The Devil Claims a Wife. Helen Dickson

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

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