The Devil Claims a Wife

by Helen Dickson

  ‘I can’t believe I’m going to see inside the castle at last—or that I’m going to live there,’ she remarked. ‘It’s like a fairy tale.’

  ‘Believe it, Jane. It’s no fairy tale. You will find plenty to occupy your time at the castle.’

  She glanced at him, observing how a muscle flexed in his jaw and how his eyes had darkened. A frisson of fear trembled through her and she hastily turned her head towards the castle, lest she start to weaken, but she was no test against the beauty of what was to be her new home.

  On entering the courtyard, Guy dismounted, then came around to help Jane down. With her hand upon his arm, he escorted her into the great hall. It was cool and dark after the bright sunshine. Drawing a long, steadying breath, she paused in the doorway, for the sight that greeted her made her blink in momentary confusion. It was immense, with a soaring, timbered roof and stained-glass windows set high in the walls. Above, a wide gallery, supported by richly carved stone arches, wrapped around on three sides. A smooth stone floor was swept clean of rushes and two big dogs slept on the stones of a hearth so large a man could easily stand in it.

  Around two dozen men were present. Some were standing, drinking ale, some seated and dining at trestle tables. They rose to their feet at the sight of her and pulled off their caps. She glanced at them shyly.

  Guy said not a word, but his eyes flicked over them, and immediately, with knowing smiles on their faces, they began to disperse.

  Jane found the situation amusing and rather touching. ‘Is this how it’s to be—all these men in the castle at all times?’

  ‘I told you there are changes to be made—not only outside, but inside too. There have been no women here for a long time. Not since my mother. You are the first. You will get used to it in time. There’s a lot going on. Knights and squires coming and going. Some to offer service, some riding out to adventures. The castle is large enough to accommodate all of us without getting in each other’s way. I’ll sort something out before the wedding.’

  ‘Please don’t. This large hall is ideal for them to socialise. If I have quarters of my own to escape to, I won’t mind.’

  ‘Escape?’ he remarked, a steely edge to his voice and one dark brow elevated to a lofty angle. ‘I hope you never feel the need to escape me, Jane.’

  ‘Of course not. It was just a figure of speech. Anyway, I like them being around. It’s a relief to me that I’ve been accepted—at least that’s how it appears.’

  ‘You have. They already adore you.’

  ‘But will everyone else?’ she said quietly, her eyes taking on a worried look.

  ‘And what does that look mean?’

  Sighing deeply, she shook her head. ‘Nothing really. You’ll think I’m being foolish.’

  ‘Try me,’ he prompted, staring down at her stiff shoulders. ‘Are you concerned about how you will be received as my wife or the Countess of Sinnington?’

  ‘Both, I suppose. The two go together. I can’t pretend otherwise. I tell myself that I don’t care what people think of me—but I confess I am filled with nervousness and hope that they will accept me. Whatever happens, your friends and the people you know are going to be my people. I’m going to live all my life among them and I do so want them to like me.’

  ‘Try not to worry. Things will work out. You’ll win them over,’ he assured her.

  ‘I hope so,’ she murmured, wishing he’d been more concerned about how she’d fit in. ‘Now, are you going to show me your castle? I am impatient to see where I am to live.’

  ‘It will be my pleasure, my lady. Come this way. We will begin downstairs.’

  From this central point were branched hallways with a labyrinth of spacious rooms, some of them somewhat gloomy and depressing.

  ‘As you see, some of the rooms are less than cosy. You are free to make any changes that you care to make. Expense,’ he added generously, ‘is no object.’

  Her own quarters were somewhat more elaborately furnished—as Guy explained, they were unaltered since his mother’s time. Dropping her cloak on to a chair, she took her time looking around, showing a great interest in all that she saw. There were sitting rooms with a maid’s chamber and her sleeping chamber overlooked the countryside beyond. The bed was large, the coverings in light blue and the walls hung with silks and imported tapestries in gentle shades of cream, blue and gold.

  There was one other doorway. Watching her intently, Guy stood back as she opened it tentatively and went in. It was another bedchamber. His bedchamber. His bed. There could be no doubt of it and it spoke to Jane about the man himself. It was a soldier’s room, bare of all ornament except the essentials.

  The decor was plain. A large bed stood in the farthermost corner of the room, opposite the windows. It was entirely hung with purple velvet, unadorned, save for the gold cords which held back the heavy curtains. The St Edmond coat of arms was emblazoned above the bed-head. There were a few pieces of furniture in the room, whose stone walls were hung with tapestries depicting battles fought. There were two ornately carved chests against the wall and a small table standing between two chairs drawn up near the window, on which a chessboard of amethyst and silver sparkled in the light from the sconces.

  Guy’s voice behind her invaded her thoughts.

  ‘Do the rooms please you?’

  He was standing in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the frame. ‘Please me?’ Jane repeated, distracted by the way his gaze had drifted down her hair and stopped at the neckline of her gown. Instinctively she clutched the fabric together with her fingers. ‘Yes—they please me—very much,’ she replied, trying to take refuge in conversation and scrupulously avoiding looking at the bed. ‘Are they all for me?’

  ‘All except this one.’ A faint mocking smile touched his lips. ‘I would advise you to loosen your grip on your gown before you strangle yourself. I’ve seen men dangling from ropes no tighter than that. Relax, Jane. I am not going to ravish you, tempting as the thought might be. Unlike Aniston, whom I am certain would have ravished you in the woods that day had I not come upon you, I fully intend waiting until our wedding night, where our marriage will be consummated here, in this bed.’

  For some reason, that admission, made as it was with a tinge of regret in his voice, did much to damage Jane’s resistance. The hand she clutched at her throat trembled slightly, in part from an inexplicable excitement that his presence never failed to evoke within her, and, perhaps in similar degrees, from a troubling suspicion that she was weakening to her betrothed’s subtle wiles.

  ‘Does the idea of sharing a bed with me frighten you?’ he asked, taking a step towards her.

  Jane’s mouth went dry. ‘Yes—I mean, isn’t every woman apprehensive about her wedding night?’ she amended quickly. ‘I cannot be at ease with a man who is a virtual stranger to me.’

  ‘We won’t always be strangers.’ He moved even closer, his eyes intense.

  ‘No,’ she whispered. He seemed enormous and very near. His shirt was open at the neck and she could see the corded muscles of his throat and the pulse that was beating furiously there. His powerful body emanated heat, matching the heat that was rising in her cheeks. ‘Just one week …’

  ‘Just one week,’ he repeated. His biting tone carried frustration.

  Raising her eyes, Jane eyed him warily. She had the feeling that something was terribly wrong. He wasn’t merely objecting to the timing of their wedding. ‘You—hardly looked overjoyed at the prospect of becoming a bridegroom. You—don’t want the ceremony to be held yet—is that it?’

  ‘I don’t want it to be held at all,’ he bit back. ‘Devil take it, I don’t want to marry you.’

  Jane stared at him in shock, her eyes wide in her pale face. ‘I don’t want to marry you either,’ she returned with frozen civility. ‘It would have been better if we had never announced our engagement. You should have left me to weather the scandal alone. I might have been branded an outcast in Cherriot, but at least I would have had the prot
ection of my home, where I could weather the slights and slurs, the whispers and the jeers. The last thing I want is a barbarian for a husband.’

  His eyes blazed. ‘Barbarian? Lady,’ he warned, his voice rumbling softly above her like distant thunder, ‘I haven’t begun to act the barbarian. You don’t want to be my wife, I assure you.’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t have agreed.’

  ‘I was saving your reputation.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to.’

  They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Jane broke the tense silence. ‘Please don’t look at me like that. You’re frightening me.’

  He laughed mockingly. ‘That’s right. Cry foul. Plead feminine frailty.’

  ‘Well, I can’t fight you! You’re much too big and stronger than I. I think you should take me home.’

  Guy cursed silently. She was so lovely and demure. He could feel himself responding, a fact that only inflamed his anger. When she would have moved past him he gripped her arm. Slowly, with menacing deliberation, he drew her towards him, but the casual strength exerted in his fingers startled her.

  ‘Please … don’t hurt me.’

  Guy stared down at her. He hadn’t missed the flare of temper in her eyes, or the fright. ‘I am not going to hurt you. I’ve never hurt a woman in my life. But surely you know that as my wife, you will have to accept my attentions.’ He bent closer, his face dark and threatening. Impatiently he released her arm and gripped her chin, his fingers unintentionally brushing her breast. He was instantly aware of the contact. And so was she, he could tell by the furious blush that rose to her cheeks. ‘Shall I show you how I would assert my husbandly rights?’

  Stunned, poised to resist, Jane focused on his lips. His hands came up and framed her face, tilting her lips up as his descended. Of their own volition, her eyelids fell, then his mouth settled on hers, assaulting her lips with a controlled expertise that left her gasping. His tongue plundered her tender recesses, thrusting deeply, shocking her with its arousing warmth. Jane couldn’t have quelled the shudder that passed through her had her life depended on it.

  When Guy finally raised his head, Jane’s breasts were heaving in outrage and something else. Something very much like desire.

  ‘Did you enjoy that, Jane?’ Guy goaded, his palm gliding down her throat to lie against the rapidly beating pulse at its base.

  Still reeling from his devastating kiss, Jane hardly understood the question. Before she had time to recover, he bent again to let his lips hover over hers.

  ‘You will have to get used to this when you’re my wife,’ he warned, his breath warm and dangerous against her mouth. ‘You’ll have to be available to me whenever I want you.’

  Helplessly, Jane stared up at him, two bright spots of colour staining her cheeks.

  His eyes smouldering, Guy stared back at her. ‘Consider it,’ he provoked, his fingers cupping her face. ‘As my wife, you’ll be at my beck and call. I could take you any time I please.’

  If he was trying to destroy her resistance, he was succeeding. His voice had suddenly grown husky with sensuality, gliding through her like a hot knife through butter. He fitted their bodies together from chest to thigh. Feeling the male part of him vital and pulsing against her thighs, Jane tensed with a mingling of dread and wanton longing.

  Her rigidity only encouraged Guy to pursue his course of persuasion. Again he bent his head, only this time his kiss was subtle, his tongue flicking out to touch the corner of her mouth, sending a flame flickering through her to gather in the deep recesses of her body. As his lips trailed down the sensitive skin of her throat, Jane let her eyelids flutter closed.

  ‘I would do this to you, for instance …’ His large hand moved down her throat to cup the soft fullness of her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple, stroking until it stood rigidly erect. Jane was scarcely aware that the sharp gasp came from her own throat. ‘And this …’ Guy murmured. ‘I would take my pleasure of you at my leisure, whenever I wanted.’

  A shudder shook Jane’s body. She had never willingly yielded her lips to any man, but her passion, her desire, sweet and virginal, answered his call. Strong, sure, his lips moved slowly, languorously over hers once more, as if savouring her taste, her texture. There was nothing threatening in the unhurried caress. Indeed, it lured and beguiled her senses, focusing them on his cool lips, which seemed to instinctively know how to soothe the heat rising in hers.

  After the long, lengthy, satisfying kiss, his lips slid from hers to trace the curve of her throat, to heat the blood running just beneath her skin. Jane tipped her head back to give him better access. She had to grasp his shoulders to steady herself. His hands tightening about her waist, he took full advantage. He held her steady as his lips drifted lower, over the ripening swell of her breasts. She sucked in her breath, gasping when the movement pressed her flesh more firmly to his lips.

  As Guy raised his head, his heated mouth found hers once more, his tongue sliding between her lips, which resulted in a kiss so intimate she could barely cope with the shattering sensation.

  Guy held the reins of his desire in a grip of iron and refused to let his demons loose as he deepened the kiss and felt her lips pliable beneath his. He was satisfied that he could reach her—she would be his, in time. He would savour her slowly as she surrendered herself—all the more sweet because the end was never in doubt. She was untouched, unused to the demands of a man’s hands, much less a man’s body. As he claimed the softness of the lips she offered him, he laced the heady sensation into every caress and let it absorb into her senses, to lay dormant, until the next time he touched her and called it forth.

  Distant voices reached them—inwards, he sighed, bringing the kiss to an end.

  Jane opened her eyes and blinked up at him. Her face was delightfully flushed, her lips soft and swollen. Guy couldn’t stop his wolfish grin. Nor could he resist the temptation to brush his lips over hers one last time.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Jane whispered, feeling somehow that the intimacy of moment had diminished his anger.

  ‘Making sure.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘You.’ The curve of his lips deepened. He raised her chin with his finger. ‘I know I can waken all the passion in that lovely, untutored body of yours—’ He broke off suddenly, realising his mistake. He could feel his body throbbing at the image his own words were arousing. He looked at her standing there, wide-eyed and vulnerable and trembling. And lovely. By God, she was lovely. He wanted her with a fierceness that took his breath away. But he couldn’t have her until he married her, he reminded himself as he mentally flayed his thoughts into obedience, trying to regain some semblance of control over his throbbing body.

  ‘Don’t be concerned that my barbaric display will be repeated—at least, not until after the wedding.’

  ‘So—you are going to marry me?’ she whispered. A dozen conflicting emotions warred within her: anger, humiliation, wounded pride, regret. She had truly wanted the opportunity to make this ill-fated marriage work. Her feelings were nebulous, chaotic, yet one stood out clearly: frustrated desire. She hadn’t wanted Guy to stop kissing her.

  ‘We have plighted our troth. I shall honour my vow. You’re very lovely, Jane—more beautiful than any of the bird-witted creatures who preen and saunter about the court.

  She forced a smile. ‘You flatter me.’

  ‘It’s not flattery.’ His face was serious. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his brow and the light from the window softened his angular face. There was an intensity in his eyes which held her own, and when he spoke his voice was low and husky. ‘The gentlemen of the court will be enchanted by you. What chance has a common, hard-bitten warrior with so many elegant lords as rivals?’

  Jane refused to take him seriously. ‘It’s what lies beneath the elegance that counts. And you’re not a common soldier. You’re an earl, which is a high rank indeed.’

  ‘You have an uncommon honesty in such matters—unlike most women
.’ There was a gleam of battle in Jane’s eyes. He gave her a hard look. She might look fragile, but he was beginning to suspect she was as strong as steel inside.

  ‘Many men see independence in a woman as a threat. You could have any woman at court.’

  ‘Because I’m an earl?’

  She chewed her lip in contemplation, for his remark had not been a flippant one. ‘Certainly not for your graciousness or your charm. But a woman would be a fool if she saw only the hero and the glitter of your title,’ she answered with a smile and an inclination of her head. The wariness left his eyes and a warmth kindled in their depths, striking like a burning arrow in her heart.

  He gave her a long, silent look which surprised her, for he was not usually at a loss for words. His expression was unreadable as he glanced beyond her and then back to her face. His stare was admiring. ‘You’re a strange creature, Jane Lovet. Just as I think I’m getting to know you, you say something that surprises me.’

  ‘May the Good Lord spare me from becoming predictable.’

  ‘I doubt you’ll ever be that. That’s your charm,’ he replied, returning to his carefree manner. ‘Now I am reminded that you have not yet eaten. Come—dine with me. It’s your first visit to your new home. I cannot send you away without refreshment.’

  Jane laughed as they retraced their steps. ‘You don’t intend for me to starve?’

  ‘You’re determined to think of me as a barbarian,’ he retorted with a quirk of his lips.

  ‘Many have said so. And then there is my—’

  Her words brought him to a halt. He turned and gave her a dark look. ‘Your brother. And upon that you condemn me.’ His mood when he walked on was once more cold and forbidding.

  She hurried after him. ‘I don’t condemn you, Guy. People can say what they want. I prefer to make up my own mind—but there are some things that will always be between us.’

  ‘That’s true,’ he bit back.

  Jane forced a laugh in an attempt to dispel the seriousness of the moment. ‘Besides, don’t they say that women are drawn to men who have a mystery about them? Now, to begin proving yourself to me—unless it really is your intention to starve me to death—you had better feed me. I am ravenous.’