"Under the circumstances, I do, sir."

Gareth opened the door and went through into the next workroom. "You cannot blame me for being curious. Now that I have given up the business of hunting cutthroats, my fortunes are in your hands, madam." He halted just inside the room. "It smells like all the flowers on the earth are collected in here."

Clare scowled and hurried after him. "I told you, that workroom is full of fresh petals and other ingredients."

Gareth walked over to a huge covered urn and lifted the lid. He took a deep whiff of the contents.

"Hell's teeth. 'Tis enough to make a man light-headed."

"Oil of roses," Clare explained.

"And this?" Gareth lifted another lid.

"Tis an oil mixture composed of fresh lavender, cloves, and a great many other ingredients. My lord, forgive me if I doubt the extent of your interest in my creations. We both know that you are attempting to avoid a discussion."

"An argument." Gareth took a deep breath of the lavender and clove oil.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I am attempting to avoid an argument." He put the lid back on the urn and surveyed three large pots that stood on a table. "What's in these vessels?"

"Honey, beeswax, and vinegar." Clare hung on to her fraying temper with sheer willpower. "I mix various flowers and herbs into them to create different lotions and creams. My lord, I do not wish to argue with you, but?"

"Excellent." Gareth removed the lid from the honey jar. "I am not fond of arguments." He touched a large, heavy press made of wood and iron.

"What is this mechanical device?"

"I use it to extract oil from cinnamon and roses. It is of Arab design."

"Where did you get it?"

"It was my father's. He discovered it on his last journey to Spain. It was packed in one of the chests full of books and other items that he sent to me shortly before he died."

Gareth poked experimentally at one of the iron screws. His expression was one of absorbed curiosity. "Fascinating."

"Unfortunately, it is broken at the moment. I have not been able to repair it."

"Mayhap I can do something about it. I have studied a number of the translated Arab works that describe mechanical devices."

"Have you?" Clare was suddenly intrigued. This was a side of Gareth that she had not seen until now.

"Aye." Gareth jiggled one of the hinges on the press.

"Mayhap you would care to examine my father's workrooms. They are on the other side of the courtyard. I have kept them locked since he left Desire a year ago. They are full of many of the items he discovered on his various journeys."

"I would very much like to see your father's workrooms."

"Aye. Well, then, I shall give you the keys. Mayhap you would also enjoy studying the book he wrote.

I have it in my study chamber."

"He wrote a book?" Gareth sounded impressed.

"It is a collection of recipes and treatises that he translated from the Arabic. Unfortunately, my father was not a skilled scribe. It is a rather difficult volume to read."

"I shall look forward to the task."

Clare scowled in exasperation. She suddenly realized that Gareth had successfully deflected her from the topic at hand. "At the moment, however, I intend to have a discussion concerning the nature of our association."

"As a man who has made his living by knowing when to fight and when to keep his sword in its scabbard, I can tell you that you do not want such a discussion. Not now, at any rate."

"Is that so?" she challenged.

"Sometimes 'tis better not to confront a problem directly."

"Such discretion astounds me, sir. I would have thought you would prefer open battle."

"Nay, I have had too many battles in my time."

"You must excuse me if I am somewhat dubious of that statement, my lord."

"Tis true." Gareth looked up from the press. "I would far rather inhale the vapors of your perfumes than do battle with you."

"This is one battle you cannot avoid, sir. We are going to settle this matter between us. And we are going to do it now."

"So be it. If it is a battle you want, you shall have one."

Clare eyed him uneasily. "My lord, let us be clear on this matter of who gives the commands on Desire."

"Aye." Gareth wandered over to another urn and peered inside. "The first thing you must come to terms with, madam, is that I am not in your employ. You have not hired my services or my sword. I am your husband."

"I am hardly likely to forget that. I am attempting to adjust to the business of being a proper wife, but you are making things exceedingly difficult."

"You are not making it any easier on either of us by treating me as if I were little more than a hired guard."

"By Saint Hermione's girdle, I do not treat you as if you were a hired guard." Clare was outraged.

"I have attempted to show you the respect due a husband. It seems to me that I have given ground at every point."

"Is that how you see the situation? You believe you have been forced to give ground?"

"Aye, that is exactly how it looks to me."

Gareth propped himself against a table and folded his arms across his chest. "What of me? Haven't I made similar compromises? Do you think it simple for me to adjust to this business of being a husband?"

"I fail to see what great difficulties you have had to encounter."

"Shall I list them for you?" Gareth held up his hand and ticked up his complaints on his fingers. "You have made it clear since the moment I arrived that I was not what you ordered."

"You were unexpected," Clare muttered.

Gareth ignored that. He held up another finger. "You announced in front of the entire household that you did not intend to be a proper wife."

"I agreed to share a bedchamber with you."

"You refused to consummate the marriage on our wedding night."

Clare was incensed. "I told you this morning that I regretted that decision. It was wrong of me to refuse to do my duty last night." She took a deep breath. "I stand ready to do it tonight."

He slanted her a derisive glance. "Your duty? You'll forgive me if I fail to get overly enthusiastic about making love to a woman who feels that she is being forced to fulfill her responsibilities in the bedchamber."

Clare had had enough. She stalked down the aisle and came to a halt directly in front of him. "Is that why you refused to consummate our marriage this morning when I gave you the opportunity? You lost your enthusiasm for the task?"

Gareth narrowed his eyes. "Do you blame me?"

Clare's temper flared out of control. "If you no longer have any enthusiasm for the business, we are presented with a difficult problem, are we not?"

"What problem would that be?"

"I have it on good authority that, unlike a woman, a man cannot fulfill his husbandly obligations unless he is able to work up some degree of enthusiasm for the business."

"Who told you that?"

"Prioress Margaret," Clare shot back triumphantly.

"Ah." Gareth nodded sagely.

"Do you dispute her statement?" Clare demanded.

Gareth shrugged. "Nay. She has the right of it."

"What are we to do, sir, if you fail to regain your enthusiasm? Mayhap we will be forced to annul the marriage."

Gareth went dangerously still. "So that is your plan. You think to end this union of ours before it is even begun."

Clare looked into his eyes and saw the smoke from the fires of the nether regions. But she was too caught up in the flames of her own anger to rein in her wayward tongue.

"An annulment will certainly become a necessity if you are unable to work up sufficient enthusiasm for your husbandly tasks."

"The good prioress neglected to tell you one important fact about a man's enthusiasm, madam."

"And what would that be, my lord?"

"Sometimes the oddest things will arouse it." Gareth smiled slowly. "On occasion, for example, a good argument will do the trick."