The Devil Claims a Wife

‘Do you know who I am?’

‘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.’

‘Then since we are to reside close to each other, Mistress Lovet, I shall look forward to seeing you again. What else should I know of you?’

‘I am to be married, sir—yet even had that not been the case 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.’ Guy’s leisurely perusal swept her as he tried to control his restive mount. ‘You should know I am as lucky in war as I am in love, sweet Jane.’

I thoroughly enjoyed creating THE DEVIL CLAIMS A WIFE, which is my first Medieval novel. I do like to vary the periods I write about and, inspired after reading several books about the Medieval period, I couldn’t resist trying something different. Creating the story was challenging and demanding, but most of all enjoyable.

I hope you enjoy reading THE DEVIL CLAIMS A WIFE.

HELEN DICKSON
was born and lives in South Yorkshire, with her retired farm manager husband. Having moved out of the busy farmhouse where she raised their two sons, she has more time to indulge in her favourite pastimes. She enjoys being outdoors, travelling, reading and music. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure. It was a love of history that drove her to writing historical fiction.

Previous novels by Helen Dickson:

THE DEFIANT DEBUTANTE

ROGUE’S WIDOW, GENTLEMAN’S WIFE

TRAITOR OR TEMPTRESS

WICKED PLEASURES

(part of
Christmas By Candlelight
)

A SCOUNDREL OF CONSEQUENCE

FORBIDDEN LORD

SCANDALOUS SECRET, DEFIANT BRIDE

FROM GOVERNESS TO SOCIETY BRIDE

MISTRESS BELOW DECK

THE BRIDE WORE SCANDAL

DESTITUTE ON HIS DOORSTEP

SEDUCING MISS LOCKWOOD

MARRYING MISS MONKTON

DIAMONDS, DECEPTION AND THE DEBUTANTE

BEAUTY IN BREECHES

MISS CAMERON’S FALL FROM GRACE

THE HOUSEMAID’S SCANDALOUS SECRET
*

WHEN MARRYING A DUKE …

*
Castonbury Park
Regency mini-series

And in Mills & Boon
^®
Historical
Undone!
eBooks:

ONE RECKLESS NIGHT

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

T
hey said Guy St Edmond was the spawn of Satan. They said he was as tall as a tree and that he could slay a man with a single stroke of his sword. There were darker tales still in his shadowed past, rumours that Guy St Edmond was the despoiler of innocents, that he ate the flesh of his victims and that he devoured everything in his path.

Battle after battle he led his troops to victory after victory. The king and hardened warriors granted him their respect and deferred to his opinions, and by the time Jane was seventeen years old he was already a legend in Cherriot Vale. It was said he had never lost so much as a skirmish. His name was a password for victory
and it was rumoured he only had to appear on the horizon for the enemy to turn and flee.

The mere mention of his name made little children cling to their mothers in terror and hide their faces in their skirts. But as far as Jane knew, no one had ever dared confront him to find out if all of this was fact or legend.

Yes, she thought as, with a thundering heart and almost suffocating with fear, she peeked through the foliage to look at the demonic spectre who was one of the young King Edward of York’s most favoured and most formidable knights, Guy St Edmond might well be all those things, but no one had said how handsome he was, that he was a devastatingly masculine male, with a certain air about him that could not help but intrigue and attract every female eye. How could he be all those terrible things? Was that what the wars had done to him, or just his nature?

Power, danger and bold vitality emanated from every line of his towering physique as he rode ahead of a small entourage of knights and squires. Some wore his red-and-black livery. They had evidently been riding hard for some considerable distance for their clothes were dusty and their faces streaked with dirt and sweat. With a jingle of harness and a noise like
thunder, the stately chargers came at a gallop in a swirling cloud of dust and earth, looking unreal in the small clearing—yet Guy St Edmond had the God-given right to be there, for was he not the Earl of Sinnington, the lord of Sinnington Castle, to have and to enjoy the lands and revenues to be reaped from his domain?

There were ten horsemen in all, but Jane felt no inclination to move her gaze past the imposing man astride the black steed prancing in the lead. It was huge, a warhorse, high, wide and broad in proportion, with a hint of wildness in its eyes. It had its ears back, its head well up, its smooth-flowing gait a perfect complement to the proud, majestic bearing of his rider. His leather boots were silver-spurred and he wore a sword and a long dagger attached to his belt.

The earl rode with a purpose that was impressive. Tall and powerful, he was of an age perhaps a score and ten. But it wasn’t only the height and the impressive display of bulging muscle and sinew that caused him to stand out from the other horsemen. There was about him an air of confidence and intelligent command that he wore as easily as he did his sword. Everything about him spoke of control. Or so it seemed to Jane, who could hardly judge for
certain when she’d never seen him before or heard him utter a word.

As if sensing he was being watched, Guy St Edmond snatched at the reins. Wrenched to standstill, his horse stood up on its hind legs, the following riders wheeling and coming to a jarring stop, metal clanking against metal as they cursed at the sudden halt. They were close to where Jane was hiding. The sun sent shafts of light through the high trees and softly crept through the clearing. At closer range she noted Guy St Edmond’s hair was unruly and very dark, almost black, curling round his neck. His skin on his hawk-like face was bronzed above the black beard.

Displaying a coat of arms on his tabard, he was clad in a leather tunic and leggings. It showed his strong limbs and thick torso. He turned in the saddle to speak to his men. He laughed as they shared a joke. It was a deep rich sound that made Jane think of clotted cream. She shuddered. It would seem the formidable Earl of Sinnington had a sense of humour. As he turned back to the light, she made out the fascinating tone of his eyes—could they really be so blue and so bright?

Suddenly the voices of the children she was hiding from as they played their game of hide-and-seek
could be heard in the woodland behind her. Ears attuned, his body alert, Guy St Edmond’s smile turned from open humour to something more guarded. His thick black brows lowered and his eyes narrowed as they searched for the source of the disturbance. Jane could see he was used to weighing up new situations quickly.

Suddenly the unsuspecting children burst into the open, accompanied by Jane’s maid, Kate. Confronted by these awesome, terrifying strangers, the children abandoned their game and clung to Kate, whose protective arms went round them and held them close. Blanche, Jane’s ten-year-old sister, stared in mute terror, while Alfred, Jane’s thirteen-year-old brother, simply stood and looked with wide-eyed awe, craning his neck up the better to see the man on the horse.

Half in fear and half in concern for her siblings, emerging from the shadows, Jane moved to stand a few paces away from the cowering children, tall and graceful with her long-legged stride. Her skirts of myrtle green moulded her fine limbs, flowing out above her brown leather slippers in soft, yielding folds. The waist gathered beneath the rounded young breasts was caught with dark green ribbons emphasising
her shape. Then she raised her eyes, indifferent to all, in morbid curiosity desirous only to look at the man bearing the manner of a warrior about him.

As the daughter of Simon Lovet, an English cloth merchant, and younger sister of Andrew Lovet, who had been killed in battle fighting for the Lancastrian cause and the rightful King Henry and his wife, Guy St Edmond would look on her as a traitor. But Jane, having grown heartily tired of strife, was beyond loyalty to anyone but her family and herself. She stood and waited for him to speak, while terror screamed through every pore of her quaking body.

With the clean, heady scent of spring clover and newly budded flowers in the air, and a blackbird happily singing its heart out, Guy watched the girl watching him as he approached and saw her every thought reflected in her eyes—interest, uncertainty, suspicion, dread—but no fear, thank God.

Unbeknown to him, it was not false bravado that made Jane show no fear. She felt it deep in her bones, but she was a Lovet and a Lovet never admitted fear of any man. She had heard that time after time from her father and her
dead brother, and she had adopted their creed for her own.

As he halted his horse in front of her, all the breath suddenly seemed to have left him as he was struck by a jolt of unexpected lust. She stood for a moment in silence, contemplating him. The girl was as ravishing a creature as one could imagine—youth and springtime incarnate.

She had affected him, Jane knew that. Her apprehension increased. Here she was, being stared at by a magnetic, thoroughly compelling man, a man whose direct and confident gaze made her heart beat faster—though that, in small part, might have been due to dread.

For a long moment he gazed right into her eyes with a look that blazed, heating them until they glowed like molten coals in his bearded face. They were hard and inscrutable, as if she knew a secret that he had to know, as if they had known each other for ever. She was unsettled by his look, but she could not look away. A modest woman would lower her eyes, but she stood tall, astonished at herself, staring like an ignorant peasant. She found she could not take her eyes from his, eyes which were burning her where she stood.

Guy was not quite sure what to make of
it. Either she had not heard, isolated in Cherriot Vale, that he was the Devil incarnate, or was too starved of male company to care. He found himself strangely moved by her candid look. Fancifully, he thought her like a beautiful half-wild creature of this emerald glade—or a wondrous rare forest animal that did not know enough of the world to be afraid.

She was totally innocent
.

Though they were at least twelve paces apart, Jane felt his gaze penetrate her heart. Nudging his horse forwards, he circled her, his smile set in a grim line across his darkly handsome face, examining her like a horse at the fair.

Guy’s eyes roved approvingly over her lithe figure, stopping at the swelling breasts and tiny waist, then strayed back to the soft tresses of honey-gold hair that escaped the confines of her green velvet cap. Her nose was upturned, a nose bespeaking curiosity and impishness. Her lips were full, parted and hinted of secret, of a hidden sensuality as her tongue flicked nervously over them. The chin was not weak, not strong, argumentative perhaps, but not intransigent. Her skin was creamy white and glowing. Her eyes green, into which one might wish to dive, to be willingly lost for ever, glowed with
an inner light and hinted of the woman hidden beneath the child-like innocence of her face.

She was the loveliest creature his eyes had seen in many a day.