The Devil Claims a Wife

Although she was inexperienced, his words were too glibly spoken, as though from practised seduction. ‘Please, Richard, let me go. Take me home.’

‘I will. Soon.’ He took his hand from her chin and caressed her burning cheek.

‘Please take you hands of me. What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Examining the goods.’

‘Not until after we’re married.’

‘We’re to have our hand fasting in a day or so, which is as binding as the wedding ceremony.’

‘Then I am sure you can wait a few more days.’

He laughed softly, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded with desire. It was as though her resistance excited him further. Smiling with wicked enticement, he lowered his head to kiss her, which she averted by sharply turning her head. What he intended evoked within her a shuddering revulsion. Far more difficult to suppress, however, was the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach that had much to do with the realisation that, once they were wed, she would have no right to withhold herself from this man.

‘Come, Jane—the ice maiden—the untouchable one—why so coy?’ His voice was low and coercing. There was an evil echo in his soft laugher which escaped her as her mind darted about wildly to find a way to distract him from his amorous intent. ‘I can’t get you out of my mind. The pain of wanting you is driving me insane.’ He moved closer, but as she edged away, he grinned and positioned himself so that she could not get past him.

‘Good God, man,’ a deep voice rang out. ‘The lady said no. Would you force yourself upon her when she is clearly unwilling?’

Richard spun round, furious at the interruption.

Jane raised her head and looked at her rescuer. It was the Earl of Sinnington who came to stand between them, his handsome mouth curled with distaste, his dark hair shining in the sun’s rays.

His eyelids drooped over his vivid blue eyes as they always did when he was angry. He had reasons for getting involved. He was more cynic than idealist, but he could never stand a bully, and it was plain to see that if somebody didn’t help the girl, the man was going to force himself on her. Though not usually given to damsel rescues, Guy had shaken off his momentary daze, more than happy to make an exception and play the hero in this case—and then when he recognised the girl as Jane Lovet, and suspecting whom her assailant might be, rage had justifiably coursed through him.

He looked at her red-faced, sweaty assailant and spoke in a voice of biting calm. ‘Good God, man, can’t you restrain yourself?’

His gaze slid to the girl. He watched as she flicked her long mane of honey-gold hair back from her face, his stare following the shining tendrils that twined over her delicate shoulders. Her eyes sparkled angrily. All his breath froze inside his chest, splintering to ice-slivers of pure pain. How lovely she was! How achingly, tormenting lovely. Her beauty was almost blinding and he had a presentiment that Jane Lovet was one of those rare women for whom wars are fought, for whom men kill themselves and who rarely bring happiness to the men who loved them.

When he thought of what this great lout might have done to her, anger consumed him. Then the look of abject rage on his face gave way to something else, something equally dark and dangerous, but in a very different way. The horrifying stories Jane had heard about him no longer seemed so far-fetched. Guy saw the concern on her pale young face and two enormous eyes stared up at him with passionate gratitude. He struggled to control the fury that had gripped him on seeing this oaf’s attempt to coax her into the woods.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said.

She offered him a smile, thankful that he had been on hand to save her from whatever Richard had had in mind. Her mouth was tinder dry, her heart pounding in her throat. For what seemed to her an infinite amount of time, she remained unable to move. She was glad of the shadow her hair cast over her face because she could take advantage of it and feel less exposed, less readable. When she was finally in control, she adopted an attitude of cool composure.

Guy was touched by her instinctive bid for his protection and admired her dignified recovery from dishevelment. ‘Are you hurt?’ he queried.

The best answer Jane could manage was to shake her head in denial. What a handsome man Guy St Edmond was, she thought—his colouring, his strong build, the spicy smell of him, the deep resonance of his voice that made her bones hum.

Guy turned with increased anger to Aniston, and this time, when he spoke, his voice was more terrible because it was so tautly controlled that it hissed with muted fury. ‘So you are Richard Aniston—the same Aniston who was a squire in Lord Lambert’s household in Wiltshire.’

Richard froze and shifted uneasily, his eyes wary as they surveyed the threatening figure of Guy St Edmond. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I make it my business to know about the people who live in my demesne,’ Guy replied in a low, meaningful voice, trying to keep his fury at bay. ‘It is clear the lady does not share your lust. What did you intend? To drag her into the forest and ravish her?’

Had it been anyone else but the Earl of Sinnington, Richard would have replied with equal anger—as it was he glowered at him, his righteous indignation replaced by smouldering malevolence. If he made an enemy of the earl, he could be made to suffer.

‘The lady is to be my wife,’ he bit back tersely.

‘He’s right,’ Jane confirmed. ‘We are to be married shortly.’

‘Aye,’ Richard said, fists clenched at his sides. ‘Mistress Lovet has pledged her troth to me. I can see nothing wrong with kissing my future wife.’

‘By the lady’s reaction perhaps you should reconsider your situation or learn to treat her with more respect.’ Guy looked again at Jane. ‘Come, I will escort you to your home.’

‘Thank you, sir, but there’s no need,’ Jane replied, embarrassment colouring her cheeks when she thought of the tousled image she must portray. ‘Although I know my father would be pleased if you were to honour him with a visit.’

‘There is every need—and I am happy to know I shall be welcomed in your home. Come. Your parents must be told. The fact that Aniston is to be your husband is no excuse for his loutish behaviour.’

Jane looked at him in alarm. ‘No—please do not mention this to my parents. It—would upset them needlessly—and what Richard said is true. We are to be wed shortly. He has done me no harm,’ she told him, unable to look at Richard, who was openly glowering at her. ‘It was an innocent tryst, no more than that.’

Seeing evidence of her dispirited dejection despite her brave words, Guy took pity on her. ‘Very well, but in my opinion your future husband doesn’t deserve your loyalty or consideration.’

Leading his horse, Guy walked with her the short distance to her home. Jane cast a glance at her betrothed. The look on his face as he glared at the earl told her that he wanted blood. She had seen that look before when he failed to get his own way. It was a look she loathed more than anything. He stared at her in icy stillness.

Fear spiked through her when she read the fury in his eyes, as though he saw and understood just how relieved she was that Guy St Edmond had arrived in time to save her from his lust. Before she turned from him he sent her a look that promised there would be consequences later. From the moment they had met, he had held himself in check, waiting until the time was right, but after today she knew that only his fury awaited her now, and she was afraid. She had an idea what he was capable of—if his rage broke free, there would be no choice but to yield. Then she would be his prisoner for the rest of her life.

The relief that had engulfed her when Guy St Edmond had stormed to her rescue, his face a mask of cold fury, had been immense. She would be forever grateful for his timeliness in coming to her aid and forever in awe of how effortlessly he had dealt with the situation. Her gaze locked in the blue of his and she felt a tingling sensation run over her skin, like the time when she had first lain eyes on him. What was happening to her? Were the distress and despair she felt over her forthcoming marriage to Richard making her mind vulnerable to her basest impulses? Why could she not see Guy St Edmond and feel only simple gratitude?

She looked towards the house. Her father was at the front door. He recognised their illustrious visitor and bowed low. Desperate to regain status among the people of Cherriot, he was prepared to humble himself and ignore that Guy St Edmond was the man behind his son’s death. When he straightened she gazed at his narrow face, now creased in a rare smile. His exacting eyes crinkled at the corners.

‘Sir Guy. Welcome home. You are very welcome at Lovet Hall.’

Guy’s face was expressionless as his brooding gaze settled on Simon Lovet. ‘I trust you are well, Master Lovet? It’s been a long time.’

‘Indeed it has, my lord. We were grieved to learn of the loss of your brother at St Albans. These past years have been hard times for all of us. We still mourn the loss of our son and we have suffered greatly for his support of Henry.’

Guy allowed a wry note to creep into his voice. ‘Indeed. In faith, I do not understand how anyone would think ill of you for grieving for your son, but I can for your lack of judgement in allowing his support of the Lancastrians.’

‘But I did not—what I mean to say is—’

‘Forget it, Master Lovet,’ Guy said in quick response. ‘And now? Are you loyal to King Edward?’

Simon met his eyes. However cringingly pleased he might secretly be at the earl’s visit to his house, he was still a proud man despite his son’s misplaced support of the Lancastrians. ‘My family history cannot be denied. Andrew was a loyal subject of the ordained King Henry—as I shall be under King Edward. I accept his rule and wish for nothing now but to live in peace. We are all Englishmen. We should not be divided.’

‘That is sensible. Those who have fought against Edward will find he can be just in victory.’ His eyes shifted admiringly to Jane. ‘Your daughter invited me to call on you. How could I resist when I was asked so prettily? You have a beautiful daughter—and soon to be married.’

Her father smiled, relieved that any awkwardness had been dealt with. ‘There are few men who can ride past Jane. Her betrothal to Richard Aniston here is imminent.’

Guy’s face darkened and his narrowed eyes settled on Jane’s assailant. ‘So I understand.’

‘Indeed,’ Simon enthused. ‘His father is John Aniston, a respected alderman in the cloth merchant’s guild. You have heard of him?’

‘The name is known to me, but we have not met.’

‘Then please, come inside and meet my wife. Master Aniston has ridden over to discuss the betrothal.’

A young groom approached and took the reins of the horse to lead it to the stables. Guy noticed one of the young servant girls with a pail of water in her hand watching him with interest. A delightful creature, with auburn hair and a comely form. When his stare honed in on her, her eyes widened. She dropped her gaze with a wildly unsettled look and fled, disappearing into the house, regardless of the water slopping about her ankles. He let out a low sigh and pursed his lips. Ah well, he thought, another terrified wench. His ruthless reputation must have preceded him as usual.