The Devil Claims a Wife (22 page)

There were times when he wished he had never laid eyes on her, for he could not put the thought of her out of his mind. Yet he did not want to. She sat there in her forest-green gown, the colour a perfect match for her eyes, and he knew in his heart that to put her from his mind
was as impossible as stopping breathing. He wanted her badly. He wanted her as many times as he could have her, and there was a recklessness in his thoughts that was completely alien to his cautious nature.

He watched her being led by the hand by her partner into a quickly forming circle as couples young and old merged together. The steps were simple enough to follow as she began to demonstrate her talents and abilities in time with the music, doing a sprightly jig or a tapping of a toe and heel as she moved around in a never-ending wheel of cavorting dancers, her smiling face evidence of the pleasure she was savouring.

Cursing softly, he summoned a hovering vassal for more wine and adjusted his tunic. This was ridiculous! He was behaving like a lovesick knave with his thoughts centred between his legs.

The hour was late when their majesties left. Those who had been inclined to think the banquet would be a solemn occasion were delighted that it changed into a very lively affair, obviously the sort the king and queen preferred.

Jane had smilingly accepted every invitation to dance, but throughout the festivities she
had felt Guy watching her with a great deal of absorption. Still furious with him, she felt a great relief that he had not asked her to dance. To refuse outright would publicly dishonour him and herself, but her fierce pride ached to do precisely that. However, when he suddenly presented himself in front of her and made a courtly bow, inviting her to join him in a country dance, she found herself reaching out and taking his hand.

For several moments he swept her around the perimeter of the floor in ever-widening circles, leaving her to interweave with the other dancers and then coming back to her, relishing the music and her presence in silence. Then Jane peered up at him, her smile for the benefit of others.

‘This is rather bold of you, Guy, coming out into the midst of everyone to stake your claim on me. Did you want me for something in particular?’ she asked, hoping he would mention her new appointment to the queen, only to find he had other things on his mind.

Arching a brow, he grinned down at her. ‘Only to dance with my wife. I’d hardly call that bold, merely …’ he lifted his head and swept a thoughtful glance at the other dancers who
were eyeing them curiously, then nodded decisively ‘… sensible.’

From beneath a fringe of silky black lashes, Jane shot him a glance that was somewhere between dubious and amused. Such a look made Guy smile in secret contentment. The idea of keeping his wife a bit uncertain as to how
sensible
he intended to be regarding his husbandly prerogatives was certainly not objectionable to him. All the same, he felt a nagging uncertainty when he saw her tilt her head back and meet his gaze with a determination of her own.

‘Jane, my love, I’m not overly jealous when I see other gentlemen dancing with my wife, but I look forward to the time when we can be alone.’ He went on to make soft, sensual suggestions in her ear until Jane flushed scarlet like a new bride. His proposals proved provocative, especially to Guy, who became increasingly dedicated to the idea of enjoying some marital intimacy later.

Jane’s breath caught in her throat at his softly spoken words. A moment later it escaped in a fluttering sigh as she gazed up at him. ‘You say the sweetest things, Guy, but now is not the time and I feel discomfited by the proximity of others. Later—when we have more privacy, there are things I will say to
you—though I must warn you that you will find them far from sweet.’

It was much later when Guy let himself into the bedchamber after carousing with fellow knights long after Jane had gone to bed. He was renowned for being able to hold his drink, but tonight his head was spinning in an alcohol-fuelled haze. Casting a heavy-lidded gaze across the room, he observed the top of his wife’s head above the covers. Supposedly she was fast asleep.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, he stripped down to his black hose and shirt. He was about to remove them when she stirred and sat bolt upright, blinking sleep from her eyes, giving no hint of how she had tossed and turned on coming to bed, too exhausted and tense to sleep until ten minutes earlier when, tired of waiting for her errant husband to come to bed, sleep had finally claimed her.

‘Jane!’ His first word came with some surprise, but he quickly recovered and smiled lopsidedly, his fascinated gaze moving over her. Her shining hair tumbled over her shoulders in a gloriously untidy mass of honey-gold curls, framing a face of heartbreaking beauty. ‘Your pardon, my love. I did not mean to disturb you.’
Ruefully his eyes did a downward sweep of his clothes. ‘As you see, I am preparing myself for bed.’

He stood quite still as she flung back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. In the dim light his eyes gazed into hers. Pride and courage showed in every feature of her face, from her high cheekbones and stubborn little nose to her small chin. And yet her mouth was vulnerable and soft—as soft as the breasts that swelled beneath the bodice of her nightdress, practically begging for his touch. But it was her mouth he wanted to taste first … ‘You look angry, my love. Is anything amiss?’

Jane glowered at him, irate at having her sleep disturbed. ‘Amiss? You might say that.’

‘Alas.’ He sighed as if forlorn. Stepping close to her, he brushed a lock of hair from her face, bending near as he did so, fanning her face with his wine-laden breath which made her wrinkle her nose and turn away her face. ‘I am to be tortured more, then. The merest sight of you is enough to bring me pain.’

‘Control your lust,’ she bridled, brushing away his hand and moving away from him. ‘And I will not be pawed.’

‘Perhaps a small libation, then,’ he suggested
in a cajoling voice. ‘Some wine. Perhaps it will—settle your nerves.’

‘My nerves!’ The words were lashed out. ‘It is your nerve that must be reckoned with. Of that, my lord, you have no short supply—and you have drunk enough wine to float a barge on the river. Where have you been? I have things to say to you that cannot wait until morning.’

‘You abuse me, Jane.’ He shrugged. ‘I simply know my wants and seek them out.’

Guy longed to put his arms about her, to enfold her against his chest and kiss her. But any tender feelings vanished when she began to stride about his chamber like a warrior queen going into battle. Her hair, freed from the conical headdress she had worn earlier, flowed down her back in a golden mass. Her eyes snapped in a green blaze, the golden specks in them clearly visible. Guy thought he had never seen such a glorious creature in his life.

When he attempted to interrupt her in her pacing, she shook off his restraining hand with such violence he fell back, and as her anger mounted his took shape. He wanted this woman more than any other on earth—and all she wanted to do was talk. He knew what about—that after she had vented her spleen about his securing her a position as a lady to the queen
she would throw in some more about his attack on Aniston—but in his opinion, it could wait until later. The arrogance, the pride, the stubborn belief that he was right, which had been bred in him from boyhood, for a man needed these traits in battle, erupted to the surface of his mind.

He leaned his hips against the edge of a table, his arms crossed and from beneath hooded lids he watched her stride up and down, kicking aside her robe at each turn as though she did not know what she was to say or even where to begin. He waited patiently. He didn’t attempt to touch her. He was more surprised by her attitude and even more by her explosive temper. She positively crackled and he was sure if he looked close he would see the sparks.

She stopped her pacing and turned at last, standing with her hands on her hips, her breathing deep and uneven.

‘Aren’t you at least going to ask me why I am so angry?’

‘I was hoping you would cease your pacing and stand still long enough to tell me,’ he said, the fumes of liquor clearing from his mind. He continued to lean against the table, his face as blank as hers, but in his eyes was a snap of
something that said he was not as calm as he appeared.

Jane tossed back her head and he was alarmed to see not only the rage she had managed to subdue somewhat, but what looked like a mixture of contempt and anguish.

‘You really do have an inflated opinion of yourself, don’t you, Guy? How dare you speak of me loosely to the queen? How dare you order my life in this way?’

‘What?’ Guy unfolded his arms and his long, lean, handsome body rose to its full height. ‘May I ask what the queen has to do with this … this temper you are in?’ he asked unwisely.

‘Temper? Temper, is it?’ she flared. ‘Has it not occurred to you what you are doing? You know perfectly well that the queen has requested my presence at court.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘After all, it was you who put the idea into her head, although being the simpleton I am, it did not occur to me at first. But now I do know.’ A muscle began to tick on the side of his jaw, but Jane wasn’t finished and she was too infuriated to care that he looked murderous. ‘How could you do that—without discussing a matter as serious as this with me?’

‘Am I to understand by your anger that you
have objections to being one of the queen’s waiting ladies?’

She stared at him incredulously before throwing her arms into the air in frustration and resuming her pacing. ‘I do not believe this. Of course I have objections! Is there no limit to your interference in my life?’

‘Interference? Is that how you see it? I am your husband, madam, and I have every right to do what I consider best for you.’

‘Best for you, you mean. You should have told me what you intended so that I could have prepared myself, instead of manipulating me.’

‘Prepared yourself? Look at you now. Jane, you would have resisted this had I told you.’

‘So, my lord, you resorted to trickery. To do something so underhand is what I have come to expect of you.’

‘For God’s sake, Jane, what will it take?’

She whirled round, her eyes flashing fire. ‘You think I have a price? A diamond necklace? A bigger castle? Is that how you measure everything between us?’

Guy just stared at her. ‘Well, well,’ he said at length. ‘It seems I’ve found me a little spitfire.’ He leaned forwards so his face was on a level with hers, looking deep into her eyes. ‘Are you so afraid of me, Jane?’

Lowering her eyes, she shook her head, trying to dispel the sudden image that sprung to mind—of the awful violent fury her father had heaped on Andrew when he had learned of his support for the Lancastrians. As a witness to the scene and countless other before, she had kept her face void of expression during their exchange, but she had not forgotten.

‘Of course not,’ she said in answer to Guy’s question, for no matter what wrongs he had perpetrated as a warrior, she knew deep inside that he would never hurt her.

‘I know you’re not,’ he countered softly. ‘That’s one of the reasons I wanted you for my wife.’

She smiled thinly. ‘Aye, my lord, but I believe your desire for an heir was at the forefront of your mind.’

Drawing himself upright, he combed agitated fingers through his thick hair. ‘I do not deny that. To have an heir to carry on after I am gone is important to me. But I care about you, Jane. You know how I feel about you. Dear God, I’ve told you often enough. I want to look after you—see you come to no harm. And don’t look at me like that. God’s teeth, you look at me as though I’d offered you some insult.’

‘Which was precisely what you did when
you suggested this latest mad scheme to the queen. Every time you come near me you do damage. Every time you try to repair what you have done you make it worse. Did it not enter that stubborn head of yours that I might not want to go to court? If tonight’s display of resentment is a sample of what I shall be forced to endure at Whitehall, then I do not want to be a part of it.’

‘It won’t always be so.’ Guy turned furiously away from her, leaning the palms of both hands flat on the top of the table. He was a man who was accustomed to having his own way in most things and, just recently, on making Jane his wife, he had become even more sure that his way was the right, the
only
way of doing things.

‘Stop this, Jane. Why do you fight me so?’

‘You know why,’ she cried. ‘I cannot help myself.’

‘Jane,’ he said, trying to control his impatience. How he wished that day he had stabbed Aniston had never happened. ‘We have been over this. Nothing can change what has happened, so let it be. I am sincere, I beg you to believe that.’

Jane was stirred despite her anger by the truth of his words. He was right—nothing could change what had happened. He stood still, but it
seemed to her that his broad shoulders drooped, as if under the force of some strong feeling.

‘My God, you are not very complimentary to me—or to yourself,’ he said. ‘Can you not see that I am not your enemy? I want nothing more than for us to live in harmony.’

‘And how can we do that with me at court and you at Cherriot Vale?’

‘If it will calm your fears, I will tell you that we will not be apart. I have been summoned to court—to arrange a tourney at Windsor. So that we would not be parted, I suggested to the queen that you become one of her ladies. Was that so very wrong of me?’

Jane whirled away, touched to know that he had been thinking of her after all. ‘That’s the trouble,’ she answered on a less aggressive note. ‘Your meddling has cost me dear. When I decided to cast Richard out of my life, I did so because I wanted to make my own decisions, to be my own woman. Perhaps then I would be allowed to get on with my life—to be my own mistress. I now realise that it was an impossible dream. It is not possible for a married woman to exist without the interference of her husband, who believes he has the power to control her and to order her at his will—that she
must know her place, to be a servile nonentity for the rest of her life.’