The Devil Claims a Wife (24 page)

She shared a room high up in the palace with a young lady by the name of Ann Rowland. An attractive, pleasant girl, she was the daughter of an earl. On seeing Jane’s nervousness among the queen’s other ladies—despite being a countess,
some of them considered her an inferior commoner who did not know her place—she took her hand and smiled.

‘Don’t look so worried. You’ll be all right. I’ll take care of you,’ Ann assured her, and Jane’s nerves calmed on hearing the soothing sincerity of her tone. ‘You will find it a little bewildering at first, meeting so many people whom you do not know, but you will soon get used to it.’

Jane was overwhelmed by the strangeness of the court and confused by its many rituals. Her life took on an established pattern as she became caught up in her many duties, which were not as arduous or as challenging as she had expected. With some of the other ladies, as well as general duties such as walking with the queen, serving her refreshments and accompanying her to the chapel, she was one of several ladies responsible for preparing the queen’s clothes and jewels for her many activities, mending and cleaning and embroidering gowns as required.

There was plenty of time for recreation, when they would recite poetry and sing along to the lute played by the Queen’s favourite musician, and even though the weather was turning colder there were trips upon the river and rides into the country. Jane kept a modest demeanour
at all times, and as the days passed, the acceptance she had prayed for happened gradually.

As the Countess of Sinnington she wore only the finest clothes—velvet and silk and gold thread, ermine, sables and jewels which Guy had presented her with. When not in attendance on the queen, she was forever surrounded by adoring swains. Taking advantage of the absence of the formidable Earl of Sinnington, they all vied for her company—dashing young knights young girls’ fantasies were made of. But there was something in their eyes Jane did not trust—their smooth, cocksure smiles made her uneasy. But she laughingly accepted their attentions, seeing no harm in partaking of a little innocent revelry.

The queen and her ladies were returning to the palace after spending the afternoon sailing on the river. It had been a fine, colourful procession, making its way to the tower and back to the palace, each barge containing the queen’s favourite ladies and lords. When it was time to disembark at the palace stairs, all were tired, but in good spirits as they walked through the gardens to the river entrance.

As usual there was great activity in the palace
yard, with horses being made ready. Jane’s gaze settled on a broad-shouldered man tending a great black destrier with flowing mane and tail. The man was bareheaded and there was no mistaking that shock of fair hair. It could only belong to Cedric, her husband’s loyal squire.

With a supreme effort, Jane stood still, but the hand that held her cloak beneath her chin trembled. If Cedric was here, then Guy must be here also.

‘Jane!’

The voice was behind her. She turned slowly. There could be no mistake. It was Guy, his tall, powerfully built figure shrouded in a wine-coloured cloak lined with sable. Why had he not sent her a note informing her that he was to return to Westminster? She looked up at the familiar, almost too-perfect features, set in an expression of sombre calm. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright with her welcome. A ready smile curved her lips, which faded on seeing his grave expression and how his lips were pressed together. She imagined that he was a stranger, someone she had never met before, someone who had never held her in his warm embrace.

‘My lord,’ she murmured.

Considering the turmoil within her, her voice
was curiously calm, her green eyes seeming to swim in some luminous light. Ever since he had left her at Rosemead she had not allowed herself to dwell too long on those nights they had spent together, but now that he was here she started and could not stop. She felt again the almost-pain as her breasts had been crushed against his unyielding chest and the warmth of his breath against her cheek—once more she remembered the urgency in his deep-blue gaze as he lowered his lips to hers. She remembered his endearments spoken during the passionate moments of their lovemaking, and the awful, stabbing ache that grew and grew in her throat was evidence of how much she had missed him.

‘How fortunate that we should encounter each other here, Jane. It’s good to see you again.’

Taking her arm, he drew her aside as the other ladies proceeded to the royal apartments. His gaze had riveted on her the instant she crossed the yard and the sight of her had the devastating impact of a boulder crashing into his chest. Never had she looked so radiantly beautiful or so serene. The three weeks they had been apart, he had missed her more than he thought possible. Every muscle in his body had tightened, straining to endure the torture of
her nearness. But it was a torture he welcomed, an agony he didn’t want to be spared.

In the beginning he had always been the sort of man who, when he made a decision, seldom changed his mind. He devised plans entirely by his usual mode of thought: logical, precise, effective. But so much had changed, his whole life had changed since he had made Jane his wife, and now the old way of thinking didn’t make sense any more. He had not anticipated the effect she would have on him. But despite the nights they had spent in each other’s arms at Rosemead, it pained him to think that she still could not bring herself to trust him entirely.

When he looked at her he gave no hint of his thoughts. His face was harsh in the gathering dusk, his eyes expressionless. ‘I hope you are in good health, Jane.’

‘Yes—yes,’ she replied awkwardly. ‘But you have taken me by surprise. I—I—did not expect to see you here.’ She searched his face for those telltale signs that he had missed her, but saw no evidence of it. ‘But what has brought you to Westminster?’

One of the reasons that had driven Guy back to London were the rumours that his young wife was enjoying an extraordinary popularity among the gentlemen of the court and that
she had no end of admirers. His imagination had run riot, an array of fleeting emotions engulfing him. The spurs of jealousy were sharp and pricked him to a painful depth. Jane was no sophisticated courtier, too innocent to know what was really in those scoundrels’ minds who trailed after her day and night—namely, bedding her the minute his back was turned.

His reply was brusque. ‘I’ve come to see you. We need to talk.’

Her heart was pounding. ‘Now?’

He nodded. Taking her elbow, he escorted her swiftly inside the palace, along a corridor and into a small panelled room overlooking the river.

‘We’ll not be disturbed in here.’ Closing the door behind them, Guy waited for her to be seated in one of two chairs in front of a small desk. He perched his hip on the edge of it, crossed his arms over his chest and, with one well-defined eyebrow jutted sharply upwards he studied her, his leg so close to her own leg that the fabric of his breeches touched hers. His face was hard and implacable.

Jane stared at him, her mind in a complete turmoil as she tried to combat her mounting alarm. ‘Guy? What is it? Is there something wrong?’

With eyes as hard as blue flint, Guy stared down at her beautiful, bewildered face. ‘You might say that. It concerns your behaviour. Rumours have reached me that, when you are not waiting on the queen, your time is spent surrounded by admirers. Apparently not only do they wait on your every whim, but you encourage their attentions.’

Jane gasped, appalled by what he was implying. ‘But that is quite ridiculous.’

‘Is it? At Windsor I have listened as my fellow knights have regaled me about courtly matters, and on more occasions than I am comfortable with, your name has been mentioned. If they are to be believed, it would seem the fact that you are the Countess of Sinnington enables you to do as you please without impunity.’ Guy’s companions would have been dumbfounded to know that, as he languidly listened, he was seething inside. ‘Apparently the entire male population at court seem to be on intimate terms of friendship with my wife.’

Jane stared at him, resisting the urge to laugh, unwilling to antagonise him—she had forgotten in these past quiet days that his eyes could look like that. ‘Dear me! Is that all? And this is what brings you back to Westminster?’

‘What have you to say for yourself,’ he demanded
coldly, displeased that she could treat the matter so lightly.

Her attitude was quick to change. ‘What you mean is how do I defend myself,’ she replied equally as coldly, anger, full-bodied and fortifying, bringing her to her feet. ‘Never in my wildest dreams did I expect you would have the gall to criticise
my
behaviour. Next to the life you have led, I am as innocent as a babe. Of all the loathsome, hypocritical, arrogant …’ she burst out furiously, and then with a superhuman effort she took control of her rampaging ire. Lifting her chin, she looked straight into his enigmatic eyes.

‘Very well! I am guilty—guilty of every grossly exaggerated, meaningless, harmless, innocuous incident I am accused of. But I have done nothing to be ashamed of or to make you ashamed of me. You
cannot
believe the rumours you have heard. If so, it is unworthy of you and insulting to me. Am I to believe that this outrageous slur gives proof that you care for me, or are you merely concerned that I might bring dishonour to your name?’

Guy gazed at the tempestuous beauty standing before him, her eyes flashing like angry jewels, her breasts rising and falling with suppressed fury, and his anger gave way to a reluctant
admiration for her honesty. ‘I will not be cuckolded, Jane.’

The insinuation stung her. She was also hurt at the mere suggestion that she would ever be unfaithful. ‘How dare you think that of me? I would never do that.’

‘You might feel that way now, but a few more days alone at court would be plenty of time for a beautiful young woman to begin to feel neglected and look elsewhere for company.’

Her jaw clenched, her hurt expression hardened to one of angry defiance. ‘That is not true. You cannot believe that of me. If you have married me and cannot trust me, then all our life is a mockery.’

His lips curved in a cynical sneer. ‘Trust? That’s a fine word coming from you.’

Jane had the grace to look contrite, for despite the times they had spent in loving, her trust in him had been shaken that day he had drawn his dagger on Richard.

Her bitter voice spoke to Guy’s heart, but yet he was deafened by the shock he had felt when the rumour had reached him. ‘If you do not welcome their attention, then why do you encourage it?’

She stared at him with scornful green eyes. ‘That is unfair. I do not. I never have. Can I be
blamed for overzealous males who give me no moment of respite? If you don’t want other men to look at me then perhaps you should take me back to your castle and lock me in your deepest dungeon out of sight.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Guy said, rising to his full height. ‘This has gone on long enough. It doesn’t have to be like this. Jane, I am trying—just in case you haven’t noticed.’

‘It would be difficult not to,’ she quipped. ‘I have enough jewels to adorn the necks of every lady at court. I doubt even the queen has anything comparable. But I do thank you for such fine gifts.’

The expression on his face was so hard that her smile faded and she drew back. ‘Thank me? Why? Do you forget that you are the wife of the Earl of Sinnington? In this capacity, you must be the most exquisitely adorned woman at court. Do not consider yourself obliged to thank me.’

Offended, she raised her chin a notch. ‘Then I take it back. But I had hoped they were personal gifts given by a husband to his wife, not family heirlooms to be handed on as tradition dictates.’

He glowered at her. ‘I’m beginning to think
you must enjoy baiting me—you do it better than anyone I know.’

‘I do not bait you. I have never played games with your affections.’

Raking his fingers through his hair in frustration, Guy walked over to a flagon of mulled wine resting near the fire and poured some into a goblet. Turning, he studied her in silence. After a moment he said in a quiet, almost-apologetic tone that startled Jane, ‘No, you haven’t.’ When she remained silent, watching him with wary suspicion, he said with an irritated sigh, ‘Whatever has happened between us in the past that has upset you I apologise for, and if I have wronged you … nothing can change that, but I never meant to hurt you. There must be harmony between us if we are to make our marriage work.’

‘How do you propose we do that when there has been so much distrust between us?’

He shot her a hard look. ‘The distrust was on your side, not mine,’ he was quick to remind her. ‘I need you—we need each other.’

Paling significantly, she pulled back with a frightened look, thinking of her unborn child, the child that remained her secret. ‘Would you leave me, Guy?’

Her words brought him up sharp. When he
thought of life without her, he found himself faced by an abyss so vast, so terrifying, he would literally close his eyes and turn away. He could not imagine a world without her. He could think of no other. ‘No,’ he said, placing the goblet down. ‘I would not do that.’

He gazed down at her. He had seen the loss of innocence, the disillusionment in her eyes over the months he had known her, eyes that had once been candied and trusting and soft when she had looked at him. ‘I barely know you now, Jane,’ he murmured. ‘I’m not sure you know yourself. You’re changing—and I liked the way you were when I first met you in that woodland glade. You were not like anybody I’d ever met. You were utterly unique.’

His words tugged at her heart. ‘I am still the same. I am not changing.’

He caught her face between his hands. ‘Yes, you are,’ he said urgently.

‘But, Guy—’

‘But nothing. Stop punishing me! Can’t you just once give me the benefit of the doubt?’ he retorted fiercely, trying to justify himself, although he didn’t know why he should have to. ‘You cast me in the role of villain—but I am no villain. I don’t deserve this—nor do I have
the time to wait out another of your grudges. What more can I do?’