Lord Greville's Captive

He moved before Anne could respond, grabbing her by the upper arms, dragging her against his body and holding her close with an arm about her waist. His grip was fierce and unrelenting. She tried to twist out of his arms, but he held her cruelly tight.

‘Yield to me,’ he said in her ear.

‘Never!’ Anne tried to kick him. ‘You may go to the devil!’

Simon laughed. ‘No doubt I shall do so in my own time. Now yield to me.’

In answer Anne turned her head and fastened her teeth on one of the hands that held her. She knew it pained him and felt a violent rush of satisfaction. Simon swore savagely under his breath and wound his hand into her silky black hair, ruthlessly pulling her head back. It did not hurt, but it rendered her incapable of further struggle without causing herself pain.

‘Little wildcat!’ he said. ‘Surrender to me.’

Anne hesitated. She knew there was nothing she could do. She had to concede even though she hated to do it.

She relaxed a little and felt his grip ease in her hair. Her mind was whirling. She could not surrender to him. She surrendered to no one. There had to be another way…

‘If I promise not to run,’ she said, ‘you must release me so that we may talk.’

Simon’s fingers slid through the strands of her hair as he let her go. It made her feel strange, almost light-headed. His touch was feather-soft now, gentle, caressing. She found that she wanted to turn into his embrace now rather than escape it. She remembered the hardness of his body against hers and the breath of his lips against her ear with the oddest quiver of feeling.

His hands slid down her arms to hold her very lightly. He kept his gaze locked with hers.

‘I agree,’ he said. ‘So promise me you will not try to flee.’

Anne hesitated. The touch of his hands and the steadiness of his gaze were confusing her. For a fleeting moment she remembered the desire she had seen in his eyes earlier in the evening. That had aroused a response in her that she had never expected to feel, did not want to feel. It reminded her too much of the pangs of first love she had felt when she was seventeen. Knowing that they had no future, she had tried to tell herself that her feelings for Simon Greville had been a childish infatuation. She had never quite succeeded in believing it.

‘Well?’ Simon prompted.

Anne inclined her head slightly, crushing down the treacherous ripple of feeling that coursed through her body.

‘Very well. I promise not to run.’

She expected him to let her go at once, but Simon also hesitated, still holding her close to him even though his grip was gentle now. Anne could felt the warmth emanating from his hands and his body, and with it a sensation of reassurance and strength. She found that she wanted to press closer to him again and draw on his strength to comfort her. She started to tremble, both at the perfidiousness of her own body and the wayward nature of her thoughts. This was Simon Greville, her enemy, the man who held her hostage. She could show him no weakness.

But it was too late. The expression in his eyes changed and he pulled her to him, not hastily but slowly, inexorably, until her mouth was about an inch away from his. And then he stopped. She could see the stubble darkening his skin where he had not shaved and the shadow cast by his eyelashes against the line of his cheek.

Anne’s throat dried. ‘Release me,’ she whispered. ‘I do not trust you.’

‘I know.’ Simon’s firm mouth curved into a smile. ‘You are wise to trust no one.’

He let her go slowly and Anne stepped back. Her heart was pounding hard and her legs trembled. She caught the back of a chair to steady herself and prayed that Simon believed her weakness stemmed from fear rather than susceptibility to his touch. She raised her eyes to meet his mocking gaze.

‘What would you like to talk about?’ he asked. His gaze raked her, as it had done earlier. ‘You know that you have nothing to negotiate with.’ He paused. ‘At the least, I assume you do not intend to try and bribe me with your body…’

Anne gave him a scornful look. Her fingers tightened on the chair back. There, beneath her hand was the sword belt. A plan was forming in her head. She prayed that she could carry it off. She had to keep him talking, distract him…

‘You are contemptible,’ she said.

‘And you are helpless.’ He looked rather amused.

Anne glared. ‘That is not correct, of course,’ she said. ‘I have plenty of advantages. I know the lie of the land of Grafton, I know its weaknesses and I know Malvoisier’s plans. I could even give you safe passage into the Manor were I minded to do so.’

Simon’s gaze had narrowed on her face. ‘But you would not do that,’ he said. ‘You would never betray your cause.’

‘No,’ Anne agreed bitterly. ‘Everything I have done tonight has been to save Grafton. I do not sell my honour cheap.’

Simon smiled ironically. ‘Touchе, my lady.’ He made a slight gesture. ‘But since you are not prepared to sell either your principles or yourself, you have nothing with which to barter.’

‘I do not intend to barter,’ Anne said. ‘I intend to make you let me go.’

Simon folded his arms. He was smiling. It was all the extra incentive Anne needed.

‘How will you achieve that?’ he enquired.

In response Anne grabbed the hilt of the sword. It came free of the scabbard with a satisfying hiss of metal. She spun around. Simon had already started to move towards her, but he was too late. As he took the final step she brought the tip of the blade up to rest against his throat like a lover’s caress. Simon stopped abruptly.

‘Like this,’ Anne said breathlessly.

The smile in Simon’s eyes deepened into something like admiration.

‘I cannot believe,’ he said, ‘that I was so careless.’

‘Well,’ Anne said. ‘You were.’

‘Please be careful,’ Simon said. ‘I sharpened the sword myself, this very night. It is very dangerous.’

‘Good,’ Anne said. She knew that he was using her own tactics now, keeping her talking to try and distract her. It was hideously dangerous to point a sword at a trained soldier, particularly one as experienced as Simon Greville. One second’s loss of concentration and he would disarm her. He would be quick and ruthless. She kept her gaze fixed on the sword’s point and did not look into his eyes.

‘I have your life to barter with now, Lord Greville,’ she said. ‘Mine for yours. It is a fair exchange. Step away from the door. Slowly.’

Simon did as she ordered. Anne started to edge towards the door, still keeping the murderous weapon levelled at him. She did not want to have to kill him, but she did know exactly how to use it. The Earl of Grafton had never had a son, but he had certainly taught his daughter how to defend herself.

‘Put up the blade,’ Simon said. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I will let you go.’

Anne laughed. ‘You will let me go? You think that I believe you, after all that you have done? Nor do I need your permission to leave, my lord. I am the one holding the sword.’

Simon nodded. ‘I acknowledge that. But you would not get five yards without my men capturing you. I demand parley. Put up the sword and declare a truce.’

Anne met his eyes briefly. It was a mistake. There was such a look of ruthless determination in them that she almost quailed. She dropped her gaze once more to the shining blade.

‘Malvoisier did not respect the rules of parley,’ she said. ‘Why should you—or I?’

Simon did not move. ‘You are not Malvoisier and neither am I, Lady Anne. Put up the sword and talk to me.’

There were rules of engagement. He knew it. She knew it. The fact that Gerard Malvoisier had no honour should not, Anne knew, bring her down to his level. She did not want to stay a moment longer and speak with Simon Greville. She did not trust him. But she had a code of honour and he had appealed to it.

‘If I agree to parley and then you betray me,’ she said, ‘I will kill you.’

Simon nodded. He was not smiling now, but the respect was still in his eyes. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is understood.’