Читать книгу The Devil Claims a Wife - Хелен Диксон, Хелен Диксон, Helen Dickson - Страница 8

It was the following day when Jane found herself alone with Richard. He had ridden over with his father. His stubborn beard was subdued with oil, his crinkled red hair smoothed down and close cut, which gave him an aggressive look. His clothing and accessories were stylish and well made of only the finest cloth.

Jane raised her eyes to his heavy-featured face. Tall and of stocky build, he wasn’t unattractive, in a coarse way. Surly and argumentative, he had a belligerent nature which simmered away beneath the surface. He was always in trouble for slovenliness, laziness and greed. The despair of his parents, he was without self-control, and it was his father’s hope that marriage to Jane was a way of getting someone else to enforce the restraint he could not impose himself.

Richard was delighted to be marrying Jane and to sit next to her at the dining table. He could stare at her while he ate, at her breasts, and every time she leaned forwards he could peek down the square neckline of her dress. His blood ran hot when he thought of the time not far away when he would command her to take off her clothes and stand naked before him, and he could look at her breasts and fondle them in their magnificent entirety.

When he suggested they take a walk, Jane was hoping her father would refuse his permission, but to her disappointment he obliged most readily.

Before Jane could utter any protestations, with the shadow of a sly grin upon his face and carrying himself with an air of arrogant self-assurance, Richard had taken her hand and drawn her outside. In no time at all they had left the house behind. He told her how happy he was that the wedding had been brought forwards and that he was looking forward to their betrothal party, seemingly unaware of how quiet she was.

Richard talked of his trip to Italy and how she would be cared for in his father’s house. When he returned they would have their own house and he would start up his own enterprise—perhaps one day take over his father’s.

The sun was hot and much as Jane would have liked to withdraw her hand from his nauseatingly soft, damp grasp, she endured it—as she would have to endure many intimacies in the days ahead. They were walking along a well-worn path in the forest, and when they were no longer within sight of the village Richard stopped and turned to her.

Uncertain about what was to happen, Jane looked at him, suddenly nervous of him and the solitude of the woods. ‘I think we have walked far enough, Richard. We should go back.’

‘Nay, not yet, not when I have you to myself at last.’

He stared at her with impudent admiration, letting his gaze travel from her eyes to her mouth, then down to the pale swell of her breasts. Instinctively she lifted her shawl to cover her bare neck and shoulders, aware that her cheeks had grown hot beneath his lecherous scrutiny.

He laughed softly. ‘You are a witch, Jane, for have you not cast a spell on me so I can think of nothing else but you? Will you kiss me, to demonstrate your affection for your future husband?’

Feeling the heat of his close proximity, she stepped back. ‘This is neither the time nor the place to take such liberties. Let us go back to the house,’ she pleaded with quiet desperation.

At first Richard was disappointed by her reaction, but then, not to be deterred, he grinned. ‘Oh, such a proud one,’ he murmured, allowing his fingers to brush her cheek, annoyed when she flinched at his touch. ‘And such a beauty … such a beauty. Don’t fight me. There’s nothing to fear.’ He reached out to slip the shawl from her shoulders.

‘No, Richard,’ she retorted, holding on to it with grim determination.

‘It isn’t right to tease a man that way, Jane.’

‘I don’t mean to tease you.’

His eyes darkened. ‘Happen you didn’t. You don’t know the power behind the promise in your eyes. God knows you’re a woman to tempt a man to lose his reason. I want you. You drive me to madness with your wanton beauty.’

‘Wanton? Is that what you think?’ Her pale cheeks instantly flushed scarlet as June poppies with shame. ‘Your impatience does not do you justice, Richard. You must not pre-empt our marriage vows. You must respect my wishes and wait until we are wed.’

Reaching out, he held the point of her chin and made her look at him. ‘Don’t look so worried. I won’t hurt you. There’s nothing to fear. If we go further into the wood, no one will come upon us.’

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.

Mindful of his position and the importance of the visitor to his house, Simon stepped back and allowed Guy to enter the hall before him. ‘Will you take a glass of small ale? Or we have a very good French wine if you prefer.’

‘The ale, if you please,’ Guy said agreeably. ‘It is a warm day and thirsty work riding. I was familiarising myself with Cherriot Vale when I encountered Jane and—Master Aniston, walking in the forest.’ He gave Richard, hovering behind them, no more than a cursory glance.

Jane’s mother swept into the hall, followed by John Aniston, and curtsied low. ‘Sir Guy, you are most welcome. My husband has offered you refreshment?’

‘Sir Guy would like a glass of ale, Margaret. See to it, will you?’

Margaret fussed about while her husband introduced the earl to John Aniston. Richard muttered something unintelligible and, after glowering at his betrothed, disappeared to vent his fury on someone else. Jane’s parents failed to notice that something was grievously wrong between Jane and Richard, so dazzled were their eyes by the illustrious visitor and the importance of his visit.

When their visitor was seated in a high chair Margaret handed him a cup of ale.

‘It’s our finest,’ she said, her heart beating with the hope that past differences were forgiven and that their association with the Earl of Sinnington could only further advance her husband’s standing in the community and with the guild members. She sent up a silent prayer that things were beginning to look up for them at last.

Guy laughed at her pride and turned to smile at Jane. Their eyes met and she caught her breath. She could think of nothing to say. He had such presence. Nothing in his face indicated the path of his thoughts, yet she felt the weight of that unrelenting gaze as surely as if he were touching her. She told herself it was only natural that being stared at in such a dogged manner would pull her gaze back to his, no matter how diligently she steered it elsewhere. She just stood and stared at him while her parents and her future father-in-law conversed about things in general. When he’d finished his ale he got to his feet.

‘Thank you for your hospitality. I must be going.’

‘You are most welcome to stay and share our meal,’ Margaret offered, hoping he would accept.

‘Thank you. Your offer is most generous, but I must be on my way.’

Simon and his wife walked with him to the door. Jane followed, holding back. On the threshold Guy turned and, taking her hand, drew her forwards. He bowed his dark head and pressed a kiss into her palm. His skin smelled faintly of spices. She felt the warmth of his lips on her flesh and saw the softness of the hair that curled at the nape of his neck. Raising his eyes to hers, he folded her fingers over, as if to keep his kiss safe.

‘It was a pleasure meeting you again, Mistress Lovet.’

He looked down at her entranced face. When he had first met her, he’d considered making her his mistress—even though deflowering a gently reared virgin who was to wed another violated even his relaxed code of honour. Nothing had changed. Until today, she had merely been the delightful object of his lustful thoughts. But on witnessing her on the point of being attacked in the forest by the very man she was to wed—a man with a distasteful and violent reputation, who was not unknown to him even though they had never met—that had changed. Jane had inspired his compassion for her position. Seeing her distress had touched a tenderness, a protectiveness, within him that he never knew existed.

Guy had seen enough of the world to know that sometimes, out of desperation and despair, people found it necessary to act in a manner they would not otherwise have contemplated. Maybe Jane was desperate. Or maybe she despaired. If, after making enquiries into her situation, what Cedric had told him was true and that she was willing to sacrifice her own happiness for her family’s welfare, then he hoped Simon Lovet would refuse to let the marriage go ahead when he had informed him of the true nature of Aniston’s character.

The effect this would have on Richard Aniston didn’t concern him. The man wasn’t worthy of consideration.

He bowed to Jane and her parents and turned and walked through the heavy door and out into the sunlight.

Jane watched him mount his horse and ride away. How quickly, how suddenly she was becoming aware of the violent passions of men. The last hour would always stand out in her mind as the time when she had awoken to the strength of her feelings.

Observing the look of concentration on her daughter’s face—and something else she did not dare put a name to, as her gaze followed the Earl of Sinnington’s departing figure—with a concerned frown puckering her brow, Margaret moved to her side. ‘Sir Guy was very attentive to you, Jane,’ she remarked quietly. ‘Don’t let your head be turned.’

Jane turned her burning face to look at her mother. ‘Mother—I hope you don’t think …’

She smiled, but the frown remained. ‘I don’t think anything. But let me give you a bit of pure wisdom. There is more to a man than a handsome face or a pair of broad shoulders. Think on it, my dear, should you happen to meet the Earl of Sinnington again.’

Jane looked again in the direction of the departing figure. There was a lingering scent in the hall, of a spicy cologne, and for an elusive moment the blue eyes flicked through her mind and hinted at what the strong, straight lips had not been wont to speak. Her mind conjured up an image of his dark face all but hidden by his black beard and she shivered at the memory of those eyes as they’d looked into hers.

Today in the woods his eyes had been the angry darkness of a stormy sky—but there had been a moment, when his eyes had settled on her mouth, that the expression in their depths had changed, and that indefinable change had made him seem more threatening than ever. It was his beard, she told herself. Without it he’d look like any other man. Or would he? she asked herself. No, he would still look alarming. It wasn’t just his beard. It was his daunting height and build, and his strange, deep blue eyes.

She closed her eyes to banish the vision. When she opened them she chided herself at the meanderings of her mind.

‘You need not be concerned, Mother.’ She smiled somewhat ruefully. ‘With a reputation as black as his, I shall never be taken in by the likes of the Earl of Sinnington.’

Arriving back at the castle, Guy strode into the great hall with long, purposeful strides, his brow furrowed by a deep frown.

Cedric was seated by the fire with his feet resting on one of the logs in the great hearth, a tankard of ale in his hand. He regarded Guy attentively. Without saying a word, he stood staring absently into the fire. His body was tense, the tendons in his neck corded. ‘Well?’ Cedric said at length. ‘It’s clear you have something on your mind. Out with it.’

‘I have decided. I must have her. I mean to make Jane Lovet my mistress,’ Guy said, making no effort whatsoever to conceal his intention.

Cedric stared at him, his tankard, halfway to his mouth, arrested in his hand. ‘And you assume that she will naturally consent and fall into your bed without objection?’

‘Why not?’

‘Why not, indeed, when the whole district is waiting on tenterhooks and expectation for the wedding between Mistress Lovet and Master Aniston to take place.’

‘We both know what Aniston is like, what he is guilty of. He should consider himself fortunate his head remains on his shoulders. Frankly, I don’t give a blessed damn.’

‘About the gossip?’ Cedric persisted carefully. ‘Or about Richard Aniston?’ When Guy didn’t reply, he leaned forwards and asked bluntly, ‘What are your reasons for wanting the wench—apart from the obvious?’ He chuckled low. ‘Heaven forbid your heart’s become afflicted and you’ve fallen for the wench?’

Guy turned a glacial stare upon his friend. ‘When has love anything to do with desire?’ he returned, deriding his cynicism. ‘Love is inconsistent. Desire is an honest emotion, at least. Love is the word given to it by moral bigots.’

Cedric laughed. ‘So speaks a confirmed rake—and I would say bachelor, if I didn’t know you were looking for a wife.’

‘I want Jane Lovet for myself,’ Guy said stonily. ‘I’ve given up trying to understand my reasons for the step I am about to take. I want her. That is reason enough.’

‘Forgive me if I find your decision somewhat hasty,’ Cedric remarked, taking a long draught of his ale. ‘My advice is for you to proceed with caution.’

‘I intend to. My mind is focused on not making sudden moves. There is no denying that the slow, gentling approach works miracles on skittish animals. I doubt women are much different,’ he said with the arrogant confidence of a man who believes he cannot lose.

With that he quit the hall, leaving Cedric gazing after him in amazement and alarm. After a moment, however, the squire’s expression cleared and he began to chuckle and then laughed out loud. ‘May God help him,’ he chortled. Not since Isabel Leigh had stolen his heart and then betrayed him with another had a woman managed to entrap his friend.

He glanced in the direction Guy had taken and raised his tankard in a salute. ‘To your future bliss, Guy.’ He grinned.

Jane loved to spend time in the parish church of St Peter, beaming benignly upon the sleepy town of Cherriot. On her knees she would confide all her hopes and fears and heartaches to the saints she had no doubt guided and protected her. The solace, the scent of incense blending with candle wax and the low murmurings of others in prayer were a great comfort to her.

Today was a working day so it was a quiet time in the church. It held an intimacy which was lacking on Sundays, when it was crowded and filled with the scent of humanity. It was the only time she was allowed out without a companion and she felt safe within the confines of the church.

She went to the statue of the Blessed Virgin and knelt on the prie-dieu before it and bowed her head over her hands holding her paternoster beads, her lips moving in prayer. The prayer in her heart was that some miracle would happen so that she didn’t have to marry Richard, but since that was unlikely to happen, she asked God for a blessing on her married life. It seemed a safe prayer and helped her set aside her feelings of frustration of marriage to a man she didn’t know well, a man she wasn’t sure she even liked.

The church door opened and closed. A shadow moved nearby. Male footsteps moved closer and stopped a few paces away. She didn’t recognise them. It wasn’t a servant, for the man had spurs that clinked. She didn’t look up, but glanced sideways. She saw mud on his boots. The spurs were silver and glinted in the light slanting through the windows.

With a shock, she realised whose boots these were. Her intruder was neither friend nor stranger. Caution and propriety dictated she left his presence immediately, but something else, something far less familiar, kept her on her knees. What strange power did this man radiate that a mere glance or a small curve of his mouth could set her senses reeling this way? The very sight of him should send an unmarried young woman scampering for the safety of her home, but she couldn’t move.

He came and knelt beside her. Folding his hands in front of his face, he bowed his head, but she knew he wasn’t praying. His head was turned and he was looking at her with bold, unguarded interest. She kept her head determinedly down, hoping he would go away if she kept quiet.

She held her breath. There was a long silence. Unable to endure the suspense any longer, boldly she raised her head and met his bright gaze. She felt it as a shock right through her body. She found him poised, taut and still and dark as ever. But his expression was guarded. Guy was clean shaven. This startled her, for it made him seem much younger, and she saw that his chin was square and had a cleft in it. His mouth, wide, curved and passionate, was drawn thin at the corners and his heavy eyelids seemed as though they would never wholly lift again to disclose the vivid blue beneath.

When the beautiful bass voice murmured, ‘Forgive me for interrupting your prayers, but I saw you come in here and I wanted to speak to you’, the memory of that silken male touch when he had cupped her chin, the like of which she might never feel in the future closing in around her, was enough to dispel her irritation at being interrupted in her prayers. Her pulses had leaped to the thrill of it, and her body had tingled with a delicious urgency to experience more of the pleasure a man’s touch could evoke.

‘I beg your pardon, but I fail to understand what you can have to say to me. Indeed, your time must have been so taken up with your homecoming that I imagined you had forgotten I existed.’

He bent his head closer to her. The soft scent of violets that she exuded overlay the scent of incense in the church. ‘I haven’t forgotten. Nor have I forgotten what occurred in the forest.’

In one easy movement he got to his feet and, taking her hand, raised her up. Her dress was a startling slash of colour in the dim grey church. It was a dark red dress belted at the waist and the fine wool clung to her breasts and hips. She looked like a beautiful statue representing temptation, Guy thought.

He was so tall, way over six foot, that Jane had to tilt her head to look at his face.

‘I cannot stay long,’ he said. ‘Come outside where we can talk.’ Without waiting for her to reply, he took her hand and walked her to the door.

Once outside he pulled her into the dark shadow of the church. They were hidden from the road by thick yew trees.

Jane could not tell which sensation had more command of her senses—the horror of embarrassment or the ecstasy of being so close to him. It was as though she had never before been in the presence of a man. Guy St Edmond clouded her mind so that she had no clarity of judgement, no sense of direction.

Lifting her head, vowing she would not let him see how he affected her, Jane frowned in consternation. ‘Was it necessary to bring me out of the warmth of the church to this dark, dank spot?’

‘I wanted to speak to you alone. There’s less chance of being interrupted out here. My lady is displeased over something?’ he queried with a slight lift of his brow.’

For a moment Jane debated her answer. For the sake of pride, she could not tell him how well he disrupted her thoughts and that the calm serenity she displayed hid emotions that were well stirred up by the fact of his nearness. Trying not to think of how handsome he looked in his smooth-fitting hose and beautifully cut black tunic with gold embroidery, shielding herself against his mockery, she chose to attack rather than reveal her weakness. Was he playing upon her confusion for his own amusement? That there might be some truth in this stung her pride beneath the suspicion that he had been one step ahead of her all the time.

‘Please say what you have to say for I must be on my way. My mother is expecting me back at the house.’

Now he had her alone, Guy was in no hurry to be parted from her. His eyes passed over the shapely figure with warm admiration. The light breeze teased the fair tresses about her face and she paused to tuck the stray wisps beneath her plain headdress. With her arms raised, for a moment the bodice of her gown stretched tight across the slim back, reassuring him of the fact that her waist was naturally narrow. In his far-reaching travels he had seen his share of women and had been most selective of those he had chosen to sample. His experience could hardly be termed as lacking, yet it was hard in his mind that the delectable girl whom he scrutinised so carefully far exceeded anything he could call to mind.

Since returning to Sinnington Castle, as he strolled its corridors and chambers, he was inspired with a most gratifying sense of solid order and security. He was no longer a snivelling boy, sent away from his mother to become a knight. Now he was a powerful man who needed no one. And now that he had made his life just the way he wanted it, he had no intention of handing over to another proud and selfish lady the ability to disrupt his life.

But that wasn’t right, he thought. Jane Lovet wasn’t proud or selfish. She was lovely and virtuous, and as he’d heard in the woodland glade, she had a laugh so infectious she made him smile—and he wanted her with a desperate ardour that twisted him in knots of desire. These things were in the background of his mind, but he refused to concentrate on them. To do so would have meant that he was more than physically involved with her and that he refused to accept.

Aware of his scrutiny, Jane tilted her head to look at his face. ‘Please don’t look at me like that. Don’t you have a battle to fight or something?’

A smile touched his lips. ‘My apologies. I didn’t mean to stare. And in answer to your question, unless I am called upon by the king, I am done with fighting. Believe me, Jane, I shall not miss the cut and thrust of the campaign.’

‘Forgive me, but since you are a renowned soldier with a reputation for shedding blood and as black as Satan’s, I find that difficult to believe. Have you come to church to repent of your sins?’

Chuckling softly, his smiling eyes captured hers and held them prisoner until she felt a warmth suffuse her cheeks. ‘If I were to do that, I would be here until doomsday and beyond. But I am not alone in leading a sinful life and there is nothing unusual for a soldier to lay down his sword. A fighting man often decides to abandon his life of warfare and seek forgiveness for his sins. What of your own family, sweet Jane? Your own brother was an ardent Lancastrian fighting his cause.’

Sadness clouded her eyes and her heart was heavy on being reminded of her wild, handsome brother. But when she spoke there was bitterness and accusation in her voice. ‘It is no secret that Andrew was a cavalry man and a Lancastrian, or that when he was taken prisoner he was sentenced to death—on your orders, I believe.’

Guy’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed. He did not deny her accusation. ‘War is never honourable, Jane. You brother was a brave man, I have no doubt, who did his duty as he conceived it to be—as did hundreds of others at Towton.’

‘Yes, he did. You will consider him a traitor, but he was a beloved brother and my family miss him dreadfully.’

‘I, too, lost my older brother, so I can empathise with your loss. But life has to go on and for me the time has come for me to consider my future. I am home to stay and find my thoughts turning to the softer aspects of life—and a woman in my bed.’

Jane’s cheeks stung with heat. ‘Do you have a lady in mind?’

His eyes locked on hers, implacably he stated, ‘I do. You.’