Desire (7 page)

He inclined his head. "That knowledge will greatly increase my appreciation of my bath."

"No doubt." She mentally braced herself. "There was something you wished to discuss with me, sir?"

"Aye. Our marriage."

Clare flinched, but she did not fall off the bench. Under the circumstances, she considered that a great accomplishment. "You are very direct about matters, sir."

He looked mildly surprised. "I see no point in being otherwise."

"Nor do I. Very well, sir, let me be blunt. In spite of your efforts to establish yourself in everyone's eyes as the sole suitor for my hand, I must tell you again that your expectations are unrealistic."

"Nay, madam," Gareth said very quietly. "Tis your expectations that are unrealistic. I read the letter you sent to Lord Thurston. It is obvious you hope to marry a phantom, a man who does not exist. I fear you must settle for something less than perfection."

She lifted her chin. "You think that no man can be found who suits my requirements?"

"I believe that we are both old enough and wise enough to know that marriage is a practical matter. It has nothing to do with the passions that the troubadours make so much of in their foolish ballads."

Clare clasped her hands together very tightly. "Kindly do not condescend to lecture me on the subject of marriage, sir. I am only too well aware that in my case it is a matter of duty, not desire. But in truth, when I composed my recipe for a husband, I did not believe that I was asking for so very much."

"Mayhap you will discover enough good points in me to satisfy you, madam."

Clare blinked. "Do you actually believe that?"

"I would ask you to examine closely what I have to offer. I think that I can meet a goodly portion of your requirements."

She surveyed him from head to toe. "You most definitely do not meet my requirements in the matter of size."

"Concerning my size, as I said earlier, there is little I can do about it, but I assure you I do not generally rely upon it to obtain my ends."

Clare gave a ladylike snort of disbelief.

"Tis true. I prefer to use my wits rather than muscle whenever possible."

"Sir, I shall be frank. I want a man of peace for this isle. Desire has never known violence. I intend to keep things that way. I do not want a husband who thrives on the sport of war."

He looked down at her with an expression of surprise. "I have no love of violence or war."

Clare raised her brows. "Are you going to tell me that you have no interest in either? You, who carry a sword with a terrible name? You, who wear a reputation as a destroyer of murderers and thieves?"

"I did not say I had no interest in such matters. I have, after all, used a warrior's skills to make my way in the world. They are the tools of my trade, that's all."

"A fine point, sir."

"But a valid one. I have grown weary of violence, madam. I seek a quiet, peaceful life."

Clare did not bother to hide her skepticism. "An interesting statement, given your choice of career."

"I did not have much choice in the matter of my career," Gareth said. "Did you?"

"Nay, but that is—"

"Let us go on to your second requirement. You wrote that you desire a man of cheerful countenance and even temperament."

She stared at him, astonished. "You consider yourself a man of cheerful countenance?"

"Nay, I admit that I have been told my countenance is somewhat less than cheerful. But I am most definitely a man of even temperament."

"I do not believe that for a moment, sir."

"I promise you, it is the truth. You may inquire of anyone who knows me. Ask Sir Ulrich. He has been my companion for years. He will tell you that I am the most even-tempered of men. I am not given to fits of rage or foul temper."

Or to mirth and laughter, either, Clare thought as she met his smoky crystal eyes. "Very well, I shall grant that you may be even-tempered in a certain sense, although that was not quite what I had in mind."

"You see? We are making progress here." Gareth reached up to grasp a limb of the apple tree. "Now, then, to continue. Regarding your last requirement, I remind you yet again that I can read."

Clare cast about frantically for a fresh tactic. "Enough, sir. I grant that you meet a small number of my requirements if one interprets them very broadly. But what about your own? Surely there are some specific things you seek in a wife."

"My requirements?" Gareth looked taken back by the question. "My requirements in a wife are simple, madam. I believe that you will satisfy them."

"Because I hold lands and the recipes of a plump perfume business? Think twice before you decide that is sufficient to satisfy you, sir. We live a simple life here on Desire. Quite boring in most respects. You are a man who is no doubt accustomed to the grand entertainments provided in the households of great lords."

"I can do without such entertainments, my lady. They hold no appeal for me."

"You have obviously lived an adventurous, exciting life," Clare persisted. "Will you find contentment in the business of growing flowers and making perfumes?"

"Aye, madam, I will," Gareth said with soft satisfaction.

"Tis hardly a career suited to a knight of your reputation, sir."

"Rest assured that here on Desire I expect to find the things that are most important to me."

Clare lost patience with his reasonableness. "And just what are those things, sir?"

"Lands, a hall of my own, and a woman who can give me a family." Gareth reached down and pulled her to her feet as effortlessly as though she were fashioned of thistledown. "You can provide me with all of those things, lady. That makes you very valuable to me. Do not imagine that I will not protect you well.

And do not think that I will let you slip out of my grasp."

"But—"

Gareth brought his mouth down on hers, silencing her protest.

3

Gareth had not intended to kiss her. It was no doubt too soon. But she looked so tantalizing sitting there in the shade of an overhanging branch that for once he did not stop to contemplate all the possible consequences of his actions.

So he did something he rarely allowed himself to do. He surrendered to impulse. And to the new hunger that had arisen deep within himself.

She would soon be his wife. His desire to learn the taste of her had been clawing silently at his insides since the moment he had plucked her off the convent wall. He was suddenly desperate to know if there was any hope of finding some warmth waiting for him in his marriage bed.

Likely he was a fool to seek the answer to such a question. Marriage was a matter of duty for Clare. She had approached the business in the same manner in which she no doubt concocted her perfumes; she had created an ideal recipe and then attempted to find all the various ingredients combined in one man.

She was bound to be disappointed that her alchemic brew had failed, and bold enough to make that disappointment plain.

Logic told Gareth that in spite of her intriguing title, he could not expect much in the way of passion from the lady of Desire. Nevertheless, some deeply buried part of him yearned to find a welcome here on this flowered isle.

The long years that he and Clare would spend together stretched out ahead for both of them. Gareth hoped those years would not be spent in a cold bed.

She seemed startled but not frightened by his kiss. Gareth was relieved. At least her experience with Nicholas of Seabern had not left her fearful or repulsed by passion.

Mayhap she had been seduced rather than raped by Nicholas.

Mayhap she even had some affection for her neighbor. It was possible that she had enjoyed her four days with Nicholas but had not wanted to marry him for some reason that had nothing to do with passion.

That last thought did not please Gareth.

Clare stood stiffly in his arms at first, her back rigid, her mouth tightly sealed. A strange sense of despair welled up within him. He wondered if the aura of spring that radiated from the lady was a false one. If she had ice in her veins, he was doomed to a wintry bed.

It should not matter, but it did.

By the devil, it mattered.

And then Clare trembled slightly. She made a tiny little sound and her lips softened beneath his own. Gareth discovered what his senses had suspected from the first. Kissing Clare was like kissing the petals of a flower. She tasted fresh and sweet.

There was nectar buried deep within the petals. Gareth found it and drank deeply. His tongue touched her own. She started but did not pull away. Instead she leaned closer, apparently as curious as he to learn what their future held.

Her fingertips glided along the back of his neck beneath his hair. She sighed softly into his mouth. It was a breathless little sigh of budding passion.

Gareth's entire body reacted as though he had downed a potent elixir.

A surging rush of desire swept through him. His hands shook a bit as he tightened his hold on her. Her mouth was soft, ripe, and very inviting.

Gareth had promised himself only the briefest of sips, but the potion in the heart of the blossom proved too intoxicating. The urge to down it all overwhelmed his senses and threatened to destroy his

self-mastery.

He cupped her face in his hands and drew his thumbs along the line of her firm little jaw. She was as finely made as the exquisite tapestries that hung on the walls of her hall.

He let his hands skim the curves of her body. The promise of vibrant life was waiting for him here in the gentle curves of Clare's breasts and in the flare of her hips. An aching need twisted his gut. He flexed his fingers around her waist.

Clare's hands shifted to settle like butterflies on his shoulders. She touched the tip of her tongue very tentatively to his lower lip. Gareth could feel her breasts, round and full as summer fruit, pressing against his chest.

"You will give me fine, strong sons," he said against her mouth.

She drew back with a small frown. "And mayhap a daughter or two." There was a crisp edge on her words that told him he had somehow managed to offend her.

"Aye." He stroked her spine with the sort of soothing movement he would have used on his proud, temperamental war-horse. "Twould suit me well to have a clutch of daughters as well made and as intelligent as their mother."

She looked up at him with perceptive, searching eyes as though trying to peer into his very soul. "I cannot guarantee that you will have children of me, sir, let alone that they will be sons. No woman can make such promises."

"The only guarantee I seek and will most certainly have from you, madam, is a vow that any babes you do give me will be of my blood."

Her gem-green eyes widened, first in shock and then in anger. She took a swift step back, wrenching herself out of his grasp.

"How dare you even imply that I would deceive you in such a fashion," she shot out fiercely.

He studied her, trying to read the truth in her eyes. But he could see only the blazing feminine outrage. He had blundered badly. That much was clear. On the other hand, he thought, mayhap it was time for plain speaking.

"I demand an oath of fealty from the men who serve me and I will ask no less from my wife. I mean to have such matters understood between us."

"I am not one of your liege men, sir. I consider that I have been gravely insulted."

"Insulted? Because I seek to ensure that my wife will be loyal?"

"Aye. You have no right to question my honor. I demand an apology."

"An apology?" Gareth eyed her thoughtfully. "Pray, which of your devoted admirers will you ask to avenge this grave insult if I do not apologize? Young William? Your new minstrel? Or mayhap your marshal, who looks as though he would have trouble lifting a tankard of ale, let alone a sword."

"I do not appreciate your poor jest, sir."

"I never speak in jest."

"I beg leave to doubt that. I think you enjoy a very dangerous notion of amusement. I do not care for it."

Gareth grew bored with the silly game. He had made his point. Clare had been warned. He made it a practice to give only one warning. "Enough of this nonsense. We have other matters to discuss."

"You are correct in that, sir. I shall not forget your insult, but we most certainly do have other matters to discuss." A speculative gleam appeared in Clare's gaze. "I have been considering this situation and have come to some conclusions."

"Have you?"

"Aye. I believe Thurston of Landry is a kind, compassionate lord."

"What in the name of the devil gave you that impression?"

Clare ignored the interruption. "I cannot imagine that he would insist that I marry a knight who is so unchivalrous as to actually question my honor before the wedding."

"Lady Clare—"

"Obviously Lord Thurston did not fully comprehend your true nature before he selected you as one of my suitors. He will be shocked, shocked, to learn that he made a grave mistake."

Gareth knew by the expression in her eyes that she was seriously contemplating the possibility of sidestepping the marriage on such flimsy grounds. The lady would have made an excellent lawyer. He felt an odd tugging sensation around the edge of his mouth. One corner even started to curve upward into

what might very well prove to be a smile. He restrained himself with an effort.

"If you think to delay this enterprise by writing to Thurston to complain of my unchivalrous behavior, I'd advise you not to waste your time. Or Thurston's. He will not thank you for it." Gareth paused to add weight to his next words. "Nor will I."

"So." Clare nodded once, very briskly, as if some inner suspicion had just been confirmed. "Now we have threats from our unchivalrous knight. This business grows darker by the moment." She swung about and began to tread deliberately along the garden path. "The better acquainted you and I become, sir, the more I fear that you simply will not do as a husband."

"How strange." Gareth clasped his hands behind his back and fell into step beside her. He was beginning to enjoy himself. "I have had just the opposite experience. The deeper our acquaintanceship grows, the more certain I am that you will make me a most satisfactory wife."