Night Fire (28 page)

She turned her face away, saying nothing.

“Well, I shall just start at the bottom, then.”

He knelt in front of her and pulled off her riding boots, tossing them over his shoulder. “Now your skirt, I think.” She felt his fingers opening her riding jacket, seeking the fastenings on her skirt. They came open easily. He drew it down over her hips, downward until he had lifted each foot and the skirt was on the floor. “Charming,” he said. He untied the string of her petticoat, and she felt the cool air touch her bare thighs. “Now the stockings,” Etienne said. He rolled down each stocking, lightly stroking her legs as he did so. Soon she stood before him garbed in only her short chemise, blouse, and riding jacket.

“A truly exquisite painting you would make. Yes, indeed.”

“I found some cream, Miss Arielle.”

Both Etienne and Arielle stared at Dorcas. She came into the room at her slow, shuffling pace, holding a jar in her right hand.

“What do you want, you bloody old hag?”

“The cream,” Dorcas said in the exaggerated patient tone she'd occasionally used with Arielle when she'd been a child. “I don't want Miss Arielle scarred. You've tied her up. She always hated that, you know. She cried. Always. She isn't crying now. I don't understand.”

“Get out, you cretinous old crone.”

Dorcas looked confused. “All right. I'll wait for you, Miss Arielle, in your bedchamber. I've the cream. I'll take care of you as I always did.”

Arielle closed her eyes so he couldn't see her pain at Dorcas's madness.

“My God, the old fool's batty as your English king.”

Etienne followed Dorcas to the adjoining door, and Arielle heard him order her to bring in the cans of hot water. She watched Dorcas, her back bowed, lug the cans of water to the copper tub and dump them in. Again and again until the tub was fill. Etienne then saw her to the door and slammed it after her.

“Now,” he said, smiling at Arielle. “I fear, my dear, that I will simply have to sacrifice your blouse and jacket. You shouldn't miss them all that much. My father told me that you were quite used to being with him as naked as the day you were born. You would do fine stitchery, naked, when he wasn't using you, so he could enjoy the sight of you. Don't you remember those times, Arielle?”

“Your father was insane, Etienne, and wicked and evil. You told me you weren't like him. But listen to yourself. Please, you must stop this. You must let me go.”

“Don't worry that I will treat you as he did. How many times must I repeat myself? Pray say no more on that head. It begins to annoy me.”

He went to Paisley's desk and opened the top side drawer. He removed a letter knife. The handle was of the whitest pearl, the blade only three inches long.

Arielle trembled at the sight of that knife, she couldn't help herself. But what he did was simply to slit open her jacket sleeves from wrist to shoulder. Then he slit the shoulder seams and peeled the jacket off. He performed the same operation with her blouse. Finally she was standing covered only with her fine lawn chemise.

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes roving from her face down to her bare toes. Lightly he touched his fingertips to a breast, stroking it through the chemise.

She sucked in her breath and tried to pull back.

“All right, Arielle. Enough teasing. Let me see you now.” And the knife snipped through the lacy straps. He pulled the chemise down slowly, pausing a moment at her waist, then pulling more until it pooled in a soft white heap at her feet. He stood back, rubbing his fingers over his jaw.

“Glorious,” he said.

Humiliation. Pure and unadulterated humiliation. It had been so long but the feelings came back with a rush. She was there again, with Paisley, feeling his eyes on her, feeling his hand pat her buttock as he strolled past her to fetch a cheroot, perhaps.

“A pity, but I don't wish you to have to bathe in cold water. I will untie you now, Arielle. If you give me any difficulties, I will be forced to hurt you.”

He untied her wrists and pulled her to the copper tub. “Sit down and scrub the horse smell from yourself.”

He dumped a sponge and a bar of lavender-scented soap in her lap. He walked to the chair by the fireplace, turned it to face her, and sat down, crossing his legs at his ankles.

“A very pleasant sight,” he said.

She sat huddled in the tub, her arms wrapped around her knees, unmoving.

“Bathe yourself or I will do it.”

She forced herself to soap the sponge. Slowly, her head turned away from him, she began to rub the sponge over herself. “Very nice,” she heard him say. “Don't bother with your hair. If there is any horsey scent in it, I'll simply spray it with some perfume I found in my father's desk. I wondered if it was yours, Arielle. It's lavender, just like the soap.”

He'd changed, she realized. He was more confident, more self-assured than before. He sounded, oddly enough, more like his father. His French accent was nearly gone. She shuddered, hearing him say, “Is the water cold already, Arielle? Would you like me to help you out now?”

She shook her head. She didn't want to look at him or talk to him. She wanted to ignore him so he would disappear. Foolish, foolish girl. She ran the soapy sponge over her stomach.

“Lower, Arielle.”

She swallowed and obeyed him. What to do? She must think of something. To be a passive victim—no, she couldn't, wouldn't let that happen to her again. What if she were the strong one? What if she took control from him?

Slowly, Arielle stood up in the tub. She wrung out the sponge, letting the water trail over her breasts. “Give me a towel,” she said, her voice as cold as the water.

Etienne arched a black brow. He rose, fetched the thick towel from the back of a chair and handed it to her. He looked at her breasts, at the slick beads of water.

“Get away from me, you stupid fool.”

He jerked back, unable to believe his ears. “What the devil did you say?”

“You heard me, Etienne. Go away, like a good boy. I wish to dry myself.”

Confused, Etienne retreated to his chair and sat down. He watched her dry herself thoroughly, slowly, as if she hadn't a care in the world, as if he weren't there watching her, waiting to tie her wrists again to that rope.

“You are such a fool,” Arielle said as she drew the towel around her and knotted it above her breasts. “At least your father wasn't that. He was cruel and fat and wicked, but not a fool. You, on the other hand, are a foolish little boy.”

He leaped to his feet, his face flushed. “How dare you speak to me that way.”

She forced a shrug, boredom clear in her expression. “Well, aren't you? Trying to steal another man's wife? Trying to have sexual relations with your dead
father's
wife? Can't you manage to find a woman for yourself? Do you have to settle for other men's women? Admit it, you aren't at all well. England is obviously not a good place for you.”

He was striding toward her now, his face mottled with rage.

“Don't you even think to touch me, you miserable little French bastard.”

He drew up short at the utter scorn in her voice. He didn't touch her. He stared at her. She stared back. “Yes,” she said finally with contempt, “you are a very sad case, Etienne. Go back to France. Find your own woman. Or better yet, find yourself a young girl. You aren't a man, after all.”

Etienne trembled. Evan had called him mad once when he'd continued to insist that Arielle was his and no one else's. He stared at her, and saw her contempt, and felt himself shrivel deep inside. He pictured clearly that whore's face in Calais just before he'd taken the packet to England. She'd laughed at him, at his aborted attempt to come inside her.

He wanted to run and never stop. He turned away from Arielle abruptly, despair and self-disgust eating at him.

Suddenly Dorcas came through the adjoining door. “Do you need me yet, Miss Arielle? You poor baby, aren't you dreadfully cold with just that wet towel about you? Is that awful man making you stand there like that? He is wicked, I know it, but I've the cream.”

Arielle wanted to scream. She watched Etienne's face, his body, while Dorcas spoke. He regained his control. He even smiled. He looked like his father.

“That's right, Dorcas,” he said. “I'm making your poor baby stand here for my pleasure. Soon she'll do other things as well. She will call you when she needs you. Now, stay out of here.”

“No, Dorcas,” Arielle said quickly. “Stay here.” But the old woman had already turned at the sound of a man's command.

“So,” Etienne said when at last the adjoining door was firmly closed. “Now, my dear girl, what shall I do first?”

A
rielle's bravado faltered, then crumbled. She saw the gleam in his eyes, saw that he once again knew his power over her, that he couldn't wait to exercise that power, and in the most demeaning fashion possible. He wanted her obedience, her utter subservience. Or he would hurt her. Just as his father had.

She knew now that he was quite capable of revenge. And he saw her attempt to seize power from him as the perfect excuse to abuse her. God, it had almost worked. She had almost cowed him. If not for Dorcas, telling him so precisely that he was the master.

Oh, God.

She stood quietly, waiting.

He said, his voice calm, pleasant, “What, I wonder, will give me the most pleasure? Sit in a chair as my father used to do and simply look at you hanging from that rope naked? What to do first?”

He smiled then. He walked to her, ripped off the towel, and when she began to fight him, he hit her hard. Her head snapped backward, the pain in her jaw intense. He lifted her and set her on her feet, fastening her wrists again with the rope. She felt her arms drawn up over her head. Once she was secure, Etienne stepped back.

“Magnificent,” he said. He saw the dazed sheen in her eyes and frowned. “I do hope I haven't bruised your face, my dear. Such a pity if I did. Still, you must learn that you cannot hurt your master, that you cannot defy him without swift and fitting punishment.”

Arielle didn't respond. Her vision was still blurred, her mind cloudy. Her head ached and her mouth was dry.

Suddenly she felt his hand on her belly, kneading her, smoothing her flesh.

“Like silk,” Etienne said. “And this.” He closed his eyes as his fingers moved downward. He found her and started fondling her.

He stopped abruptly, drawing back his hand as he opened his eyes. “No, I mustn't spoil you like that. My fingers give you too much pleasure, don't they?”

“No,” she said very clearly. “They make me want to vomit. You are filthy, Etienne. You are—”

“Shut up!” he yelled at her, raising his hand but not striking her. “Just be quiet or I'll hit you.”

He was breathing hard. God, he didn't want to hurt her like this, damn her. But she was driving him to it, forcing him to behave like his father. He moved away from her, pulling a chair over and sitting down. He was facing her now, his legs stretched out in front of him. Arielle watched him steeple his fingers and tap his fingertips rhythmically together.

“You are lovely like this. I can see why my father arranged for you to display yourself for him. Naked, vulnerable, so beautifully helpless. I shan't give you any more pleasure with my fingers. And no, don't tell me you found my touch repellent. I won't believe you. I told you that I know women and I am a good lover. I know what makes you want to beg me for it.”

Arielle marveled at him. Just a while before, he'd been so uncertain, so bewildered, unsure of himself as a man. She wanted to laugh, but she was too afraid. She said nothing, made no movement whatsoever. Let him talk. Let him carry on with his bragging until he rotted. Burke would come.

“Nothing to say, huh? Well, silence is refreshing in you, Arielle. You've become much too independent for a woman, too shrewish, too demanding. I liked you much better before. You knew then what you were, what you were supposed to be, what you were supposed to do. No, this new you isn't to my liking, but I think I can help you push back the months. I'll make you the way you once were, my dear.”

She
had
changed. Burke had helped her become a different person. She mustn't forget that, no matter what. No matter what Etienne made her do.

“It is the woman's sole duty to please the man. I think I wish you to please me now, Arielle. I want you to take me in your mouth and caress me and kiss me.”

She looked at him then. If he wanted that of her, he would have to release her. Her hands and her feet would be free. She could have a chance.

“Are you thinking that you will hurt me? You could, of course. I suppose I must make you understand that if you attempt anything with me, you will regret it more than you can imagine. If you try to hurt me, Arielle, I will whip you with a riding crop. A riding crop raises ugly welts, I'm sure you remember. And the pain, if again you remember, is most remarkably acute. I remember your screams, you know. Now, what do you say?”

“I won't hurt you, Etienne, for the simple reason that I refuse to touch you.”

It was obvious to Arielle that he hadn't considered her outright refusal even a possibility. He looked temporarily unnerved. He didn't know what to do. She waited, not moving a muscle.

“You will,” he said, his voice petulant.

“No, I will not touch you. I want you to release me.”

He jumped to his feet. It took all her courage not to flinch from him.

He walked over to her, grasped the thick knot of hair at her nape in his fist, and pulled back. She closed her eyes against the pain.

“Look at me, damn you.”

She opened her eyes. They were watering from the stinging pain in her scalp.

“You will do as I tell you, or I will bring out that riding crop right now.”

“You are a coward, Etienne. You would beat me simply because I'm tied and helpless. Only a coward would do that. Not a man, not an honorable man.”

She thought he would strike her again, but he merely tugged once more, viciously, at her hair, then pushed away from her. She thought for a moment that she'd won. But just for a moment. He walked toward the armoire in the far corner of the bedchamber. Too soon he was coming back to her. In his hand he held a riding crop.

 

“Damnation, I don't bloody well believe this. Where is she? Where could she have taken Mindle?”

“As I told ye, milord, I saw her riding east,” Geordie said.

Burke shook his head. He was frustrated and afraid. Something had happened to her, he knew it, he felt it in his gut. He didn't consider distrusting his feelings; they'd held him in too good stead in the army. He and the men had been searching for nearly an hour now. Not one damned trace of her.

The going was slow. If she'd been thrown, she could be lying in the midst of bushes, unconscious. Or worse.

He cursed softly as Joshua, to Burke's far left, took up calling Arielle's name.

Suddenly Burke thought of Evan Goddis. He drew Ashes to an abrupt halt. “We're going to Leslie Farm,” he shouted, then wheeled his stallion about and headed in the opposite direction at a gallop.

Not long after, Turp, the Leslie Farm butler, stared hard at Burke, striving desperately to place the gentleman in his mind.

“Is your former mistress, Arielle Leslie, here? Well? Quickly, man.”

“No, my lord, married I heard she was, to the Earl of Ravensworth, to the north, in the big house. She hasn't come here in a long time, just once I recall after the viscount's death, and she didn't stay long.”

“I am the Earl of Ravensworth and—”

“And you seem to have lost your bride, my lord? How very careless of you. Or perhaps my dear little half sister simply tired of you and sought out new amusements?”

Evan Goddis stood in the doorway of the drawing room, his stance negligent, his look amused. “Well, why else would you be here?”

Burke managed to control his rage and anxiety. “Yes, my wife is missing. You haven't seen her, Goddis?”

“I, my lord? What would I want with that little—well, no, certainly not.”

Burke called to Geordie, George, and Joshua over his shoulder. “Search, quickly.”

“My lord,” Turp cried as Joshua unceremoniously shoved him aside and strode toward the stairs.

“I should call you out for this,” Evan said, so furious that he'd turned pale.

“It would be my pleasure,” Burke said, his eyes narrowing.

After the brief search, it became evident that Arielle wasn't there.

“Where is the Frenchman?”

“He left last week. I sent him away. He was becoming quite tedious.”

“Unfortunately, my lord, I saw no evidence of another male in the residence,” Joshua said.

“All right,” Burke said. He turned to Evan and said very softly, “If you have lied to me, Goddis, I will kill you. I swear it.”

 

Etienne flexed the riding crop, then he kissed her hard. “I wonder if I should first take you standing up. Should you like that?”

She said nothing.

“I remember that my father never whipped you while you were hanging there. It gave him more pleasure to see you on your hands and knees, trying to cover yourself, trying to scurry away from him. He like to watch you cower.”

Etienne put down the riding crop and unfastened the rope about her wrists. “You will behave as you did with my father.”

She spit at him, full in his face.

Etienne jerked back, fury filling his eyes.

“Get down on your hand and knees, damn you. Plead with me. Cry.”

“You go to hell, you worthless bastard.” Arielle threw herself at him, her fingers claws. Etienne jumped away from her and swung the riding crop. Still she came at him, yelling at him, kicking at him.

She heard the hiss and snap of the crop, but when it did strike her, she barely felt the sting across her flesh. He managed to grab her arm in his left hand and fling her to the floor. But she was up in an instant screaming at him.

Her fingernails caught his neck and she felt the tearing of his flesh. He yelled, threw the riding crop away, and hit her shoulder. Why wasn't she cowering? Why wasn't she obedient, pleading, begging with him as she'd done with his father? Slowly, inexorably, he was backing her up against the wall. She ducked sideways, her eyes on the adjoining door; but he quickly cut off her avenue of escape. Soon he had her trapped. The muscles in his arm burned. Finally, instead of attacking him, she covered her face with her arms.

He didn't strike her again. He was breathing hard. He pressed her against the wall, pinning her with his hands on her shoulders.

He gulped in deep breaths. “Now, Arielle? Will you do as I wish now? I won't hit you again if you just do as I wish. I'm not an unreasonable man. Just say yes.”

She slowly lowered her arms. Then she fisted her hand and struck his jaw as hard as she could. He fell back, tripped on the riding crop, and landed on his knees.

She was gasping for breath as she stared down at him. “I'll die before I become anyone's victim again. Do you hear me, Etienne?”

She eyed the riding crop and wondered if she could grab it before he could stop her. But no, he picked it up, and he stood now, painfully, his hand rubbing his jaw. He held the crop close as he strode to the adjoining door, flung it open and yelled for Dorcas.

She heard Dorcas's shuffling step, heard the old woman cry out, “Oh, dear, oh, dear. You've hurt her again. You miserable old man. Oh my poor baby.”

Dorcas's thin arms went around her, and Arielle felt herself being hugged and rocked. She mustered the strength to wrench free of the old woman. Etienne suddenly grabbed her and dragged her into her old bedchamber. He tossed her onto her old bed.

“Damn you, Arielle. I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't hurt you very much. You didn't ever strike my father, did you? Why me? Why, damn you?”

She said. “Because I'm strong now.”

He looked at her, baffled. “See to her,” he said to Dorcas. Then he strode from the room.

Dorcas was crooning all the while. “Now, my baby, Dorcas will care for you. I won't let you be scarred. You just lie still and I'll bathe you. Then the cream, my baby. You will feel better soon. He is a cruel man. Ah, there is only one small welt, thank God. If you like, I could kill him for you again.”

Arielle was drifting in and out of the cloud of pain from his blows. But she heard Dorcas's final words. She shook her head. “What did you say, Dorcas?”

“I said I would kill him for you again if you wanted me to.”

She tried to keep her voice low, reasonable. “Paisley choked to death on a herring bone.”

“Maybe he was chewing on a herring bone at the time, but no, it was I who gave him a nice little dollop of arsenic. I saved you from him and I can do it again. I just don't understand—”

Arielle felt the old woman's fingers rubbing the cream gently into the welts. “What don't you understand?”

“He didn't die. He's here again, hurting you like before. Evil, I suppose. Yes, evil reigns. It doesn't die like it should. A pity.”

Arielle closed her eyes. It was too much. Much too much.

She realized she hadn't given in. She knew now that she would never give in again. She wouldn't ever again allow herself to be a victim. Not ever.

She would kill Etienne herself.

 

Arielle awoke with a start. It was nearly dark in the bedchamber. Dusk outside. How many hours had passed? How long had she been asleep? Or unconscious? She didn't know which it was. Her body ached and throbbed.

Suddenly the soft flame of a candle shone down on her face.

“How do you feel?” It was Etienne, his face shadowed, his voice soft.

“I hurt. What do you expect, you miserable little worm?”

He sucked in his breath. “I didn't want to hurt you. I wanted to love you, to make you mine. You forced me to do it, Arielle, you forced me.”

She saw the nail slashes on his face, his throat, and she was pleased. She'd hurt him, perhaps as much as he had her. She tried again. “Etienne, listen to me. I am married. I am married to a man I love, surprising as that may sound.” But it didn't surprise her. It was true. She did love Burke. It was odd and made her feel warm and strong.

“I don't care. I came to make love to you. I can't wait.”

“Listen to me, Etienne. If you touch me, I will kill you. I promise you that.”

He laughed, albeit it was somewhat of a nervous sound. “Don't be a fool, Arielle.” She watched him set the candle down on the small table beside the bed. The candle was next to the jar of cream. She watched him take off his clothes.