It had been a long time ago, but it might only have been months, not years, so fresh it was in his mind. And now Anne Grafton was here and the unawakened fire he had sensed in her all those years ago when he had kissed her was blazing, powerful enough to burn a man down. He wondered what had awoken that spirit, then thought bitterly that during the intervening years of civil war, loss and sorrow had touched every man, woman and child in the kingdom. No one retained their innocence any longer in the face of such bitterness. Everyone had to fight and struggle to survive.
Anne came closer to him now and tilted her chin up so that she could meet his eyes. Her head only reached to his shoulder. He was over six foot tall. Yet it did not feel as though there was any disparity between them. She spoke to him as equal to equal.
‘Good evening, Lord Greville,’ she said. ‘I am here because I want to speak with you.’
Her voice was soft, but it held an undertone of iron. She did not beg or even ask for his attention. She demanded it imperiously. And yet when Simon looked more closely at her face he could see the lines of fatigue and strain about her eyes. It was desperation that drove her on rather than defiance or anger. She was very close to breaking.
Simon hardened his heart to the treacherous sympathy he was feeling for her. He did not want to speak with her at all. He wished that they had never met before and that his thoughts were not shadowed by memories of the girl she had once been. It was far too late for that, too late for regrets, too late for compassion. They supported opposing sides now. He knew that she was going to beg for the lives of the innocent inhabitants of Grafton Manor and he could not afford to hear such stories. Within every siege there were the helpless victims, the servants, the people caught up in the struggle who had no choice. It was brutal, but war was indiscriminate. His reputation was built on fairness and justice, but he was also known as a ruthless soldier. And he was not about to compromise now.
He rubbed a hand across his forehead. He looked at the two guards, who had skidded to a halt inside the door, clearly unwilling to lay violent hands on a lady. Now they stood ill at ease, hesitating and awaiting his orders. Guy Standish hovered in the background, looking equally uncomfortable.
‘I will not speak to you,’ Simon said. He dragged his gaze from hers and turned to the guards. ‘Layton, Carter, escort the Lady Anne out.’
No one moved. The soldiers looked agonised and scuffed at the cobbled floor with their boots. A faint smile touched Anne Grafton’s lips.
‘Your men know that the only way they can get rid of me is to pick me up bodily and throw me out,’ she said drily. ‘They seem strangely reluctant to do so.’
‘Fortunately I suffer from no such scruples,’ Simon said harshly. ‘If you do not leave of your own free will, madam, I shall eject you personally. And believe me, I will have no difficulty in picking you up and throwing you out into the snow.’
He saw the flare of anger in her eyes at his bluntness.
‘Such discourtesy,’ she said sweetly. ‘You have been too long a soldier, Lord Greville. You forget your manners.’
Simon inclined his head in ironic acknowledgement. ‘This is a war, madam, and you are an enemy with whom I do not wish to have parley. Leave, before I show as little respect for the laws of truce as General Malvoisier did.’
He took a step closer to her so that he was within touching distance. At such close quarters he could see the pale sheen of her skin in the firelight and the telltale pulse that beat frantically in the hollow of her throat, betraying her nervousness. Her hair smelled of cold snow and the faint perfume of jasmine. Her eyes, very wide and dark, were fixed on his face. He put his hand out and took hold of her arm, intending to hustle her out of the door. And then he stopped.
It had been a mistake to move so near to her and even more of one actually to touch her. Simon’s senses tightened and he was suddenly sharply aware of her. He remembered in exquisite detail exactly how it had felt to hold her in his arms all those years ago. He felt a powerful need to pull her to him and slake his misery and his exhaustion against the softness of her skin. He needed her sweetness to cleanse all the brutality and wretchedness of war. He needed to forget it all. He longed to. He ached to go back to the way they had once been, and lose himself in her embrace.
The overpowering intimacy of the feeling held him still, shocked, for a moment. He saw a tiny frown appear between Anne’s brows and then her eyes searched his face and the need in him communicated itself to her. Her gaze widened and the colour swept up under her skin. Simon knew he was looking at her with a soldier’s eyes and with the hungry desire of a man who had been on campaign too long. He had been without a woman for months and he wanted her. Yet there was something beyond mere lust here. The truly shocking thing was the deep feelings and memories that stirred when he touched her. They threatened to make him forget his purpose. She was a Royalist. She was his enemy.
He let go of her abruptly, furious with himself and with her.
‘Go. Now.’ His voice was rough. ‘Captain Standish will escort you back to Grafton.’
He saw Guy Standish’s reluctance to take the commission although the captain did not demur. He even stepped forward—slowly—to indicate his willingness to obey the order.
But Anne was shaking her head. She had moved a little away from him and Simon could sense that she wanted to be gone and that it was only sheer determination that kept her there. He was starting to feel frustrated as well as angry now. This was folly. Was Anne Grafton simple-minded, that she did not understand the risk she was running in coming alone to the enemy camp? His soldiers were not as rough as some—his discipline was too good for that—but there was such a thing as looking for trouble. He could not guarantee her safety. Damn it, he needed to protect her from himself as much as from his men.
He took a step towards her, intending to throw her out without further ado, but she spoke quickly, staying him.
‘You do not understand,’ she said. ‘I have urgent news, my lord. I need to talk to you—’
Simon’s temper snapped. ‘There can be nothing so urgent that I wish to hear it,’ he said. ‘I know you are only here to beg for mercy for Grafton and I have no wish to hear your pleas.’ He allowed his gaze to travel over her with insolent thoroughness. ‘Take this reply back to Gerard Malvoisier, my lady. Tell him that I am not interested in talking terms with him, no matter how…temptingly…they are packaged, and if he sees fit to send you to parley with the enemy I cannot promise you will return with your virtue, let alone your life, intact.’
Anne’s eyes narrowed with disdain at the insult. Her chin came up.
‘I am not accustomed to being spoken to like a camp follower,’ she said coldly, ‘nor do I come from General Malvoisier. I wish to speak with you on a personal matter.’ Her gaze lingered on Guy Standish and the guards. ‘Alone, if you please, my lord.’
Simon strolled across to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. He was shaking with a mixture of fury and frustration. He spoke with his back turned to her.
‘Have you then come to plead for your own life rather than for your betrothed and the people of Grafton, Lady Anne?’ he said. ‘Your self-interest is enlightening.’
‘I have not come to plead at all.’ There was cold dislike in Anne’s voice now. She took a deep, deliberate breath. ‘I have come to strike a bargain with you. I am here to tell you of your brother, my lord.’
Simon heard Guy Standish gasp. The guards shifted, looking at him, their gazes flickering away swiftly as they saw the way his own expression had hardened into stone. His men had all been with him when Henry’s