Free Desire by Jayne A. Krentz Page B

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