your head feel all right?”

Actually, she looked as awful as Arielle could look, her beautiful hair tumbled and tangled and lank, her face as white as the counterpane, an ugly purple-and-yellow bruise showing at her left temple. She pulled the covers to her chin, and her back was pressed tight against the headboard. He took a step toward her and she gasped.

She was behaving strangely, and that pulled him up short. For heaven's sake, it wasn't as if she were a young girl who'd never been married. Her reputation was quite safe, particularly since her old, very respectable-looking nurse was here. Why was she behaving in such a missish fashion? He tried a smile and managed a mechanical one. “I was just concerned for you. Will I still see you at teatime on Friday?”

She nodded, mute, but he saw the lie in her eyes before she lowered them. She had changed her mind. Perhaps she was more ill than Dr. Arkwright had thought.

What the devil should he do now? He didn't want to leave her, not yet. “You are supposed to sing in your bath this morning, according to Dr. Arkwright.”

“If you leave I promise I shall.”

“Have you breakfasted yet?”

She shook her head, wincing a bit.

“Would you like to have something?”

“Yes,” said Dorcas, stepping to the bed. “Let me have Bessie bring you some toast and tea.”

Arielle didn't realize that Dorcas was leaving until she was nearly out the door. Arielle called after her, but the old woman didn't come back.

“You are safe with me,” Burke said, slanting an eyebrow. “It has never been my practice to seduce or ravish ladies who have such colorful bruises on their faces.”

She didn't reply, and Burke, not knowing what to say, looked about her bedchamber. He wasn't certain what he had expected, but this wasn't it. It was nearly a monk's cell, sparsely furnished and those furnishings severe. Not a feminine flounce or furbelow in the room. He found himself staring toward the adjoining door. Was the master suite on the other side? He didn't want to think about that filthy old man opening that door and coming in here, to this bed, to Arielle. He said, “Is your husband's room beyond?”