steel, but the rose-scented soap he had recently used did not disguise that other essence, the one that smelled so right to her.
She could not help but notice that even though he had discarded hauberk and helm, he did not appear any smaller than he had earlier.
Clare was forced to acknowledge that it was not his physical size, intimidating as that was, which made him seem so large and so very formidable. It was something else, something that had to do with the aura of self-mastery and clear-minded intelligence that radiated from him.
This man would make a very dangerous adversary, Clare thought. Or a very strong, very loyal friend.
But what kind of lover would such a man prove to be?
The question, unbidden and deeply unsettling, had a shattering effect on her.
To cover her strange reaction, Clare sat down quickly on the stone bench. "I trust my servants have made you comfortable, sir."
"Very comfortable." Gareth sniffed a couple of times, as if testing the air. "I seem to smell of roses at the moment, but I expect the odor will soon fade."
Clare set her teeth. She could not tell if he was complaining, jesting, or merely remarking upon the fragrance. "The rose-perfumed soaps are among our most profitable wares, sir. The recipe is my own invention. We sell great quantities to the London merchants who come to the spring fair in Seabern."
He inclined his head. "That knowledge will greatly increase my appreciation of my bath."
"No doubt." She mentally braced herself. "There was something you wished to discuss with me, sir?"
"Aye. Our marriage."
Clare flinched, but she did not fall off the bench. Under the circumstances, she considered that a great accomplishment. "You are very direct about matters, sir."
He looked mildly surprised. "I see no point in being otherwise."
"Nor do I. Very well, sir, let me be blunt. In spite of your efforts to establish yourself in everyone's eyes as the sole suitor for my hand, I must tell you again that your expectations are unrealistic."
"Nay, madam," Gareth said very quietly. "Tis your expectations that are unrealistic. I read the letter you sent to Lord Thurston. It is obvious you hope to marry a phantom, a man who does not exist. I fear you must settle for something less than perfection."
She lifted her chin. "You think that no man can be found who suits my requirements?"
"I believe that we are both old enough and wise enough to know that marriage is a practical matter. It has nothing to do with the passions that the troubadours make so much of in their foolish ballads."
Clare clasped her hands together very tightly. "Kindly do not condescend to lecture me on the subject of marriage, sir. I am only too well aware that in my case it is a matter of duty, not desire. But in truth, when I composed my recipe for a husband, I did not believe that I was asking for so very much."
"Mayhap you will discover enough good points in me to satisfy you, madam."
Clare blinked. "Do you actually believe that?"
"I would ask you to examine closely what I have to offer. I think that I can meet a goodly portion of your requirements."
She surveyed him from head to toe. "You most definitely do not meet my requirements in the matter of size."
"Concerning my size, as I said earlier, there is little I can do about it, but I assure you I do not generally rely upon it to obtain my ends."
Clare gave a ladylike snort of disbelief.
"Tis true. I prefer to use my wits rather than muscle whenever possible."
"Sir, I shall be frank. I want a man of peace for this isle. Desire has never known violence. I intend to keep things that way. I do not want a husband who thrives on the sport of war."
He looked down at her with an expression of surprise. "I have no love of violence or war."
Clare raised her brows. "Are you going to tell me that you have no interest in either? You, who carry a sword with a terrible name? You, who wear a reputation as a destroyer of murderers and
She could not help but notice that even though he had discarded hauberk and helm, he did not appear any smaller than he had earlier.
Clare was forced to acknowledge that it was not his physical size, intimidating as that was, which made him seem so large and so very formidable. It was something else, something that had to do with the aura of self-mastery and clear-minded intelligence that radiated from him.
This man would make a very dangerous adversary, Clare thought. Or a very strong, very loyal friend.
But what kind of lover would such a man prove to be?
The question, unbidden and deeply unsettling, had a shattering effect on her.
To cover her strange reaction, Clare sat down quickly on the stone bench. "I trust my servants have made you comfortable, sir."
"Very comfortable." Gareth sniffed a couple of times, as if testing the air. "I seem to smell of roses at the moment, but I expect the odor will soon fade."
Clare set her teeth. She could not tell if he was complaining, jesting, or merely remarking upon the fragrance. "The rose-perfumed soaps are among our most profitable wares, sir. The recipe is my own invention. We sell great quantities to the London merchants who come to the spring fair in Seabern."
He inclined his head. "That knowledge will greatly increase my appreciation of my bath."
"No doubt." She mentally braced herself. "There was something you wished to discuss with me, sir?"
"Aye. Our marriage."
Clare flinched, but she did not fall off the bench. Under the circumstances, she considered that a great accomplishment. "You are very direct about matters, sir."
He looked mildly surprised. "I see no point in being otherwise."
"Nor do I. Very well, sir, let me be blunt. In spite of your efforts to establish yourself in everyone's eyes as the sole suitor for my hand, I must tell you again that your expectations are unrealistic."
"Nay, madam," Gareth said very quietly. "Tis your expectations that are unrealistic. I read the letter you sent to Lord Thurston. It is obvious you hope to marry a phantom, a man who does not exist. I fear you must settle for something less than perfection."
She lifted her chin. "You think that no man can be found who suits my requirements?"
"I believe that we are both old enough and wise enough to know that marriage is a practical matter. It has nothing to do with the passions that the troubadours make so much of in their foolish ballads."
Clare clasped her hands together very tightly. "Kindly do not condescend to lecture me on the subject of marriage, sir. I am only too well aware that in my case it is a matter of duty, not desire. But in truth, when I composed my recipe for a husband, I did not believe that I was asking for so very much."
"Mayhap you will discover enough good points in me to satisfy you, madam."
Clare blinked. "Do you actually believe that?"
"I would ask you to examine closely what I have to offer. I think that I can meet a goodly portion of your requirements."
She surveyed him from head to toe. "You most definitely do not meet my requirements in the matter of size."
"Concerning my size, as I said earlier, there is little I can do about it, but I assure you I do not generally rely upon it to obtain my ends."
Clare gave a ladylike snort of disbelief.
"Tis true. I prefer to use my wits rather than muscle whenever possible."
"Sir, I shall be frank. I want a man of peace for this isle. Desire has never known violence. I intend to keep things that way. I do not want a husband who thrives on the sport of war."
He looked down at her with an expression of surprise. "I have no love of violence or war."
Clare raised her brows. "Are you going to tell me that you have no interest in either? You, who carry a sword with a terrible name? You, who wear a reputation as a destroyer of murderers and
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