'Sir, I am not one of your knights to be ordered about in such an overbearing manner.'
'And I am not one of your household servants or a fawning young minstrel devoted to serving your every whim,' Gareth said calmly. 'Unless you have decided that you wish to wed Nicholas of Seabern?'
'I most certainly will not marry that obnoxious oaf.'
'Then I will soon be your lord and the lord of this manor. Tis best that you remember that when you think to gainsay me.'
'What I choose to remember is that I am the lady of Desire and I will expect to be treated with the respect that is my due.'
Gareth took a single step forward. He was pleased when Clare stood her ground, but he was careful not to show his satisfaction. He was, after all, well skilled in the arts of combat. He knew better than most that it was extremely unwise to show weakness of any kind.
'Be assured that you have my respect, madam. But you cannot avoid the facts. Lord Thurston has commanded you to wed as soon as possible.'
Clare tapped Thurston's letter against her palm and regarded Gareth with narrowed eyes. 'Are you quite certain that you did not overtake my other suitors on the road, do something dreadful to them, and then write this letter yourself?'
'That is Thurston of Landry's seal. Surely you recognize it.'
'Seals may be stolen or duplicated and used for fraudulent purposes.'
Clare brightened. 'Aye. I should have thought of that immediately. 'Tis quite likely that this seal is false. I shall have to write to Lord Thurston to ascertain if he actually wrote this particular letter.'
Gareth regarded her with dawning amazement. Clare certainly did not surrender easily, not even to the inevitable. 'Madam?'
'Twill no doubt take several days, mayhap weeks, to receive an answer from your father. 'Tis unfortunate, of course, but we shall have to postpone the selection of a husband until he sends a message to me verifying that this letter is genuine.'
'Hell's teeth.'
Her eyes shone with a mock innocence that did not completely veil the underlying shrewdness. 'Only think of the complications that would ensue if I were to act in haste.'
Gareth caught her chin on the edge of his hand and leaned very close to brush his mouth lightly across hers.
'Give it up, lady,' he said softly. 'The letter is genuine. Your lord, my father, wants you safely wed as soon as possible. There is no way out of this snare. Go and see to the preparations for our marriage banquet because, unless you wish to marry Nicholas of Seabern?'
'I most definitely do not wish to wed him.'
'Then come the day after tomorrow, you will be my wife.'
Clare watched him in silence for a few taut seconds. A sudden crackling sound made Gareth glance down. He saw that she had crushed Thurston's letter in her hand.
Without a word, Clare whirled around and walked away from him. She did not glance back as she stalked out of the garden.
Gareth did not move until she had gone. Then he turned slowly to contemplate the well-ordered garden for a long while before he went to find Ulrich.
Clare sought the refuge of her study chamber. It was a place where she could usually find as much satisfaction as she could in her garden or in the workrooms where she concocted her perfumes and potions.
The walls of the sunny chamber were covered with beautifully worked tapestries featuring garden scenes. The air was scented by urns full of flowers that had been crushed and dried and then painstakingly mixed to yield complex fragrances.
The braziers in the corners, which provided heat on cold days, burned scented coals that delighted Clare's sensitive nose.
In the days following the death of her brother, Edmund, and again, after receiving the news of her father's death in Spain, Clare had found solace and comfort in this chamber.
A few months ago, seeking a way to take her mind off her myriad problems, she had begun a book-writing project. She determined to write down many of her intricate perfume recipes.
The task gave her a great deal of satisfaction.
Today, however, there was no escape to be found from the troubles which beset her.
She sat for a while with pen and parchment in front of her and tried to concentrate on the book of recipes, but it was no use.
After three botched attempts, she gave up the effort and tossed aside the quill. She gazed moodily out the window and thought about the feel of Gareth's mouth on hers.
His kiss had shaken her more than she wished to admit. It had been nothing like the wet, obnoxious kisses Nicholas had forced on her last month when he had carried her off to Seabern Keep.
She had disliked everything about Nicholas's embrace. When he had crushed her against his great, oversized body, she had been repelled, not only by the bulge of his aroused manhood, but by the very smell of him.
Part of the problem, of course, was the undeniable fact that Nicholas was not overly fond of bathing.
But it was not just the odor of sweat and dirt that had repulsed her; it was the personal, utterly unique scent of the man, himself. Clare knew she would never learn to ignore it, let alone accept it in the same bed with her.
She touched her lips with her fingertips and inhaled deeply, seeking a trace of Gareth's scent.
'Clare?' Joanna frowned from the doorway. 'Are you all right?'
'What? Oh, aye, I'm fine, Joanna.' Clare smiled reassuringly. 'I was just contemplating something.'
'Sir Gareth, by any chance?'
'What else?' Clare waved Joanna to a stool near the window. 'Did you know that he is Lord Thurston's son?'
'Aye. I heard the news just now downstairs in the hall.' Joanna studied her with a perceptive look.
'He is Thurston's bastard, to be precise.'
'But still a son.' Clare fiddled with the quill. 'Some would say I have been honored.'
'Some would say that Lord Thurston places great value on this manor,'
Joanna said dryly. 'Tis obvious he wishes to be certain that he can depend upon the loyalty of its new lord. What better way to make sure of that than by seeing you wed to a man who is tied to him by blood?'
'True enough.' Clare glanced at the letter that lay on her desk. 'He claims he could not find any suitors who came close to meeting my requirements except Sir Nicholas and Sir Gareth.'
'Indeed?'
'Personally, I am beginning to doubt that he tried very hard.'
'Men tend to be very practical about such matters,' Joanna murmured. 'At least he has given you a choice.'
'Tis not much of a choice, if you ask me.'
Joanna clucked unsympathetically. 'Tis more of a choice than I had.'
Clare winced. She knew very well that at fifteen, Joanna had had no say whatsoever in the selection of a husband. 'Were you very unhappy in your marriage, Joanna?'
'Lord Thomas was no better and no worse than most men,' Joanna said philosophically. 'He was never deliberately cruel to me or to William.'
'That is something, I suppose.'
''Tis a great deal,' Joanna retorted.
'Did you ever grow to love him?'
Joanna sighed. 'Nay. I respected him as a wife should respect her husband, but I could not love him.'
Clare tapped the quill gently on the desk. 'Abbess Helen wrote in her last letter that a good man will cause
