The Devil Claims a Wife. Helen DicksonЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 back. ‘This is neither the time nor the place to take such liberties. Let us go back to the house,’ she pleaded with quiet desperation.
At first Richard was disappointed by her reaction, but then, not to be deterred, he grinned. ‘Oh, such a proud one,’ he murmured, allowing his fingers to brush her cheek, annoyed when she flinched at his touch. ‘And such a beauty … such a beauty. Don’t fight me. There’s nothing to fear.’ He reached out to slip the shawl from her shoulders.
‘No, Richard,’ she retorted, holding on to it with grim determination.
‘It isn’t right to tease a man that way, Jane.’
‘I don’t mean to tease you.’
His eyes darkened. ‘Happen you didn’t. You don’t know the power behind the promise in your eyes. God knows you’re a woman to tempt a man to lose his reason. I want you. You drive me to madness with your wanton beauty.’
‘Wanton? Is that what you think?’ Her pale cheeks instantly flushed scarlet as June poppies with shame. ‘Your impatience does not do you justice, Richard. You must not pre-empt our marriage vows. You must respect my wishes and wait until we are wed.’
Reaching out, he held the point of her chin and made her look at him. ‘Don’t look so worried. I won’t hurt you. There’s nothing to fear. If we go further into the wood, no one will come upon us.’
Although she was inexperienced, his words were too glibly spoken, as though from practised seduction. ‘Please, Richard, let me go. Take me home.’
‘I will. Soon.’ He took his hand from her chin and caressed her burning cheek.
‘Please take you hands of me. What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Examining the goods.’
‘Not until after we’re married.’
‘We’re to have our hand fasting in a day or so, which is as binding as the wedding ceremony.’
‘Then I am sure you can wait a few more days.’
He laughed softly, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded with desire. It was as though her resistance excited him further. Smiling with wicked enticement, he lowered his head to kiss her, which she averted by sharply turning her head. What he intended evoked within her a shuddering revulsion. Far more difficult to suppress, however, was the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach that had much to do with the realisation that, once they were wed, she would have no right to withhold herself from this man.
‘Come, Jane—the ice maiden—the untouchable one—why so coy?’ His voice was low and coercing. There was an evil echo in his soft laugher which escaped her as her mind darted about wildly to find a way to distract him from his amorous intent. ‘I can’t get you out of my mind. The pain of wanting you is driving me insane.’ He moved closer, but as she edged away, he grinned and positioned himself so that she could not get past him.
‘Good God, man,’ a deep voice rang out. ‘The lady said no. Would you force yourself upon her when she is clearly unwilling?’
Richard spun round, furious at the interruption.
Jane raised her head and looked at her rescuer. It was the Earl of Sinnington who came to stand between them, his handsome mouth curled with distaste, his dark hair shining in the sun’s rays.
His eyelids drooped over his vivid blue eyes as they always did when he was angry. He had reasons for getting involved. He was more cynic than idealist, but he could never stand a bully, and it was plain to see that if somebody didn’t help the girl, the man was going to force himself on her. Though not usually given to damsel rescues, Guy had shaken off his momentary daze, more than happy to make an exception and play the hero in this case—and then when he recognised the girl as Jane Lovet, and suspecting whom her assailant might be, rage had justifiably coursed through him.
He looked at her red-faced, sweaty assailant and spoke in a voice of biting calm. ‘Good God, man, can’t you restrain yourself?’
His gaze slid to the girl. He watched as she flicked her long mane of honey-gold hair back from her face, his stare following the shining tendrils that twined over her delicate shoulders. Her eyes sparkled angrily. All his breath froze inside his chest, splintering to ice-slivers of pure pain. How lovely she was! How achingly, tormenting lovely. Her beauty was almost blinding and he had a presentiment that Jane Lovet was one of those rare women for whom wars are fought, for whom men kill themselves and who rarely bring happiness to the men who loved them.
When he thought of what this great lout might have done to her, anger consumed him. Then the look of abject rage on his face gave way to something else, something equally dark and dangerous, but in a very different way. The horrifying stories Jane had heard about him no longer seemed so far-fetched. Guy saw the concern on her pale young face and two enormous eyes stared up at him with passionate gratitude. He struggled to control the fury that had gripped him on seeing this oaf’s attempt to coax her into the woods.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said.
She offered him a smile, thankful that he had been on hand to save her from whatever Richard had had in mind. Her mouth was tinder dry, her heart pounding in her throat. For what seemed to her an infinite amount of time, she remained unable to move. She was glad of the shadow her hair cast over her face because she could take advantage of it and feel less exposed, less readable. When she was finally in control, she adopted an attitude of cool composure.
Guy was touched by her instinctive bid for his protection and admired her dignified recovery from dishevelment. ‘Are you hurt?’ he queried.
The best answer Jane could manage was to shake her head in denial. What a handsome man Guy St Edmond was, she thought—his colouring, his strong build, the spicy smell of him, the deep resonance of his voice that made her bones hum.
Guy turned with increased anger to Aniston, and this time, when he spoke, his voice was more terrible because it was so tautly controlled that it hissed with muted fury. ‘So you are Richard Aniston—the same Aniston who was a squire in Lord Lambert’s household in Wiltshire.’
Richard froze and shifted uneasily, his eyes wary as they surveyed the threatening figure of Guy St Edmond. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I make it my business to know about the people who live in my demesne,’ Guy replied in a low, meaningful voice, trying to keep his fury at bay. ‘It is clear the lady does not share your lust. What did you intend? To drag her into the forest and ravish her?’
Had it been anyone else but the Earl of Sinnington, Richard would have replied with equal anger—as it was he glowered at him, his righteous indignation replaced by smouldering malevolence. If he made an enemy of the earl, he could be made to suffer.
‘The lady is to be my wife,’ he bit back tersely.
‘He’s right,’ Jane confirmed. ‘We are to be married shortly.’
‘Aye,’ Richard said, fists clenched at his sides. ‘Mistress Lovet has pledged her troth to me. I can see nothing wrong with kissing my future wife.’
‘By the lady’s reaction perhaps you should reconsider your situation or learn to treat her with more respect.’ Guy looked again at Jane. ‘Come, I will escort you to your home.’
‘Thank