might begin their wedded life with some sort of mutual respect and understanding.
“Do not worry, my lady wife,” he replied, forcing himself to sound indifferent. “I have never been one of those men who enjoys conquering a female. I prefer willing participation.”
Having received the assurance she wanted, Arden found herself immediately and irrationally disappointed. Of course, she didn’t want the ruffian touching her—but she had thought he found her attractive. She didn’t like to think it was that easy for him to keep away. She wanted to keep him away, in fact, had been prepared to scream the inn down if he had even tried to open her door, but it was frustrating to know that she wouldn’t have to scream. And if she wasn’t willing to let him into her bed, wouldn’t he eventually go looking for a woman who was? And why should that bother her? Gareth Richmond be damned, she thought. Let him bed anyone he wanted, as long as it was not herself.
Gareth would have been amused and relieved to know Arden’s paradoxical reaction. But her face never revealed anything, never changed as her emotions changed, but remained the familiar cool and arrogant mask. And so he sat back against the squabs, wondering not for the first time, why he had taken this woman to wife. And so they began their married life, at one in one thing, even though it was only second thoughts, he found her attractive. She didn’t like to think it was that easy for him to keep away. She wanted to keep him away, in fact, had been prepared to scream the inn down if he had even tried to open her door, but it was frustrating to know that she wouldn’t have to scream. And if she wasn’t willing to let him into her bed, wouldn’t he eventually go looking for a woman who was? And why should that bother her? Gareth Richmond be damned, she thought. Let him bed anyone he wanted, as long as it was not herself.
Chapter 17
When they arrived at the inn, Arden was exhausted from their journey. Gareth had slept much of the way, for he was worn out from the last weeks, which had involved both funeral and wedding preparations. Arden had tried to sleep and indeed had almost fallen off several times, but a rut in the road or the noise of a passing vehicle would awaken her, and she finally gave up.
She was agreeably surprised at the appearance of the White Lion. It was clean and well-staffed, and had she been in love with her husband, just the cozy sort of place she might have chosen for their wedding night. Although it had clearly been added onto over the centuries, the exterior was that of the thatched-roofed Tudor farmhouse it had originally been.
The landlord’s wife welcomed them warmly, showed them their rooms and informed them that supper would be served in the private parlor in half an hour. Arden was so tired she could only smile and nod as though she were a puppet. When the landlady complimented her on her new husband and emphasized, with a twinkle in her eye, that the beds in both rooms were more than adequate for two, Arden was almost shaken out of her stupor enough to reply, but the sight of Gareth’s grin kept her silent. She swept into her room and closed the door emphatically and fell upon the bed (which was, it must be admitted, as roomy as the landlady had suggested). She could hear Gareth moving around next door and realized that if she wanted supper, she had better get herself ready. She was as hungry as she was tired, and decided it was worth the uncomfortable hour ahead of her, in a private parlor with a man she loathed.
There was fresh water in a pitcher on the bureau, and she splashed her face with it, which woke her up a bit. Her traveling dress was wrinkled, but she had neither the energy nor the inclination to dress for dinner. So she decided to comb out her braids and just tie her hair back, to make herself look presentable. That done, she changed from her half boots into a pair of black kid slippers and was ready to go
“Do not worry, my lady wife,” he replied, forcing himself to sound indifferent. “I have never been one of those men who enjoys conquering a female. I prefer willing participation.”
Having received the assurance she wanted, Arden found herself immediately and irrationally disappointed. Of course, she didn’t want the ruffian touching her—but she had thought he found her attractive. She didn’t like to think it was that easy for him to keep away. She wanted to keep him away, in fact, had been prepared to scream the inn down if he had even tried to open her door, but it was frustrating to know that she wouldn’t have to scream. And if she wasn’t willing to let him into her bed, wouldn’t he eventually go looking for a woman who was? And why should that bother her? Gareth Richmond be damned, she thought. Let him bed anyone he wanted, as long as it was not herself.
Gareth would have been amused and relieved to know Arden’s paradoxical reaction. But her face never revealed anything, never changed as her emotions changed, but remained the familiar cool and arrogant mask. And so he sat back against the squabs, wondering not for the first time, why he had taken this woman to wife. And so they began their married life, at one in one thing, even though it was only second thoughts, he found her attractive. She didn’t like to think it was that easy for him to keep away. She wanted to keep him away, in fact, had been prepared to scream the inn down if he had even tried to open her door, but it was frustrating to know that she wouldn’t have to scream. And if she wasn’t willing to let him into her bed, wouldn’t he eventually go looking for a woman who was? And why should that bother her? Gareth Richmond be damned, she thought. Let him bed anyone he wanted, as long as it was not herself.
Chapter 17
When they arrived at the inn, Arden was exhausted from their journey. Gareth had slept much of the way, for he was worn out from the last weeks, which had involved both funeral and wedding preparations. Arden had tried to sleep and indeed had almost fallen off several times, but a rut in the road or the noise of a passing vehicle would awaken her, and she finally gave up.
She was agreeably surprised at the appearance of the White Lion. It was clean and well-staffed, and had she been in love with her husband, just the cozy sort of place she might have chosen for their wedding night. Although it had clearly been added onto over the centuries, the exterior was that of the thatched-roofed Tudor farmhouse it had originally been.
The landlord’s wife welcomed them warmly, showed them their rooms and informed them that supper would be served in the private parlor in half an hour. Arden was so tired she could only smile and nod as though she were a puppet. When the landlady complimented her on her new husband and emphasized, with a twinkle in her eye, that the beds in both rooms were more than adequate for two, Arden was almost shaken out of her stupor enough to reply, but the sight of Gareth’s grin kept her silent. She swept into her room and closed the door emphatically and fell upon the bed (which was, it must be admitted, as roomy as the landlady had suggested). She could hear Gareth moving around next door and realized that if she wanted supper, she had better get herself ready. She was as hungry as she was tired, and decided it was worth the uncomfortable hour ahead of her, in a private parlor with a man she loathed.
There was fresh water in a pitcher on the bureau, and she splashed her face with it, which woke her up a bit. Her traveling dress was wrinkled, but she had neither the energy nor the inclination to dress for dinner. So she decided to comb out her braids and just tie her hair back, to make herself look presentable. That done, she changed from her half boots into a pair of black kid slippers and was ready to go
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