Night Fire (5 page)

And she couldn't face men and the way they would treat her, look at her. Even Mr. Jewells, who was thin as a reed, bald, and utterly harmless.

She turned back to Dorcas, forcing a smile. “I think I shall go riding. Poor Mindle has been sitting idle for two days now. At last the sun is out.”

“Take a groom,” Dorcas called to her back.

“I'll take Geordie,” Arielle said, but not for reasons of propriety. She was afraid to be alone. Even on Rendel land. She was afraid of her half brother, a silly fear, really. But she couldn't change what she felt, and now there was Etienne. She was so weary of living with fear. Why hadn't it all magically disappeared when Paisley had died? Why was she still haunted? What, for God's sake, could Evan do to her? Or Etienne, for that matter? Be nasty? That was nothing, nothing at all, but yet the fear remained, that paralyzing fear.

When Geordie had finished saddling Mindle, he helped her into the saddle. “Let me saddle up old Rigby, my lady. Then we'll be off.”

“No hurry,” she said, looking fondly after her servant. He was a Scot, from Glasgow; short, wiry, tough, and his arms and hands were so strong he could break a man's neck with a snap. And he was hers. She'd dismissed nearly all of Paisley's servants immediately after his death. They'd been loyal to him, not to her. The only one she'd kept on was Philfer, the butler. It wasn't that she liked him, because she didn't. It was simply that he was too old for another position and he had no family.

Invariably when Arielle rode, it was in the opposite direction of her old home, Leslie Farm. Was Etienne staying with Evan? If so, why? She shivered, remembering Etienne just after his father's death. The funeral was over, the will read, and Arielle had faced him in the winter-dark drawing room. Whenever she saw him, she saw herself: on her knees before him, her fisted hands on his thighs, taking him into her mouth—

“You will leave in the morning, Etienne,” she'd said.

He'd looked at her and slowly said, “I want you to pleasure me again, Arielle.”

She'd stared at him.

“I never got to have you, as my father promised me. Tonight, nay, right now, come with me upstairs.”

He couldn't harm her, he couldn't force her. Paisley was dead. No one could force her now. “I wouldn't go to the grave with you.”

Etienne looked genuinely bewildered. “But why? I am not my father. You have already pleasured me, and I have seen you. Now I want you beneath me, I want to be inside you. You will enjoy it. My father told me you loved to be fondled and caressed. I want you, Arielle. I want you with me, always. I want to wed you once a decent period of time has passed.”

Arielle walked to the bellpull and gave it a yank.

“What are you doing?”

She simply shook her head at him. When Philfer arrived not three minutes later, she said, “Please have Monsieur DuPons's luggage packed, Philfer. Then see to it that he is out of Rendel Hall and off my property within the hour.”

“Very well, my lady.”

Etienne waited at least until Philfer had left the room, then shouted, “
Non
. You can't do that. This is my home—my father wanted me here. I
want
you, Arielle.”

It was too much. Had he really believed she'd been enamored of him that awful night Paisley had forced her to—She shook her head. “Listen to me, Etienne. I don't like you, and I don't want to have anything more to do with you. Your father made me do those things. I didn't want to. Do you understand me? I never wish to see you again.”

“You are thinking of the proprieties. You English are so very concerned about such nonsense and—”

She wanted to kill him. Instead, she said in a voice of surprising calm, “You will leave. Now.”

He turned, and his pale eyes glittered at her. She took a step back, unable to stop herself.

“I will have you, Arielle. My father told me I would have you. He promised me.”

“Your father is dead. Dead and buried.”

Etienne gave her one last, long look, bowed, and left.

That was another reason, she supposed now, that she was afraid to go into society, even the narrow society of Castlefields and beyond to East Grinstead. Etienne had believed she'd enjoyed doing that despicable act to him. He'd expected her to want to continue with him. Was it something about her, something in the way she looked, or spoke, or held her head? Could he have told others? She heard a small broken sound and realized it was from herself. She had to snap out of this. It had been many months, and she was free, truly free.

“Where are ye going, my lady?”

Arielle forced herself back. “Nowhere in particular, Geordie. Have you a suggestion?”

He gave her a very straight look. “Aye. I should like to beard a mangy lion in his den.”

She became quite still. “Any particular mangy lion?”

“Aye, one that's in truth a damned bounder, if ye'll excuse me language.”

“The thin mangy lion,” she said.

Arielle had never said a word about her half brother to Geordie. Where had he heard about him? She thought about it. She had been a coward, a pitiful coward, for more than seven months now. Laying the shame on herself, feeling the guilty one. Perhaps, just perhaps, she could exorcise one ghost. “All right,” she said, turning Mindle as she spoke. “Let us see the lay of the land. Let us see if Monsieur DuPons is residing with Evan Goddis.”

Geordie rubbed his hands together. “Aye, the little weasel.” Arielle laughed, an honest, pure sound, but deep down she felt fear turning like sour milk in her stomach.

They rode onto Leslie Farm land a little less than an hour later. Arielle looked about, waiting for homesickness to strike, but there wasn't any. The manor house soon came into view. The place looked rundown, not as if there weren't enough money, but as if the person living here simply didn't care about the appearance of the manor house.

“Miss Arielle.”

“Hello, Jud. How are you? Is Mr. Goddis at home today?”

“Yes, he is, ma'am. I'm fine, as is my missus. You want to see the master?”

“Why not?” Arielle allowed Jud to help her dismount. She turned to Geordie. “I can't very well permit you to come with me, but I would ask that you remain near those windows over there. I shall ensure that I am in that room. You are feeling like Saint George, Geordie?”

“Aye, indeed, my lady.”

Geordie watched her walk to the double front doors, her thin shoulders squared, her chin high. Poor little mite, he thought, but she needed to come here and face down that devil half brother of hers. She'd been too long locked into herself. She had to come back to life and deal not only with her own fears but also with the Rendel estate, which was now her responsibility. Then perhaps she could return to a more normal way of life. He remembered six months before, when he'd met a fellow who'd just been fired from Rendel Hall by Lady Rendel. The man had been full of spite, insults, and information. The next day Geordie had presented himself to Lady Rendel, and she'd hired him immediately. Don't lose your head, lass, he told her silently. At least she was showing some backbone. He watched her disappear through the front doors. Quickly, he moved to the east side of the house and saw that the windows were open.

Evan accepted the news from his portly butler, Turp, that his sister was waiting for him in the small front drawing room. He frowned. How odd that after all these months she would come to see him. He'd been wondering how to get to her, for the several times he'd visited Rendel Hall he'd been denied entrance. Let her wait a bit now, he thought as he reviewed what he had to say to her. He would keep Etienne out of it for a while. He was beginning to doubt Etienne's real uses in any case, the devil curse the man.

He walked slowly into the drawing room. “My dear Arielle. How lovely you look. Not at all a mourning widow.”

Arielle felt herself pale, felt her palms become clammy. “Hello, Evan,” she said, relieved at the calmness and lightness of her tone. “How well you are looking. Of course, there is no reason for you not to appear well-looking, is there?”

He bowed. He was wearing morning clothes, and his smart superfine jacket hid the thinness of his chest and shoulders. But his legs in the buckskins looked like two straws.

“What an honor to see you after so long,” he said.

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Her gaze went slowly about the room. “My father loved this room. We played chess in the evenings by the fireplace.”

“Your little charmed circle. Well, it no longer matters, does it? I have been wanting to see you for the longest time, Arielle. I have been very concerned about you.”

“I believe I shall sit down,” she said and seated herself on an Egyptian claw-footed chair and arranged her riding skirt. She sent a surreptitious look out the window, and sure enough, there was Geordie, standing still as a statue in the shade of a yew bush.

“As I said, I have been worried about you,” Evan said, his voice even and cool. The little chit seemed different. She was trying to control him, that was it. “You don't seem to believe me, Arielle. You are my sister—”

“Half sister, Evan.”

“You have only me, Arielle. Who knows where Nesta is at the moment or when we shall see her and the baron again?”

Arielle looked at him closely. Exorcise the ghost. “Paisley told me what you did, Evan. There is no reason for you to act the loving brother at this late date. I know that you sold me. Paisley said he paid fifteen thousand pounds for me, then five thousand pounds that time when I came here begging you to protect me. He said you were holding me for ransom.”

Evan paled, and his hands fisted. “That is a bloody lie. God, you would believe that dissolute old bastard? It's not true, Arielle, I swear it to you.”

She regarded him calmly. “It isn't? Perhaps it is perverse of me, but I think it is true. All of it.”

“Listen to me, Arielle. I had to let him take you that morning. I had no choice! He is—was—your husband; all the legal rights were on his side. He threatened me. He said he would ruin me.”

She didn't believe him. She wouldn't believe him. Slowly, Arielle rose from her chair. “I am vastly sorry that I share any of your blood,” she said and walked toward the door.

“Arielle. Wait. Listen, he swore to me that morning that he wouldn't strike you again. He swore. I made him. I told him what I thought of him and he swore he wouldn't hurt you again.”

She said nothing, merely kept walking.

“Stop—you can't leave.” She felt his long, thin fingers wrap about her upper arm. She had a moment of horrible, paralyzing fear, then forced herself to be calm until he released her. She would not be afraid. Not any longer. Even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. She wondered if she would be afraid for the rest of her life.

“Listen to me, Arielle. It wasn't a question of ransom, dammit. If you would know the truth, Paisley had information, damning information, about my father. He threatened to make it known if I didn't give you to him in marriage. It's the truth. I'm not proud of it, but I love my father and I couldn't allow Paisley to ruin his name. He had sworn to me that he would turn over the information at your marriage, but he lied. He used it again when you came to me. I had no choice.”

“Let me go, Evan.”

He did. She said very quietly, “Your father is dead. He was dead then. I wasn't. You cared more for a dead man's name than your own sister's life. You are despicable, Evan. I suppose I came here to say that to you.”

Her voice was low, contemptuous, and he retreated. “Arielle, please, you must try to understand.”

“I came here to exorcise a bogeyman. I have done that. You are really a quite paltry person, Evan.”

“My father isn't dead. He would have met the hangman had I not saved him.”

“You're a liar. A long time ago I can remember the servants speaking in hushed whispers about John Goddis and his scandalous life and his sordid ending. But no matter. If you care for me all that much, why is Etienne here?” She waited, but he was silent. “I see you have no answer for that. Good-bye, Evan. I never wish to see you again.”

Her hand was on the doorknob, her fingers tightening about the latch, when he said, almost in a whisper. “Etienne DuPons is in love with you. He came to me begging that I intercede for him with you. He hated his father. He never even knew him, you know that, Arielle. He is not like Paisley Cochrane.”

She felt a slight stirring of uncertainty, but then she shook her head. She could never forget that terrible night when Paisley had forced her to pleasure his son. She could still hear Etienne's moans, feel his fingers tangling in her hair as he pressed her head against him. She realized she was trembling. “No,” she said and jerked the door open. “No, damn you.”

“You have become a cold woman, Arielle,” Evan said. “Poor Etienne, he hasn't anything now.”

She could only stare at him. “He doesn't deserve anything. Good-bye, Evan.”

He said nothing more. He watched her stride across the long, narrow entrance hall, saw her speak quietly to pathetic old Turp, that witless fool, before she left.

Evan wasn't completely disappointed. He'd sensed that brief uncertainty in Arielle, and now he would determine how best to make it grow. He whistled as he strode up the stairs, bound for Etienne's bedchamber.

 

“Well, lassie?”

“Paltry,” Arielle said with relish. “My half brother is really very paltry.”

But, like Evan Goddis, Geordie heard the lack of complete conviction in his young mistress's voice. He frowned at her profile but said nothing.

“You know what I should like to do, Geordie?”

“Not a clue, lassie.”

“I think I shall go to Bunberry Lake. Alone. There is never anyone there, truly. I believe I have some thinking to do.”