He stilled, and the gaze he lifted to her was even colder. She’d made a mistake.
“I work hard for everything I have.”
“I know that,” she quickly said. “But you’re in disguise now. I could have my brother Reynold send along some clothes. They might be a bit large for you, but James would certainly never part with any garments.”
Gareth shook his head. “Sounds like the man I remember.”
“Be easy on him. He has changed for the better since his marriage. He just…likes his clothes.”
He leaned against the bedpost, folding his arms across his chest. “You don’t think your brothers would be suspicious as to why you’re sending for good quality male garments?”
She winced. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I shall just tell everyone I lost most of my goods in a storm off the coast.”
“You were never very good at telling stories.”
“When I chose to, I could be.” His voice was suddenly low and gruff, not quite so cold. “The marshall once bribed me with gingerbread to keep you out of the stables so they could get some work done. How else do you think I amused you?”
She didn’t remember that. Unexpected tears pricked her eyes. Life was so uncomplicated then. She had spent her days following Gareth around, trying to capture his attention.
But everything had changed. He would be following her—and he was angry about it.
“Regardless of how you feel, you still need some new clothes,” she said awkwardly as she moved toward the door. “I’ll talk to my seamstresses.”
“Hold!”
Anger overwhelmed her sadness. “I am not one of your soldiers!”
“One of my soldiers would make sure the corridor was empty if he didn’t want to be seen leaving a certain room.”
She felt a momentary weakness at her stupidity. She had almost walked out of a man’s bedchamber, regardless of who might be watching. Gareth opened the door, looked outside, then closed it again.
“ ’Tis clear.”
She swallowed. “Thank you.”
He leaned against the door, too close to her, studying her face with the coolness that unnerved her. “Perhaps you need a keeper more than a guard.”
She controlled the hurt that suffused her. “I’m not paying you for insults. Move away from the door.”
4
After her argument with Gareth, Margery was too upset to return to the great hall. Her bedchamber usually soothed her; it was decorated with colorful tapestries, cushions and draperies, things she brought with her wherever she traveled. And though she’d resigned herself to sleeping alone for the rest of her life, tonight she felt especially sad and uncertain. The king’s bequest had changed her entire life—and not for the better, as he’d hoped.
But then again, King Henry thought she was a normal young woman, with dreams of the perfect husband to fall in love with. He didn’t know that she would never marry.
How could she tell him without exposing all her sins? How could she tell him that she and Peter Fitzwilliam had?—
She burst into tears, unable to ease the ache that never went away.
How could she have been so foolish? She had been the envy of every woman because of her wonderful family and her wealth. She could have chosen any man who’d pleased her. But she’d chosen Peter Fitzwilliam, who’d revealed himself to be nothing more than a scoundrel, a slave to his family.
She’d let herself be charmed by his handsome looks, his easy manner. And then she’d let herself be seduced.
She had a sudden memory of lying naked in a garden, and Peter looking at her body.
Margery trembled with humiliation. Oh, they’d exchanged heartfelt vows of love—or so she’d thought. They spent every spare moment together, whispering of betrothal and marriage and children. She had thought her perfect life was just getting better and better.
