Page 45 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
She yanked her hand away and stumbled back a step. She looked about and saw no one but the two of them in the dense greenery of trees.
Gareth moved beside her as they began to walk. “The last time we played chase was in the forest outside Wellespring Castle.”
She sighed. “I remember being terribly frightened, but feeling safe, too. It has not been easy for me to think on those moments with you, because I still feel guilty that my father was dying at the same time.”
He hesitated before he said, “I understand.”
They came upon a brook meandering between rocks, glittering wherever the sun touched it through the shadow of trees. There were pools and rippling shallows, and the sounds of water falling. It was so very soothing to her frayed nerves.
She smiled at Gareth, and saw a blur of pink moving on the edges of their little clearing. Keeping her expression as normal as possible, she said, “What other games did we play in the forest?”
Before he could answer, the pink blur became shy Cicely, running with all her might. She snatched the token out of Gareth’s hand, and as he reached for her, Margery mischievously pushed him into the brook. But at the last second he gripped Margery’s wrist, and with a shriek she fell on top of him.
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Gareth’s backside hit the stone bed of the brook, and Margery came down on top of him. The water splashed over them on its way down to the Severn River. He held her there, letting her feel the way their legs entwined and their hips met—letting his own arousal awaken his senses.
Margery’s hair slapped across his face in a sodden mass, getting into his mouth and tickling his nose. Grinning, he heaved her to one side, and she rolled face-first into the water. She came up on her hands and knees, gasping and spitting.
Gareth started to laugh. Seldom-used muscles in his throat and chest soon ached with the effort, but he couldn’t help himself. The normally pristine, regal, perfect Margery Welles was a muddy disaster.
He vaguely saw Lady Cicely waving the scarf in triumph, then the duke’s two sons emerged from the undergrowth to chase her into the trees.
Gareth struggled to his feet, his tunic streaming water. He turned to help Margery, but she pushed his hand away and crawled ashore, her dripping skirts clinging to her legs.
“I hope you realize,” she said, gasping as she flopped onto her back in the grass, “that a gentleman would not laugh.”
“I have never claimed to be a gentleman.” He tried to speak solemnly, but the corners of his lips kept twitching.
He sat down beside her and started wringing the water from his sleeves, seeing from her expression that she was trying hard not to laugh herself. He didn’t think it wise just yet to inform her that her face was smeared in mud, and that a fern leaf was caught in her hair.
Margery sniffed and wiped her arm across her face. “You could havepretendedto be a gentleman and not pulled me in after you.” When she saw the mud on her sleeve, she moaned.
“You could have been a lady and not pushed me.”
She shrugged and closed her eyes, leaning back on her hands until the sun shone on her face. “I was simply shocked that Cicely—not Anne!—had thrown herself so completely into the game, and I wanted to help her.”
Gareth dropped back on his elbows, gazing at Margery’s wet, clinging gown. The pale yellow fabric molded to every curve, from her hardened nipples down to the indentation between her thighs. The impulse to cover her body with his was overwhelming.
He came up on one hand and leaned over her. All he had to do was remove a piece of her clothing—almost any piece—and let themselves be discovered. The game would be over and she’d be his, married as soon as the banns could be read. She desired him; he knew it. What would she do if he licked the moisture from her skin?
She frowned. “Gareth, what are you doing?”
Yet he didn’t have her trust. He needed her to choose him as her husband, to stand against her brothers.
“Forgive me, mistress. I sometimes forget I am a paid servant.”
“Do not say that,” she murmured, looking up at him so earnestly. “We are also friends.”
“Even after what happened yesterday?”
She remained silent, and Gareth waited, searching her face.
“I was as much at fault as you,” she finally whispered. “You were only trying to comfort me. I was distraught and overwhelmed at having too many choices for husband.”
“I think it is more than that. What pain do you hide, Margery?”
He lightly brushed her hair from her cheek. She stared almost wildly at him as her eyes filled with tears.
