He raised an eyebrow. "Still silent? I must be on the right track then. I wonder where you were intending to set up your stud. I assume you have contacts already in the racing world…"
Recognition flashed in her eyes and he said, "Ah, yes, I can see that I got that one right."
He stopped suddenly, running a hand through his hair. "Dear God, Ariel. Just what did you have in mind? A divorce? An annulment?"
"It doesn't matter now," she said tonelessly.
"Doesn't matter! It doesn't matter that this marriage was a sham from the very beginning? Of course," he added acidly, "I was forgetting that you never intended it to be consummated! I can't think why you didn't help your brothers do away with me."
Ariel flushed crimson. "That's not just. I only wanted to be free to live the way I choose."
"None of us has that freedom, girl," he exclaimed harshly.
"I didn't mean it quite like that… Oh, what's the use." She dashed the tears from her eyes again. "For once in my life, I wanted to be financially independent."
He frowned. "As I recall, the marriage settlements allow for very generous financial provision for your needs."
"But I'd still be accountable to you!" she fired at him with renewed energy. "I'd be dependent on a generosity that my brother compelled from you. And you know damn well why he did that, Hawkesmoor. It sure as hell wasn't for my sake! It was to score a victory over you. Anyway, that money doesn't belong to me, does it? It's not produced by my own labor and skill. It's charity. Pure sweet charity!"
"Well, that's about as novel an interpretation of marriage settlements as I've heard." Simon pushed himself away from his window-seat perch. "I can't continue with this tonight. I'm too angry to think clearly." He began to unbutton his coat. "Get undressed and go to bed, Ariel."
"I can't sleep."
"Then stay awake if you must. Do I have to lock the door?"
Ariel shrugged. "What difference does it make? I'm a prisoner in this marriage whether you make it obvious or not."
He threw off the rest of his clothes and climbed into bed. He propped the pillows behind his head and regarded her set face and glittering eyes thoughtfully.
"If you're going to be tempted to leave this room before morning, Ariel, I suggest you lock the door and bring me the key. I can't answer for the consequences if you assert your independence again this evening."
Ariel stalked to the door, turned the key, and hurled it onto the bed beside him. Then she slumped in the rocker beside the fire.
Simon pushed the key beneath his pillows and lay back, every nerve stretched toward the hunched figure in the dim firelight. He was more hurt than he could have believed possible. He had thought she was beginning to open up to him, to offer him more of herself than her body. He thought he'd meant something to her. But all along she had been intending to leave him. Nothing he had said or done in the days since their marriage had penetrated the thicket she had planted around herself.
He could understand how she might long to escape her brothers' tyranny. But it had never occurred to him that Ariel might see him too as a tyrant and view their marriage as a new prison. A prison she was determined to escape at whatever cost.
Helene crept away from the door. She had never heard Simon speak with such bitterness. But because she knew him, she had heard the hurt that fueled the corrosive anger. And she wanted to slap the silly chit of a girl who would reject what Simon was offering for something as sterile as financial independence.
Simon awoke at dawn. Automatically he ran a hand over the space beside him. It was cold and empty and he realized why he was feeling so leaden. The previous night's miserable business played over in his head as he hauled himself up into a half-sitting position against the headboard.
Ariel was lying fully clothed on the truckle bed, the thin blanket pulled up to her chin, her gloved hands crossed over her breast. Her eyes were closed, the lashes dark half-moons against her pale cheeks.
Simon watched her sleep. Even asleep her jaw and mouth had an obstinate set. This was what he had won through his mission of peace.
He threw off the covers and struggled to his feet. His body groaned, his leg shrieked as it took his weight. It had been a while since his mornings had been quite so bad, but then, he'd missed Ariel's ministrations last night.
He stood over the truckle bed, trying to decide if she was really asleep. If not, it was a decent imitation. He dressed slowly, ran a hand over his unshaven chin, and decided it would have to wait.
He took the key from under his pillow, hobbled to the door, and let himself out of the chamber. If Ariel was truly afraid of Ranulf's stealing her horses, then her husband had better do something about it.
The doors to the Great Hall stood open, and he limped through the busy servants setting the place to rights, and stepped out into the courtyard. The fog had dissipated, but the moisture was still heavy in the air and the ground was sodden.
The dogs bounded to greet him as he entered the stable-yard. Edgar stood in the doorway to the Arabians' block. He chewed on his straw and watched the earl's approach.
"Morning, Edgar."
"Mornin', m'lord." Edgar's face and voice were expressionless.
"We had better do something about Lady Ariel's horses," Simon said without preamble. "Are they really in danger from Lord Ravenspeare?"
" 'E's took a mare in foal already."
Simon nodded. "Walk me through them, Edgar, and tell me what special accommodations they're going to need. Then we'll arrange to have them transported to Hawkesmoor Manor."
"An' 'ow does Lady Ariel feel about that, if I might be so bold, m'lord?" Edgar didn't move from the doorway.
"I believe she will see the advantages," Simon responded evenly.
Edgar stepped aside, although reluctance stiffened every line of his body, and the two men entered the block together.
Ariel waited until Simon's step had faded in the passage before she sat up. She pushed aside the blanket and swung her legs over the edge of the cot. But instead of getting up, she sat on the edge and stared down at her stockinged feet.
She hadn't slept for more than five minutes at any one time during the interminable night. Her eyes felt as if they'd been scoured with lye, and her throat prickled with all the unshed tears that had gathered and been swallowed.
What was she supposed to do now? For some reason she could no longer get up any indignation, let alone rage, over the collapse of her life's ambition. It now seemed completely trivial beside Simon's autocratic blindness. He had made no attempt to understand why her independence meant so much to her. He had not even considered that she might have been afraid to confide in him.
He had made no attempt to consider that all her experiences hitherto might have made her wary… that with one word of understanding last night he could have won her complete trust. Instead he'd trampled all over her with the full force of his authority-no different from her father, no different from Ranulf.
A soft tap at the door brought her head up with a snap. "Who is it?"
"Helene. May I come in, my dear?"
Ariel jumped up, pushing the truckle bed back beneath the fourposter with her foot. She wasn't prepared to advertise that she hadn't slept in her husband's bed. She ran her hands through her tumbled hair, then gave up the attempt to make herself look less disheveled. She'd slept in her clothes and looked it. "Yes."
Helene came into the room. She was in dishabille, but fresh and tidy, her hair falling down her back in a well-brushed skein; her face looked older, more worn in the harsh gray light of dawn.