Desire Read online

  “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 hail 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. “I would 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 h
ave 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.”

  “Highly doubtful, sir.” Clare pursed her lips with an air of regret. “Highly doubtful. In any case, I must write to Lord Thurston to clarify some aspects of this situation before we proceed further.”

  “Which aspects do you refer to, lady?”

  “To began with, I am concerned that thus far you are the only suitor to arrive on Desire.”

  “I told you, your choice is limited to Nicholas of Seabern or myself. There are no other suitors.”

  She scowled. “There must have been other suitable candidates for the position. Likely you are merely the first to arrive on the isle. The others might be journeying here even as we speak.”

  “Mayhap I overtook the other candidates en route and persuaded them that their cause was hopeless.”

  “Aye.” Her brows snapped together. “There is that possibility.”

  “Or, having failed to persuade them to abandon their quest, mayhap I simply dispatched them,” Gareth added helpfully.

  “That is not at all amusing, sir.”

  “This has gone far enough.” Gareth reached inside his outer tunic and withdrew a folded parchment leaf. “You had best read this letter from Thurston of Landry before you proceed with your schemes, my lady.”

  Clare regarded the letter warily before she took it from his hand. She studied the seal intently and then slowly broke it. Her mouth tightened as she read.

  Gareth examined the neatly framed flower beds and the carefully trimmed borders of the garden as he waited for Clare to read through the letter. He was familiar with the contents of Thurston’s missive. His father had dictated the letter in Gareth’s presence. It would be interesting to see how Clare reacted when she had finished reading.

  He did not have long to wait. Clare was obviously very skilled at reading. Just as he was.

  “I find this very difficult to believe,” Clare muttered as she hurriedly perused the first paragraph. “Lord Thurston claims that you are the best candidate he could find. He says that you are the only one who was even remotely comparable to Lord Nicholas.”

  “I told you as much.”

  “I would not boast of it, if I were you. Nicholas is hardly a model of gracious chivalry.”

  “I have heard that he is skilled with a sword and that he is loyal to his liege lord,” Gareth said softly. “Those are Thurston’s primary concerns.”

  “It is easy for Lord Thurston to be satisfied with such simple qualifications. He is not obliged to marry the future lord of Desire.”

  “I’ll concede that much.”

  Clare frowned as she returned her attention to the letter. “Surely there must have been others who … By Hermione’s elbow, sir, this is impossible.” Clare looked up, clearly dumbfounded. “Lord Thurston claims that you are his eldest son.”

  “Aye.”

  “That cannot be true. Never expect me to believe that Thurston of Landry would want his heir to wed someone like me.”

  Gareth slanted her a sidelong glance. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, of course. But Thurston’s heir will be expected to make a fine match with a truly great heiress, the daughter of a family which enjoys influence with King Henry. A grand lady whose dowry will include much wealth and vast estates. I have only one small manor and it is already bound to Lord Thurston.”

  “You do not understand.”

  “I most certainly do understand.” Clare’s voice rang with fresh outrage. “You, sir, are attempting to deceive me.”

  The accusation annoyed him. “No, madam, I am not trying to cheat you.”

  “Do not think you can trick me so easily. If you were truly the baron’s heir, he would not settle this tiny little manor on you.”

  “Madam—”

  “And why would you wish to live here in this remote place when, as Thurston’s son and heir, you could have your choice of many fine holdings and great castles?”

  “‘Tis true that I am Thurston of Landry’s eldest son,” Gareth said through set teeth. “But I am not his heir.”

  “How can that be?”

  “I’m his natural son, not his legitimate heir.” Gareth looked at her, curious to see how she would react when she learned the full truth. “To be blunt, madam, I am Thurston’s bastard.”

  Clare was speechless for a moment. “Oh.”

  He saw that she was surprised, but he could not tell if she was shocked or angered or horrified to discover that she would soon be wed to a bastard. “Now mayhap you understand.”

  “Aye, sir, I do. Under the circumstances, Desire is no doubt as much as you can expect to receive by way of an inheritance, is it not?”

  He did not like the hint of sympathy in her voice. “’Tis enough. More than I expected.”

  Clare glowered at him and then bent her head over the letter. “This is too much. Your father states that I am to marry at once and that he hopes I will choose you, but if not, he will accept Nicholas of Seabern as the new lord of Desire.”

  “I told you that Thurston is most anxious to see the matter settled,” Gareth said neutrally. “He was much alarmed to discover that this manor had been without a lord for some time.”

  “Ah—”

  “For some reason, he did not learn of your father’s death until very recently. Apparently your letter notifying him of the sad event was delayed for a few months.”

  “Well, as to that, aye, there was some small delay.” Clare cleared her throat discreetly. “I was numbed with grief for a time, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “And then, when I eventually recovered, I discovered that there were a great many business matters that needed to be settled.”

  “Naturally.”

  “And then, the first thing I knew, it was winter,” Clare continued blithely. “I reasoned that the roads would be impassable, what with the snow and ice. I decided it would be best to wait until early spring to send a message to Thurston.”

  Gareth almost smiled. “And while you waited for the roads to clear, you sought to discover a way to avoid marriage.”

  Clare gave him a disgruntled look. “It was worth a try.”

  He shr
ugged. “But the effort failed. So now we must go forward along a new path.”

  “We?”

  “Aye. There is no reason the marriage cannot be celebrated on the morrow, is there?”

  “Impossible.” Desperation flashed in Clare’s eyes. “Absolutely impossible. It simply cannot be done.”

  “It most certainly can be done, and well you know it. All that is required is that a priest be summoned—”

  “We do not have a priest here on Desire,” Clare said swiftly.

  “I’m sure that one can be found in Seabern. We shall make our vows in front of witnesses, and that is that.”

  “But there is so much more to the matter,” Clare protested. “A suitable celebration must be arranged. My marshal already has his hands full organizing the household to accommodate all of your men. He will need weeks to arrange a wedding banquet and a proper feast for the villagers.”

  “I am certain all can be arranged very quickly once you have made your selection. A day or two at most,” Gareth conceded.

  “You speak as one who has never had to organize such an event,” she informed him with lofty disdain. “Great quantities of bread must be baked. Fish must be caught. Chickens plucked. Sauces prepared. Casks of wine and ale will have to be purchased. It will be necessary to send someone to Seabern to obtain some of the supplies.”

  Gareth came to a halt and confronted her. “Lady, I have organized entire battles with less notice. But I am willing to be patient.”

  “How patient?”

  “Now we are to bargain on that point? I begin to comprehend that I am to marry a woman with a head for business. Very well, my terms are simple. I shall allow you a day to make your decision and to prepare.”

  “One day?”

  “Aye. An entire day. All of tomorrow, in fact. I am feeling in an indulgent mood.”

  “You call that indulgent?”

  “I do. We shall be married the day after tomorrow even if we are obliged to serve naught but bad ale and stale bread at the banquet. Do you comprehend me?”

  “Sir, I am not one of your knights to be ordered about in such an overbearing manner.”