Page 20 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold (Secrets and Vows #4)

19

M argery tried not to smile as Gareth dropped the garment. He quickly picked it up and handed it to her, his eyes glowing in the candlelight.

Her anger at this whole situation was returning, along with the recklessness that made her long for pleasure before she was forced to choose a husband. The look on Gareth’s face just fueled the emotions that coursed through her.

She took her nightdress and disappeared behind the screen. For a moment her thoughts returned to Sir Humphrey, and she shivered at how close she’d come to forcibly becoming his wife.

Margery had needs of her own, none of which would be fulfilled in her marriage vows. She dropped the towel and pulled the nightdress over her head. Soon she would have memories of passion that didn’t involve Peter Fitzwilliam.

She mulled over what she would do. Should she approach Gareth and blatantly kiss him again? He was a man; she didn’t think he’d refuse her offer a second time. She imagined his shocked stare, and then his wondrous eyes would heat and?—

She gave a little shiver. She could persuade Gareth to enjoy himself, at least this once.

Taking a deep breath, she came out from behind the screen. He stood beside the bed, his jerkin discarded, his shirt hanging loose at his neck. Her mouth fell open in surprise and rising anger. Did he think seducing her would be so easy? All right, she had meant to kiss him—but she would not be so quickly won.

Gareth said mildly, “Would you mind if I used the tub before I leave? I am covered in mud from my toes to my ears.”

Her lips moved for a moment, but nothing came out. This wasn’t going at all as she expected.

“Use my tub?” It came out like a squeak. “But…the water is dirty.”

He shrugged and drew his shirt over his head, then leaned over to drop the garment on a chair. His bare chest was enough to take any woman’s breath away.

Gareth smiled. “You were mostly cold and wet, not dirty—unless you hadn’t bathed in months.”

“I take frequent baths,” she said, frowning. She should look away, but he was half naked, and he was standing right beside her bed. He still had yellowish green bruises from his first battle with Sir Humphrey, and there would probably be more after today.

She blatantly stared at him, at his broad, muscular shoulders, narrow hips, and heavy thighs. He wore a codpiece over his hose, and she blushed as she realized her interest.

He grinned as he walked toward her. “So may I use your tub, or would you like to stare at me for the rest of the night?”

Margery groaned and closed her eyes, knowing her face was bright red. “Forgive me. I do not normally—I mean I never— Oh, just use the tub.” She turned away and covered her face.

He had the audacity to chuckle as he moved behind the screen.

She threw herself on the bed and covered her head with a cushion. But she could still hear him—the splash of the water as he entered the tub, his tuneless whistle.

She and her husband would most certainly have separate chambers. She wanted to control how much time they spent together.

But listening to Gareth splash about in the water, she imagined sitting before the fire with her husband each evening, climbing into bed together, doing…intimate things in that bed together. And waking up in each other’s arms.

But then she would grow close to her husband, and he would sleep with a maidservant, or whatever men were wont to do. She couldn’t bear to have her expectations crushed, so she wouldn’t have any expectations at all beyond a civil, comfortable relationship—more like a partnership.

“Margery?”

She came up on one elbow. “Yes?”

“I hope I have not offended you by being so forward as to use your tub.”

“Why, no, Gareth.”

“Do not worry so. I am sure your husband would never dream of doing such a thing.”

With a groan, she covered her face again. How had he known what she was thinking? She lay still, and as she listened to the sounds of him bathing, soon she was imagining touching him again.

Margery suddenly sat up. What was she waiting for? He was a man. He wouldn’t refuse her—although he already had. Surely that was just on principle.

She stood up and walked slowly toward the screen, biting her lip. She put a hand on the wood and stopped, unsure of what to say. Then taking a deep breath, she stepped around the screen.

“Can I help you wash your back?”

Gareth stiffened at the sound of her voice, his back to her, his wet shoulders gleaming in the candlelight. His hair was damp, darker, slicked back. He looked over his shoulder at her with wary eyes, but didn’t answer.

Silently she walked around to the front. He was almost too big for her tub. Soapy, cloudy water lapped at his bent knees. His lower body was a vague, rippling outline beneath the surface. He lifted his arms out and rested them on the edge of the tub, where they dripped water in soft spatters onto the floor.

The moment felt almost like a dream, where Margery did things she’d never do by day. Everything was forbidden, yet the intoxication of it lured her forward. At the foot of the tub she leaned over him, resting her hands on the rim. There were mysterious shadows flickering over his hips. She wanted to submerge her hands and explore.

He tilted his head back to look up at her. “Isn’t this…dangerous?”

“Yes.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

“If someone saw this?—”

“They won’t.”

“I’m not sure why you’re?—”

“Shh.” Margery slowly pushed her sleeves above her elbows. She glanced at the small table where the dish of soap and extra towel lay, but there was no facecloth. She spied it in the depths of the tub, next to his hip. She reached down into the water, making sure to brush along his flesh as she brought the cloth out.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and she felt wild and powerful. Did he tremble like she did? Gareth had lived many places, done many things. Surely her nearness did not affect him so much.

She wrung out the cloth, dipped it into the soft soap, then walked around to his back to kneel down. When she saw his hands grip the rim of the tub, she smiled with satisfaction.

Spreading the cloth across her hand, she murmured, “Lean forward.”

There was a long pause, and she thought for a moment that Gareth would refuse. She didn’t know she was holding her breath until he finally did as she asked. Before she could change her mind, she began to wash his back in slow circles, being gentle where she saw bruises. His body was hard and so different from hers.

She didn’t remember even having time to truly look at Peter like this. Their moments together had been quick and furtive and exciting, nothing like this slow, languorous danger that now moved through her. She dropped the cloth, lathered her bare hands, and began washing his neck beneath his hair.

He propped his head in his hands. She didn’t know whether she was putting him to sleep or if he was enjoying her touch. She moved lower on his back, feeling his hot, wet skin and each muscle beneath the surface. As her hands dipped beneath the water, her fingers moving just past his waist, she felt him shudder.

Gareth pressed his fingers hard into his skull, trying to hold on to his sanity. Margery was doing her best to seduce him. Any moment now, his control would crack and he would drag her into the tub and thrust inside her.

But he was determined that he would bed her only when she loved him, when she was choosing him as husband and they were bound together.

Women usually played coy and shy with him. He was supposed to guess their feelings and take action, so whatever they did sexually would be his fault, not theirs. All they would allow themselves was pretending to submit to his desires.

Never had a woman treated him like Margery did, like he was worth her time and attention.

He tried to tell himself that she always went after what she wanted because she was spoiled. She had her marriage plan all worked out, and it didn’t include an unpredictable husband she desired too much.

He suddenly realized he was playing the woman’s part in this seduction: flirting, responding, but not letting things go too far. He wanted her to become so frustrated that she had no choice but to marry him.

She gently pulled him back until his shoulders relaxed into her breasts, and he wanted to groan. She felt so good.

“I can see soap in your hair,” she said softly, her mouth close to his ear. “I’ll have to rinse you.”

“Yes.” Gareth could whisper nothing else. He was pillowed against her breasts while her soapy hands slid down over his chest. Her fingertips flicked against his nipples and he jerked in her arms.

“Margery, don’t do that.” His voice was an awkward imitation of itself.

“Why not?” Her tongue traced his ear. “I want you to do the same thing to me.”

She tilted his head back against her shoulder and covered his mouth with her own. Her teeth nibbled at him; her tongue licked him. He was wrapped in the heat of her passion, so close to surrender. When she tried to open his mouth, he gripped the last of his willpower and held her away.

“You don’t really want this,” he said hoarsely.

He saw fury come over her face an instant before she pushed to her feet. His head fell back against the tub, and he was suddenly alone and cold, his erection painfully hard.

“Why do you keep trying to tell me what I want?” she demanded, her hands on her hips. “I can make my own decisions.”

“You’re angry and frightened because of what happened with Townsend,” he said. “This is the only way you think you can regain your authority.”

She flung her arms in the air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She stalked around the screen.

He heard her flounce back onto the bed. He sat frozen, calling on all the restraint he’d been forced to develop over the years. Rejecting Margery’s advances was insane. How was this going to work in his favor? He might drive her away permanently.

Yet…it felt like the right decision. He reached down for the bucket beside the tub, stood up, and poured it over his head. With a shudder, he let the now-cold water do its work.

Margery sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, crossed her arms over her chest, and fumed. How dare Gareth tell her what she wanted, what she needed! Every man she’d ever met had tried to influence her choices. Now she was the one in charge of her life—and he wouldn’t let her do what she wanted.

“Margery?” he called.

She frowned. “What?”

“I have no garments here.”

Her eyes widened as he came around the screen, wearing just a cloth about his hips, his skin damp, his blond hair tousled.

“I am sure no one will see me if I run down the corridor,” he said.

“You’re leaving?” Margery tried to sound confident, but only succeeded in sounding fearful.

Suddenly the thought of being alone this night brought on a wave of unfamiliar terror. What was wrong with her? In an instant, she’d gone from desire to fright. Sir Wallace had surely searched the grounds and the castle; no one could get to her. In an hour or so, dawn would lighten the sky and she’d be safe for another day.

Gareth set his pile of dirty garments on a chair, then stood beside her bed. “I promise you that from now on I will be ever vigilant. This will never happen to you again.”

Childish words spilled out of her. “I just…cannot be here alone tonight. Please?—”

He sat down beside her and the mattress made her lean toward him.

“Your ladies could come sleep near you,” he said. “I shall post guards right outside your door.”

“No guards! I cannot show that I am afraid. And how could I explain all this to Anne and Cicely? Please, just…stay with me.” She breathed her last words in a soft voice as she gazed into his eyes.

“Margery—”

“Please, Gareth.” She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder. His skin was so warm, and smelled like soap. She heard his quick intake of breath. Now he would take her in his arms; now he would give her memories she’d grow old cherishing.

But he held her away. “I’ll stay. Let me tuck you into bed, and I’ll make a pallet before the fire.”

She wanted to groan aloud. What did she have to do, force him back onto her bed and climb atop him?

“Margery.” He said her name regretfully as he rubbed her arms. “You are not thinking clearly tonight. You have been frightened, and I’m here, and I’m…not so bad to look at. That is the only reason you are acting in this unusual manner.”

She took a sharp breath. “You think I cannot control myself because of your looks? Do you think—oh! You are so arrogant.” She grabbed a pillow and hit him with it.

Gareth ducked away and laughed. She came up on her knees to hit him again, then watched as he caught his towel before it fell. She had a sudden wild impulse to grab the towel away and see what he did. But he moved out of her reach.

“Do you have a spare blanket?” he asked.

She folded her arms beneath her chest and did her best to look mutinous. “In the trunk at the foot of my bed.”

She watched him make his pallet. Beneath his skin, so many muscles rippled. When the thin cloth stretched taut over his buttocks, she slid into bed and pulled the blankets over her head with a muffled groan.

An hour later, Gareth stood over Margery and watched as she slept. He had wiped most of the mud off his leather jerkin, and now wore it like armor between the two of them.

Her face was calm, no longer fearful. Although his body still protested, he was glad he had not bedded her. In the morning she would have regretted her impulsiveness. He needed her to choose him, not run to him in fear from her feelings.

But there would be no peaceful dreams for him tonight, or visions, either, he was certain. He knew exactly what he wanted, and it was she, regardless of the secrets between them. He had even begun to think only of letting himself take her, pleasure her. At the thought of his vengeful plans, he felt uneasy.

He banished such thoughts. They would be wed; they would have passionate nights, and probably many children to keep her busy. He would never starve again, or be forced to sleep in rat-infested inns.

He tried to picture her brothers, to imagine basking in their anger while he enjoyed the contentment of vengeance. Yet Margery’s smiling face had begun to replace such thoughts. Would she be smiling if she discovered the truth?

~oOo~

A sennight passed, and during the days, Gareth watched Margery keep herself busy with the harvest and the coming preparations for winter planting. Each evening he would come to her bedchamber to guard her. He knew she was still afraid to be alone, because she never asked him to leave.

Most nights she was asleep when he arrived. Then he would watch her, memorizing how she moved, the expressions on her face, the way her hair cascaded like a dark waterfall over the edge of the bed. He would imagine sliding under the cool sheets, lifting her nightclothes, and pulling her naked body against him.

Some evenings she was still awake, her eyes watching him intently as he closed the door and went to make his pallet. It was as if now that he’d rejected her, she would not approach him.

Night after night, the tension between them increased. If she just pressed herself against him, he would part her legs and take her wherever she stood. Instead he lay on his lonely pallet, listening to her breathe, his desire and his groin keeping him awake.

When he was in danger of forgetting his purpose, he prowled the room and made himself remember what her family had done to him. But those feelings were burning out beneath the lust that lay banked, waiting, inside him.