Lord Greville's Captive. Nicola Cornick

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СКАЧАТЬ Anne flung back the hood of her cloak and confronted Simon. She was wearing a deep blue gown beneath a fur-trimmed mantle and looked every inch the noble-born lady she was. Her face was pale, her hair inky black about her shoulders. She looked like a creature of ice and fire from a fairy tale.

      Simon felt his heart lurch, as though all the air had been punched from his lungs. He had not seen Anne Grafton in four years, for their betrothal had been broken almost as soon as it had been made. He heard Standish gasp as though he, too, was having difficulty remembering to breathe properly. Every man who besieged Grafton had heard the tales of the legendary beauty of the lady of the manor, but even so the impact of her appearance was quite literally enough to take a man’s breath away.

      It was not a comfortable beauty. Anne Grafton was small and slender, but for all that she had an aristocratic presence that could command a room. Her face was heart-shaped, with high cheekbones and winged black brows. There was no softness in it at all. Her eyes were very dark, only a couple of shades lighter than the ebony hair that spilled over the edge of her hood, and in them there was a fierce light that reminded Simon of a wild cat. This was no cosy armful to warm a winter’s night.

      At the beginning of the siege Simon had heard his soldiers joke about taming the wild beauty of the Lady of Grafton. They had said it softly, knowing he would stamp down hard on any ribaldry or licentiousness in the ranks and knowing too that the lady had once been promised to him. Now he watched those same boastful soldiers shift and shuffle, held spellbound by Anne’s beauty but utterly unnerved by her defiant pride. Neither of the guards made any attempt to restrain her and Standish looked as though he would rather extract his own teeth than be obliged to confront her. Simon almost smiled. The Anne Grafton that he had known had been an unawakened girl of seventeen. This woman was a very different matter—and an enemy to respect.

      And then he saw Anne press her gloved hands together to quell their shaking. He realised with a shock that she was trembling, and with nervousness, not with the cold. That flash of vulnerability in her made him hesitate a second too long. He had been about to turn her away without a word. Now it was too late.

      ‘Madam.’ He sketched a curt bow. ‘I regret that my guards saw fit to let you pass. It was ill considered of you to venture here tonight.’

      Anne looked at him. Her gaze was bright and appraising and beneath it Simon felt very aware of himself—and of her. No woman had ever looked at him like that before. They had looked on him with pleasure and with lust and with calculation, but never with this cool assessment, soldier to soldier. He could feel her weighing his valour. He drew himself up a little straighter and met her gaze directly.

      Four years had changed her beyond measure; changed everything between them beyond recall. The Civil War had taken all that was sweet and precious and new between them and had destroyed it along with the lives and hopes of thousands of others. When he had gone to Grafton all those years ago, it had been at his father’s bidding and to make a dynastic match. He had not expected to be attracted to his potential bride. At twenty-five he had fancied himself a man of experience and he had been downright disconcerted to find Anne Grafton so irresistibly alluring. He had desired her. He had been more than half in love with her. And then war had followed so swiftly. He had taken the Parliament’s side and the King had summarily ordered the betrothal broken. And later, he had affianced Anne to Gerard Malvoisier.

      It had been a long time ago, but it might only have been months, not years, so fresh it was in his mind. And now Anne Grafton was here and the unawakened fire he had sensed in her all those years ago when he had kissed her was blazing, powerful enough to burn a man down. He wondered what had awoken that spirit, then thought bitterly that during the intervening years of civil war, loss and sorrow had touched every man, woman and child in the kingdom. No one retained their innocence any longer in the face of such bitterness. Everyone had to fight and struggle to survive.

      Anne came closer to him now and tilted her chin up so that she could meet his eyes. Her head only reached to his shoulder. He was over six foot tall. Yet it did not feel as though there was any disparity between them. She spoke to him as equal to equal.

      ‘Good evening, Lord Greville,’ she said. ‘I am here because I want to speak with you.’

      Her voice was soft, but it held an undertone of iron. She did not beg or even ask for his attention. She demanded it imperiously. And yet when Simon looked more closely at her face he could see the lines of fatigue and strain about her eyes. It was desperation that drove her on rather than defiance or anger. She was very close to breaking.

      Simon hardened his heart to the treacherous sympathy he was feeling for her. He did not want to speak with her at all. He wished that they had never met before and that his thoughts were not shadowed by memories of the girl she had once been. It was far too late for that, too late for regrets, too late for compassion. They supported opposing sides now. He knew that she was going to beg for the lives of the innocent inhabitants of Grafton Manor and he could not afford to hear such stories. Within every siege there were the helpless victims, the servants, the people caught up in the struggle who had no choice. It was brutal, but war was indiscriminate. His reputation was built on fairness and justice, but he was also known as a ruthless soldier. And he was not about to compromise now.

      He rubbed a hand across his forehead. He looked at the two guards, who had skidded to a halt inside the door, clearly unwilling to lay violent hands on a lady. Now they stood ill at ease, hesitating and awaiting his orders. Guy Standish hovered in the background, looking equally uncomfortable.

      ‘I will not speak to you,’ Simon said. He dragged his gaze from hers and turned to the guards. ‘Layton, Carter, escort the Lady Anne out.’

      No one moved. The soldiers looked agonised and scuffed at the cobbled floor with their boots. A faint smile touched Anne Grafton’s lips.

      ‘Your men know that the only way they can get rid of me is to pick me up bodily and throw me out,’ she said drily. ‘They seem strangely reluctant to do so.’

      ‘Fortunately I suffer from no such scruples,’ Simon said harshly. ‘If you do not leave of your own free will, madam, I shall eject you personally. And believe me, I will have no difficulty in picking you up and throwing you out into the snow.’

      He saw the flare of anger in her eyes at his bluntness.

      ‘Such discourtesy,’ she said sweetly. ‘You have been too long a soldier, Lord Greville. You forget your manners.’

      Simon inclined his head in ironic acknowledgement. ‘This is a war, madam, and you are an enemy with whom I do not wish to have parley. Leave, before I show as little respect for the laws of truce as General Malvoisier did.’

      He took a step closer to her so that he was within touching distance. At such close quarters he could see the pale sheen of her skin in the firelight and the telltale pulse that beat frantically in the hollow of her throat, betraying her nervousness. Her hair smelled of cold snow and the faint perfume of jasmine. Her eyes, very wide and dark, were fixed on his face. He put his hand out and took hold of her arm, intending to hustle her out of the door. And then he stopped.

      It had been a mistake to move so near to her and even more of one actually to touch her. Simon’s senses tightened and he was suddenly sharply aware of her. He remembered in exquisite detail exactly how it had felt to hold her in his arms all those years ago. He felt a powerful need to pull her to him and slake his misery and his exhaustion against the softness of her skin. He needed her sweetness to cleanse all the brutality and wretchedness of war. He needed to forget it all. He longed to. He ached to go back to the way they had once been, and lose himself in her embrace.

      The overpowering intimacy СКАЧАТЬ