Fool! He dropped the key into the pocket of his chamber robe. "How long have you and Becket been lovers?"
Ariel sat up, brushing her hair away from her face. "A twelvemonth."
"And is it true that you enjoy rough play?" he inquired with a sardonic lift of his eyebrow.
Ariel flushed scarlet. "How could you think that?" she whispered.
He shrugged. "What am I supposed to think when I find you tangling on the floor, shrieking with passion?"
"No!" She sprang to her feet. "How could you think I was enjoying that? I was fighting him. I didn't want him here. Surely you must believe that." She looked at him in horror.
Simon shrugged. "It matters little whether you wanted it or not. It's clear to me what his intention was, presumably with the encouragement of your brother. My supposedly indisposed bride was to spend her wedding night with her lover under the same roof as her bridegroom."
When Ariel made no response, he shrugged again, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. "I assume you are not indisposed?"
She shook her head.
"Umm." He turned to the bed and threw back the covers. "Well, while I'll not oblige you to consummate this marriage, I don't intend to be made a laughingstock. Only you and I will know that you remain unbedded. If you cannot agree to the subterfuge, then I'm afraid I must finish what your lover began." He pushed the key beneath the bolster before turning to look steadily at her.
"I don't understand."
He gave a short, impatient crack of laughter. "It's perfectly simple, girl! You and I will spend every night under this roof in the same chamber like any normal bridal pair. It will be assumed that all is as it's supposed to be, by the guests, by your brothers, and by your erstwhile lover." His eyes held hers. "Is that now quite clear?"
"Yes." Ariel nodded.
"And do you agree to play the game?"
"Yes."
"Then I see nothing further to discuss this night." He shrugged out of his chamber robe, and before Ariel could fully absorb the sight of his nakedness, he had slipped into her bed.
"You're sleeping in my bed," she said stupidly.
"I have no objection to your sharing it," he returned. "You need not fear to be molested."
"But it's my bed," Ariel protested.
"If you prefer to cross the corridor to my chamber, then I will sleep in my own bed and you may sleep wherever you please, so long as it's in the same chamber," he replied in the same level tones.
Ariel was momentarily struck dumb. This husband of hers appeared to have swept the ground neatly from beneath her feet and those of her brothers. She knew she had nothing to fear from him, so long as she kept her side of the bargain, but it was astonishing that in a few short hours this lame man had limped into a trap designed to humiliate him beyond bearing and had turned the tables while barely moving a muscle.
She sat down by the fire again, a considering frown on her brow. Oliver Becket was a young, agile, supple man. But he had been physically mastered by an older man suffering from a disabling wound. Of course, Oliver had been caught in somewhat awkward circumstances. She looked curiously around the room and could see no sign of Simon's cane. It would seem he could walk unaided when necessary.
"I should be grateful if you would turn out the lamp," her husband remarked in his calm voice. "I find it hard to fall asleep in the light."
"I was hoping to finish my supper."
"Then do so by firelight. If you're going to share this bed, pray tell me now so that I ensure I sleep tidily."
For answer, Ariel got up and pulled the truckle bed from beneath the fourposter. "You may sleep as untidily as you please, my lord."
"Good." With a contented groan, he rolled onto his belly, flung both legs wide apart under the quilts, and settled into the feather mattress.
Ariel looked disdainfully at the narrow straw pallet on the truckle bed. There was no pillow and the only cover was a thin blanket. Hardly adequate on a damp and freezing winter night.
"Is there a hot brick in my bed?"
"How would I know?" came a pillow-muffled mumble. "But there's definitely one in mine." His toes wriggled pleasurably around the blanket-wrapped brick, and Ariel ground her teeth.
Very funny, my lord. She fetched the velvet cloak she'd been wearing earlier and tossed it on top of the blanket. It wasn't much help, but it was better than nothing.
She turned out the oil lamp and stood by the fire to warm herself before venturing into her icy little bed. Deep, rumbling, rhythmic breathing emanated from the fourposter behind her. The earl of Hawkesmoor was clearly a swift and sound sleeper. She glanced at her neglected supper tray in the firelight but found she'd lost interest in its contents. She picked up one of the fragrant goblets Oliver had brought in and sipped at the warm spiced wine. That at least had been a good thought, she reflected sourly. Mulled wine to accompany rapine adultery. Was there nothing Ranulf wouldn't stoop to?
Ariel shrugged. It was a rhetorical question. Huddling closer to the fire, she began to undress, casting aside her wedding gown with a grimace of disgust. This morning she had thought it pretty; now it seemed a tawdry garment to trick out a deceitful charade. She dragged her shut over her head, took a deep breath, and dived across the room, slithering under the covers before the cold air could chill her skin too much. But in no time her once-warmed flesh was as cold as the coarse sheet she lay upon. Her teeth began to chatter and she rolled onto her side, drawing up her knees, dragging the cloak over her head to keep the cold from her ears.
An icy blast hit her naked skin when the covers at the bottom of the bed were suddenly lifted. "You have more need of this than I." The hot brick, blessedly warm, was thrust up against her bare feet and the covers tucked tightly in again.
Ariel rolled onto her back, stretching her feet around the glorious warmth. She blinked at the shadowy figure standing at the end of the truckle bed. He had a blanket drawn around his shoulders. "My thanks, sir."
"I'm loath to part with it, but I'll get no sleep with your teeth chattering like a pair of castanets," was the amused response. Simon turned back to the fourposter, dragged off the top quilt, and tossed it over the slender frame in the truckle bed. "Now perhaps we may both get some sleep. This has been one of the most tedious days I have spent in many a long year. I'll be right glad when it's over." So saying, he dropped the blanket from his shoulders and swung himself up into his own bed, his lame leg following more slowly than the rest of him so that Ariel caught a glimpse in the shadows of an ugly red rawness snaking up his inner leg.
She closed her eyes tightly. "I could say the same, my lord."
"No doubt."
There was silence in the chamber now, except for the crackle of the fire, but beyond the locked door the sounds of merriment still rose faintly from the Great Hall. Ariel felt curiously secure tucked up in her little servant's bed at the foot of the fourposter, while the shouts, the rocking laughter, the bangs and crashes came from below.
She'd lain listening to such riotous celebrations many a wakeful night in her twenty years, and even behind a locked door, even with the dogs beside her, she hadn't felt truly safe from the wildness. And she had never been able to sleep until the abrupt silence that always fell at dawn. But she was very sleepy now, deliciously languid as the warmth crept through her. So why, even after Oliver's assault, did she know herself tonight to be immune from danger?
The only possible answer lay breathing sonorously above her. She snuggled further down, curling her toes over the hot brick. Her unbedded husband was ugly and lame and a
Hawkesmoor, but it seemed he possessed the most comforting qualities of strength and dependability.
It was past dawn when she awoke to short, soft barks and scratching from beyond the door. The dogs would start quietly, but if she didn't respond at Once, they'd be baying in full cry in no time. Ariel didn't trust the tempers of her brothers or indeed of any of the other heavy-headed guests, who presumably had not been long in their beds, if they were woken by such a racket. Ranulf was as likely as not to burst from his chamber with a pistol in hand to put a summary stop to the noise.