Night Fire (24 page)

But Burke was shaking his head, unconvinced. “It's shock, Knight. When she comes down from that, she'll be terrified and helpless.”

“I think not. She's quite calm, not like she was when you were first wounded. She was in shock then, but not now. Now she is mistress of Ravensworth Abbey.”

Burke fell silent. He was thinking and thinking. It was incredible, if it were indeed true. He tried to piece together his life during the past two and a half days. All he could remember, besides the pain and the periods of vague dimness, was Arielle's face and her soft, sweet voice. He remembered the feel of her cool hands on him, how she held his head so he could sip at liquids.

“But she was with me all the time,” he said.

“Much of it. On Friday morning she called all the servants together and gave them a lecture on the care and maintenance of a wounded earl. She's a general, Burke. She's tough. Believe it. I wouldn't lie to you.”

“Incredible,” Burke said and lapsed into thoughtful silence again. It had taken him to be felled before she lost her fear. But it appeared that she had lost it. He remembered how she'd always been exquisitely polite to George Cerlew and had avoided him, just as she'd left the reins of the Abbey management to Mrs. Pepperall. “Well, well,” he said. “How is Lannie taking all this?”

“Lannie is deferring completely to Arielle as if Arielle were the matriarch of longstanding at Ravensworth. Indeed, given the behavior of both Arielle and the servants, you'd think she was at least fifty years old and has been in charge for the past forty-nine of those fifty years. Percy, as you can well imagine, is being very supportive of his beloved, a profound relief for the rest of us, I can assure you.”

Burke was still grinning when the door to his bedchamber quietly opened and Arielle came in. She was followed by Dr. Brody, whose presence brought a grimace to Burke's face.

“You're awake, I see,” she said. She sent a suspicious look toward Knight. “You didn't wake him, did you?”

Knight raised defensive hands. “No, ma'am, acquit me of anything so reprehensible. He came to himself and insisted on telling me all sorts of questionable jests. I have dutifully laughed. Now it's your turn.”

Arielle nodded, smiling only slightly, and then she leaned over Burke. He watched her expression change from one of severity to the softest, sweetest look he'd ever seen.

“Hello,” she said and gently smoothed his hair from his forehead.

“Hello yourself, sweetheart. I see you allowed that flesh torturer to follow you up.”

“Yes, but he won't hurt you, I promise. He must simply look at the wound and change your bandage. You mustn't worry now, Burke. I'll be here.”

He was so startled by her poise that a moan of pain that he should have contained had he been paying attention, slipped out of him when the doctor chanced to unwittingly jerk up a corner of the bandage. Arielle said sharply, “Do pay attention, Mark. Are you all right, Burke?”

“Yes,” he said, giving her a bemused smile. She took his hand between her two smaller ones.

She continued speaking to him as the doctor worked, and although Burke knew what she was doing, he still appreciated it. “Yes, indeed, your color is much improved today. I think I will shave you if you wish it. I like you with a beard, though. Well, not quite yet precisely a beard.”

“Prickly whiskers?”

“But very handsome prickly whiskers.”

She felt him tighten his fingers around hers at a jab of pain and she said quickly, “Mark says that if your stomach feels all right, you can have something more than just soup. Would you like that? Perhaps some rice pudding and toast? Cook has already prepared them for you. I will join you for dinner, naturally.”

“Rice pudding,” Burke repeated in a voice of loathing.

“I tasted it and had Cook add a bit more vanilla. It now tastes delicious, I promise.”

When he was done, Dr. Brody said, “Excellent progress, Burke. You'll be back to your full activity in about two weeks, I'd say. Another three or four days in bed. Then I'll take out the stitches a couple of days after that. You will see that he obeys me, Arielle?”

“Certainly. The earl is a reasonable man.”

Knight laughed at that. “Only because he's been unconscious.”

Burke just smiled, saying nothing. He watched his wife walk with Mark from the bedchamber. Her walk was different, of all things. She was straighter, her shoulders back farther, her head held in a confident way. Everything about her bespoke confidence. It was odd and it was exhilarating. “I should have done myself in sooner,” he said to himself.

Knight heard him. “It has turned out remarkably well, hasn't it? Not that I approve of your lying flat on your back, of course. But Arielle, well, she's got guts, Burke.”

“Yes.” Burke said. “Guts.”

“Before Arielle returns,” Knight said quickly, bringing Burke's attention to him, “the old woman, Dorcas, she's still here, locked in a room on the third floor. Arielle has someone with her all the time. She's utterly batty, Burke. She keeps raving about harlots and sluts and trollops. When I saw her once yesterday, her language was so foul that even I was shocked. She thought I was you and she called me evil and Satan and other assorted nasty names. You do know why she tried to kill Arielle, don't you?”

“Yes,” said Burke. “It's really very simple. She came into this bedchamber that night and saw us making love. She saw that Arielle wasn't being forced or abused. She saw her little victim much enjoying herself. In her mind, I guess a female was supposed to hate men and their appetites; a good female was never supposed to submit willingly. She was to be beaten and abused instead. Arielle was perfect for her until she married me; until finally, she came to me. Then she became like the others—a slut and a whore, a creature to be destroyed.”

“My God.”

“Yes. It is probably more complicated than that, but that is the gist of it, I believe.” He looked up as he spoke and saw Arielle standing just inside the door. He hadn't heard her enter. She was staring at him, her face pale, her arms crossed defensively over her breasts.

He said very matter-of-factly, “Hello, sweetheart. Have you come to force some vile medicine down my throat? I should prefer a kiss, truly, but if something vile it must be, then I'll put on a properly brave front.”

Knight started at Arielle's expression and Burke's nonsense, then carefully arranged his expression into none at all.

Arielle shook her head, forcing a smile. “No ghastly potions for you, my lord.”

“Good. Come here and sit beside me. My head is aching.”

His voice rose to a near whine and she cocked her head at him. Knight blinked at that tone but firmly kept any opinion to himself. He did give Burke a rather stunned look.

“It's all right,” she said and seated herself carefully beside him. “Just close your eyes and I'll massage your temples.”

“It hurts,” he said.

Knight, shooting another bemused look toward Burke, said only, “I will see you later,” and quitted the bedchamber. He laughed softly. Soon, Knight thought, it would be all right for him to leave Ravensworth Abbey.

“Is that better?”

Her voice was soft and warm and her lightly pressing fingertips were sheer magic, even though his head wasn't aching at all. “Just a little,” he said.

“I heard you speaking to Knight about Dorcas and her motives. I wish you hadn't been so very, well, open about it, but I believe you are right.”

He cocked an eye open, looked at her closely, and said, “Please don't be embarrassed, Arielle. Knight and I have known each other since we were eight years old. We met the first time the summer of 1794. All we could talk about—we were bloodthirsty little hellions—was Madame Guillotine, of course. Robespierre was killed that year, executed. We reveled in that, as you can imagine. Knight is, I suppose, like a brother, more so than Montrose ever was. We even bought our commissions at the same time.”

“He knows all about me, then, doesn't he? You've told him everything.”

Her voice was quiet, strained, and he said easily, “Yes, enough. He is very fond of you, of course. I think he'd already guessed a lot of things about Dorcas. I value his opinion and I hope that you will come to do so as well.”

“She couldn't accept that I would enjoy letting a man touch me, make love to me, that I would be a willing partner.”

“I believe so. Ah, don't stop, that feels wonderful.”

She smiled at him even though she still felt swamped with embarrassment about Knight. Burke's cheeks were rough with whiskers, his hair tousled. The stark white bandage contrasted sharply with the dark curling hair and the smooth olive flesh of his chest. The sheet came only to his stomach. She looked at him, below his waist, seeing the outline of him through the sheet, and she felt a softening deep inside her, a wanting, a burgeoning of need. It surprised her. For the past two and a half days she and Joshua had taken care of him, taken care of all his needs. She hadn't seen him as a man, not really. He'd been Burke, certainly, her husband, but he'd been her patient. Now, though—She drew in her breath and tried to force herself to concentrate on her massage.

“Arielle, would you please scratch my belly?”

She jerked back, wondering if he'd seen her watching him. But no, his eyes were closed. That wasn't possible.

Very lightly, she laid her palm just above the sheet line. Tentatively she began to scratch.

“Lower.”

Her fingertips slipped beneath the sheet.

“Ah, yes, just a bit harder. That's right. Don't stop.”

His flesh was so warm, she thought, and so smooth. Her fingers went just a bit lower, tangling in the thick hair. Her scratching became more like caressing.

“God, that's wonderful.” He sighed deeply. “I can't do anything about it, though.”

Arielle pulled her hand away and stared down at him. He was looking mournful—that was the only way to describe his expression.

“Even though my body wants you this very instant, it's only that part of me that's showing true wisdom. The rest of me is deader than a century-old goat. I'm truly sorry. For you, but even more for me, I think.”

“No, no,” she said, “I'm the one who's sorry. I didn't mean, that is—oh, you're doing this to me on purpose, and it's so very ridiculous.”

“No, it isn't ridiculous and we're both sorry. I know what you can do. At Dr. Body's next visit, you can ask him how long it will be before I can make love to my wife.”

He thought she would choke on that outrageous suggestion. He was also aware that the pain was becoming increasingly difficult for him to control. He didn't want it, but he knew that rest and more rest were required for him to heal. He needed some laudanum. He asked Arielle for it. When he'd drunk the drugged lemonade, he said, “Until I fade away from you, tell me about our guests.”

Arielle told him of how Alec, in a spate of prefatherhood practice, had played for thirty minutes with Virgie and Poppet. He'd emerged from the nursery, she said, looking a bit dazed, shaking his head. Cannons and battalions and bayonets, he'd said, all handled by two little girls in pigtails and frilly dresses. And a doll named Josephine had been on the sidelines giving strategical advice to Wellington. Josephine, he'd been told, was in truth Uncle Burke's, but he—Uncle Burke—had allowed her to remain in the nursery. Alec had looked at Nesta's stomach, shaken his head again, and gone riding. Knight had mocked Alec mercilessly. When applied to about his feelings toward fatherhood and offspring, Knight had drawled in that way of his that he would take another page from his father's book: Ignore your children. They'll be better off without all your bad habits. He had no intention of having anything to do with his vague, mythical heir, who would make an appearance—if Knight had his way—in the next century.

As for Lannie and Percy, their courtship was proceeding with rapidity since the party was shattered and they'd been left to their own devices. Arielle even imagined that they'd spent Saturday afternoon in the gazebo, doing what, she couldn't imagine. She didn't speak of Dorcas again, which was fine with Burke. He was too woolly-headed to be intelligent in any case.

He fell asleep with her soft hand against his cheek.

 

It was a cool Wednesday morning. Joshua very quietly closed the door of Burke's bedchamber and just stood there. He looked aggrieved. Arielle came up at that moment, looked at him, and said. “What is wrong, Joshua? Is his lordship feeling poorly?”

“His lordship,” said Joshua, his voice biting, “is behaving like an ill-bred mongrel pup. He threw the gruel at me. At
me
!”

Arielle frowned. Burke had begun behaving in the most impossible fashion since he'd awakened the previous day. He'd been demanding, irritable, and rude. But to throw his gruel—not at all awful, for Arielle herself had tasted it—at Joshua. It was too much.

Arielle became militant. “I will speak to him, Joshua.”

He looked suddenly worried. “He's in a foul mood, my lady. I don't know if you should—”

“He is just behaving like a spoiled little boy. Don't worry. If he throws something at me, I shall simply throw it back. Him and his interminable headaches. I'll give him a headache.”

Arielle, unaware that her new behavior was still something of a shock to those who knew her at all, walked into the bedchamber, her stance aggressive. She stood beside Burke's bed, her hands on her hips, her shoulders thrown back, a frown on her forehead.

Burke cocked an eyebrow and said, his voice nasty, “What do you want?”

“You are being rude. You have been rude since you woke up yesterday morning. I won't stand for it. It will stop.”

Burke's eyes narrowed on his wife's face. “
You
are giving
me
orders in my own home?”