If it wasn't Nicholas who had taught Clare the arts of love, Gareth thought, then it had most likely been Raymond de Coleville, her much-vaunted pattern of chivalry. Damn his soul.

Which one had it been? he wondered.

Or had she taken two lovers?

In that moment Gareth could cheerfully have given each of his unknown rivals a view of the Window of Hell.

Having made the acquaintance of Nicholas, Gareth concluded that it was the mysterious Raymond de Coleville who worried him the most.

Yet another challenge for the Hellhound of Wyckmere to conquer, he told himself. He had never been one to back down from a challenge.

He deepened the kiss, knowing that he had no right to resent the fact that Clare had lain in the arms of another man. He was no virgin, either, Gareth thought. And he was a bastard into the bargain: no great prize for any lady of her station.

Clare was a healthy young woman of three and twenty years who had been on her own and burdened with the responsibilities of managing the manor for much of her life.

She was also a very curious and obviously intelligent woman who had never planned to wed. Such a woman would not have been averse to tasting the forbidden fruit when the opportunity presented itself in the guise of a handsome young knight.

Gareth knew he was swiftly driving himself mad. It struck him that he had never before known the knife-sharp pangs of raw jealousy.

Jealousy?

The realization brought him back to his senses.

He tore his mouth from Clare's and framed her face between his hands.

Her eyes were luminous and full of wonder as she looked up at him.

"What's done is done," Gareth muttered.

"I do not understand, my lord."

"It matters not. From this night forward, you are mine. You are my lady wife, the future mother of my children. I vow, I will make you forget Nicholas and Raymond de Coleville and any other man who has come before me."

Her brows drew together in a quizzical expression. "But why would I wish to forget Nicholas and Raymond? One is a neighbor and the other was a friend."

"Enough. Do not speak of either of them again tonight." Gareth ensured her silence with another kiss.

She mumbled something unintelligible which sounded very much like a protest, or at the very least an attempt to start a spirited argument.

Gareth did not want to listen. He eased her lips apart and sank his tongue into her mouth.

Clare made another odd, somewhat strangled sound. Then she tightened her arms around his neck and touched her tongue to his.

Gareth sucked in a savage breath, swept her up into his arms, and tumbled her onto the bed. The hunger to be inside her nearly consumed him. He lowered himself heavily down onto the white linen sheets and reached for Clare.

"My lord."

"Hush." He flung one leg over her thighs. Conscious of his great weight and her much smaller size, he braced himself on his arms as he leaned over her. "We will discuss the matter later. Right now I only want to kiss you."

"Oh." The frowning uncertainty vanished from her eyes. She touched his cheek with her fingertip.

"Well, I suppose there is no great harm in mere kissing, is there?"

"None. And even if there were, I doubt the knowing would stop me tonight."

He gazed, enthralled, at the sight of her dark hair flowing across the herb-laced pillows. Slowly he fisted one hand in it and looped the silken skein around his fingers. He brought the stuff to his nose and inhaled deeply. "You smell of flowers, just like everything else on the isle."

"I expect that you'll grow accustomed to it, my lord."

"Aye." He bent his head to nibble at the elegant line of her throat. "I expect I will."

He eased aside the edge of her chamber robe and listened with deep pleasure to her quickly indrawn breath.

He moved his mouth downward to the swell of her breast, which was partially revealed by her white linen night robe.

"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.