The Devil Claims a Wife (13 page)

‘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 protection 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.’

She reached down to retrieve her cloak, which had slipped from the chair on to the floor. His gaze was drawn to the low neckline of her bodice, which displayed a generous view
of her breasts. When he swallowed and his fingers tightened upon the door-latch, she put her hand to cover her décolletage.

‘Devil take it, Jane!’ His lack of composure showed in the depth of his voice. ‘How am I ever going to restrain myself until our wedding with so much temptation before me?’

‘Restraint is good for the soul, my lord,’ she challenged with a wicked smile, dancing out of his way when he would have caught her to him once more.

‘Heathen!’ He gave a hearty laugh and followed her out of the room.

Arriving at the castle where a small contingent of guests had already arrived to celebrate the wedding, Jane, her mother and Kate were shown to her quarters. Jane would remain here until the ceremony, which had been arranged for midday the following day. She would not see Guy until then.

In the strange bed, Jane lay awake for most of the night, listening to voices raised in ribald laughter from the hall below. Around midnight she was aware of someone moving about in the room beyond the connecting door. She heard voices softly spoken, one of them Guy’s. Eventually they fell silent, but lamplight shone
from the crack beneath the door, and she listened, until she fell asleep to the steady sound of a measured tread on the bare floorboards.

The wedding day dawned bright and sunny, with a slight breeze that fluttered the flags on the castle’s turrets. A maid brought Jane bread and meat to sustain her through the long day, but her stomach was fluttering with nerves so badly she couldn’t eat a thing. A great wooden barrel of a bath was rolled in by two serving men, following close behind by maids carrying jug after jug of hot water.