Desire

8

Gareth felt Clare's undisguised shiver of surprise; a flash of confusion washed through her, causing her to tremble in his arms. He kept his mouth pressed against hers, willing her to respond the way she had the last time he kissed her.

He knew she wanted him. He had sensed the passion in her that first afternoon. All he had to do was get past the logical defenses she had erected.

Relief soared in him when he heard her tiny, half-strangled gasp of excitement.

She would be a true wife to him. The bastard of Wyckmere had got himself a bride.

And a future.

Her mouth was hesitant at first and then her lips softened deliciously beneath his own. Gareth knew for certain that he had guessed correctly.

He had not misread the feminine curiosity in her eyes, nor had he misjudged the significance of her trembling fingers.

The good fortune that had kept him alive during his years as a hunter of outlaws had followed him into his new life as a farmer of flowers. He had gained far more from this match than he had dared to hope.

Clare made a small sound of anticipation. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders. Gareth groaned. He had been enduring the torments of a half-aroused body all day. Now he was fully erect, eager for what awaited him. The time had come to claim his wife.

Gareth felt Clare shudder and press herself against him. An urge to laugh nearly overwhelmed him. He fought it back. This was not the time to succumb to mirth. Still, he reveled in the moment. It was obvious that all Clare's foolish talk of waiting until their acquaintanceship had deepened into friendship was simply that: foolish.

Clare was as eager to taste the pleasure of the marriage bed as he was.

Gareth was relieved and exultant. Now another battle lay ahead of him.

But he was accustomed to fighting for what he wanted. And he most definitely wanted Clare.

He recognized that Clare's disgust for Nicholas of Seabern was genuine.

He still was not certain what to believe about her past experience of lovemaking. But Clare's sweetly eager mouth told him that whatever had happened between her and Nicholas, it had not given her a distaste for the business.

Mayhap it was Raymond de Coleville who had taught her how much mutual pleasure a man and a woman could find together.

Whichever man had been responsible, Gareth was not particularly grateful to him.

"My lord." Clare's voice was a breathless sigh against Gareth's lips.

She was warm and soft against his chest. Her arms wound slowly around his neck. "No doubt we should not kiss in this manner yet, but I vow, I cannot seem to stop."

Her confession sent Gareth's blood pounding through his veins. The heavy beat was a distant echo of his war-horse's hoofbeats. His whole body reacted violently to the promise of Clare's gentle surrender.

The lady was ready and willing, not an anxious, innocent maid who had to be led slowly into bed.

"Be assured that I have no intention of halting these kisses yet."

Gareth stroked the edge of her mouth with the pads of his thumbs. Her lips trembled and parted. Her cheeks, flushed and glowing, were warm to the touch. Her eyes were fathomless emeralds that held the secrets of a woman's passion waiting to be unleashed.

If it wasn't Nicholas who had taught Clare the arts of love, Gareth thought, then it had most likely been Raymond de Coleville, her much-vaunted pattern of chivalry. Damn his soul.

Which one had it been? he wondered.

Or had she taken two lovers?

In that moment Gareth could cheerfully have given each of his unknown rivals a view of the Window of Hell.

Having made the acquaintance of Nicholas, Gareth concluded that it was the mysterious Raymond de Coleville who worried him the most.

Yet another challenge for the Hellhound of Wyckmere to conquer, he told himself. He had never been one to back down from a challenge.

He deepened the kiss, knowing that he had no right to resent the fact that Clare had lain in the arms of another man. He was no virgin, either, Gareth thought. And he was a bastard into the bargain: no great prize for any lady of her station.

Clare was a healthy young woman of three and twenty years who had been on her own and burdened with the responsibilities of managing the manor for much of her life.

She was also a very curious and obviously intelligent woman who had never planned to wed. Such a woman would not have been averse to tasting the forbidden fruit when the opportunity presented itself in the guise of a handsome young knight.

Gareth knew he was swiftly driving himself mad. It struck him that he had never before known the knife-sharp pangs of raw jealousy.

Jealousy?

The realization brought him back to his senses.

He tore his mouth from Clare's and framed her face between his hands.

Her eyes were luminous and full of wonder as she looked up at him.

"What's done is done," Gareth muttered.

"I do not understand, my lord."

"It matters not. From this night forward, you are mine. You are my lady wife, the future mother of my children. I vow, I will make you forget Nicholas and Raymond de Coleville and any other man who has come before me."

Her brows drew together in a quizzical expression. "But why would I wish to forget Nicholas and Raymond? One is a neighbor and the other was a friend."

"Enough. Do not speak of either of them again tonight." Gareth ensured her silence with another kiss.

She mumbled something unintelligible which sounded very much like a protest, or at the very least an attempt to start a spirited argument.

Gareth did not want to listen. He eased her lips apart and sank his tongue into her mouth.

Clare made another odd, somewhat strangled sound. Then she tightened her arms around his neck and touched her tongue to his.

Gareth sucked in a savage breath, swept her up into his arms, and tumbled her onto the bed. The hunger to be inside her nearly consumed him. He lowered himself heavily down onto the white linen sheets and reached for Clare.

"My lord."

"Hush." He flung one leg over her thighs. Conscious of his great weight and her much smaller size, he braced himself on his arms as he leaned over her. "We will discuss the matter later. Right now I only want to kiss you."

"Oh." The frowning uncertainty vanished from her eyes. She touched his cheek with her fingertip.

"Well, I suppose there is no great harm in mere kissing, is there?"

"None. And even if there were, I doubt the knowing would stop me tonight."

He gazed, enthralled, at the sight of her dark hair flowing across the herb-laced pillows. Slowly he fisted one hand in it and looped the silken skein around his fingers. He brought the stuff to his nose and inhaled deeply. "You smell of flowers, just like everything else on the isle."

"I expect that you'll grow accustomed to it, my lord."

"Aye." He bent his head to nibble at the elegant line of her throat. "I expect I will."

He eased aside the edge of her chamber robe and listened with deep pleasure to her quickly indrawn breath.

He moved his mouth downward to the swell of her breast, which was partially revealed by her white linen night robe.

"My lord?"

"My name is Gareth." She was so amazingly soft. Her skin was finer than the costly silks he had given her as a wedding gift.

"Gareth." She sounded breathless. "You said you only wished to kiss me."

"Aye. Everywhere." The pure, perfect curve of her small breast was the most alluring sight Gareth had ever seen in his life. He ached to see the nipple that was still concealed beneath the daintily embroidered neckline of her gown. The outline of the small, ripe bud was plain. He stroked one finger across it, delighting in its shape.

"Gareth." Clare froze at the caress. She stared up at him, wide-eyed.

Her hands gripped his shoulders as if she would push him away. "Sir, I do not think this is a sound notion. You said there was no harm in kisses and I agreed. But this is too much."

"You want kisses, my lady?" He deftly unfastened the laces at the front of the robe. "Kisses you shall have. A hundred of them. A thousand."

"Gareth." She batted ineffectually at his big hands. "I do not think?"

"Aye, madam. Do not try to think. Not tonight. The devil knows well that I certainly cannot."

Her rosy nipples looked even more enticing than he had imagined, and his imagination was very powerful. The crowns that graced Clare's breasts were puckered and firm and full of promise. Gareth put his mouth to one and sucked it gently between his teeth.

Clare's reaction was a small shriek. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.

"By Saint Hermion's elbow, my lord. You call this kissing?"

"Aye. Although 'tis more like drinking nectar made of honey and almonds."

"Are you?" Clare seemed to have difficulty getting the words out. She clutched at him. "Are you speaking the truth, sir?"

"The absolute truth."

Gareth wondered if Raymond de Coleville had not bothered to sample Clare's breasts when he'd helped himself to the other delectable dishes she'd offered. It occurred to him then that his rivals had no doubt been obliged to work in haste when they had gone about the business of seducing Clare.

Nicholas had been bent on forcing a marriage.

Raymond's undertaking had been a more perilous affair. He had no doubt been well aware at the time that he had no intention of offering marriage. Mayhap the need for secrecy and haste had made him careless and clumsy.

Gareth kissed the valley between Clare's breasts and decided there was a great advantage to being a husband. A man had all the time in the world to seduce his wife in the privacy of the marriage bed.

Gareth trained his kisses lower, easing apart the night robe as he traveled slowly toward his goal. The scent of Clare's womanly arousal, far more intoxicating than the rose and lavender of her perfume, drew him now. She was responding to him and the knowledge sent another wave of desire crashing through him.

"Sir. My lord. Garett." Clare squeezed her eyes shut and arched up off the bed. "You must not kiss me anymore. I fear my senses are as scattered as bees in the wind."

"As are mine." Gareth raised his head to look down into her flushed face. He watched her closely as he slid his hand beneath the hem of her shift.

Her eyes flew open. She shook her head once in a gesture that could have meant anything. "Please."

"Aye. I shall do my best to please you. You will forget both of them long before dawn." He leaned down and took her mouth as he moved his hand along the inside of her thigh.

"Forget who? I… oh, Gareth, I do not think this is wise. I am concerned for you, my lord."

He had no notion of what she was talking about and was not inclined to ask. Gareth had other things on his mind at the moment. His hand closed over the warm, damp flesh between her thighs.

Clare went rigid beneath his touch. She shut her eyes again and appeared to stop breathing for a few tense seconds. Her short nails were clenched so deeply into his shoulders he knew he would find marks there in the morning. The thought pleased him.

Gareth probed gently, slowly, tenderly. He parted soft, honeyed flesh as if he were parting the leaves of a lush and fragile flower until he discovered the hidden treasure he sought. Clare moaned when he stroked the gem with fingers that had been moistened in her own dew.

He went to work with great care, circling, teasing, tugging, and pressing.

Clare was obviously incapable of further protest. Gareth knew that she was now helplessly lost in the pleasure he gave her. She shivered and twisted and clung. The realization that she was responding to his touch with such passion gave him more satisfaction than anything he had ever known.

She was so caught up in the sensual spell he had woven that she did not even notice when he lowered his head once more to kiss the taut little bud that he had coaxed into full arousal.

He knew the precise instant when she did become aware of what was happening to her.

She convulsed as though she had been struck by lightning.

Gareth vowed that he could see the sparks.

Her lips parted on a high, shocked screech of amazement. The cry of feminine discovery and boundless wonder was choked off almost as soon as it had begun, but it verified what Gareth had begun to suspect. Whatever Clare had experienced at the hands of her previous lovers, she had not learned the pleasures of her own release.

Her response was more than he had dared hope to inspire. She trembled in the throes of it. And so did Gareth. She lifted herself, opened herself, offered herself to him. She was a mystical, magical creature who enthralled his senses. He was literally fascinated by her swiftly approaching release.

She shivered like a blossom in the wind.

Gareth very nearly spilled his seed as the hot satisfaction roared through him. By tomorrow morning, both Nicholas and Raymond de Coleville would be distant dull memories for Clare.

"Gareth, Gareth." Clare gulped air. "What have you done to me? What have you done?"

"Nothing that cannot be repeated many, many times before dawn."

He waited until she went limp. When the last tiny shiver had ended, Gareth eased himself up the length of Clare's boneless body until he was once more braced on his elbows.

He looked down into her stunned face.

He smiled.

She stared up at him, apparently silenced at last by the enormity of what she had experienced. The play of emotions in her eyes was entrancing. Confusion, wonder, amazed delight, curiosity, and feminine speculation all blended together to render her mute.

It was the first time that Gareth had ever seen her bereft of speech.

His smile turned into a knowing grin.

Gareth would have laughed in that moment if he had not been so uncomfortable. He was as hard and unyielding as the steel of the Window of Hell, but he was not nearly so cold as his blade. Just the opposite, Gareth thought. He was on fire and there was only one way to quench the flames that burned in his loins this night.

He sat up with his back to Clare and began to strip off his clothing. He was ruefully aware that his hands were shaking with the force of his need as he unbuckled his belt. He tossed the heavy leather strap aside.

"Did you… did you feel the same things I felt?" Clare asked. She sounded weak and breathless.

"Not yet. On my oath, it was a near thing, but I managed to keep from disgracing myself on your fine white sheets. Be assured that I have saved myself for you, madam."

Gareth pulled off his outer tunic and hurled it in the same general direction as his belt.

"You mean that you have not yet experienced these strange feelings?"

He hooked one ankle over his knee and jerked off a leather boot. "Have no fear, madam, you'll be well aware of my release when I sheath myself in your silken scabbard." His mouth quirked upward at one corner again.

"Unless, of course, you're too preoccupied with your own pleasure at that particular moment to notice."

Clare sat up abruptly. "By Hermione's sainted slipper, this marriage business is far more confusing than I had thought it would be."

"We shall reason it out together."

"But this is impossible."

"Hell's teeth." Gareth's hand stilled on his other boot.

He turned his head to stare at Clare. "What are you talking about?"

"I had no notion that you would be able to make me feel such powerful emotions." Clare pushed her hair out of her eyes and gazed at him anxiously. "Or that you would be faced with such temptation yourself, my lord."

"Clare, I don't know what kind of lovers Nicholas and de Coleville were, but I can promise you that I?"

"Raymond de Coleville was never my lover." Clare clutched at the edges of her unlaced robe and scrambled to her knees amid the rumpled sheets.

Her eyes flashed. "Nor was Nicholas of Seabern, although no one seems to believe me. I vow, I have had my fill of everyone assuming that I am no virgin."

Gareth reached out to touch her hand. "Calm yourself, Clare. There is no need to protest your innocence to me. It doesn't matter."

"You're right." She scowled. "You will not hear any more argument on the subject from me, my lord."

"So be it. I am pleased to learn that."

"In truth, the status of my virginity is neither here nor there."

"Aye. What's done is done."

"And when all is said and done," she said a little too sweetly, "I have no doubt but that I come to this bed at least as pure and untouched as yourself."

Gareth grimaced. "No doubt."

"Surely no man can ask more than that of a bride."

Gareth was stunned to feel the sudden heat in his face. Belatedly he wondered if she was teasing him.

He glared at her. "Mayhap we should change the subject, madam."

"Aye, you are right, sir." Her expression softened. She put out a hand and lightly touched his arm.

"In all fairness, our mutual virginity, or lack of it, is not the problem at the moment, is it?"

"Nay." Gareth was unable to think of anything else to say. He did not want to talk about anything at all. He simply wanted to make love to his wife. Was that too much to ask? he wondered glumly.

"The important thing," Clare continued crisply, "is that I have just learned how powerful physical desire truly is when it is wielded by a man of your nature, sir."

Gareth eyed her cautiously. "My nature?"

"Tis obvious you are a man of great passions."

"Tis obvious you are a woman who incites great passions, madam."

"I am well aware that I have a responsibility in this matter," she assured him.

"Excellent. We have that much established, then." He dropped his second boot on the floor and rose to remove his undertunic.

Clare frowned in thought. "Tis plain that we must take care to control this extremely volatile force before it assumes complete command of you, my lord."

Gareth had his tunic half over his head. He stopped, hesitated for the count of three, and slowly released his grip on the garment. The gray gown fell back down over his body.

"What did you say?" he asked very softly.

Her expression of grave concern deepened. "I said that we must exercise extreme caution if we are to protect you, my lord."

"Protect me from what?" he roared, now out of patience.

Her eyes widened, but she appeared startled rather than afraid. "You're shouting."

"Nay, madam," he said through his teeth. "Not yet. But soon, mayhap. Very soon."

She sighed. "Tis simply more evidence, of course."

"Evidence of what?"

"The strength of your passions." She smiled with gentle understanding.

'"Tis clear that because of your warm nature, you are on the verge of forgetting our understanding."

"I am?"

"Aye. As your wife and for the sake of our growing riendship, I must help you resist this great temptation. After all, your honor is at stake."

Gareth wondered if he had lost count of how many:ups of wine he had downed during the long banquet. He lever allowed himself to get drunk.

Indeed, he did not feel Irunk, he thought, but his wits were beginning to reel.

"Are you trying to tell me that making love to you onight will somehow put my honor in jeopardy?" he asked very carefully.

"I know how much it would distress you to awake in he morning knowing that you had allowed passion to seize you in its clutches and caused you to forget our understanding.."

"By the fires of hell, madam, I do not believe what I m hearing. Forget that damned understanding. We did not have one."

She stared at him. "But we did, sir. We agreed that we rauld become friends before we consummated this marriage."

"No, we did not agree to that." He spaced each word out with great care.

"You announced your foolish intention, but you never asked for my agreement. And by the devil, I never gave it."

"Surely you can see that if we succumb to passion onight it will ruin our chances of creating a marriage based in friendship and trust."

Gareth grabbed at the reins of his temper and held on to them with all of his strength. "This is the most crazed thing I have ever heard."

"You did not say that yesterday."

"Rest assured I was thinking it."

She looked stricken. "Do you not want trust and friendship to grow between us?"

"They will both come with time." He groped for a way to turn her logic in a new direction. "Do you trust me, Clare?"

"Aye." She sighed. "But you do not trust me."

"That is not true."

"You think that I have allowed other men to make love to me, even though I have told you that I have never lain with any other man."

"I have also told you that your virginity or lack of it does not matter to me. I am not concerned with the past. Only the future."

"I'm sure that is very gallant of you, sir, but we cannot have a satisfactory future together unless that future be built? upon a foundation of trust." She fixed him with an unhappy i gaze. "And you do not trust me. Admit it. You think I have lied to you."

"Devil take it, madam, your virginity is your own business."

"I appreciate your enlightened attitude on the subject. But that is not really the issue, is it?"

He speared his fingers through his hair. "I feel as though I am sinking into a marsh."

"Sir, I am convinced that we must both learn to trust each other if we are to be mutually content in our marriage."

He saw the pride and the hurt in her eyes and in that moment he suddenly knew that she was telling him the truth. No other man had touched her.

He had been a fool to believe otherwise. Clare would never lie to him about such a thing.

Clare was too proud, too spirited, too bold to lie about anything.

Satisfaction rushed through him. He had no right to be so fortunate, he told himself, but he was not one to protest against the happy fate that had given him an untouched wife.

He smiled slowly. "I believe you when you say that no other man has made love to you."

She gazed at him, uncertain and wary. "Tis the passion talking now, my lord. The lure of it is making you say what you think I want to hear."

He shook his head, still smiling. He recalled her untutored response to his intimate kisses. "Nay. I want you very much, but I am not such a weakling that I am a complete slave to passion. It does not have the power to make me lie. I believe you when you tell me that you are untouched, Clare."

Clare twisted her hands in her lap. "I wish I could be certain of that."

"You can be certain of it. You must learn to trust me as much as I trust you."

"Aye." She looked doubtful.

"You do trust me, do you not?"

"I think so."

"You think so?" He was suddenly incensed. "Clare a moment ago you said you did trust me."

"It is all too confusing to sort out tonight, my lord." She smiled apologetically. "I feel it would be best if we carried out my original plan."

"Original plan?"

"Aye. We will not consummate this marriage until we both feel confident that we enjoy each other's full and unwavering trust."

Gareth closed his eyes briefly. "God give me strength, madam."

"I'm sure he will, Gareth." Clare gave him a winning smile. "And in the meantime there is a pallet under the bed for you to use tonight."

He watched, dumbfounded, as she scurried to the edge of the bed, leaned down, and scrabbled around to pull out a sleeping pallet. "What in hell's name do you think you're doing?"

She looked up through the long swath of hair that was falling forward over her face. "Getting the pallet out for you."

He set his jaw. "I will sleep in the damned bed with you, wife."

She blinked and sat up slowly. "You're angry."

"Angry? Why should I be angry?" Gareth asked very softly. He swung around and strode over to the window seat.

"Gareth?"

He grasped the Window of Hell and stalked back to the bed.

"My lord." Clare stared at the sword in his hand. Her hand went to her throat.

Gareth raised the sword on high and then slammed the flat of the blade down onto the bed. Directly in the middle.

Clare gave a visible start. Then she turned her head warily to gaze down at the blade. It gleamed in the firelight, effectively dividing the massive bed into two por-tions.

"If this is how you wish to begin our married life," Gareth said through his teeth, "so be it. The Window of Hell shall share this bed with us tonight. It will protect you from my touch."

"I really do not think it's necessary to put your sword between us,"

Clare whispered.

"Have no fear, madam, you will sleep safe enough on your side of the bed. I shall occupy the other half."

"But the pallet?"

"I am not sleeping on the damned pallet. I have a right to my half of our bed, madam."

"I suppose that I could take the pallet."

"Nay. You will share the bed with me, lady. You desire proof of my self-mastery? Very well, you shall have it. Kindly let me know in the morning if you feel you can trust me."

Clare bit her lip but said nothing.

Gareth ignored her as he jerked off the remainder of his clothing and tossed it aside. He heard her small, choked exclamation when she caught sight of his still-aroused body. He pretended to ignore it, but he knew that if he had not already decided that she was innocent, her stunned gaze would have told him the truth.

He was going to pay a high price for his bad judgment and worse management of the situation. And he had no one but himself to blame.

Gareth crossed the chamber in three strides to tend to the fire. Then he went back across the room and yanked the bed curtains closed. He slid into bed beside Clare.

The Window of Hell lay between them, a steel barrier to passion.

It was very dark. The curtains blocked the glow of the dying embers.

Gareth folded his arms behind his head and gazed up into the shadows.

His loins ached. He was furious with himself.

It was going to be a very long night.

"Gareth?" Clare's voice was very soft and tinged with anxiety.

"Aye?"

"It just occurred to me that a portion of Beatrice's prediction came true."

"What prediction?"

"She said that you would draw your sword in the bridal chamber. And you did."

"Considering my luck of late, 'tis a wonder I did not trip on it and accidentally slit my own throat."