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

For a moment Jane’s mind went completely blank. ‘Me?’ She laughed nervously, completely thrown by his remark. ‘But that is ridiculous. It cannot possibly be.’

Guy’s eyes narrowed and his voice took on an odd note of determination. ‘Will you not accept my proposal to become my mistress?’ he asked sotto voce.

Jane felt like she had been shot with a crossbow at point-blank range. She was shocked into instant reply. ‘You insult me, sir. You will not take me to your bed, nor will you take me by force. I will not be your mistress.’

‘You shall, Jane. I swear.’

It was a most arrogant declaration and too much to contemplate with all the emotions roiling inside her. She did not move, but Guy saw her face set in a dreadful silent stare and felt the shudder that went through her body as clearly as though she had been touching him instead of separated from him by a full two paces. ‘How will you do that? Will you command me, as is your right?’

‘No, Jane, I ask it. You seem distressed,’ he remarked, observing the tension in her face.

‘Distressed?’ she railed. Her colour mounted high in her cheeks and warmed her ears as her temper escalated to unparalleled heights. ‘I am anything but distressed, my lord! Can you not understand that I am furious?’

‘I understand perfectly,’ he said in a silky, courteous voice. ‘I can imagine that a young woman does not take a step like this without a little apprehension. But there is no need to get things out of proportion.’

He was obviously trying to reassure her, but he was mistaken if he thought he could do that—as mistaken as he was devious. ‘Out of proportion? You propose that I be your mistress and you have the audacity to say that I have got everything out of proportion!’ She spoke bitterly as the full force of what he expected of her hit her with all its humiliating clarity. ‘It isn’t your reputation that will be slaughtered. It will be mine.’

The muscles in Guy’s jaw clenched tightly, banishing any trace of softness from his too-handsome face, and in a tone of calm finality he stated, ‘People will think whatever they want to think.’

‘Why?’ Jane cried passionately. ‘Is it because you want me, or to ensure that my father knows his place—to affirm your lordship’s power over your serfs? What do you expect of me? Do you suppose that I will fulfil such a bargain? For whatever reason, there is no justifying this. You are a conniving, black-hearted scoundrel. It is dishonourable behaviour and absolutely unacceptable and an outrage. I will not be used in this way. I am disgusted by your monstrous egotism your actions have revealed.’

It gave Jane a kind of awful joy to hurl the innermost feelings of her heart in wild confusion at the feet of this unfeeling man. If he were to flay her alive, he could not hurt her more than he had done already.

One sardonic brow lifted over mocking blue eyes. ‘I mean to have you, Jane.’

‘How? Will you rape me? For that is the only way you will have me—and I will fight you all the way. You can count on that, my lord. I find it insulting to me and dishonourable of you. I had not expected you to stake your claim on me quite so callously. By your actions, were I to do as you ask, the shame and humiliation heaped not only on me, but Richard and my family also, would be complete. Your arrogance is unbelievable! I don’t know why you are doing this, but whatever the reason it matters little to me whether you are known henceforth as the least honourable lord in Christendom.’

Guy stepped close—and Jane retreated from those suddenly fierce eyes. ‘It was never my intention to insult you—your future husband is another matter.’

‘My feelings for Richard are my concern,’ she said tonelessly. ‘I cannot—no, I will not be your lover or anything else. What you ask of me is a grave sin. I will not shamelessly dishonour Richard or my parents.’

‘I believe your father and I could come to an understanding.’

The bright hue of Jane’s cheeks and the flashing of her eyes gave evidence to the effect of his savage, cutting words. ‘You beast,’ she hissed. ‘Am I a serf to be sold or bartered at will? You are frivolous when there is nothing to be lost for you. You would take me for your own pleasure and afterwards you could just as well flee and leave me big with child.’ She tossed her head angrily. ‘You are just like all men—free to your every whim.’

‘Free!’ Guy gave a derisive snort. ‘Nay, Jane. I am not free.’ He leaned close to her and his voice rose as he chafed under the lash of her words. ‘And I would not flee from you. Let me assure you I would not. Do you think I would put so little value on you that I would so lightly regard your state?’

Jane stared at him. Guy St Edmond was shameless. ‘Is it your desire to see me shamed?’ she asked him.

‘I hope that won’t happen.’

‘I fear it will. I would have to live with what you would do to me for the rest of my life. I will be a fallen woman. Impure. You deserve no respect for this.’

‘Perhaps not. I’m afraid I might find it hard to find peace away from you. You are very well aware of the effect you have on me—surely you recognise desire in a man’s eyes?’

Jane stared at him, wondering that he could speak like this to her, with such assurance, as if he believed she would not be able to resist him. Vaguely disturbed by his words, she felt a strange emotion swell within her breast. His voice was at once brusque and warm, imperious and tender. She must fight against this fascination he was beginning to exert over her.

‘If you still require a mistress, then you must look elsewhere.’

‘I have no desire to look elsewhere.’ He took her hand and traced the lines on its palm. He felt her response and smiled. ‘See how easily I touch you,’ he murmured, ‘how recklessly I make you come to me and then tease you—how I pluck your strings, as if you are but a lute.’

The intimacy of his touch and his voice, the suggestion of playing her like a lute, both excited and shamed her. ‘You jest with me, my lord.’

He laughed, a robust sound as mighty as he was. ‘Ah, Jane, I never jest on matters as serious as this.

‘What an impatient nature you have,’ she remarked. ‘You certainly have an aptitude for spontaneity. But as I said, you must look elsewhere.’

‘Why should I do that when I have perfection right here? My dear Jane, you look like something a lonely man far from home would dream about in the small hours of the morning. Had I been able to store such a memory in my heart years ago, it would have surely given me hope in times of need.’

Jane gave him a scornful look. ‘Your words flow like honey from your lips, my lord, that it makes me wary. I am nothing to you. You do not know me. We are strangers and I have certainly not sought your attention or encouraged you in any way. Why are you doing this?’

He shrugged. ‘Several reasons—some I do not understand myself. You have attracted my attention. You have excited my compassion for your position, inspired my sympathy for your needs—’

‘And for this you want me to become your mistress?’ she remarked with a sneer.

‘Aye, Jane, and the fact that you remain in my memory long enough for me to do something about it.’

‘Then if this is the way you go about trying to woo a lady, you haven’t a prayer of success.’

‘I haven’t?’

‘No. Based on what I know of you, I would not be in the least surprised if you were to toss the lady over your shoulder and carry her off, and, if she still refused your amorous intentions, to lay her over your knee and beat her into submission.’

For some reason her words brought a mocking gleam and a narrowing to his eyes. ‘Have a care what you say, Jane, lest you give me food for thought. I admit that I have erred, having spent so much time in conquest to bring peace. As a boy I saw little of my parents. When I was seven I was sent to live with a noble family in Hertfordshire. I became a page and had to wait on lords and ladies. I also learned to fight. At fourteen I became a squire and at twenty-one a knight. I’ve spent so much of my life in conquest that I have much to learn when it comes to the finer points of wooing a lady. One hasn’t the opportunity to meet very many suitable ladies on the battlefield.’

‘Then perhaps you should turn you mind to seeking a wife, my lord, instead of a mistress. A wife would satisfy your baser needs and provide you with heirs.’

‘That is what I intend.’

‘Isn’t it the practice for nobles to select their wives with an eye to forming political alliances?’

‘It is. I am the last of the line. I have no siblings or nephew to leave my inheritance to, which is why I must marry a woman who can give me sons to inherit my demesne and carry on my name. I have to rebuild.’

‘And a cloth merchant’s daughter would never do,’ Jane responded sneeringly. ‘It appears to have slipped your mind that my future husband may not take kindly to me being another man’s mistress—however noble that man may be.’

‘You don’t want to wed Aniston. I see it in your eyes. Your life is not yours to order, is it, sweet Jane?’

‘What woman’s life is?’

It was true. She lived in a fine house and had the love of her family. But the price she paid was that her life was not hers to order. Her father’s word was law. He commanded. She must obey.

‘Aniston can soon be got rid of,’ Guy suggested with ease. ‘You can be assured I would not be a poor substitute. Aniston will get over his disappointment.’

‘I fear it is you who will be disappointed, sir,’ she told him curtly.

‘Truly?’ He ambled a few steps closer, regarding her with deliberation. ‘I cannot think why, when the heavens have seen fit to reward me for whatever reason with a glimpse of the fairest maid that ever graced my sights.’

Though she roiled inside, Jane feigned control, rolling her eyes in seeming humour. ‘If nothing else, you were born with a smooth tongue, sir. But since there is no one here you seek to impress, you may as well save your pretty words for another who is willing to listen.’

He took another step and Jane was very aware that the closer he came, the softer and lower pitched his voice became, and, as he moved closer still, she felt a frisson of velvet along her spine. ‘Are you so sure you know me well enough to know whom it is I seek to impress?’

‘I have no wish to know you, sir.’

‘Ah,’ he said, with an unmistakable trace of amusement. ‘In which case, sweet Jane, I acknowledge my poor judgement and can only wonder at the reason which brings you to an empty church, at a time when most brides would be preparing for marriage and dreaming sweet bridal dreams. Is it God’s comfort you seek to calm your nerves of what is to come?’

‘I marvel at your intimate knowledge of brides. Speaking only for myself, I often come to the church when it is quiet to pray.’

‘For a young woman to spend so much time on her knees, perhaps you should reconsider your future and become a nun instead of a wife.’

‘I have often been accused of being wilful and disobedient. I fear I would make a very bad nun. And it is not uncommon for a bride to be nervous as her wedding day approaches. One must cope with one’s nerves as best one can and a wedding causes so much happy anticipation …’

The words nearly choked her, but she would not have him know the extent of her desperation. She had no happy dreams of the future and soon more would be taken from her, but she would not surrender the battered remnants of her pride.

Guy arched a dark brow. ‘Happy anticipation? Forgive my impertinence, Jane, but I seem to recall that the last time I saw you with Aniston, he was on the point of assaulting you. Is it that which inspires such happy anticipation? Or was my judgement also faulty? Maybe you were not in need of rescuing after all and would have enjoyed the rough and tumble of his lusts.’

Jane tensed as he came closer still, reminding herself it was past time for her to take leave of him, and she told herself she would, but she was reluctant to do so. His closeness was forcing her heart to beat even more rapidly than before, something she would not have thought possible. She asked herself what was wrong with her, for if there was ever a time when she ought to be erring on the side of caution, it was surely now.

She lowered her eyes. ‘What happened yesterday was between Richard and myself,’ she told him. ‘Any differences of understandings we have will be rectified by us.’

All trace of mockery had vanished. Guy’s blue eyes were as hard as granite, as was his voice. He was clearly angry and his tone was deadly quiet. ‘Differences of understandings? Tell me this. Has Aniston ever threatened you with violence? Have you ever felt yourself to be in direct physical danger from him?’

Jane was determined to maintain her composure, though the effort cost her dearly. She had been disturbed by Richard’s behaviour and felt nothing but dread for what he would do to her on her wedding night. But knowing how important this marriage was to her father, she had no choice but to defend him.

She gave a half-hearted shrug. ‘No. I think it was a matter of Richard being too eager. He believes that once a couple is engaged, they are considered as good as married. He is not alone in that.’

She could see that the anger she’d heard building in Guy St Edmond’s voice had become etched on his face in hard lines as he responded to her words. ‘Which is why a good many brides are already pregnant when they make their vows to the priest. There are things in this world that are worth the waiting.’

‘Since you have just proposed that I become your mistress, that makes you a hypocrite,’ Jane retorted sharply.

He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘I’ve had my moments.’

She gave him a questioning look. ‘Yesterday you implied that you knew Richard—or know of him. I am curious.’

‘I know Lord Lambert. He was a good friend of mine. We fought many a battle together. Aniston was a squire in his household. We never met, but I knew of him.’

‘I see. And what happened to Lord Lambert—you speak of him in the past tense.’

‘He did not live long following the tragic death of his beloved daughter Lucy.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jane said, having no desire to pry into what was clearly a private matter. Unless … Her eyes flew to his. ‘Was Richard involved in what happened to her?’

He shook his head. ‘I can’t say. But you must understand my concern.’

‘I—I do care for Richard,’ she lied in desperation, haltingly, unconvincingly, tears welling up in her eyes which she immediately blinked away. There was a part of her, young woman that she was, that wanted to run home and fling herself on her bed and cry. But she could not do that. She wasn’t Blanche, who laughed and cried easily. ‘Please do not speak to me like this again. I will not listen.’

‘Damn it, Jane. I am no monster. Would you rather take that coarse, unsightly lout and nurture him with the sweet joys of wedlock than consider me? Are you mad? Aniston is to have what I want and silence on the matter will not make that fact any sweeter. You forget who you are dealing with. Do you not realise that as lord of this demesne, no man who lives on my land can marry off his daughter unless I allow it? I have the right to forbid your marriage to Richard Aniston.’

Jane paled, her eyes wide with disbelief. ‘You would not do that?’

‘It is within my power to do so—if I so wish.’

Jane was furious at what he was implying. Her angry eyes held his. ‘How could you even think of doing something so base? You may command your soldiers to your will, sir, but you have no such authority over me—and you have much to learn about courtship.’

Guy had to concede that she spoke the truth. The people of Cherriot were not like the knights and squires with whom he had spent the last fifteen years. He was a fighting man. In his world loyalties were clear. Bravery was a virtue and the issue was life or death. No time for courtship. Since Isabel, he had vowed that his emotions would never be engaged by a woman—until he met Jane Lovet. Guy cauterised his emotions. Women had always been attracted to him because he remained aloof, giving only so much of himself. That was the way he liked it, the way he intended to control his life.