My Lady's Guardian (24 page)

The dance separated them, and Margery watched Gareth move from woman to woman. She had never thought she'd be this angry, this disappointed with her brothers. She had so looked forward to their visit; now they were judging her friendship with Gareth, and finding it lacking.

Each of her brothers had lived his own life, and made some really foolish mistakes. So had she. But she'd be damned if she would always suffer for it.

When Gareth returned to her, Margery whispered, "You are still coming to my chamber tonight."

His eyes widened. "But your brothers—"

"I do not care. I feel safe with you there, and I will not let them change my decisions."

"I think you'll regret this," he said quietly.

"I don't regret anything I do with you. And if you try to refuse me again, guard, I will kiss you right now before all of them."

He smiled. "Then I would have to fight them."

"Just say you'll come."

His gaze dropped to her mouth and his smile died. "I will not disappoint you."

When Gareth slipped into her bedchamber at midnight, Margery was waiting for him. Before he could say anything, she pressed him against the wall and pulled his head down for a kiss. She'd wanted this all evening. When she should have been scrutinizing potential husbands, she'd only dreamed about having his arms around her. She tasted the inside of his mouth with her tongue and he groaned.

"Margery," he whispered her name against her lips, "this is dangerous."

She pressed kisses to his cheek and chin and neck. "I know. Isn't it fun?"

He lifted his head and held her away. "But as I left the corridor, I thought I heard—"

There was a brisk knock at the door. She stared at it, wide-eyed.

"—your brothers," Gareth whispered.

She nodded frantically toward the window, then followed him to make sure he couldn't be seen behind the draperies. She took a deep breath, pulled her dressing gown tighter, and marched to the door.

When she opened it up, Reynold and James stood there. They weren't smiling.

"Might we come in, baby?" Reynold asked.

"Of course, though it is rather late." She winced at his old nickname for her, and stepped back as they walked past her. She longed to run down the empty corridor, as far away as she could.

But she was stronger now. She was a woman who wanted to play the game of life by a man's rules—and she was doing it. She found herself wondering how often her brothers had had women in their chambers.

Margery shut the door, then gestured to the chairs before the hearth. As they sat down, she pulled up another chair from the corner of the room.

James cleared his throat. "Do you know Beaumont's true purpose for being at Hawksbury?"

She stiffened and thought of poor Gareth listening to this. "You can't even be civil before you start in with your questions? No 'how are you, how was your evening?'"

"How are you? How was your evening?" James repeated with a smile.

"Fine and fine." She got to her feet. "You may both go now."

Reynold stood up and put his arm around her shoulder. "Baby—"

"Do not call me that!" she said, pulling away from him. "You're trying to remind me that I am still your little sister. But I'm a woman now, and have been given the freedom to make my own decisions."

"We know that," Reynold said quietly. "And I only call you that name because it has good memories for me."

"It does for me as well, but I am no longer the same person."

"We can see that," James said, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his legs. "But that doesn't negate our concern. Do you know of Beaumont's past? If you did, you wouldn't have him here."

"I know everything. He is my friend, he has always been my friend. And if he wants to court me, like every other man I meet, then who are you to stop him?"

"But he is so unsuitable!" James said with obvious frustration.

"Did you ever think that might be one of the reasons I like him?" Margery demanded, knowing she only said it to be shocking.

Why did they have to keep insisting that they knew better than she did? For a wild moment, she wanted to rip open the draperies and reveal her forbidden dalliance with Gareth. But it would only be spite on her part, and she couldn't use Gareth just to make a point.

She longed to have this whole "husband hunt" over with. Yet then she thought of Gareth, and the

pleasure of looking forward to her evenings with him. He would leave her after she married, and her nights would be lonely.

The idea of him not being in her life was beginning to hurt.

Reynold stepped between them. "I am sorry we disturbed you, sweetheart," he said, and hauled James out of his seat. "Maybe we interfere too much. Maybe we should have trusted you all those years ago, instead of sending Gareth to another foster home."

Margery stared at him, trying to remember to breathe. "You sent him away?" She couldn't stop herself from glancing at the window in horror. Gareth had saved her life and her brothers had sent him away. This was why Gareth was so bitter toward her family. My God, did he think even she was involved?

"It was my decision," James said. "Do not blame Reynold."

"We made it together," Reynold insisted. "Father had just died, and you were our responsibility."

James tried to take her hand, but she pulled away. "Margery, please, we had never been fathers. We wanted to protect you from anything unsavory, anything that could hurt you."

She turned her back on them, tears stinging her eyes, and looked at the draperies where Gareth hid. "You yourselves hurt me. I cried for weeks, thinking that Gareth didn't want to be my friend. And can you imagine how he felt? He rescued me, and you punished him—a mere child himself."

"We cannot change our mistakes," Reynold said softly. "All we can ask is that you forgive us."

Margery turned to stare at them. They looked serious and uncertain and worried. But she still thought of Gareth, thrust out into the world at twelve years of age, with no family, no home— betrayed. "I don't know that I can," she said softly. "I have to think on it."

Reynold nodded. James opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind. They walked to the door, but she didn't follow them. When they both turned back toward her, she looked away. The door closed.

Gareth didn't move.

Margery hadn Ysent him away. She hadn't known. They'd both been victimized by her brothers—men who thought nothing of manipulating other people's lives on a whim.

Margery pulled the draperies back, tears running down her face. "I didn't know what they'd done," she cried.

He looked into her clear eyes and thought of all the cruel things he'd said to her. He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. "'Tis all right," he whispered. "You must not blame yourself."

She shook with sobs. "You.. .must have felt.. .so alone. I can't imagine what you went through."

"I survived." He took her face in his hands and kissed the tears she shed for his pain. Her lips were salty with them. She slid her arms up his back and held him tight against her. Her body sheltered him, comforted him. With a groan, he slanted his head and took her open mouth in a deep, desperate kiss.

Never had his emodons swamped him like this. Margery was the only sane thing in his world, and he clung to her now. He suckled her throat, whispered into her ear of her incredible beauty.

Then she stepped back, and Gareth's eyes widened as she shrugged her nightclothes off one shoulder, revealing the soft perfection of her breast. His mouth went dry when she shrugged again and the garments dropped to her waist. He stared helplessly at her body, his mind flooding with the shock of fierce arousal. With a final fluid movement, she sent the nightclothes sliding to the floor.

Chapter 22

With a feeling of incredible joy, Margery watched Gareth fall to his knees before her. He pulled her against him, bringing her nipple into his mouth. She gasped and arched her back, and he held her tight to keep her from falling. He sucked and licked at her nipple, then worshipped her other breast with his mouth.

She put her arms around his head and held him to her. He moved between her breasts, and his tongue against her made her feel as if she'd never known her own body before.

He sat back on his heels to look at her, his hands sliding lightly from her hips to curve around her buttocks. She didn't feel embarrassed, only proud as he looked at her with such desire, such aching need

in his beautiful, golden eyes. She wanted to be eveiything for him.

He pulled her toward him again, his mouth against her stomach now. His hands traced light, erotic paths to the front of her thighs, and his thumbs stroked the hair between her legs. She gasped and shivered, and would have collapsed had he not held her up. His fingers slid deeper and deeper, until the unbearable tension and pleasure made her shudder and brace herself against his shoulders.

Gareth stopped moving, and she gave a little cry of disappointment. He couldn't stop now! He wouldn't—

He stood and swung her up into his arms, then kissed her passionately as he strode to the bed. She moaned when he laid her down because she didn't want to be separated from him. He stepped back and swiftly pulled at the laces of his tunic and shirt. She slid his hands aside, then separated his laces, feeling his skin beneath her fingers.

He dropped his head back, eyes closed, and stood tensely beneath her explorations. She pulled his tunic over his head, then her hands glided over his upraised arms to meet at his chest. She touched him through his shirt, then slid her hands beneath to caress his flat stomach.

"Margery, please," he whispered, pulling her face up for a kiss. "This is torture. I have to—"

"Shh," she said against his mouth, moving her hands up over his chest. "I have wanted to look at you, touch you, for so long." She took his shirt off, then bent and kissed his nipples as he had done to hers.

With a shudder, he pulled their hips together. She rubbed herself against him as she untied his hose and codpiece, then stepped back to let them slide to the floor.

Gareth was so wonderfully made. She explored his chest, his arms, his stomach with her mouth and hands, touching each scar and fading bruise. She let her fingers tease him, never quite touching his erection, but tickling the curling hair surrounding it. He was trembling, and she felt the wonder and power of what they could do to each other. She walked behind him, kissing his back, gently massaging his buttocks, before sliding her hands around his hips—and took his penis in her hands.

Before she could do more than stroke him lightly, he turned around and lifted her off the floor.

"But Gareth—" she began, laughing. He dropped her back on the bed and came down beside her.

He shushed her with a kiss. "I refuse to spill my seed anywhere but inside your body."

"You were in danger of that?" she whispered, trying not to smile.

"I want to bring you pleasure." His voice was a low rumble in his chest.

She moaned sofdy as he slid his mouth down to one breast, and his fingers teased the other.

"Oh, you bring me much pleasure." She arched her back and held him against her.

"Not yet enough." His lips were strangely erotic and tender, all at the same time. He licked and touched and sucked until she moved restlessly beneath him, aching for more. She wanted him inside her, filling her, making her a part of him.

Margery rolled against him and held him to her chest. "Please, Gareth, please."

He smiled into her face, looking so young, so happy. "Soon, my sweet." As he watched her, he parted her legs and cupped her body gendy in his palm, rocking and rubbing against her. Her head fell back as a shudder took her, drawing her ever closer to the wonder promised by his touch.

Gareth began a gentle exploration with his fingers, sliding and circling and rubbing until her breath came in little gasps and she was pressing up against him. He lowered his mouth to her breast, and she was suddenly mindless, aching. A

shuddered release of pleasure rocked her, wiping away everything in her life but him.

She wanted and needed him. He rose up above her, parted her legs with his hips, then settled against her, rocking, until more waves of sensual madness moved through her. He was hot and hard, so different from herself.

Margery leaned up to kiss him, her tongue finding his mouth, wanting to give him everything he'd just given her. Restlessly her knees lifted, and with a thrust he entered her body. She groaned, burying her face in his neck, feeling that they were a part of each other.

Gareth held still, kissing her cheeks, her eyelids, her lips. When he did begin to move inside her, he was slow and gentle in care for her. No man had ever treated her as if she was more important than he was.

He lifted himself up on his arms and looked down at where their bodies joined. "You feel incredible," he said.

" You are incredible."

He searched her eyes, his smile dying. He leaned down to give her soft kisses which turned gradually deeper and harder, just like the thrusting of his body. He moved faster, exciting her again to join him on the brink of this joyous release. Margery

cried out this dme and held him tight, as with a groan he released himself and gave her everything.

For endless moments, they just tried to breathe. Gareth never made her feel crushed, only safe and relaxed. He lifted his head and smiled into her eyes. After a gentle kiss, he rolled to one side and threw an arm across her.

When she reached for the blankets, he stopped her. "Are you cold?"

"No," she said sofdy.

"Then do not cover yourself. Let me look on the most wondrous sight of my life."

His words and the gendeness of his voice warmed and soothed her. They lay with their legs entwined, their bodies satisfied.

With the drowsy pleasure of his head resting against her breasts, she closed her eyes and slid her fingers through his hair.

"Margeiy?"

She opened her eyes. Gareth propped himself on one elbow, and his hand gendy cupped her breast.

She smiled. "That feels good."