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‘No. I will not call off the assault.’
He saw the shock and horror on her face and realised that she had been certain, convinced, that he would do as she asked. She straightened up, her eyes riveted on his face.
‘Do you not understand, my lord?’ she demanded. ‘Sir Henry is too weak to move—too weak to fight! When you attack he will be killed in the battle or, worse, Malvoisier will take him and string him up from the battlements! He is a hostage and Malvoisier will use him to barter for his freedom—or to buy yours! Whichever way you look at it your brother is a dead man!’
‘And do you care about that?’ Simon asked harshly.
‘Of course I care!’ Anne snapped. ‘Your father is my godfather, Lord Greville. Henry is as dear to me as—’ She broke off and finished quietly, ‘as dear to me as a brother.’
‘And yet you thought to use him to buy the safety of Grafton,’ Simon said bitterly, ‘and I cannot surrender to such blackmail.’
Anne stared at him, her eyes full of anger and disbelief. ‘What, you will do nothing to help him?’ she challenged. ‘I do believe you have run mad. You would sacrifice your brother for nothing!’ Her voice warmed into fury. ‘Why not tell me the truth, my lord? You will not withdraw your troops because you have committed to make the attack on Grafton and you cannot be seen to weaken. Henry counts for nothing! It is all about your reputation in front of your men. That is all that you care for!’
They stared at one another for a long moment, dark eyes locked with dark.
‘Even if I called off the attack, I could not free Henry,’ Simon said. He tried to ignore her taunts and the anger they stirred in him. ‘You are correct—he is Malvoisier’s hostage. The only way I can save him is through taking the Manor.’
Anne grabbed her cloak. ‘Then I am wasting my time here. Henry said you would listen to reason. Clearly he overestimates you.’
Simon reached the door in two strides and blocked her path. He leaned his shoulders against the panels and folded his arms. Anne had come to a halt before him and was waiting impatiently for him to let her pass. He did not move.
‘Of course it is the case that you have given me the means to counteract General Malvoisier’s plan,’ he said quietly.
Anne looked up at him and he saw the bewilderment in her eyes.
‘What do you mean?’ she said.
Simon gestured about the room. ‘It is true that Malvoisier holds Henry, but you are here now, in my power. A hostage for a hostage, a life for a life.’ He held her gaze. ‘I will use you to free Henry, Lady Anne. You are my prisoner now.’
Chapter Two
The disbelief and disillusionment hit Anne with a shattering joint blow. For a moment all she could do was remember Henry Greville’s words:
‘My brother is an honourable man. He will thank you for your intervention. He will treat you with all respect…’
And she had believed him. She had remembered the Simon Greville that she had known all those years ago and she had believed without question. How unutterably foolish she had been. In her desire to do the right thing, to tell Simon Greville the truth about his brother and save both Henry and her own people, she had walked directly into peril and into the hands of a man at least as dangerous and ruthless as Gerard Malvoisier himself. She had risked all for justice and this was how Simon Greville, her former suitor, had repaid her.
She spun around so quickly that, on the table beside her, the wine cup trembled and almost fell.
‘You will not do it!’ Her voice broke, betraying her desperation. ‘I trusted you! I came here in good faith to negotiate a truce.’
She saw Simon’s expression harden. ‘As I said before, it is best to trust no one.’
There was silence for a brief second. Anne looked at him. Clearly, the memories she cherished of their previous acquaintance had been misleading. In her mind’s eyes she could still recall that long, hot summer at Grafton four years ago when Simon Greville had courted her—and kissed her with such passion and tenderness that she had tumbled into love with him. In all the time that had followed she had never met another man who had measured up to her memory of him. Consciously or unconsciously she had judged all men by his standard—and found them wanting. And now it seemed that it was her judgement that had been lacking. Simon Greville had no honour and no integrity and would use her for his own ends.
Physically he looked much the same. He had filled out over the intervening years so that now he was not only tall but broadly built as well. He was very dark, with the watchful gaze and the chiselled, patrician looks of a plaster church saint. Unlike his brother, he seldom smiled. But Henry Greville was little more than a charming boy. Simon was a man and altogether more formidable. He was powerful, cold, calculating—and merciless. She should have seen it. She should have run when she had the chance. Instead she had been lulled into a false sense of security by believing Henry and trusting her memories of his brother. She had put her safety in this man’s hands. She felt betrayed. All her disgust, with herself as well as him, rose to the surface.
‘I thought you a man of honour,’ she said. ‘It seems I was wrong.’
Simon was leaning against the door, arms folded, with a carelessness that she despised. It seemed so contemptuous. She could not see any evidence in his face that her accusation had stung him at all.
‘Perhaps there is no room for honour in war,’ he said. ‘You have played into my hands by coming here, madam. It would be foolish of me not to take the advantages I am given.’
Anne made a sound of disgust. ‘I thought you different.’ She clenched her fists by her sides. ‘Sir Henry swore that you were. It seems I made a mistake to trust him.’
Simon straightened up and faced her across the room. His presence was intimidating, but Anne was determined not to be afraid.
‘You thought that I was different from whom?’ he enquired softly. ‘Malvoisier?’
‘Perhaps. Different from most men—’ Anne caught herself up on the betraying words, biting her lip. She was not going to pour out all her hatred of Malvoisier here and now to this man who had proved himself her enemy. She had detested Gerard Malvoisier from the first moment he had come to Grafton, with his bullying cruelty and his way of riding roughshod over people to get what he desired. Their political alliance had held together by the merest thread. She had rejected his proposal of marriage and had been incensed that he had put about the rumour that they were betrothed. She looked at Simon, who was watching her with that dark, impassive gaze. He was not like Malvoisier—he did not bluster or shout or threaten—but he was twice as dangerous.
‘I mistook you,’ she finished starkly. ‘You are just like all the rest.’
She saw something like anger flare in Simon’s eyes, but when he spoke his tone was still even.
‘I cannot afford to let such an advantage slip,’ he said. ‘Surely you understand? This way I may exchange you for Henry and no one is hurt.’
Anne felt the hope surge sharply within her. ‘You mean that once the hostages are exchanged, you will call off the assault on the Manor?’
‘No.’ Simon shook his head. ‘I will exchange your freedom for that of my brother, but Grafton must still fall to Parliament.’
Anne’s heart plummeted into her shoes. ‘So all you mean to do is buy your brother’s life with mine and then attack my home and my people anyway!’ She put her hands to her cheeks in a gesture of despair. ‘Your callousness disgusts me, Lord Greville! You once promised my father to give your protection to this land!’
This time she heard the answering spurt of rage in Simon’s voice. ‘I regret that you see matters that way, madam,’ he said. ‘This is war—’
Anne’s voice was contemptuous. ‘Always you seek to justify your actions with that phrase!’ She braced her hands on the back of one of the chairs. Simon’s sword belt still rested there. She could feel the leather smooth beneath her fingers.
‘Let us hope that Malvoisier thinks this bargain worth the making,’ she said. ‘I am not certain that he will.’
‘Of course he will,’ Simon said. ‘You are the King’s god-daughter.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Anne said, and she could not keep the bitterness from her tone. ‘He will save me for that reason if no other.’
There was silence. The fire hissed. The room felt very hot now and heavy with the turbulent emotions between them. Anne suddenly flung her arms wide in fury, encompassing the table and its scattering of parchment. She was trying to keep her anger mute and under control, but it was difficult when she wanted to rail at him in her frustration and misery.
‘Send to him, then!’ she said. ‘Why do you delay? Tell Malvoisier that you hold me hostage. My father is dying and I would rather be by his side than trapped here with you.’
Simon drained his second glass of wine and placed the goblet carefully on the table. His precision maddened Anne when she felt so close to losing control.
‘I do not intend to negotiate with Malvoisier now,’ he said. ‘I will wait until the morning, when he drags Henry up on to the battlements to parley. Then I shall bring you out and strike a bargain with him.’
Anne whitened. ‘Damn you! In that time my father may die, and you keep me from him.’ She started to walk towards the door again. ‘Well, if you wish to restrain me you must do so by force. I’ll not go quietly with your plans!’
Simon moved between her and the door. He spoke quietly. ‘Do not resist me, Lady Anne. If you make a scene before my men, it will end badly for you. They may have let you in here, but they will not let you out against my orders.’
Anne flashed him a look of challenge. ‘Lay a hand on me, Lord Greville, and I shall bite you.’
‘That would be a mistake.’
He moved before Anne could respond, grabbing her by the upper arms, dragging her against his body and holding her close with an arm about her waist. His grip was fierce and unrelenting. She tried to twist out of his arms, but he held her cruelly tight.
‘Yield to me,’ he said in her ear.
‘Never!’ Anne tried to kick him. ‘You may go to the devil!’
Simon laughed. ‘No doubt I shall do so in my own time. Now yield to me.’
In answer Anne turned her head and fastened her teeth on one of the hands that held her. She knew it pained him and felt a violent rush of satisfaction. Simon swore savagely under his breath and wound his hand into her silky black hair, ruthlessly pulling her head back. It did not hurt, but it rendered her incapable of further struggle without causing herself pain.
‘Little wildcat!’ he said. ‘Surrender to me.’
Anne hesitated. She knew there was nothing she could do. She had to concede even though she hated to do it.
She relaxed a little and felt his grip ease in her hair. Her mind was whirling. She could not surrender to him. She surrendered to no one. There had to be another way…
‘If I promise not to run,’ she said, ‘you must release me so that we may talk.’
Simon’s fingers slid through the strands of her hair as he let her go. It made her feel strange, almost light-headed. His touch was feather-soft now, gentle, caressing. She found that she wanted to turn into his embrace now rather than escape it. She remembered the hardness of his body against hers and the breath of his lips against her ear with the oddest quiver of feeling.
His hands slid down her arms to hold her very lightly. He kept his gaze locked with hers.
‘I agree,’ he said. ‘So promise me you will not try to flee.’
Anne hesitated. The touch of his hands and the steadiness of his gaze were confusing her. For a fleeting moment she remembered the desire she had seen in his eyes earlier in the evening. That had aroused a response in her that she had never expected to feel, did not want to feel. It reminded her too much of the pangs of first love she had felt when she was seventeen. Knowing that they had no future, she had tried to tell herself that her feelings for Simon Greville had been a childish infatuation. She had never quite succeeded in believing it.
‘Well?’ Simon prompted.
Anne inclined her head slightly, crushing down the treacherous ripple of feeling that coursed through her body.
‘Very well. I promise not to run.’
She expected him to let her go at once, but Simon also hesitated, still holding her close to him even though his grip was gentle now. Anne could felt the warmth emanating from his hands and his body, and with it a sensation of reassurance and strength. She found that she wanted to press closer to him again and draw on his strength to comfort her. She started to tremble, both at the perfidiousness of her own body and the wayward nature of her thoughts. This was Simon Greville, her enemy, the man who held her hostage. She could show him no weakness.
But it was too late. The expression in his eyes changed and he pulled her to him, not hastily but slowly, inexorably, until her mouth was about an inch away from his. And then he stopped. She could see the stubble darkening his skin where he had not shaved and the shadow cast by his eyelashes against the line of his cheek.
Anne’s throat dried. ‘Release me,’ she whispered. ‘I do not trust you.’
‘I know.’ Simon’s firm mouth curved into a smile. ‘You are wise to trust no one.’
He let her go slowly and Anne stepped back. Her heart was pounding hard and her legs trembled. She caught the back of a chair to steady herself and prayed that Simon believed her weakness stemmed from fear rather than susceptibility to his touch. She raised her eyes to meet his mocking gaze.
‘What would you like to talk about?’ he asked. His gaze raked her, as it had done earlier. ‘You know that you have nothing to negotiate with.’ He paused. ‘At the least, I assume you do not intend to try and bribe me with your body…’
Anne gave him a scornful look. Her fingers tightened on the chair back. There, beneath her hand was the sword belt. A plan was forming in her head. She prayed that she could carry it off. She had to keep him talking, distract him…
‘You are contemptible,’ she said.
‘And you are helpless.’ He looked rather amused.
Anne glared. ‘That is not correct, of course,’ she said. ‘I have plenty of advantages. I know the lie of the land of Grafton, I know its weaknesses and I know Malvoisier’s plans. I could even give you safe passage into the Manor were I minded to do so.’
Simon’s gaze had narrowed on her face. ‘But you would not do that,’ he said. ‘You would never betray your cause.’
‘No,’ Anne agreed bitterly. ‘Everything I have done tonight has been to save Grafton. I do not sell my honour cheap.’
Simon smiled ironically. ‘Touchе, my lady.’ He made a slight gesture. ‘But since you are not prepared to sell either your principles or yourself, you have nothing with which to barter.’
‘I do not intend to barter,’ Anne said. ‘I intend to make you let me go.’
Simon folded his arms. He was smiling. It was all the extra incentive Anne needed.
‘How will you achieve that?’ he enquired.
In response Anne grabbed the hilt of the sword. It came free of the scabbard with a satisfying hiss of metal. She spun around. Simon had already started to move towards her, but he was too late. As he took the final step she brought the tip of the blade up to rest against his throat like a lover’s caress. Simon stopped abruptly.
‘Like this,’ Anne said breathlessly.
The smile in Simon’s eyes deepened into something like admiration.
‘I cannot believe,’ he said, ‘that I was so careless.’
‘Well,’ Anne said. ‘You were.’
‘Please be careful,’ Simon said. ‘I sharpened the sword myself, this very night. It is very dangerous.’
‘Good,’ Anne said. She knew that he was using her own tactics now, keeping her talking to try and distract her. It was hideously dangerous to point a sword at a trained soldier, particularly one as experienced as Simon Greville. One second’s loss of concentration and he would disarm her. He would be quick and ruthless. She kept her gaze fixed on the sword’s point and did not look into his eyes.
‘I have your life to barter with now, Lord Greville,’ she said. ‘Mine for yours. It is a fair exchange. Step away from the door. Slowly.’
Simon did as she ordered. Anne started to edge towards the door, still keeping the murderous weapon levelled at him. She did not want to have to kill him, but she did know exactly how to use it. The Earl of Grafton had never had a son, but he had certainly taught his daughter how to defend herself.
‘Put up the blade,’ Simon said. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I will let you go.’
Anne laughed. ‘You will let me go? You think that I believe you, after all that you have done? Nor do I need your permission to leave, my lord. I am the one holding the sword.’
Simon nodded. ‘I acknowledge that. But you would not get five yards without my men capturing you. I demand parley. Put up the sword and declare a truce.’
Anne met his eyes briefly. It was a mistake. There was such a look of ruthless determination in them that she almost quailed. She dropped her gaze once more to the shining blade.
‘Malvoisier did not respect the rules of parley,’ she said. ‘Why should you—or I?’
Simon did not move. ‘You are not Malvoisier and neither am I, Lady Anne. Put up the sword and talk to me.’
There were rules of engagement. He knew it. She knew it. The fact that Gerard Malvoisier had no honour should not, Anne knew, bring her down to his level. She did not want to stay a moment longer and speak with Simon Greville. She did not trust him. But she had a code of honour and he had appealed to it.
‘If I agree to parley and then you betray me,’ she said, ‘I will kill you.’
Simon nodded. He was not smiling now, but the respect was still in his eyes. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is understood.’
