Книга - The Devil Claims a Wife

The Devil Claims a Wife
Helen Dickson


GUY ST EDMOND, RETURNING WARRIOR, WILL LET NOTHING STAND IN THE WAY OF HIS DESIRESpoken of only in whispers – and with a name that strikes fear into the hearts of his enemies – Guy St Edmond wields his ancient sword like the Devil and his charm like a weapon. Confronted with a woman who does not cower before him, he finds his interest is aroused – but Jane Lovet is sworn to another.Yet her engagement is soon broken by Guy’s ruthless intervention, causing a scandal that echoes around the royal court. Forced into marriage, he can’t deny that having the desirable Jane at his side night after night promises untold pleasures…










‘Do you know who I am?’

‘You are Guy St Edmond, the Earl of Sinnington. You are to take up residence at Sinnington Castle. People have talked of nothing else these past weeks.’

‘Then since we are to reside close to each other, Mistress Lovet, I shall look forward to seeing you again. What else should I know of you?’

‘I am to be married, sir—yet even had that not been the case your reputation has preceded you. People say you are the spawn of Satan and that men and children fear you. For years there have been rumours that you enjoy killing—that it was by your order that my brother died, and that you take pleasure in the suffering of others.’

When he didn’t deny it, Jane felt her insides cringe.

‘Since you appear to know so much about me,’ he said in a dangerously soft voice, ‘there is little wonder I am persona non grata in certain company.’ Guy’s leisurely perusal swept her as he tried to control his restive mount. ‘You should know I am as lucky in war as I am in love, sweet Jane.’




AUTHOR NOTE


I thoroughly enjoyed creating THE DEVIL CLAIMS A WIFE, which is my first Medieval novel. I do like to vary the periods I write about and, inspired after reading several books about the Medieval period, I couldn’t resist trying something different. Creating the story was challenging and demanding, but most of all enjoyable.

I hope you enjoy reading THE DEVIL CLAIMS A WIFE.




About the Author


HELEN DICKSON was born and lives in South Yorkshire, with her retired farm manager husband. Having moved out of the busy farmhouse where she raised their two sons, she has more time to indulge in her favourite pastimes. She enjoys being outdoors, travelling, reading and music. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure. It was a love of history that drove her to writing historical fiction.

Previous novels by Helen Dickson:

THE DEFIANT DEBUTANTE

ROGUE’S WIDOW, GENTLEMAN’S WIFE

TRAITOR OR TEMPTRESS

WICKED PLEASURES

(part of Christmas By Candlelight)

A SCOUNDREL OF CONSEQUENCE

FORBIDDEN LORD

SCANDALOUS SECRET, DEFIANT BRIDE

FROM GOVERNESS TO SOCIETY BRIDE

MISTRESS BELOW DECK

THE BRIDE WORE SCANDAL

DESTITUTE ON HIS DOORSTEP

SEDUCING MISS LOCKWOOD

MARRYING MISS MONKTON

DIAMONDS, DECEPTION AND THE DEBUTANTE

BEAUTY IN BREECHES

MISS CAMERON’S FALL FROM GRACE

THE HOUSEMAID’S SCANDALOUS SECRET* (#ulink_73875697-47ed-5502-a622-b9bb703c50fb)

WHEN MARRYING A DUKE …

* (#ulink_c243257d-497d-5398-a9b5-1ff697400651)Castonbury Park Regency mini-series

And in Mills & Boon


HistoricalUndone!eBooks:

ONE RECKLESS NIGHT

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk




The Devil

Claims a Wife

Helen Dickson















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Chapter One


They said Guy St Edmond was the spawn of Satan. They said he was as tall as a tree and that he could slay a man with a single stroke of his sword. There were darker tales still in his shadowed past, rumours that Guy St Edmond was the despoiler of innocents, that he ate the flesh of his victims and that he devoured everything in his path.

Battle after battle he led his troops to victory after victory. The king and hardened warriors granted him their respect and deferred to his opinions, and by the time Jane was seventeen years old he was already a legend in Cherriot Vale. It was said he had never lost so much as a skirmish. His name was a password for victory and it was rumoured he only had to appear on the horizon for the enemy to turn and flee.

The mere mention of his name made little children cling to their mothers in terror and hide their faces in their skirts. But as far as Jane knew, no one had ever dared confront him to find out if all of this was fact or legend.

Yes, she thought as, with a thundering heart and almost suffocating with fear, she peeked through the foliage to look at the demonic spectre who was one of the young King Edward of York’s most favoured and most formidable knights, Guy St Edmond might well be all those things, but no one had said how handsome he was, that he was a devastatingly masculine male, with a certain air about him that could not help but intrigue and attract every female eye. How could he be all those terrible things? Was that what the wars had done to him, or just his nature?

Power, danger and bold vitality emanated from every line of his towering physique as he rode ahead of a small entourage of knights and squires. Some wore his red-and-black livery. They had evidently been riding hard for some considerable distance for their clothes were dusty and their faces streaked with dirt and sweat. With a jingle of harness and a noise like thunder, the stately chargers came at a gallop in a swirling cloud of dust and earth, looking unreal in the small clearing—yet Guy St Edmond had the God-given right to be there, for was he not the Earl of Sinnington, the lord of Sinnington Castle, to have and to enjoy the lands and revenues to be reaped from his domain?

There were ten horsemen in all, but Jane felt no inclination to move her gaze past the imposing man astride the black steed prancing in the lead. It was huge, a warhorse, high, wide and broad in proportion, with a hint of wildness in its eyes. It had its ears back, its head well up, its smooth-flowing gait a perfect complement to the proud, majestic bearing of his rider. His leather boots were silver-spurred and he wore a sword and a long dagger attached to his belt.

The earl rode with a purpose that was impressive. Tall and powerful, he was of an age perhaps a score and ten. But it wasn’t only the height and the impressive display of bulging muscle and sinew that caused him to stand out from the other horsemen. There was about him an air of confidence and intelligent command that he wore as easily as he did his sword. Everything about him spoke of control. Or so it seemed to Jane, who could hardly judge for certain when she’d never seen him before or heard him utter a word.

As if sensing he was being watched, Guy St Edmond snatched at the reins. Wrenched to standstill, his horse stood up on its hind legs, the following riders wheeling and coming to a jarring stop, metal clanking against metal as they cursed at the sudden halt. They were close to where Jane was hiding. The sun sent shafts of light through the high trees and softly crept through the clearing. At closer range she noted Guy St Edmond’s hair was unruly and very dark, almost black, curling round his neck. His skin on his hawk-like face was bronzed above the black beard.

Displaying a coat of arms on his tabard, he was clad in a leather tunic and leggings. It showed his strong limbs and thick torso. He turned in the saddle to speak to his men. He laughed as they shared a joke. It was a deep rich sound that made Jane think of clotted cream. She shuddered. It would seem the formidable Earl of Sinnington had a sense of humour. As he turned back to the light, she made out the fascinating tone of his eyes—could they really be so blue and so bright?

Suddenly the voices of the children she was hiding from as they played their game of hide-and-seek could be heard in the woodland behind her. Ears attuned, his body alert, Guy St Edmond’s smile turned from open humour to something more guarded. His thick black brows lowered and his eyes narrowed as they searched for the source of the disturbance. Jane could see he was used to weighing up new situations quickly.

Suddenly the unsuspecting children burst into the open, accompanied by Jane’s maid, Kate. Confronted by these awesome, terrifying strangers, the children abandoned their game and clung to Kate, whose protective arms went round them and held them close. Blanche, Jane’s ten-year-old sister, stared in mute terror, while Alfred, Jane’s thirteen-year-old brother, simply stood and looked with wide-eyed awe, craning his neck up the better to see the man on the horse.

Half in fear and half in concern for her siblings, emerging from the shadows, Jane moved to stand a few paces away from the cowering children, tall and graceful with her long-legged stride. Her skirts of myrtle green moulded her fine limbs, flowing out above her brown leather slippers in soft, yielding folds. The waist gathered beneath the rounded young breasts was caught with dark green ribbons emphasising her shape. Then she raised her eyes, indifferent to all, in morbid curiosity desirous only to look at the man bearing the manner of a warrior about him.

As the daughter of Simon Lovet, an English cloth merchant, and younger sister of Andrew Lovet, who had been killed in battle fighting for the Lancastrian cause and the rightful King Henry and his wife, Guy St Edmond would look on her as a traitor. But Jane, having grown heartily tired of strife, was beyond loyalty to anyone but her family and herself. She stood and waited for him to speak, while terror screamed through every pore of her quaking body.

With the clean, heady scent of spring clover and newly budded flowers in the air, and a blackbird happily singing its heart out, Guy watched the girl watching him as he approached and saw her every thought reflected in her eyes—interest, uncertainty, suspicion, dread—but no fear, thank God.

Unbeknown to him, it was not false bravado that made Jane show no fear. She felt it deep in her bones, but she was a Lovet and a Lovet never admitted fear of any man. She had heard that time after time from her father and her dead brother, and she had adopted their creed for her own.

As he halted his horse in front of her, all the breath suddenly seemed to have left him as he was struck by a jolt of unexpected lust. She stood for a moment in silence, contemplating him. The girl was as ravishing a creature as one could imagine—youth and springtime incarnate.

She had affected him, Jane knew that. Her apprehension increased. Here she was, being stared at by a magnetic, thoroughly compelling man, a man whose direct and confident gaze made her heart beat faster—though that, in small part, might have been due to dread.

For a long moment he gazed right into her eyes with a look that blazed, heating them until they glowed like molten coals in his bearded face. They were hard and inscrutable, as if she knew a secret that he had to know, as if they had known each other for ever. She was unsettled by his look, but she could not look away. A modest woman would lower her eyes, but she stood tall, astonished at herself, staring like an ignorant peasant. She found she could not take her eyes from his, eyes which were burning her where she stood.

Guy was not quite sure what to make of it. Either she had not heard, isolated in Cherriot Vale, that he was the Devil incarnate, or was too starved of male company to care. He found himself strangely moved by her candid look. Fancifully, he thought her like a beautiful half-wild creature of this emerald glade—or a wondrous rare forest animal that did not know enough of the world to be afraid.

She was totally innocent.

Though they were at least twelve paces apart, Jane felt his gaze penetrate her heart. Nudging his horse forwards, he circled her, his smile set in a grim line across his darkly handsome face, examining her like a horse at the fair.

Guy’s eyes roved approvingly over her lithe figure, stopping at the swelling breasts and tiny waist, then strayed back to the soft tresses of honey-gold hair that escaped the confines of her green velvet cap. Her nose was upturned, a nose bespeaking curiosity and impishness. Her lips were full, parted and hinted of secret, of a hidden sensuality as her tongue flicked nervously over them. The chin was not weak, not strong, argumentative perhaps, but not intransigent. Her skin was creamy white and glowing. Her eyes green, into which one might wish to dive, to be willingly lost for ever, glowed with an inner light and hinted of the woman hidden beneath the child-like innocence of her face.

She was the loveliest creature his eyes had seen in many a day.

‘Well, well, and what have we here?’ Guy St Edmond murmured in a voice that was deep and rich and full of unexpected beauty, still looking at her. Her eyes flickered over him, clearly interested, but perhaps intimidated by his size and the bruiser’s build that he had inherited from his father. ‘I don’t bite,’ he said with a cynical half-smile.

‘No? I have heard to the contrary.’

He laughed, a deep, booming laugh as his horse did a full circle. When he faced her once more, already regretting her impulsive words, Jane stared up at the stranger and despite her efforts a soft flush crept up her cheeks. Without lowering her gaze, she sank into a curtsy as gracefully as she knew how and her trembling limbs would permit. In an attempt to alleviate her siblings’ fear, she smiled, showing teeth that were white and even and beautifully shaped. ‘I am Jane Lovet,’ she said, ‘daughter of Simon Lovet, who is a trader in fine cloth here in Cherriot.’

‘And the father of a Lancastrian, if I am not mistaken,’ he said in such a way that made Jane’s blood run cold in her veins. ‘And do you and your family follow your brother’s inclinations as loyal Lancastrians, Jane Lovet, though much good it did him? Are you loyal to King Henry?’

Jane stared at him. Every merchant in London was Yorkist to a man, throwing their support behind the young, strong and intelligent King Edward. Being an exacting, ambitious man, her father’s every thought was directed into making money and the elevation of his family, and as such he had no particular leanings for either side. But he had been unable to forgive Andrew his support for Henry, which had turned the majority of merchants against him.

‘My brother’s support of King Henry cannot be denied, but my parents accept the rule of King Edward.’

He nodded. ‘A sensible move, since Henry can no longer raise a decent army to continue the fight.’

‘So we have been told, and since the king himself has recently married an impoverished widow from the enemy camp, a woman whose own father fought against him, we can be assured of his leniency.’

Guy’s eyes narrowed as they focused on her upturned face, caught somewhere between anger, amazement and admiration for her defiant courage. ‘Your words are boldly spoken, Jane Lovet. But I warn you to have a care what you say in the future. Do you live hereabouts?’

She nodded. ‘In the manor house at the end of the village close to the river.’

‘So we are to be neighbours.’ His eyes did a study of Alfred and Blanche and the comely Kate. ‘And are these people kin of yours?’

Jane glanced at the threesome. Alfred was tall like his father, while her younger sister, Blanche, was a few inches less, and still growing. They were similar in looks—both had light-brown curly hair and green eyes with brown flecks.

‘Kate is my maid, and Alfred and Blanche my siblings. Are you to reside in the village long, sir?’

‘As to that, we shall have to wait and see.’ His arrogant mouth softened and, leaning down, he cupped her face with his big hand and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Never have I seen a face so fair—or eyes so unafraid. Do you not fear me, sweet Jane?’

Jane knew she should draw back and state her objections at this uncalled-for bold familiarity, but she held her ground and endured the feel of his strong fingers and the warmth of them touching her flesh. ‘Do I have reason to fear you, sir?’

‘Maybe you do. Do you know who I am?’

‘Everyone in these parts knows who you are.’

‘And how can they possibly know that when they have not set eyes on me in almost a decade?’

Jane stared at him, temporarily speechless, relieved when he dropped his hand and sat up straight in the saddle. His looks were spectacular, but they were not the most important thing about him. Now she could see that his face had an uncompromising ruthlessness and strength which marked him as an adventurer and gambler. In spite of the fact that he was a nobleman, he was a man free from bonds and ties.

‘You are Guy St Edmond, the Earl of Sinnington. You are to take up residence at Sinnington Castle. People have talked of nothing else these past weeks.’

Guy St Edmond cocked a brow and canted his head at an angle as he gazed into her eyes, holding her in his blue depths. Suddenly Jane was the captive of those fathomless eyes and, while those around them went on breathing, Jane felt as if she and Guy St Edmond were alone in the world. Though it was not a feeling she was accustomed to feeling, some feminine instinct deep within her recognised the fiery gleam in his eyes and understood that he felt the same.

‘Then since we are to reside close to each other, Mistress Lovet, I shall look forward to seeing you again. I have noted your grace and your beauty and that they are but hints of other talents. What else should I know of you?’

‘Sir, I do not know what else I might tell you, except that I am soon to be betrothed and when I am wed I will be leaving the village to take up residence with my husband’s family in the next village.’

So taken was Guy by her that her pronouncement dealt him a blow of disappointment he was quite unprepared for, though he gave no hint of it. It was because he was watching her so intently that he saw a change in her. He saw the light of exhilaration so suddenly and utterly extinguished and, for a fleeting moment, it was replaced with a look of total desolation. It was the sort of look that could break even the hardest heart and made him wonder what was wrong with the man she was to wed.

‘Married! Then I must congratulate your betrothed on an excellent choice of bride,’ he said, his eyes never leaving her face. Her astonishing beauty had struck him at once, but now that he saw her more closely he was impressed by something more, a sort of intrinsic worth which he had not expected to find. However, he did not intend to let her see this and there was more than a suggestion of mockery about his smile when he said, ‘He is a truly fortunate man to have claimed such a wondrously fair bride. I cannot but imagine the ardent swains who will be left languishing over their loss. I will think of a gift for the bride-to-be and have it delivered directly to your father’s house.’

‘Thank you,’ Jane said, suddenly shy. ‘That is indeed thoughtful of you, but I—I could not possibly accept …’

‘To refuse is to risk offending the earl,’ the rider closest to the earl said jovially. Cedric was a big, brawny squire with a wild thatch of bright blond hair in dire need of a trimming, who looked more like a bear than a man. He looked Jane over from head to foot, his voice and eyes lazily good humoured. ‘When a pretty girl takes his eye, you will find Guy St Edmond a man of the grand gesture,’ he quipped, winking good naturedly at his master. ‘Now we must be on our way, Guy. We have ridden far and my belly is demanding food. I haven’t had a mouthful since I ate that bacon at breakfast.’

His fellow riders laughed heartily at this, for apparently his appetite was a well-established joke among them.

‘The deuce you haven’t, Cedric,’ the earl chided with mock reproach. ‘Come, then, we’ll be on our way.’

The men wheeled their horses round and as Guy St Edmond’s turned, its forelegs lifted high, he turned his head and looked at Jane once more. Perhaps it was the heat of the day or the sun that filled the glade with its golden light, or the blackbird that continued to sing its delightful song, but in the depths of that gaze she felt time was suspended.

‘We will meet again, Jane Lovet. Do not be in any doubt of that. I shall see to it.’

Her mouth went dry as alarm gathered apace, along with wild, wanton sensations she had never experienced before that were beginning to fill her body, taking control of her, making her weak and helpless. Recollecting herself, she reminded herself who he was. They had been told it was Guy St Edmond who had issued the death sentence on her beloved brother when he had been taken prisoner at the Battle of Towton in 1461—just one of almost thirty thousand cut down that day. She took a step back, her heart beating sickeningly fast. As she stiffened her shoulders in an effort at least to appear composed, her eyes were intense.

‘You forget yourself, sir. It would be inappropriate for us to meet in the way I believe you are suggesting.’

He flashed her a mocking smile, his tone suddenly taunting. ‘Why? Would it have anything to do with me being a barbarian?’

‘I have told you that I am to be married, sir—yet even had that not been the case,’ she said, unaware that she was plunging lightning-fast into unchartered territory, ‘your reputation has preceded you. People say you are the spawn of Satan and that men and children fear you. For years there have been rumours that you enjoy killing—that it was by your order that my brother died and that you take pleasure in the suffering of others.’ When he didn’t deny it, Jane felt her insides cringe.

‘Since you appear to know so much about me,’ he said in a dangerously soft voice, ‘there is little wonder I am persona non grata in certain company.’

‘You must have luck on your side in war,’ she replied tersely.

Guy’s leisurely perusal swept her as he tried to control his restive mount. ‘I am as lucky in war as I am in love, sweet Jane. I’ve been a long time at the wars. I confess there might be some justification in the rumours you have heard about me. Killing makes barbarians of many brave and honourable men. However,’ he said, his eyes glowing in the warm light as he gave her a lazy smile, his gaze settling on her lips, ‘I doubt that in your case my reaction would vary had I just left the king’s court.’

Jane’s eyes flared at his boldness. Lifting her nose primly in the air, she coolly glanced askance at him. ‘You press yourself beyond the bounds of propriety, sir! As I said, I am to leave the village shortly when I am wed.’

A crooked smile slanted Guy’s lips. He had seen her eyes flash and he approved. It was a sign that she had spirit. Mistress Lovet was clearly prepared to reject his further attentions. Where with another woman he would have felt merely challenged, if he felt anything at all, her rejection, delivered with a sweet but dauntless pride, cut dangerously deep. He rarely encountered occasions when he bothered to exert himself to change a woman’s mind, but a man like Guy St Edmond got what he wanted, and meet with her again he would.

As he leaned forwards there was a flash in his eyes that Jane could not recognise. It was like a sudden hunger, as when a starving man sees a banquet. Bravely she stood her ground. She was neither afraid nor coquettish, but she was still young and there was something about the power and the energy of this man that she didn’t want focused on her.

He stared at her with his head tilted to one side. The corners of his mouth lifted as his eyes left hers and wandered to her feet and back, slowly, slowly appraising, approving, for his smile broadened as he looked back into her eyes. Reaching out, he touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. When he spoke, his voice was solemn and he held her gaze with an intensity of his own.

‘You’re very beautiful,’ he murmured, both entranced and repelled by what he wanted. ‘I remember your father and your mother,’ he said equably. ‘I have known them since I was a boy, in good times and bad. So know this, and never doubt it, sweet Jane.’ He seemed to measure his words carefully. ‘My word is my bond and I pledge it to you. You can rest assured we shall meet—and at my instigation. I promise you.’

Jane stared at him aghast, realising he meant every word he said. For a moment the blue eyes looked savage. That this mighty lord should want her both fascinated and terrified her. He was confusing on every level. Unknown and intriguing, he was a new threat that could not be second-guessed. She knew beyond doubt that she was his prey, that he intended to seduce her, to dishonour her, and nothing was going to deter him from trying—not even the fact that she was about to be betrothed to another.

Guy St Edmond would have no pity on her and he would damn anyone who stood in his way.

She could not let that happen. Time that had stopped for a moment went on again. Unable to bear his taunting gaze, she dropped her eyes and made a curtsy. With a deep laugh and a touch of spurs to his horse’s flesh, Guy turned and rode off in pursuit of his companions.

Not until he was out of sight did Jane turn to Kate, who suddenly found her tongue.

‘Well, I never! The Earl of Sinnington! He has a way about him, doesn’t he?’

‘Oh, yes. He certainly has a way. Come, let us play a game of hoodman blind. I shall wear the blindfold.’

Determined not to let the encounter with Guy St Edmond spoil their game, Jane took the cloth from Alfred’s pocket and tied it around her eyes. Having no wish to go home just yet, the frightening interlude forgotten as they became caught up in the new game, the children giggled and erupted into gales of laughter as they darted this way and that to avoid their sister’s groping hands. Jane laughed delightedly as she pretended she couldn’t locate the giggling children.

Taking a moment to pause and look back, Guy was enchanted by what he saw. Mistress Lovet’s laughter rang out like tinkling chimes. It was a delightful scene—a scene of innocence and perfection that would become etched in memory and emblazoned on his heart.

From her seat on a stout trunk of a fallen tree, Kate watched the innocent play of her charges. Kate had watched Jane grow. As a child she’d been headstrong, pugnacious and daring. Surrounded by family all her life, especially her doting mother, she was an imp of a girl, always courting laughter with her japes.

Kate’s gaze took in the condition of Alfred and Blanche, which brought a frown to her brow. They had set off from home in their best and she was dismayed to see that Alfred had scuffed his shoes and ripped his hose, and that Blanche had leaves and twigs in her hair. They were in for a scolding from their father when they got back to the house, unless she could smuggle them upstairs and clean them up first. Knowing it was time to go home, she rose.

‘Jane, come. It’s time we were getting back. Enough play for today. Your mother stressed that you mustn’t be late.’

Removing her blindfold, Jane laughed at her maid, her beloved Kate, who knew her like no other, who saw to all their needs with affection and devotion. ‘Must we go now, Kate?’

‘Do you forget that soon you are to be betrothed? There is much to be done before the event. Even now your mother is sewing her fingers raw in her effort to complete your gown in time.’

Kate’s words were a harsh reminder to Jane that soon she would have the mundane affairs of the wife of a cloth merchant’s son to fill her days and occupy her mind—soon, but not yet. As hard as she resisted, she could not help wondering what it would be like to be married to a man like Guy St Edmond instead.

Not that she could now seriously entertain the idea of marriage to one other than Richard. She’d committed herself to doing right by her family and was not one to go back on her word, no matter how distasteful she found the consequences. She had been raised to know her place and knew better than to defy the rules of men and make her own destiny. It had come as no surprise to her and with much bitterness that, as a girl, her worth to her family was her marriageability.

Believing in the inherent wisdom of her parents, Jane was optimistic about her future and had not questioned their judgement—until now, when her betrothal was just days away and she had gazed upon the handsome face of Guy St Edmond.

Guy was staring straight ahead into the distance, a faint smile playing about his lips as his eyes embraced his home. He tipped his head in the direction he was staring and in a quiet voice, said, ‘Look, Cedric—the castle.’

‘It’s a fine demesne. You’ve been looking at it as if you’ve not set eyes on it before.’

‘Not in a long time, Cedric. Eight years, at least—and not since my father passed on and my brother was killed at St Albans. I kept meaning to come back, but the king always had urgent need of me elsewhere, which may have been for the best. The battles have made me wealthy, which will ensure my sons will not have to earn their living with muscle and blood as I have done.’

‘So you have done with fighting.’

‘I’d like to think I’ve breached my last castle wall and fought on my last battlefield,’ Guy said, his voice harsh with resolve. ‘Dear God, it will be good to be home at last, to have a soft bed to sleep in every night and good food in my belly.’

Guy drank in the incredible beauty of the wide vale of Cherriot. Twenty miles north of London, it was a fertile valley. The hills on either side were covered with forest and fertile fields, the lower slopes clothed with pear and apple orchards and fruit gardens. His vast demesne contained four villages, two visible to the eye. A lazy river meandered its way passed the picturesque town of Cherriot, with its main street, the stone bridge which spanned the river, and industrial premises along the waterfront: leather tanners, sawmills, manufacturers and the abattoirs. Smoke rose from a thousand chimneys and miniature people meandered through the streets going about their business. On a raised plateau overlooking this pastoral scene stood Sinnington Castle, with its soaring turrets and high, thick walls punctuated with six gracefully rounded towers.

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.

‘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.’




Chapter Three


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.





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