The Devil Claims a Wife. Helen Dickson

father had been furious when Andrew had shown support for the Lancastrian cause and went off to fight. Indeed, wild-eyed and monstrous, he had shouted curses that had rung to the rafters. Jane always squeezed her eyes tight shut at the memory, wishing to banish it from her mind, but could not.

      Her father’s greatest fear was loss of status and, it seemed, when confronted with that possibility he lost all reason. Despite Jane’s sympathy for him, she could not bring herself to justify his treatment. She did not care if he was a man mad with disappointment and resentment or the master of the house and her person. There was no claim he could make great enough to make this right.

      ‘Your father is only doing what he thinks is best for you,’ her mother said in his defence. ‘You have to marry as your circumstances demand. And Richard does want to marry you so much.’ Sighing despondently, she shook her head and went on, ‘Circumstances have been—difficult of late. Indeed, as you are aware, the business has suffered very badly.’

      Jane knew this was true. No one could do business in a town without belonging to or having the respect of the other members of the guild. Her father’s business and his standing among the other guild members had suffered greatly because of Andrew’s support for King Henry. They all felt the humiliation of his reduced status and it was like balm to her parents’ wounds to have their daughter marrying the son of an important and respected alderman of the guild.

      ‘Far more devastating to your father’s pride was the knowledge that you would have to share the grim consequences of his misfortune,’ her mother went on in an attempt to justify her husband’s strict treatment of his eldest daughter. ‘Everyone would realise that you would not have the great dowry formerly anticipated and the most worthy of the men seeking wives, those best able to provide the standing and security you deserve, would turn their attention elsewhere. Which is why arranging this alliance is just as important to your father as winning a battle. Marriage to Richard is a way in which John Aniston intends to honour him with such an important connection. Your father is hopeful of calming the temper of the guild and redeeming both his status and the respect he rightly deserves. Perhaps then the business will prosper once more.’

      Jane took a deep, tight breath. That she was being sacrificed for her father’s ambition went against the grain, but this she kept to herself. All her life she had hoped she would have the freedom to choose her own husband, but, when it came to it, her father had chosen for her. A good alliance, he called it—but the last person she’d ever have chosen would be Richard. How she wished she could look upon him more favourably. It would be so much easier to welcome this marriage, but he was not her idea of an ideal husband—or lover.

      Averting her eyes, she was unable to ignore the picture that entered her mind of the last time she had seen Richard when he had come to dinner with his parents and other guild members, when her father had put on a lavish meal in an attempt to impress the aldermen. Jane did not think she would ever grow to love Richard, not as a woman should love her husband. Would she be able to pretend to do more than endure? When she looked into his eyes she did not see love, comfort, laughter or companionship—in fact, when he had leered at her obscenely and tried to grab her knee under the table, it seemed his thin veneer of courtesy was easily dissolved by brandy wine.

      Richard was the eldest son of John Aniston, who could refuse his son nothing. With his second son to run his cloth business, Richard had been free to follow his dream and became a squire in a nobleman’s household in Wiltshire, and later doing military service on the field of battle where his skill and bravery brought him acclamation from his superiors. It was his ambition to become a knight—but not all squires became knights.

      There had been some kind of trouble at his master’s house. The true facts were not known, but Richard’s involvement was suspected and he had been dismissed. As a consequence, under great sufferance, Richard had returned home and joined his father and brother in the business. But the manufacture of cloth held no appeal for Richard and his life’s ambition, to become a knight, to ride, hunt, fence and fight in battle, was in no way diminished.

      When Richard’s father had offered a sizeable stipend to be paid for Jane’s hand in marriage to his son, assuring Jane’s father that Richard’s dismissal from his master’s house was a trivial matter and nothing more than a young man’s exuberance, Simon Lovet had considered it a good match and seen no reason why Richard should not be considered as a suitor for Jane.

      When he told his daughter of his decision, Jane knew she would have to give up all hope of marrying someone she loved in order to save the family. Her stomach twisted into sick knots at the thought of committing her body, her entire life, into the hands of a man she instinctively recoiled from, but, miserably resigned to her fate, she lifted her head and bravely met her mother’s gaze.

      ‘Please don’t worry, Mother. Everything will work out for the best, and this painful time will soon be forgotten. Of course I will marry Richard. It is already decided,’ she said, telling herself that the look of pride and relief on her mother’s face made the sacrifice worthwhile.

       Chapter Two

      It was the following day when Jane found herself alone with Richard. He had ridden over with his father. His stubborn beard was subdued with oil, his crinkled red hair smoothed down and close cut, which gave him an aggressive look. His clothing and accessories were stylish and well made of only the finest cloth.

      Jane raised her eyes to his heavy-featured face. Tall and of stocky build, he wasn’t unattractive, in a coarse way. Surly and argumentative, he had a belligerent nature which simmered away beneath the surface. He was always in trouble for slovenliness, laziness and greed. The despair of his parents, he was without self-control, and it was his father’s hope that marriage to Jane was a way of getting someone else to enforce the restraint he could not impose himself.

      Richard was delighted to be marrying Jane and to sit next to her at the dining table. He could stare at her while he ate, at her breasts, and every time she leaned forwards he could peek down the square neckline of her dress. His blood ran hot when he thought of the time not far away when he would command her to take off her clothes and stand naked before him, and he could look at her breasts and fondle them in their magnificent entirety.

      When he suggested they take a walk, Jane was hoping her father would refuse his permission, but to her disappointment he obliged most readily.

      Before Jane could utter any protestations, with the shadow of a sly grin upon his face and carrying himself with an air of arrogant self-assurance, Richard had taken her hand and drawn her outside. In no time at all they had left the house behind. He told her how happy he was that the wedding had been brought forwards and that he was looking forward to their betrothal party, seemingly unaware of how quiet she was.

      Richard talked of his trip to Italy and how she would be cared for in his father’s house. When he returned they would have their own house and he would start up his own enterprise—perhaps one day take over his father’s.

      The sun was hot and much as Jane would have liked to withdraw her hand from his nauseatingly soft, damp grasp, she endured it—as she would have to endure many intimacies in the days ahead. They were walking along a well-worn path in the forest, and when they were no longer within sight of the village Richard stopped and turned to her.

      Uncertain about what was to happen, Jane looked at him, suddenly nervous of him and the solitude of the woods. ‘I think we have walked far enough, Richard. We should go back.’

      ‘Nay, not yet, not when I have you to myself at last.’

      He stared at her with impudent admiration, letting his gaze travel from her eyes to her mouth, then down to the pale swell of her breasts. Instinctively she lifted her shawl to cover her bare neck and shoulders, aware that her cheeks had grown hot beneath his lecherous scrutiny.

      He laughed softly. ‘You are a witch, Jane, for have you not cast a spell on me so I can think of nothing else but you? Will you kiss me, to demonstrate your affection for your future husband?’

      Feeling the heat of his close proximity, she stepped