Lord Greville's Captive. Nicola Cornick
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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