Night Fire (9 page)

Arielle heard the fury in his voice but didn't understand it. She didn't want to understand it. She wanted Burke out of her bedchamber. he filled it, his scent, his vitality, his
maleness
.

“Please go away, my lord.”

He swung about to face her. “I will if you give me your word you will come to Ravensworth Abbey on Friday.”

She chewed her lower lip.

He felt his frustration grow.

Finally, very quietly, she said, “No.”

B
urke stared down at her, absorbing the consequences of that one simple word. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been rejected by a woman. Whenever he had been, though, he knew deep inside it couldn't have hurt as much as this did. Nor would it have made him so furious he couldn't think straight.

“Why?”

“Please,” she said, “please just leave me alone. I don't wish to see anyone or—or be with anyone. I am a widow. I wish to remain a widow.”

“Your husband is dead—” The rawness of his voice shocked him. “—how long? Seven, eight months now? For God' sake, Arielle, he was an old man. Don't you want a young man, one who will give you so much more than he could have?”

Arielle wanted to laugh, but when she opened her mouth, an ugly, harsh sound came out. She got hold of herself. He didn't know what he was saying. She would keep her mouth shut. He would leave. But he was made of tougher stuff than she'd imagined.

“You couldn't have loved that old satyr. He was a disgusting old man. Look at me—don't you remember how you felt three years ago? How I made you feel?”

She remembered, but the memories weren't hers; they were that other girl's. She remained silent, her eyes on her clasped hands.

“Damn you.”

He leaned over her, jerked her against his chest. His mouth was on hers, hard and aggressive, his tongue probing against her closed lips. “Open your mouth.”

She opened her mouth to yell at him and felt his tongue.

“Here's your breakfast, my dear—oh, goodness.”

Burke froze at the sound of Dorcas's voice. Slowly, as if he were a man waking from a dream, he pulled his hands back and straightened to look down at her. “I will see you again, Arielle.”

“No.”

“Oh, yes. It's not over between us.” He shook his head. “It won't ever be over.” He strode across her bedchamber and left.

Arielle was staring straight ahead, toward the open doorway. “He is much stronger than Paisley,” she said calmly. “Entirely stronger than Paisley.” Then, without another word, she rose from her bed and walked to the wide windows that gave onto the front of the house. She watched Burke walk toward the stable. She leaned forward, her forehead against the glass. It came to her that evening what she would do.

 

Mr. Gregory Lapwing, Arthur Leslie's former solicitor, seated himself across from his old friend's daughter. He'd known her all of her eighteen years and was as fond of her as an older man besotted with a new, young wife could be.
His
nineteen-year-old wife was certainly livelier, prettier, than this pinched-looking girl.

“I appreciate your coming to me, Mr. Lapwing,” Arielle said, giving him her hand.

“My pleasure, Arielle. What is it you wish?”

He thought she looked ill, so pale and thin was she. Was she still grieving for her dead husband? It was the first time he'd seen her since her father's death more than three years before. Strange business, that, leaving the girl in the guardianship of her half brother, but he supposed Arthur had had no choice. Her precipitous marriage to Lord Rendel had shocked him, but then again, it had nothing to do with him, so he had forgotten it. Until now.

“I want to sell Rendel Hall, all the land, and all the furnishings. Everything. Immediately.”

Mr. Lapwing didn't blink. He'd perfected the expressionless expression long ago. Nothing a client said could disconcert him. “May I ask you why?”

“I wish to leave the country. I wish to move to Paris. Napoleon is gone and Louis the Eighteenth is on the throne. There is no more danger.” She added, a dimple appearing in her left cheek, “I do speak French, you know. Father insisted.”

“I see,” Mr. Lapwing said, frowning. “May I ask why you wished to deal with me rather than with Lord Rendel's solicitor?”

“I don't know him,” Arielle said. It was only a half lie. She didn't trust him simply because he'd been Paisley's man. “Really, sir, there is nothing to keep me here. I wish to travel.”

Mr. Lapwing rose from his chair. “It is unusual, of course, for a lady to wish to travel. You must be properly protected and chaperoned—”

How ridiculous, Arielle was thinking. I wasn't protected here, in beautiful, just England. Men. They spouted such nonsense. However, she had a goal to attain, so her voice was calm and respectful. “Of course, Mr. Lapwing. Pray don't worry. I will be duly chaperoned.”

“But—”

“My mind is quite made up, sir.”

“Very well. Who is Lord Rendel's solicitor?”

“Jeffrey Chaucer, of all things. I've heard it said that his late mother was a poetess. Do you know him, sir?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Lapwing shortly. “One can't forget him, what with that silly name of his. A poetess, huh? Well, no matter. I will make inquiries immediately, my dear. I will also send a man here to speak to your steward—”

“Mr. Harold Jewells is his name.”

“Yes, certainly, and he will also take a thorough inventory. Not only of household furnishings but of livestock, outbuildings, tenants' cottages—you get the idea.”

“How soon do you think I can leave England?”

“I don't know—a month, perhaps? We can't do very much without a buyer, you know.”

So she would have to hide for a month. Brighton, she thought. She and Dorcas could stay there until everything was done. No one else would know. “All right,” she said aloud. “Oh, just one more thing, Mr. Lapwing. The buyer mustn't dismiss any of the Rendel tenants or servants, nor may their circumstances be changed.”

“It is unlikely that a buyer would do that, but I will make your wishes clear. Ah, doesn't your land march to the east with Ravensworth?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice becoming suddenly cold. “Why do you ask, sir?”

“I was simply curious, that's all.” That gave Mr. Lapwing an excellent idea, but he didn't want to speak of it to Arielle. It could lead to disappointment. No, he would tell her only if he were successful. He ate an excellent luncheon with her, then returned to East Grinstead. He made an appointment to see the Earl of Ravensworth the following Monday morning. Although he would have few facts or figures, he could still determine whether or not the earl was interested.

 

When Mr. Lapwing entered the Ravensworth library the following Monday morning, George Cerlew preceding him and making the introductions, Burke wondered what the devil the man wanted with him. He hadn't long to wait.

He found that he couldn't quite take in what he was hearing. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“My lord, Lady Rendel wishes to sell everything as quickly as possible. Your land marches on hers. I wished to give you the first chance at it. As of yet, my man hasn't done an assessment or an inventory, so I cannot provide you with an estimate of its worth. However, if you are interested, your man could work with mine.”

Burke wasn't attending him. He waved his hand. “Just a moment, sir. Why does Lady Rendel want to sell out?”

Mr. Lapwing smiled with understanding. No one wanted to buy a possible pig in a poke. The earl was efficiently trying to determine if the house had terminal rot of some sort or suffered from gross mismanagement. “Nothing to do with the property, my lord. Lady Rendel has been a widow for a while now. She said she wanted to leave England and live in Paris since the Bourbon is restored to the throne. It is probably because of her grief over her husband. It was his house, you know. The memories must be painful for her. You know how ladies feel so deeply about things such as this.”

“I see,” Burke said. He was silent for several minutes. It struck him cleanly between the eyes that it was because of him that she wanted to sell out. She wanted to run because of him. Why? he asked himself again. Why was she so wary of him? Mr. Lapwing said nothing, merely watched the earl. Finally Burke said, “I will buy everything. I will have my steward, Mr. Cerlew, work with your man, as you suggested. I will give her a fair price.”

“I imagined that you would, my lord. There is but one condition Lady Rendel places on the sale. She doesn't want any tenants or servants dismissed.”

“No, of course not,” Burke said absently.

“Lady Rendel will be pleased to have an offer coming to her so quickly. I had told her it might be at least a month before I could find a buyer. She wants to leave as soon as possible, as I told you.”

“I also have a condition, Mr. Lapwing.”

Mr. Lapwing raised a brow.

“Lady Rendel is not to know that I am the buyer. Under no circumstances are you to tell her.”

“How is it to be avoided when your steward will work with Mr. Jewells?”

“An excellent point,” said Burke, frowning. “I shall have to give that some thought. Nonetheless, you may proceed.”

Mr. Lapwing agreed to proceed, seeing no reason not to. Why the earl wanted this condition made no sense to him, but he couldn't see that it would make any difference. He took his leave of the earl, feeling quite pleased with himself. He would buy his delicious little wife, Lottie, a lovely necklace with the commission he would earn. Yes, he thought, emeralds. He was whistling as he told his driver to go to Rendel Hall.

Burke drove to London to see his own solicitor. His man would handle the entire matter. Then what? he wondered.
Arielle wouldn't be in his power. On the contrary, she would have his money
. What to do about that?

He was surprised at himself. Did he truly want her in his power, for God's sake? Like some sort of master with a slave? He remembered their last meeting. His jaw tightened. Yes, he did, and he would have her.

He visited his sister, Corinne, and her husband, Lord Boyle, and the newly arrived Lannie. He told his relatives of his purchase, not wanting them to discover it by accident. He sounded so detached, he was almost putting them to sleep.

“How odd,” said Corinne, Lady Boyle, when he had finished. “A young girl leaving England? Very odd.”

“There's probably a man involved,” said Lloyd Kinnard, Lord Boyle. “Bound to be.”

That gave Burke a start. As for Lannie, she did allow that, knowing Arielle as she did—which was knowing her not at all—it wasn't a man. The girl obviously had bats in her bell tower.

“I do wonder,” said Corinne in a thoughtful voice, “why the girl would just want to up and leave.”

“I don't know,” Burke said.

“I trust the property is worth the price you're paying, Burke,” said Lord Boyle.

“I don't know the price yet,” said Burke. “It should be quite reasonable, though.”

Burke turned down his sister's offer of dinner, earning himself one of her looks that could fry an egg at a distance of ten feet, and took himself off to White's. To his immense pleasure, Viscount Castlerose, Knight Winthrop, was there, an impressive pile of bank notes strewn in front of him, three cards remaining in his hand. He waved negligently toward Burke, pointing to the chair next to his, and tossed down a ten of hearts.

His opponent, Lord Lucy, something of a renowned fool, at least in Burke's opinion, was grinding his teeth. Since he hadn't counted, he had no choice but to continue grinding. He tossed a diamond. Knight calmly laid down two more hearts. “Sorry, old man,” he said and began to gather up the pile of notes.”

“Another hand, Winthrop?” said Lord Lucy.

“Sorry, but my friend here needs me, don't you, Burke?”

“Indeed.”

Lord Lucy whined a bit more until another partner was found for him. It was Lord Davies, and he would most certainly relieve Lord Lucy of every bit of gold he'd ever possessed.

Burke watched Knight stuff the money into his pocket. “You are a shark, Knight.”

“The fellow's a bloody fool. Can you believe he didn't keep his hearts? A fistful of diamonds, that's all he had. I was delighted, as you saw.”

Knight Winthrop waved to Henry, one of White's noted waiters, and ordered a bottle of their best French brandy.

“How's your side?”

“Fine. No pulling and not much tenderness anymore.”

“Excellent. With Napoleon off France's shores for good, you should be safe from further holes in your hide. Now, what brings you to London, Burke? Gambling? Fleshpots? Drury Lane? Not business, I hope.”

Burke studied his best friend for a moment in silence. He said finally with a twisted smile, “I wish I could have a woman right this moment. I am so damned randy I think I would plow her until dawn.”

Knight laughed. “At least you're still young enough to make that wish a reality.”

“Damnation.” Burke sighed and ran his fingers through his thick hair.

“No, no, you want a woman, a woman you will have. Her name is Laura, she isn't French, nor does she pretend to be. She is warm, loving, and will doubtless enjoy herself with you. Not as much as with me, of course, but enough, I imagine. I will escort you there myself. In the morning, my friend, you and I can meet for breakfast at my house. Perhaps then you will be more yourself.”

Burke laughed, his look incredulous. “You are offering me your mistress?” Knight shook his head. “Who is she?”

“My mistress's friend.”

“I don't know—It's true that I'm randy, but that's out of sheer frustration. You see, the girl I want, the girl I've wanted for nearly three years, won't have a thing to do with me. She's even willing to leave England to avoid me.”

Knight was surprised, to say the least. He gave Burke a pained look. “You know what I think of matrimony, old man. Good God, that you should think of succumbing. It
is
matrimony you're considering?”

“Yes.”

“I can't talk you out of it? Convince you to make this girl your mistress instead?”

“No.”

“Do you want to tell me the name of this paragon?”

“I don't think so. Not yet, Knight.”