by Amanda Quick
“I use it to extract oil from cinnamon and roses. It is of Arab design.”
“Where did you get it?”
“It was my fathers. He discovered it on his last journey to Spain. It was packed in one of the chests full of books and other items that he sent to me shortly before he died.”
Gareth poked experimentally at one of the iron screws. His expression was one of absorbed curiosity. “Fascinating.”
“Unfortunately, it is broken at the moment. I have not been able to repair it.”
“Mayhap I can do something about it. I have studied a number of the translated Arab works that describe mechanical devices.”
“Have you?” Clare was suddenly intrigued. This was a side of Gareth that she had not seen until now.
“Aye.” Gareth jiggled one of the hinges on the press.
“Mayhap you would care to examine my father’s workrooms. They are on the other side of the courtyard. I have kept them locked since he left Desire a year ago. They are full of many of the items he discovered on his various journeys.”
“I would very much like to see your father’s workrooms.”
“Aye. Well, then, I shall give you the keys. Mayhap you would also enjoy studying the book he wrote. I have it in my study chamber.”
“He wrote a book?” Gareth sounded impressed.
“It is a collection of recipes and treatises that he translated from the Arabic. Unfortunately, my father was not a skilled scribe. It is a rather difficult volume to read.”
“I shall look forward to the task.”
Clare scowled in exasperation. She suddenly realized that Gareth had successfully deflected her from the topic at hand. “At the moment, however, I intend to have a discussion concerning the nature of our association.”
“As a man who has made his living by knowing when to fight and when to keep his sword in its scabbard, I can tell you that you do not want such a discussion. Not now, at any rate.”
“Is that so?” she challenged.
“Sometimes ‘tis better not to confront a problem directly.”
“Such discretion astounds me, sir. I would have thought you would prefer open battle.”
“Nay, I have had too many battles in my time.”
“You must excuse me if I am somewhat dubious of that statement, my lord.”
“’Tis true.” Gareth looked up from the press. “I would far rather inhale the vapors of your perfumes than do battle with you.”
“This is one battle you cannot avoid, sir. We are going to settle this matter between us. And we are going to do it now.”
“So be it. If it is a battle you want, you shall have one.”
Clare eyed him uneasily. “My lord, let us be clear on this matter of who gives the commands on Desire.”
“Aye.” Gareth wandered over to another urn and peered inside. “The first thing you must come to terms with, madam, is that I am not in your employ. You have not hired my services or my sword. I am your husband.”
“I am hardly likely to forget that. I am attempting to adjust to the business of being a proper wife, but you are making things exceedingly difficult.”
“You are not making it any easier on either of us by treating me as if I were little more than a hired guard.”
“By Saint Hermione’s girdle, I do not treat you as if you were a hired guard.” Clare was outraged. “I have attempted to show you the respect due a husband. It seems to me that I have given ground at every point.”
“Is that how you see the situation? You believe you have been forced to give ground?”
“Aye, that is exactly how it looks to me.”
Gareth propped himself against a table and folded his arms across his chest. “What of me? Haven’t I made similar compromises? Do you think it simple for me to adjust to this business of being a husband?”
“I fail to see what great difficulties you have had to encounter.”
“Shall I list them for you?” Gareth held up his hand and ticked up his complaints on his fingers. “You have made it clear since the moment I arrived that I was not what you ordered.”
“You were unexpected,” Clare muttered.
Gareth ignored that. He held up another finger. “You announced in front of the entire household that you did not intend to be a proper wife.”
“I agreed to share a bedchamber with you.”
“You refused to consummate the marriage on our wedding night.”
Clare was incensed, “I told you this morning that I regretted that decision. It was wrong of me to refuse to do my duty last night.” She took a deep breath. “I stand ready to do it tonight.”
He slanted her a derisive glance. “Your duty? You’ll forgive me if I fail to get overly enthusiastic about making love to a woman who feels that she is being forced to fulfill her responsibilities in the bedchamber.”
Clare had had enough. She stalked down the aisle and came to a halt directly in front of him. “Is that why you refused to consummate our marriage this morning when I gave you the opportunity? You lost your enthusiasm for the task?”
Gareth narrowed his eyes. “Do you blame me?”
Clare’s temper flared out of control. “If you no longer have any enthusiasm for the business, we are presented with a difficult problem, are we not?”
“What problem would that be?”
“I have it on good authority that, unlike a woman, a man cannot fulfill his husbandly obligations unless he is able to work up some degree of enthusiasm for the business.”
“Who told you that?”
“Prioress Margaret,” Clare shot back triumphantly.
“Ah.” Gareth nodded sagely.
“Do you dispute her statement?” Clare demanded.
Gareth shrugged. “Nay. She has the right of it.”
“What are we to do, sir, if you fail to regain your enthusiasm? Mayhap we will be forced to annul the marriage.”
Gareth went dangerously still. “So that is your plan. You think to end this union of ours before it is even begun.”
Clare looked into his eyes and saw the smoke from the fires of the nether regions. But she was too caught up in the flames of her own anger to rein in her wayward tongue.
“An annulment will certainly become a necessity if you are unable to work up sufficient enthusiasm for your husbandly tasks.”
“The good prioress neglected to tell you one important fact about a man’s enthusiasm, madam.”
“And what would that be, my lord?”
“Sometimes the oddest things will arouse it.” Gareth smiled slowly. “On occasion, for example, a good argument will do the trick.”
Too late Clare read the brilliant warning in his eyes. She stepped back quickly, but not quickly enough.
Gareth scooped her up into his arms, took three long strides across the workroom, and dropped Clare squarely into a huge bin full of fresh blossoms and herbs.
Clare shrieked as she sank into the fragrant mass. Rose petals and lavender leaves wafted into the air. The intense scent of fresh flowers engulfed her.
Before she could catch her breath, Gareth plunged into the bin. His mouth covered hers as his weight crushed her into the mountain of soft, fragrant petals.
12
Clare was overwhelmed by the feel of Gareth’s body sprawled on top of her. His hands tangled roughly in her hair. His mouth was fierce and hot and urgent on hers. His scent made her head whirl even more than the fragrance of the massed petals in which she lay half buried.
She forgot all about the argument, the insults, and the outrage that had gripped her a moment earlier. Memories of the way Gareth had touched her last night flooded back, only to be swamped beneath the new excitement. A thrilling elation swept through her, driving all else before it. She wanted to know those glorious sensations again.
Gareth tore his mouth from hers. “I congratulate you, madam. I know of no one else who can provoke me the way that you do. Now you must suffer the consequences.”
Clare se
arched his eyes. “Are you truly angry with me?”
“I am not certain how I feel at the moment.” Gareth’s voice was rough and dark and dangerous. “I only know that when we have finished this, there will be no more talk of an annulment.”
She shivered. “I never asked for an annulment. I only brought up the subject because you implied that you might not be able to do your duty in the marriage bed.”
“You will discover soon enough that I intend to fulfill my responsibilities.” Gareth bent his head and took her lips once more. His tongue invaded her mouth.
Clare’s fingers clenched in his hair as she responded to the deep kiss. He was attempting to intimidate her, she thought, mayhap even frighten her a bit. But it was impossible. She craved his touch, and the obvious passion in him set her own clamoring feelings ablaze.
Clare felt his leg sink between her thighs. He drew his knee upward, opening her to his touch. He caught hold of the skirts of her overtunic and the gown beneath it and pushed both all the way to her waist.
Clare shuddered and tightened her hands in his hair. She arched herself against his probing fingers.
“You are as wet as roses after rain.” Gareth sounded awed. He stroked her the way he had last night, stroked her until she was trembling and desperate.
Clare clutched at him, her voice breaking on a soft, demanding little cry. She wrapped her leg around his, seeking more of him.
“Why in the name of all the saints did we waste last night?” Gareth whispered, his voice hoarse and strained. “I was a fool.” He eased one finger gently into her.
Clare moaned. Her body tightened around him. She gulped air. “It was my fault. I was confused. I thought I wanted to wait.”
“You were confused and I was an idiot. What a pair.” Gareth dropped a string of heated kisses down her throat to her shoulder. He probed her with a second finger.
“Oh.” Clare gasped. “Oh.”
“So tight. A sweet, unopened bud.”
“Does that diminish your enthusiasm, my lord?” she asked anxiously.
He groaned and lowered his head to kiss the curve of her breast. “Nay, madam, it does not.”
She smiled, vastly relieved. “I am glad.”
“I seriously doubt that the combined forces of both heaven and hell could diminish my enthusiasm at this moment.”
Clare could feel him stretching her, making her grow soft and even more damp than she already was. She was shaking with her need now. The magical tension that she had first experienced last night was twisting her insides again. Anticipation made her restless and impatient.
“Hurry.” She nipped at his ear. “Please, hurry.”
Gareth raised his head and looked down at her. His eyes were as mysterious as the mist that sometimes shrouded Desire. “I have married a tyrant.”
“You must forgive me, my lord. I told you, I am accustomed to being in charge around here.”
“When it comes to this, your wish is my command.” Gareth loosened his own clothing, freeing his erect man-hood.
Clare caught a glimpse of his aroused body as he centered himself between her legs. In spite of her spiraling excitement, she experienced a brief tremor of uncertainty. “Mayhap we should try to diminish some of your enthusiasm before we proceed further.”
“It is far too late to do anything to diminish my enthusiasm.”
“I did not mean to offend you. ‘Tis not your fault that you are not the right size.” She hugged him tightly and kissed his throat. “I’m sure well manage somehow.”
“Aye. We will.”
“I am very enthusiastic myself now, Gareth.”
“I can tell.” He covered her mouth with his own and began to push himself into her.
Clare, expecting a sensation similar to that which she experienced when he slid his fingers into her, was startled by the blunt, hard feel of him.
He pressed harder and she was more than startled. She was stunned.
“Gareth.”
“Trust me.”
“Wait, we must discuss this matter further,” Clare squeaked.
“It was your earlier discussion of the matter that got us this far.”
“Aye, but—”
“Trust me, Clare,” he whispered.
She braced herself and clung to him as if preparing to descend into the Pit. “I am ready,” she said bravely.
“It is not going to be all that bad, you know.” He thrust deeper. Sweat broke out on his brow. “At least, I do not think it will be too difficult.”
Clare squeezed her eyes shut. “Tell me when it’s over.”
He gave an odd, half-strangled exclamation. “Aye, I’ll try to remember to do that.”
Clare felt him tense and draw in his breath as if readying himself for a dangerous feat of arms. He surged all the way into her, sheathing himself to the hilt with one powerful motion.
The shock of his entry stole Clare’s voice and breath. When she recovered, she clawed at Gareth’s broad shoulders. She was furious at finding herself robbed of the thrilling pleasure she had expected.
“Joanna had the right of it. This part of marriage is, indeed, a great nuisance.”
“Hold yourself still for a moment.” Gareth sounded as shaken as she was. “Be still, I said. Stop wriggling.”
Clare opened her eyes and scowled up at him. “I thought it would feel the way it did last night.”
“It will.” Gareth was clearly fighting for his self-control. “Eventually.”
“By Saint Hermione’s little toe, you have tricked me, Hellhound.”
“Nay, ‘tis just that I have no experience with virgins.”
“I knew you were too big,” she grumbled. “I knew it right from the first moment I saw you.”
Gareth rained soft, persuasive kisses across her nose and cheeks. “Forgive me Clare. I did not want to hurt you.”
The apology mollified her somewhat. “In truth, I am not in any great pain. At least not any longer. But I am very glad the business is finished.”
“Clare—”
“You may cease now. Surely this marriage is properly consummated. You no longer need fear that I will have it annulled.”
“For the last time, do not move,” Gareth bit out each word very carefully and distinctly.
“I was merely attempting to find a more comfortable position.”
“I will see to your comfort.”
“You will remove yourself?”
“Not just yet.”
She was disappointed. “Does that mean you have not yet finished doing your duty?”
“Aye.” He began to glide slowly and cautiously back out of her.
“I can certainly understand now why it is difficult for a man to work up sufficient enthusiasm for this sort of thing night after night,” Clare muttered.
“It helps if one’s wife does not chatter continuously during the effort.”
“Oh.” Clare was chagrined. “My apologies,” she said stiffly. “I did not mean to interfere with your concentration. I was merely trying to—”
“Hell’s teeth, that is enough.” Gareth sealed her mouth with his own. Simultaneously he pushed himself slowly back into her, filling her to the limit.
Clare moaned, but not with pain.
Gareth withdrew almost completely and repeated the process.
Again and again.
Each stroke was carefully measured and delivered with excruciating control. The rigid lines of Gareth’s face and the tensed muscles of his body told their own story. He was a war-horse straining at the reins, all leashed power and trembling readiness.
Clare held her breath and closed her eyes. But after a moment or two she realized the slow strokes of his body within her were not unpleasant.
She could feel the sweat on Gareth’s back. It dampened his tunic. Yet despite the obvious effort he was exerting, his enthusiasm showed no sign of fading.
Her eyes flew open when he lifted her legs up over his shoulders. Before she could protest the new
position, he moved his hand downward between their bodies and touched her.
Without any warning, the coiling tension seized her once more.
“Gareth.”
“I told you to trust me.”
He took the small, swollen nubbin between thumb and forefinger and plucked gently.
Clare screamed. The sound was muffled by Gareth’s mouth. She dug her fingers into him and gave herself up to the wondrous ripples of pleasure that washed through her.
She was dimly aware of Gareth’s ragged shout of satisfaction. It mingled with her own breathless cries as they both sank deeper into the sea of fragrant flower petals.
A long while later Gareth opened his eyes. He stretched luxuriously, unable to recall ever having felt so good in his life.
He squinted at a rose petal that was perched on top of his nose. He blew it off and watched as it fluttered into the air. He was practically buried in scented blossoms.
He smiled.
The heady fragrance of the heaped flowers was threaded through with another earthy smell, one that gave him intense satisfaction. He had made Clare his wife in every sense of the word. There would be no more talk of an annulment.
The mountain of flowers stirred and shifted. He turned his head and watched as Clare sat up. She fussed with her clothing and shook petals from her hair.
When she realized that he was watching her, she smiled shyly down at him. She didn’t say a word.
“You may speak now. I did not intent to silence you forever.” Gareth reached out to remove a yellow petal from her sleeve.
Clare grinned. “I do not know what to say.”
“Neither do I.” Gareth wrapped his hand around the back of her head and brought her mouth down to his for a lingering kiss.
Clare leaned closer. Her hair, smelling of fresh herbs, drifted over his face. Her fingers flattened on his chest and slowly worked their way down his body. Gareth felt himself throb gently in response.
“I believe your enthusiasm has been reawakened, my lord.”
“I believe you are right.” Gareth wrapped his fist in her soft hair. He pulled her closer.
A sudden pounding on the workroom door made Clare flinch. She straightened and sat up again quickly.
“My lord, are you in there?” Ulrich called loudly. “The blacksmith is here.”
