Desire

'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.