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."

"But this is impossible."

"Hell's teeth." Gareth's hand stilled on his other boot.

He turned his head to stare at Clare. "What are you talking about?"

"I had no notion that you would be able to make me feel such powerful emotions." Clare pushed her hair out of her eyes and gazed at him anxiously. "Or that you would be faced with such temptation yourself, my lord."

"Clare, I don't know what kind of lovers Nicholas and de Coleville were, but I can promise you that I?"

"Raymond de Coleville was never my lover." Clare clutched at the edges of her unlaced robe and scrambled to her knees amid the rumpled sheets.

Her eyes flashed. "Nor was Nicholas of Seabern, although no one seems to believe me. I vow, I have had my fill of everyone assuming that I am no virgin."

Gareth reached out to touch her hand. "Calm yourself, Clare. There is no need to protest your innocence to me. It doesn't matter."

"You're right." She scowled. "You will not hear any more argument on the subject from me, my lord."

"So be it. I am pleased to learn that."

"In truth, the status of my virginity is neither here nor there."

"Aye. What's done is done."

"And when all is said and done," she said a little too sweetly, "I have no doubt but that I come to this bed at least as pure and untouched as yourself."

Gareth grimaced. "No doubt."

"Surely no man can ask more than that of a bride."

Gareth was stunned to feel the sudden heat in his face. Belatedly he wondered if she was teasing him.

He glared at her. "Mayhap we should change the subject, madam."

"Aye, you are right, sir." Her expression softened. She put out a hand and lightly touched his arm.

"In all fairness, our mutual virginity, or lack of it, is not the problem at the moment, is it?"

"Nay." Gareth was unable to think of anything else to say. He did not want to talk about anything at all. He simply wanted to make love to his wife. Was that too much to ask? he wondered glumly.

"The important thing," Clare continued crisply, "is that I have just learned how powerful physical desire truly is when it is wielded by a man of your nature, sir."

Gareth eyed her cautiously. "My nature?"

"Tis obvious you are a man of great passions."

"Tis obvious you are a woman who incites great passions, madam."

"I am well aware that I have a responsibility in this matter," she assured him.

"Excellent. We have that much established, then." He dropped his second boot on the floor and rose to remove his undertunic.

Clare frowned in thought. "Tis plain that we must take care to control this extremely volatile force before it assumes complete command of you, my lord."

Gareth had his tunic half over his head. He stopped, hesitated for the count of three, and slowly released his grip on the garment. The gray gown fell back down over his body.

"What did you say?" he asked very softly.

Her expression of grave concern deepened. "I said that we must exercise extreme caution if we are to protect you, my lord."

"Protect me from what?" he roared, now out of patience.

Her eyes widened, but she appeared startled rather than afraid. "You're shouting."

"Nay, madam," he said through his teeth. "Not yet. But soon, mayhap. Very soon."

She sighed. "Tis simply more evidence, of course."

"Evidence of what?"

"The strength of your passions." She smiled with gentle understanding.

'"Tis clear that because of your warm nature, you are on the verge of forgetting our understanding."

"I am?"

"Aye. As your wife and for the sake of our growing riendship, I must help you resist this great temptation. After all, your honor is at stake."