The Devil Claims a Wife. Helen Dickson

you do. Do you know who I am?’

      ‘Everyone in these parts knows who you are.’

      ‘And how can they possibly know that when they have not set eyes on me in almost a decade?’

      Jane stared at him, temporarily speechless, relieved when he dropped his hand and sat up straight in the saddle. His looks were spectacular, but they were not the most important thing about him. Now she could see that his face had an uncompromising ruthlessness and strength which marked him as an adventurer and gambler. In spite of the fact that he was a nobleman, he was a man free from bonds and ties.

      ‘You are Guy St Edmond, the Earl of Sinnington. You are to take up residence at Sinnington Castle. People have talked of nothing else these past weeks.’

      Guy St Edmond cocked a brow and canted his head at an angle as he gazed into her eyes, holding her in his blue depths. Suddenly Jane was the captive of those fathomless eyes and, while those around them went on breathing, Jane felt as if she and Guy St Edmond were alone in the world. Though it was not a feeling she was accustomed to feeling, some feminine instinct deep within her recognised the fiery gleam in his eyes and understood that he felt the same.

      ‘Then since we are to reside close to each other, Mistress Lovet, I shall look forward to seeing you again. I have noted your grace and your beauty and that they are but hints of other talents. What else should I know of you?’

      ‘Sir, I do not know what else I might tell you, except that I am soon to be betrothed and when I am wed I will be leaving the village to take up residence with my husband’s family in the next village.’

      So taken was Guy by her that her pronouncement dealt him a blow of disappointment he was quite unprepared for, though he gave no hint of it. It was because he was watching her so intently that he saw a change in her. He saw the light of exhilaration so suddenly and utterly extinguished and, for a fleeting moment, it was replaced with a look of total desolation. It was the sort of look that could break even the hardest heart and made him wonder what was wrong with the man she was to wed.

      ‘Married! Then I must congratulate your betrothed on an excellent choice of bride,’ he said, his eyes never leaving her face. Her astonishing beauty had struck him at once, but now that he saw her more closely he was impressed by something more, a sort of intrinsic worth which he had not expected to find. However, he did not intend to let her see this and there was more than a suggestion of mockery about his smile when he said, ‘He is a truly fortunate man to have claimed such a wondrously fair bride. I cannot but imagine the ardent swains who will be left languishing over their loss. I will think of a gift for the bride-to-be and have it delivered directly to your father’s house.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Jane said, suddenly shy. ‘That is indeed thoughtful of you, but I—I could not possibly accept …’

      ‘To refuse is to risk offending the earl,’ the rider closest to the earl said jovially. Cedric was a big, brawny squire with a wild thatch of bright blond hair in dire need of a trimming, who looked more like a bear than a man. He looked Jane over from head to foot, his voice and eyes lazily good humoured. ‘When a pretty girl takes his eye, you will find Guy St Edmond a man of the grand gesture,’ he quipped, winking good naturedly at his master. ‘Now we must be on our way, Guy. We have ridden far and my belly is demanding food. I haven’t had a mouthful since I ate that bacon at breakfast.’

      His fellow riders laughed heartily at this, for apparently his appetite was a well-established joke among them.

      ‘The deuce you haven’t, Cedric,’ the earl chided with mock reproach. ‘Come, then, we’ll be on our way.’

      The men wheeled their horses round and as Guy St Edmond’s turned, its forelegs lifted high, he turned his head and looked at Jane once more. Perhaps it was the heat of the day or the sun that filled the glade with its golden light, or the blackbird that continued to sing its delightful song, but in the depths of that gaze she felt time was suspended.

      ‘We will meet again, Jane Lovet. Do not be in any doubt of that. I shall see to it.’

      Her mouth went dry as alarm gathered apace, along with wild, wanton sensations she had never experienced before that were beginning to fill her body, taking control of her, making her weak and helpless. Recollecting herself, she reminded herself who he was. They had been told it was Guy St Edmond who had issued the death sentence on her beloved brother when he had been taken prisoner at the Battle of Towton in 1461—just one of almost thirty thousand cut down that day. She took a step back, her heart beating sickeningly fast. As she stiffened her shoulders in an effort at least to appear composed, her eyes were intense.

      ‘You forget yourself, sir. It would be inappropriate for us to meet in the way I believe you are suggesting.’

      He flashed her a mocking smile, his tone suddenly taunting. ‘Why? Would it have anything to do with me being a barbarian?’

      ‘I have told you that I am to be married, sir—yet even had that not been the case,’ she said, unaware that she was plunging lightning-fast into unchartered territory, ‘your reputation has preceded you. People say you are the spawn of Satan and that men and children fear you. For years there have been rumours that you enjoy killing—that it was by your order that my brother died and that you take pleasure in the suffering of others.’ When he didn’t deny it, Jane felt her insides cringe.

      ‘Since you appear to know so much about me,’ he said in a dangerously soft voice, ‘there is little wonder I am persona non grata in certain company.’

      ‘You must have luck on your side in war,’ she replied tersely.

      Guy’s leisurely perusal swept her as he tried to control his restive mount. ‘I am as lucky in war as I am in love, sweet Jane. I’ve been a long time at the wars. I confess there might be some justification in the rumours you have heard about me. Killing makes barbarians of many brave and honourable men. However,’ he said, his eyes glowing in the warm light as he gave her a lazy smile, his gaze settling on her lips, ‘I doubt that in your case my reaction would vary had I just left the king’s court.’

      Jane’s eyes flared at his boldness. Lifting her nose primly in the air, she coolly glanced askance at him. ‘You press yourself beyond the bounds of propriety, sir! As I said, I am to leave the village shortly when I am wed.’

      A crooked smile slanted Guy’s lips. He had seen her eyes flash and he approved. It was a sign that she had spirit. Mistress Lovet was clearly prepared to reject his further attentions. Where with another woman he would have felt merely challenged, if he felt anything at all, her rejection, delivered with a sweet but dauntless pride, cut dangerously deep. He rarely encountered occasions when he bothered to exert himself to change a woman’s mind, but a man like Guy St Edmond got what he wanted, and meet with her again he would.

      As he leaned forwards there was a flash in his eyes that Jane could not recognise. It was like a sudden hunger, as when a starving man sees a banquet. Bravely she stood her ground. She was neither afraid nor coquettish, but she was still young and there was something about the power and the energy of this man that she didn’t want focused on her.

      He stared at her with his head tilted to one side. The corners of his mouth lifted as his eyes left hers and wandered to her feet and back, slowly, slowly appraising, approving, for his smile broadened as he looked back into her eyes. Reaching out, he touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. When he spoke, his voice was solemn and he held her gaze with an intensity of his own.

      ‘You’re very beautiful,’ he murmured, both entranced and repelled by what he wanted. ‘I remember your father and your mother,’ he said equably. ‘I have known them since I was a boy, in good times and bad. So know this, and never doubt it, sweet Jane.’ He seemed to measure his words carefully. ‘My word is my bond and I pledge it to you. You can rest assured we shall meet—and at my instigation. I promise you.’

      Jane stared at him aghast, realising he meant every word he said. For a moment the blue eyes looked savage. That this mighty lord should want her both fascinated and terrified her. He was confusing on