The Devil Claims a Wife (11 page)

He continued kissing her for several seconds more, as though he had forgotten this was an untried virgin in his arms. But then he broke the kiss, his breathing uneven as he pulled away a little. He trailed kisses up her throat, along her jaw and over her chin and back to her mouth, recapturing her lips. This time they parted at once, all her token resistance gone.

His arm around her relaxed. He bent his head to rest his forehead close to hers. ‘You
see how much power you have over me when you choose to wield it.’

She did see. It awed and frightened her. It excited her—that she, who had convinced herself she had no influence over anything in her life, had power over the very man who was offering her and her family a lifeline. Suddenly she felt as captivating and alluring as Cleopatra.

For all its intensity the kiss was brief. She stood back from him, averting her gaze. ‘I would like to leave. My parents are waiting to speak to you. Our betrothal. When is it to be?’

‘A few days—no longer.’

She left him then, her mind spinning with a welter of thoughts. She did not fool herself into believing that Guy St Edmond would be marrying her for any other reason than necessity and to beget himself an heir. He had told her that he desired her, but she knew he would never love her. He belonged to a breed that did not marry for love. They married for advantage, so that they might be founders of dynasties. Marriage was a business to them. She supposed it didn’t matter who she was as long as she was a good breeder, and the Lovets had proved that—her father was one of twelve and her mother the oldest of nine, and all in good health.

What better testimony did the Earl of Sinnington
need to make her his wife and the mother of the brood of children she would eventually present him with?

Simon Lovet, eminently pleased at the prospect of the powerful Earl of Sinnington becoming his son-in-law, proclaimed the day of their betrothal a cause for celebration. He spoke of good will among the people of Cherriot Vale, and many who had moved on from Jane Lovet’s ill-fated association with Richard Aniston, and eager for fresh gossip, seemed interested in his optimism—although there were many who believed Richard Aniston when, bitter and apparently broken hearted, he had said Jane Lovet had been bedded by the Earl of Sinnington and that the earl was doing the decent thing by marrying her.

Generally, people responded in various ways—some saying that the family had leaped above themselves—but all showed astonishment. They could not believe that the powerful Earl of Sinnington should take for a wife a dowerless daughter of a cloth merchant, and the cloth merchant of such little account following his son’s support of King Henry.

Particularly it was being asked by the wives how a young girl was going to manage such a
large household and servants and adapt herself to living at court with all the noble lords and ladies. And that same question was being asked in the castle itself—though not too loudly. For a servant to be heard speaking out against the future wife of the earl would be certain to result in immediate dismissal.

Yet it was not so long ago that Simon Lovet had sung a different tune. Did the marriage of his daughter to the Earl of Sinnington so easily satisfy his sense of honour? Would that Jane could be so easily reconciled to her fate. She would only be a brood mare to Guy St Edmond. That would be her foremost duty—bear his children as fast as she could and see that they were all sons.

Jane’s one regret was that John Aniston and his wife had taken the cancellation of their betrothal very badly. Master John had not left the house since, and his wife, who had felt a blessed relief that Richard had found himself a woman to wed, had taken to her bed. Jane was full of remorse when she heard this, for she could not help but feel responsible. But there was nothing to be done.

Preparations for the betrothal were under way. There was to be a small celebration with a few close relatives and friends at the Lovet
house, whereas the wedding ceremony was to be held at Sinnington Castle one month after the betrothal. The house was in upheaval, the smell of suckling pig and venison permeating every room.

As loath as she had been to marry Richard, Jane dreaded this union with Guy, even though she knew she would want for nothing. There was no denying or escaping the fact that he could make her feel things she ought not to want to feel, and feel them far too easily to be safe or to protect her heart from him.

She did not know what her life would be like married to him and tried valiantly to think of something to look forward to. Her parents wouldn’t be far away, she reminded herself. And some day, with the little knowledge she had of Guy’s lustful nature, she’d have children to love and care for.

Closing her eyes, she drew a painful breath, feeling the tension slowly lessen. A child to hold would be something to look forward to. She’d cling to that thought, she decided.

It was a beautiful day and the whole town was in festive mood.

Jane’s mother and Kate dressed her and exclaimed how pretty she looked. Blanche, alternately
giggling and gasping, was more excited than Jane as she watched her big sister put on her gown. It was green velvet with a fitted bodice and a slashed skirt that parted at the front to reveal a shining pale-gold undergown. A matching velvet mantle was draped over her shoulders and held in place with a gold chain inset with emeralds and an embroidered heavy belt of gold was slung low over her slim hips. Her hair hung loose, drawn from her face by a slender gold filigree headband.

‘You are so beautiful. You look perfect,’ her mother declared as her fingers fumbled with the small buttons and loops that had to be tugged together on her sleeves.

Jane stared into the polished mirror on the wall and saw her own face stiffen for a moment. A girl’s betrothal should be a bittersweet time, but she found no pleasure in these compliments, until her mind conjured up those blue eyes whose inscrutable calm she had disturbed. Her eyes softened when she noted her mother’s eyes were red. She had been crying—tears of happiness and pride. Jane hugged her mother close.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘A picture.’

Dressed in a lovely gown of dove-grey satin and a gauzy white wimple completely swathing
her neck and part of her face, and a silvery veil trailing down her shoulders, her mother held her at arm’s length, noting her ashen face. ‘And you are nervous, I can tell. Which is quite normal. I have no doubt that the earl is just as nervous as you are.’

Jane didn’t think so. Guy’s life wouldn’t change. He would continue to live in his castle and enjoy his country pleasures and his occasional journey to court. For her, everything would change. Nothing would ever be the same again. This was the day when she would cross into adulthood, when she would climb a precipice so steep and so treacherous that if she stumbled she would be sent tumbling into the abyss.

The sudden lift to Jane’s heart when Guy arrived with Cedric and four of his fellow knights by his side was quickly followed by nervous dread. For reasons she could not name, seeing him gave rise to thoughts she’d been valiantly struggling to avoid. He was most splendidly attired in scarlet and gold and jewels. He lit up the hall that was tense with expectancy like a beacon of light.

He smiled graciously, his gaze sweeping over the small party of guests, who, after much
curtsying and bowing, now stood silently respectful, eager to feast their eyes on the Earl of Sinnington, who, as it turned out, was such a devastatingly handsome, devastatingly masculine male.

‘We’re deeply honoured, my lord,’ Simon Lovet said, his face pink with gratification. He was so puffed up with pride he was unable to contain his pleasure.

After greetings and compliments all round, now the moment had arrived for her to plight her troth, Jane felt ill prepared. Though she had agreed to marry Guy St Edmond, she had thought little of what marriage to such a powerful man and living at Sinnington Castle entailed. But as she became snared by Guy’s gaze, his eyes drawing her in, all other thoughts fled her mind.

Sensing her trepidation, Guy reached out a hand to her, a large hand, his long fingers encrusted with bejewelled gold rings. ‘Jane? Are you willing to plight your troth to me?’

With the eyes of everyone upon her, she took his hand and let him draw her towards where the priest stood, waiting to hear them make their solemn promises. Just as she was about to reply, the sun came out and shone through the open glass windows. For a moment she forgot
what she had to say. There was a circle of light on the stone floor beneath her feet—a good omen, surely, she hoped.

‘Yes,’ she answered at last. ‘I do.’

Everyone in the room took a deep breath and the tension receded.

‘And I pledge my troth to you.’ He squeezed her hand. His expression softened a little. ‘Give me your hand.’

The fingers on her left hand were stiff and he had to prise them open. The warm grasp sent unwanted shivers up her arm. With his free hand he took a jewelled box from his doublet and flicked it open. A magnificent gold ring encrusted with emeralds rested on a bed of white velvet. It was the most beautiful ring Jane had ever seen. Unaware that she was holding her breath, she watched as he took it out and placed it on her third finger. Perhaps it was all that the ring implied or the combination of gentleness and solemnity in Guy’s deep-blue eyes as they gazed into hers, but whatever the cause, Jane’s heart rate doubled and her eyes misted with tears.

‘It belonged to my paternal grandmother,’ he commented as if she had asked. ‘I want you, Jane. Not as a countess and not as a mistress.
I want you just as a woman—as
my
woman. As my wife.’

Jane was strangely warmed, but not completely assured by the endearment, believing his statement was directed at her family and guests. And yet she was caught for a moment by a yearning so strong and physical she found it hard to draw breath. How easy it would be to let appearances slip into reality. Guy was handsome, the most handsome man she had ever seen. Even if none of the gentler emotions such as love were present, they could still have a marriage. Who could predict what miracles the future might bring?

‘And now,’ he said, ‘a kiss to seal the bargain.’

Favouring Jane with that slow, careful scrutiny that made her feel devoured, he drew her into his arms and kissed her slowly, deliberately, on the mouth. Fire shot through her and, as she gasped, her lips opened under his. His lips moved gently, but insistently against hers, as if he were determined to remember the moment. In that instant she felt the hardness of his body under the scarlet surcoat and melting sweetness flower through her bones, depriving her of strength. Guy, feeling her yield, tightened
his arms to support her. Then he released her and laughed.

‘Your daughter’s lips taste as sweet as honey, Master Lovet.’ He was impatient for the day when he could drink his fill. ‘She will make a beautiful bride.’ He laughed lightly to hide a perplexing emotion he had felt as Jane’s lips opened under his. Not desire, nor surprise that her body should be so supple, so tender, so soft, though all these thoughts had come to him, but a strange new impulse to protect—to possess for himself all she had to offer.

‘This is an excellent day’s work,’ Simon said. ‘To a happy and rewarding marriage. May God grant the two of you a blessed and fruitful life together, and may your firstborn be a boy.’

He clapped his hands for wine to be poured to toast the match and their firstborn son. Jane lifted the goblet to her lips, but she did not drink. She would not hope for a boy and give her betrothed more confidence in himself. She noticed, however, that he drank the wine down quite easily and she eyed him distastefully. His taunting smile seared her and brought a rush of angry colour to her cheeks. He was laughing cruelly at her and her pride was stung. Jutting her chin defiantly, she glared at him before looking away.

Lowering his head to hers, his warm breath fanning her cheek, seeming to enjoy her distress, he murmured, ‘We do not fool each other, do we, Jane? Neither of us wanted or asked for this marriage, but now we have plighted our troth we are stuck with it. You cannot escape me. I have a very possessive nature. In a short time you will be mine in every way, so smile and let everyone see how happy you are.’

W
ith little left to be proud of, Jane sat beside her betrothed while family and friends clustered round and offered enthusiastic congratulations and drank to their health. Despite the conversation between Jane and Guy being limited and stilted, it was a happy, lively meal with banter and descriptions of the latest tournaments and feasts at court.

When everyone had eaten their fill and the minstrels began to play, Guy stood up and held his hand out to Jane.

‘May I have this dance, Jane?’

She hesitated, her eye catching three of her pretty female cousins gaping like astonished fish at the handsome earl. Having no wish to dance with him and knowing he was only asking
her because it was expected of them and to needle her ire, keeping her voice low, she said, ‘You honour me with your request, but would you not enjoy dancing with another choice of partner?’

‘Since I know no other lady here but you, Jane, and your mother,’ he said equally as quiet, ‘I asked you hoping beyond reason your kind heart would take pity on a clumsy soldier and keep him from appearing a total oaf amongst the locals.’

Jane scowled at him. How cleverly he’d turned the tables. Guy St Edmond might not have a talent for dancing, as he claimed, but his persuasive skills were of the highest order. ‘How clever you are,’ she murmured. ‘Clearly you have been born to be a diplomat.’ When he held out his hand to her once more, he left her with no choice but to take it. Everyone faded into the background. All she was aware of was her betrothed’s eyes holding hers until she felt her own cheeks flush beneath his regard. She was conscious of an unwilling excitement. In fact, much to her annoyance, she was very much aware of everything about him.

The moment she took his hand, Guy was leading her into the quickly forming circle as couples young and old merged together. To her
surprise, caught up in the music and merriment, Jane found she was laughing—a laugh of pure animal joy as, floating like thistledown, her feet matched his in the simple steps of the dance. They separated as the pattern of the dance required, coming together and joining hands repeatedly. Her face glowed as she danced and romped her way through first one dance and then another—a lively farandole, doing a sprightly jig or a tapping of a toe and heel. Guy watched as she skipped round the room in spirals, joined him to pass under arches of hands and weaving in and out, all the while their eyes darting to each other.