He'd gone to the garden on Thursday, of course. He had joked about it, saying what a waste of time it was when she was all he wanted. She'd waited there for him, at the end of the front row in her new green silk, tingling with desire and triumph. The other women had backed away in glum silence as he strode towards her, ignoring Malia's urgent tugging at his sleeve. What a heady moment it was, when he'd pushed through them all to get at her, and had taken her hand and pressed it to his lips, and turned it over - there in front of them all - and had bitten the flesh where her thumb joined her palm. And had laughed when she'd gasped, and licked his forefinger and stroked it along her lower lip, and made her bite it, staring into her eyes as though there was no one else in the world.