Free Night Fire by Catherine Coulter

nothing more than a chimera, a foolish fantasy woven from unreal cloth. Then her father had died and Evan had taken control of her life. She’d blocked out the Earl of Ravensworth just as she’d blocked out every other man who’d come into her ken. A gentle breeze lifted his dark brown hair, ruffling it, and he sent impatient fingers through it. His eyes were a dark brown, his eyelashes thick and lush, the envy of a woman. His face was strong, and even without speaking, he held the aura of one born to command, one who was used to being obeyed, one who would not tolerate not being obeyed.
    She felt fear, cold and harsh. He was a man. He wasn’t to be trusted. No, she wouldn’t believe his offer of friendship. She was no longer gullible and stupid.
    â€œArielle?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhat’s wrong? Have I said something to distress you?”
    A handsome and charming man, a strong man, could dissemble, could draw one in before springing for the kill. He was holding out his hand to her, a strong brown hand that could hurt so easily, could slap her, could mark her. She ran her tongue over her dry lips. She found herself looking at him, and her fear grew. Unlike Evan, the Earl of Ravensworth in riding clothes was an impressive sight, from his close-fitting jacket of pale blue to his sparkling black Hessians. Then, quite suddenly, she saw him naked. She saw him standing just as Etienne had stood, his back to the fireplace, the flames framing him, casting him in shadowy lights.
    She sucked in her breath and leaped to her feet.
    â€œWhy won’t you tell me what is wrong?” His voice was soft and reasonable-sounding, the voice of an adult soothing a frightened child.
    â€œI must go. Good-bye.”
    She rushed away from him and climbed onto Mindle’s back. She realized she hadn’t untied Mindle’s reins and sat there a moment, feeling stupid and afraid.
    She saw him rise slowly, brush the soft earth from his thighs. He was coming to her, and she was so afraid that she felt frozen in place.
    Burke didn’t understand. He was hurt and angry and confused. Slowly, he untied Mindle’s reins. He saw Arielle staring at his hand as he lifted the reins to her.
    Her eyes bothered him; her pupils were large and fixed. What the devil was wrong?
    â€œI wish to visit you,” he said, his voice formal. “Will you be at home tomorrow?”
    â€œWhy?”
    He smiled, showing straight white teeth. “To renew our friendship. For whatever reason, I think I’ve set myself an awesome task. Perhaps you will tell me.”
    What am I to say? What am I to do? “All right,” she said, and he felt fury at the ungraciousness in her voice. He wasn’t a damned troll, for God’s sake. He wasn’t ill-looking or old. He had all his teeth; he wasn’t fat and didn’t intend to become so. He was titled now and he was rich. What the hell was wrong with her? Aloud he said mildly, “I will see you in the early afternoon, then. After luncheon. Good-bye, Arielle.”
    She looked at him, uncertainty in her eyes. He couldn’t do anything to hurt her, not at Rendel Hall. She would make sure that Dorcas was there. She nodded and click-clicked Mindle forward.
    Burke didn’t move, merely stared after her. He watched her gallop her mare through the shallow end of the lake, sending spumes of spray flying upward, soaking her riding habit.
    Their first meeting hadn’t gone at all as he’d envisioned.
    Indeed, it had been a fiasco.
    She wasn’t the Arielle he remembered.
    This Arielle he didn’t understand. He wanted this Arielle even more. He shook his head at himself. Why had God, in his infinite wisdom, created this particular woman and destined him for her?
    He patted Ashes’s nose. “Well, old fellow, I’ve got my work cut out for me, hmm?”
    Ashes obligingly whinnied.
    â€œWhat the devil is wrong with her?”
    Ashes