The Devil Claims a Wife. Helen Dickson

trying to reassure her, but he was mistaken if he thought he could do that—as mistaken as he was devious. ‘Out of proportion? You propose that I be your mistress and you have the audacity to say that I have got everything out of proportion!’ She spoke bitterly as the full force of what he expected of her hit her with all its humiliating clarity. ‘It isn’t your reputation that will be slaughtered. It will be mine.’

      The muscles in Guy’s jaw clenched tightly, banishing any trace of softness from his too-handsome face, and in a tone of calm finality he stated, ‘People will think whatever they want to think.’

      ‘Why?’ Jane cried passionately. ‘Is it because you want me, or to ensure that my father knows his place—to affirm your lordship’s power over your serfs? What do you expect of me? Do you suppose that I will fulfil such a bargain? For whatever reason, there is no justifying this. You are a conniving, black-hearted scoundrel. It is dishonourable behaviour and absolutely unacceptable and an outrage. I will not be used in this way. I am disgusted by your monstrous egotism your actions have revealed.’

      It gave Jane a kind of awful joy to hurl the innermost feelings of her heart in wild confusion at the feet of this unfeeling man. If he were to flay her alive, he could not hurt her more than he had done already.

      One sardonic brow lifted over mocking blue eyes. ‘I mean to have you, Jane.’

      ‘How? Will you rape me? For that is the only way you will have me—and I will fight you all the way. You can count on that, my lord. I find it insulting to me and dishonourable of you. I had not expected you to stake your claim on me quite so callously. By your actions, were I to do as you ask, the shame and humiliation heaped not only on me, but Richard and my family also, would be complete. Your arrogance is unbelievable! I don’t know why you are doing this, but whatever the reason it matters little to me whether you are known henceforth as the least honourable lord in Christendom.’

      Guy stepped close—and Jane retreated from those suddenly fierce eyes. ‘It was never my intention to insult you—your future husband is another matter.’

      ‘My feelings for Richard are my concern,’ she said tonelessly. ‘I cannot—no, I will not be your lover or anything else. What you ask of me is a grave sin. I will not shamelessly dishonour Richard or my parents.’

      ‘I believe your father and I could come to an understanding.’

      The bright hue of Jane’s cheeks and the flashing of her eyes gave evidence to the effect of his savage, cutting words. ‘You beast,’ she hissed. ‘Am I a serf to be sold or bartered at will? You are frivolous when there is nothing to be lost for you. You would take me for your own pleasure and afterwards you could just as well flee and leave me big with child.’ She tossed her head angrily. ‘You are just like all men—free to your every whim.’

      ‘Free!’ Guy gave a derisive snort. ‘Nay, Jane. I am not free.’ He leaned close to her and his voice rose as he chafed under the lash of her words. ‘And I would not flee from you. Let me assure you I would not. Do you think I would put so little value on you that I would so lightly regard your state?’

      Jane stared at him. Guy St Edmond was shameless. ‘Is it your desire to see me shamed?’ she asked him.

      ‘I hope that won’t happen.’

      ‘I fear it will. I would have to live with what you would do to me for the rest of my life. I will be a fallen woman. Impure. You deserve no respect for this.’

      ‘Perhaps not. I’m afraid I might find it hard to find peace away from you. You are very well aware of the effect you have on me—surely you recognise desire in a man’s eyes?’

      Jane stared at him, wondering that he could speak like this to her, with such assurance, as if he believed she would not be able to resist him. Vaguely disturbed by his words, she felt a strange emotion swell within her breast. His voice was at once brusque and warm, imperious and tender. She must fight against this fascination he was beginning to exert over her.

      ‘If you still require a mistress, then you must look elsewhere.’

      ‘I have no desire to look elsewhere.’ He took her hand and traced the lines on its palm. He felt her response and smiled. ‘See how easily I touch you,’ he murmured, ‘how recklessly I make you come to me and then tease you—how I pluck your strings, as if you are but a lute.’

      The intimacy of his touch and his voice, the suggestion of playing her like a lute, both excited and shamed her. ‘You jest with me, my lord.’

      He laughed, a robust sound as mighty as he was. ‘Ah, Jane, I never jest on matters as serious as this.

      ‘What an impatient nature you have,’ she remarked. ‘You certainly have an aptitude for spontaneity. But as I said, you must look elsewhere.’

      ‘Why should I do that when I have perfection right here? My dear Jane, you look like something a lonely man far from home would dream about in the small hours of the morning. Had I been able to store such a memory in my heart years ago, it would have surely given me hope in times of need.’

      Jane gave him a scornful look. ‘Your words flow like honey from your lips, my lord, that it makes me wary. I am nothing to you. You do not know me. We are strangers and I have certainly not sought your attention or encouraged you in any way. Why are you doing this?’

      He shrugged. ‘Several reasons—some I do not understand myself. You have attracted my attention. You have excited my compassion for your position, inspired my sympathy for your needs—’

      ‘And for this you want me to become your mistress?’ she remarked with a sneer.

      ‘Aye, Jane, and the fact that you remain in my memory long enough for me to do something about it.’

      ‘Then if this is the way you go about trying to woo a lady, you haven’t a prayer of success.’

      ‘I haven’t?’

      ‘No. Based on what I know of you, I would not be in the least surprised if you were to toss the lady over your shoulder and carry her off, and, if she still refused your amorous intentions, to lay her over your knee and beat her into submission.’

      For some reason her words brought a mocking gleam and a narrowing to his eyes. ‘Have a care what you say, Jane, lest you give me food for thought. I admit that I have erred, having spent so much time in conquest to bring peace. As a boy I saw little of my parents. When I was seven I was sent to live with a noble family in Hertfordshire. I became a page and had to wait on lords and ladies. I also learned to fight. At fourteen I became a squire and at twenty-one a knight. I’ve spent so much of my life in conquest that I have much to learn when it comes to the finer points of wooing a lady. One hasn’t the opportunity to meet very many suitable ladies on the battlefield.’

      ‘Then perhaps you should turn you mind to seeking a wife, my lord, instead of a mistress. A wife would satisfy your baser needs and provide you with heirs.’

      ‘That is what I intend.’

      ‘Isn’t it the practice for nobles to select their wives with an eye to forming political alliances?’

      ‘It is. I am the last of the line. I have no siblings or nephew to leave my inheritance to, which is why I must marry a woman who can give me sons to inherit my demesne and carry on my name. I have to rebuild.’

      ‘And a cloth merchant’s daughter would never do,’ Jane responded sneeringly. ‘It appears to have slipped your mind that my future husband may not take kindly to me being another man’s mistress—however noble that man may be.’

      ‘You don’t want to wed Aniston. I see it in your eyes. Your life is not yours to order, is it, sweet Jane?’

      ‘What woman’s life is?’

      It was true. She lived in a fine house and had the love of her family. But the price she paid was that her life was not hers to order. Her father’s word was law. He commanded. She must obey.