'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.'
