Название: The Devil Claims a Wife
Автор: Helen Dickson
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
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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?’
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