Kitabı oku: «The Devil Claims a Wife», sayfa 2
Guy could hardly contain his excitement the closer they got to the castle. He was expected. There were sentries at the gate. They clattered over the bridge that spanned the moat.
‘I can see this is the ideal place for you to settle down and raise those sons you intend to have one day,’ Cedric remarked, appreciating all he saw.
‘I must first find a wife who will give me children, Cedric,’ Guy said with a fierceness that left Cedric in no doubt about his seriousness. ‘It’s no matter whether she is pretty or not, so long as she can give me fine sons.’
‘Then all you have to do is find the lady.’
Guy stared straight ahead. For months he had been plagued by a deepening awareness of a large hole in his life, an emptiness. He had sensed it vaguely and ignored it because for a very long time it evoked painful memories of Isabel Leigh, a callous, brown-eyed witch driven by ambition and greed. For a time her beauty had bewitched him and, when she had betrayed him with another, he had been shocked to discover how close he had come to losing control. He had vowed that his emotions would never again be engaged by a woman. He wanted none of their treachery and deceit. But his need for sons had sharpened since he had fought his last battle into a nameless hunger, a gnawing urgency.
He had a fortune to rival many of his aristocratic friends, but he had no heir to leave it to. If he died unexpectedly—and there was always a chance of that, the way he lived—everything he’d worked and fought for would die with him. But getting heirs meant putting up with the inconvenience of a wife, a prospect he so little relished that he had been putting it off for years. Where could a man find a woman who would bear his children and otherwise leave him alone?
Unbidden, an image of Jane Lovet came to mind. As Guy recalled the moment when she had smiled at him, a smile that had grown slowly and then shone, his expression softened and his eyes gentled. He had seen Madonnas whose features would pale before her loveliness. It was as though a shutter had been flung open and the sun had rushed in. And the way she had stood up to him! She had looked him in the eye and spoken her mind with a frankness most men wouldn’t dare.
With her anything might happen. There was a mark of destiny on her, quite apart from her beauty and the rare and subtle quality she emanated. She made one think of hot, tumbling love and sensual sport. She was a well brought-up young woman with a decent woman’s need for marriage which he was not able to give her. It would be social death to consider looking outside his own circle, a penniless girl from the lower orders, the daughter of a cloth merchant … but as a mistress? His eyes narrowed and a calculating gleam glinted in their depths.
He did not stop to wonder why he was so inflexible, it was just so. He was the Earl of Sinnington and he must rebuild. Men of his station married for advantage so that they might be the founders of dynasties. It was a business. Love did not come into it. He had decided long ago that such an affliction of the heart was best left to the peasants as compensation for their miserable lot in life.
‘Mistress Lovet is comely enough, Cedric. What was your opinion of her?’
Cedric gave him a knowing look and laughed heartily at his friend’s remark, knowing precisely where his thoughts were leading him. ‘Mistress Lovet is no ordinary girl, I grant you, but I imagined your interest to be in the way of finding a little amusement and nothing more. She is a strangely fascinating young creature, but hardly your type.’
Guy felt a moment of annoyance at Cedric’s pronouncement, remembering the exuberance of his most recent wild coupling with one of the more rapaciously demanding, hedonistic ladies of the court, who positively encouraged him in his more abandoned pursuits. But he had never lain with a virgin—had never been given the opportunity to discover the pleasures of such unblemished perfection, of making his mark on untouched territory. He imagined the sensation and felt a stirring in his loins.
‘You are quite right, Cedric. Jane Lovet is not my usual type at all. But then, one’s taste improves with age, I’ve been told.’
‘Aye, but for a wife you have to think about selecting a woman with an eye to forming political alliances and important connections. Mistress Lovet is merely the daughter of a humble cloth merchant.’
‘It is the way of things,’ Guy replied, knowing Cedric spoke the truth, but the image of Jane Lovet was too fresh in his mind.
Knowing Guy so well that he could follow his train of thought, Cedric smiled. ‘Did I not hear Mistress Lovet say she is to wed to someone else?’
‘Apparently so,’ Guy replied dismissively. ‘But I shall not be denied the pleasure of pursuing her if I so wish.’
‘Even though her brother was a supporter of the Lancastrians in the past.’
‘That no longer cuts any cloth with me, Cedric. Pray to God that after countless battles, the peace holds and Edward will sit on the throne of England for many years to come, leaving me free to enjoy the more enjoyable, gentler pursuits of life—and if I have a mistress as delectable as Mistress Lovet to enjoy them with, it will make life a damned sight more delightful.’
Cedric had seen how Guy had warmed to Jane Lovet, had been aware that his eyes had filled with the soft fire he felt when he’d looked at her. It could be interesting seeing how he dealt with the finer points of luring her into his bed. He had what other men envied. He was well favoured in looks and fortune, and he had any woman he wanted. It was no boast, but the honest truth. Women never turned him down.
Guy was also a fighter without equal, a soldier for whom violence was not indulged, but controlled—whose aggression was directed, not by ambition for personal glory, but by a sense of justice. He was a clear-headed, resourceful planner, a tireless campaigner, an entertaining, cheerful, unpretentious companion and faithfully loyal. But all Guy’s virtues were warrior virtues. He was made for war. He thought of nothing else. He was also an integral part of King Edward’s council, and as such the powerful barons saw him either as a shrewd friend to look to in times of trouble, or as a man to be wary of if they were involved in anything detrimental to the king.
But of late Cedric could see in his friend that he was, at thirty years old and having been brought low by the death of his brother, growing tired of war and that his thoughts were turning to the softer joys of hunting and hawking, of peace and music and love.
Guy rode into the outer bailey, casting an eye over the castle folk waiting to welcome their lord home, nodding in reply to their welcome. There wasn’t a man, woman or child that didn’t know of the black reputation he had acquired in France. He took a moment to look around. The main structure of the castle was built around the inner bailey in whose centre was the well that ensured the water supply. On the ground floor were the Great Hall, the stables, the kitchen and storerooms, and the living quarters communally shared by a large collection of human and animal dependants.
Guy and his men dismounted and handed their horses to the grooms who rushed forwards to take them, servants bowing low when they entered the great hall. The warmth and welcome of Sinnington Castle embraced him, along with the aroma of roasting meat from the kitchen. Guy felt himself relax, all the tensions easing out of him. After years of fighting, the need to be forever alert and watchful was being replaced by a sense of well-being.
Lovet House was a substantial family home. It was a long house, half-brick, half-timber, and commodious with glass in the windows. Its airy halls and parlours were decorated with many tapestries and carpets. Between the house and the river were the well-tended gardens which Margaret Lovet, Jane’s mother, had filled with sweet-scented roses growing on trellises and where peacocks flaunted their beautiful feathers like vainglorious lords.
Margaret, whose greatest pleasure was cosseting, watching over and cherishing her children, was elegant, charming and composed. She had a sweet, lilting voice and a patient smile. She was a perfect lady, one Jane had tried to emulate all her life. She kept the house in perfect order and the servants were devoted to her. She was the lady bountiful of Cherriot Vale and her hospitality to the poor was well known.
On entering the house, Jane sought her out after glancing into the spacious undercroft where her father carried out his work and stored his merchandise and seeing a happy band of silk women doing their needlework or weaving or throwing or twisting threads surrounded by the many bolts of cloth: brocades from Milan, Venetian velvets, the finest manufactured silk from Lucca—Italian silk being of supreme quality and a significant source of trade. Jane liked nothing better than fingering these sumptuous fabrics, hopefully destined for the wealthy when her father’s business picked up, as it surely would when she married Richard.
She found her mother in the parlour. She had opened the windows that overlooked the river shifting endlessly by. Her head beneath her tall headdress was bent over her work as she put the finishing touches to the dress Jane was to wear for her betrothal, her face still and serene as she embroidered her thoughts into the gown.
Looking up from her work when Jane entered the room, Margaret curved her lips in a smile of welcome. ‘Ah, Jane! I’m glad you’re back, although I do wish you had been home earlier. John Aniston called on us this afternoon.’
‘Did he? For what reason?’
‘Richard has to leave for Italy sooner than planned, so, as soon you are betrothed, the wedding will have to be brought forwards.’
Jane’s heart sank. That Richard was leaving for the commercial metropolis of Florence with a group of cloth merchants had been planned for weeks now. ‘I see. How soon?’
‘No more than two weeks after the betrothal.’
Jane stared at her mother in disbelief, panic taking hold of her. ‘You can’t mean that. The wedding is set for six weeks after the betrothal. There is so much to do. It is too soon. We cannot possibly be ready in time.’
‘We have to be,’ Margaret said, resuming her sewing. ‘Richard wants to see you settled in his father’s house before he leaves. With you and Kate to help me we can be ready with time to spare.’ Looking up, she noted her daughter’s pale face and sensed her unease. ‘Jane, you do want to marry Richard, don’t you? You know I love you and I would understand if you are against this marriage—but …’
‘I don’t think Father would be so understanding,’ Jane said when her mother’s voice tapered off. ‘Where he is concerned, my opinion counts for nothing.’
Neither, she thought, did her mother’s. Her father had not always treated his wife kindly and Jane could not remember him asking her mother’s opinion on anything. Docile and submissive, she was not a wilful woman and survived quite well. Unlike everyone else in the household, Andrew had not been afraid of his father. He had believed he knew his tempers, having been on the receiving end of his blows many times. Their father had expected Andrew to dutifully follow him into the business, but Andrew, with his sights firmly set on a military career, had had no such ambitions.
Their father had been furious when Andrew had shown support for the Lancastrian cause and went off to fight. Indeed, wild-eyed and monstrous, he had shouted curses that had rung to the rafters. Jane always squeezed her eyes tight shut at the memory, wishing to banish it from her mind, but could not.
Her father’s greatest fear was loss of status and, it seemed, when confronted with that possibility he lost all reason. Despite Jane’s sympathy for him, she could not bring herself to justify his treatment. She did not care if he was a man mad with disappointment and resentment or the master of the house and her person. There was no claim he could make great enough to make this right.
‘Your father is only doing what he thinks is best for you,’ her mother said in his defence. ‘You have to marry as your circumstances demand. And Richard does want to marry you so much.’ Sighing despondently, she shook her head and went on, ‘Circumstances have been—difficult of late. Indeed, as you are aware, the business has suffered very badly.’
Jane knew this was true. No one could do business in a town without belonging to or having the respect of the other members of the guild. Her father’s business and his standing among the other guild members had suffered greatly because of Andrew’s support for King Henry. They all felt the humiliation of his reduced status and it was like balm to her parents’ wounds to have their daughter marrying the son of an important and respected alderman of the guild.
‘Far more devastating to your father’s pride was the knowledge that you would have to share the grim consequences of his misfortune,’ her mother went on in an attempt to justify her husband’s strict treatment of his eldest daughter. ‘Everyone would realise that you would not have the great dowry formerly anticipated and the most worthy of the men seeking wives, those best able to provide the standing and security you deserve, would turn their attention elsewhere. Which is why arranging this alliance is just as important to your father as winning a battle. Marriage to Richard is a way in which John Aniston intends to honour him with such an important connection. Your father is hopeful of calming the temper of the guild and redeeming both his status and the respect he rightly deserves. Perhaps then the business will prosper once more.’
Jane took a deep, tight breath. That she was being sacrificed for her father’s ambition went against the grain, but this she kept to herself. All her life she had hoped she would have the freedom to choose her own husband, but, when it came to it, her father had chosen for her. A good alliance, he called it—but the last person she’d ever have chosen would be Richard. How she wished she could look upon him more favourably. It would be so much easier to welcome this marriage, but he was not her idea of an ideal husband—or lover.
Averting her eyes, she was unable to ignore the picture that entered her mind of the last time she had seen Richard when he had come to dinner with his parents and other guild members, when her father had put on a lavish meal in an attempt to impress the aldermen. Jane did not think she would ever grow to love Richard, not as a woman should love her husband. Would she be able to pretend to do more than endure? When she looked into his eyes she did not see love, comfort, laughter or companionship—in fact, when he had leered at her obscenely and tried to grab her knee under the table, it seemed his thin veneer of courtesy was easily dissolved by brandy wine.
Richard was the eldest son of John Aniston, who could refuse his son nothing. With his second son to run his cloth business, Richard had been free to follow his dream and became a squire in a nobleman’s household in Wiltshire, and later doing military service on the field of battle where his skill and bravery brought him acclamation from his superiors. It was his ambition to become a knight—but not all squires became knights.
There had been some kind of trouble at his master’s house. The true facts were not known, but Richard’s involvement was suspected and he had been dismissed. As a consequence, under great sufferance, Richard had returned home and joined his father and brother in the business. But the manufacture of cloth held no appeal for Richard and his life’s ambition, to become a knight, to ride, hunt, fence and fight in battle, was in no way diminished.
When Richard’s father had offered a sizeable stipend to be paid for Jane’s hand in marriage to his son, assuring Jane’s father that Richard’s dismissal from his master’s house was a trivial matter and nothing more than a young man’s exuberance, Simon Lovet had considered it a good match and seen no reason why Richard should not be considered as a suitor for Jane.
When he told his daughter of his decision, Jane knew she would have to give up all hope of marrying someone she loved in order to save the family. Her stomach twisted into sick knots at the thought of committing her body, her entire life, into the hands of a man she instinctively recoiled from, but, miserably resigned to her fate, she lifted her head and bravely met her mother’s gaze.
‘Please don’t worry, Mother. Everything will work out for the best, and this painful time will soon be forgotten. Of course I will marry Richard. It is already decided,’ she said, telling herself that the look of pride and relief on her mother’s face made the sacrifice worthwhile.
Chapter Two
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.
