Night Fire by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page B

truth in her eyes. She couldn’t face it yet.
    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.”
    â€œTake a groom,” Dorcas called to her back.
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œNo 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—
    â€œYou 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.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œWhat 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.”
    â€œVery 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.”
    â€œYou are thinking of the proprieties. You English are so very concerned about such nonsense and—”
    She wanted to kill him. Instead, she