Skye O'Malley (38 page)

“I am sorry,” replied the Earl, immediately sympathetic.

“Have you tried infusing witchhazel bark in warm water, then soaking a soft linen cloth in it and putting it on your forehead, Lady Burke?”

“Why thank you, Señora Goya del Fuentes, I have not heard of that but I shall try it,” murmured Constanza. Feeling Niall’s grip on her arm becoming insistent, she curtseyed and turned away.

“What a strange man,” said Skye, watching the Burkes’ retreating backs. “He stared so intently at me.”

Geoffrey laughed. “I wonder why. Could it be because you’re the most beautiful woman here?” He lowered his voice. “Sweetheart, you know what I want to say to you.”

“Yes,” she replied softly, her cheeks growing hot.

“If I come to you tonight, my darling …”

“I know I’m behaving like a damned coy maid,” she answered him, “but no man had ever loved me but my dearest lord. I don’t know if I could let you, Geoffrey. I want you, but I’m afraid. Can you understand?”

“When the Queen leaves,” he said quietly, “go home and wait for me. We will talk, Skye. I love you, and what is between us must be resolved. You feel that, too, don’t you?”

She nodded at him, her eyes huge and deepest blue. He smiled reassuringly at her, and the icy fear she had felt deep inside her dissolved in a quick, warm glow. He loved her! He had said so plainly!

Her soaring thoughts were interrupted as de Grenville arrived. “The Queen would speak with you, Mistress Skye. Allow me to escort you,” he offered.

“We shall both escort you, my love,” said the Earl firmly.

As they reached Elizabeth, the Queen ordered her page to bring a stool for Skye. Then she waved the two gallants away without a word, her beautiful hands gesturing imperiously. “You’re popular
with the gentlemen, mistress,” Elizabeth commented as the two men moved away.

Skye laughed. “My lord de Grenville is an old friend of my business partner, Sir Robert Small. Like Robbie, he feels he must protect me.”

“And that rogue, Southwood?”

“The Earl does not feel … protective toward me,” Skye twinkled and Elizabeth laughed, the deep gray eyes bright.

“An understatement, mistress!” she chuckled. “A woman of wit, I see. I like that! Tell me of yourself now. How did you come to be Sir Robert Small’s partner?”

“Of myself there is little to tell, Majesty. I am Irish, or so I have been told. I was left in a convent in Algiers at a very young age and I know nothing about my background. Several years ago I was wed to a wealthy Spanish merchant of that city. Robbie was his partner. When my lord died two years ago I was forced to flee Algiers because a Turkish governor had plans to force me into his harem. Robbie rescued me and my husband’s French secretary, Jean Marlaix, and his wife Marie. She and I were both with child when we fled. My daughter was born here in England, for which I thank God.”

“So you arrived here a poor widow, and Sir Robert Small took you in?”

“Poor? Oh, no, madam! I had, by Moslem law, one month to mourn my husband. During that time I secretly arranged for the sale of all my husband’s goods and properties and I had the monies transferred to England. Oh, no, madam! My daughter and I are hardly penniless.”

“ ’Pon my soul, mistress, you are a cool one. I like that. Indeed I do. So you have gone into business with Sir Robert Small, have you? Good! I like an intelligent woman, one who uses her brain as well as her body. Are you at all educated? You must be.”

“Yes, Majesty. I speak and read English, French, Italian, Spanish, and Latin. I can write and am competent with figures.”

“Very well, mistress. I am impressed with what I see and hear. Cecil will arrange an appointment with you and Sir Robert. We will all talk. I think perhaps a royal charter will be forthcoming.”

Skye rose and curtseyed deeply. “Majesty, I am most grateful.”

Elizabeth stood. Instantly the Earl of Lynmouth appeared by her side.

“Southwood, I am weary. It has been a busy holiday season. Escort me to my barge.”

The Queen and her escort moved between the bowing and curtseying guests, a path to the door opening before them. Robert and de Grenville took possession of Skye once more.

“Will you stay, Skye lass?”

“No, Robbie, I am tired. I have already bid Geoffrey good night. Please escort me to my coach. But you remain if you like.”

“I’ll go. I’m longing for a good pint and a warm wench. The atmosphere here is too rarefied to suit me. De Grenville, will you join me?”

“Aye,” came the smiling reply.

“Take my coach,” offered Skye.

“Ah, lass, bless your generosity.”

They left her safe inside her house, and drove off. Skye handed her cloak to Walters, her majordomo. “Lock up,” she said, “Captain Small will not be back tonight.”

“Very well, madam.”

Skye hurried up the stairs to her apartment, where Daisy awaited her.

“Oh, mum, did you see her? Did you see Young Bess? We watched her barge from the top of the house!”

“Yes, Daisy, I met the Queen. We spoke twice this evening, and I shall see her again.”

Daisy’s eyes were round with excitement. “Is she pretty, close up?”

“Yes, Daisy, she is very pretty, with lovely fair skin and red-gold hair and bright gray eyes.”

“Oh, mum, when I tell me mother back in Devon that I saw the Queen’s barge, and that my mistress even spoke to her! She’ll be so proud!”

Skye smiled. “Tomorrow I shall tell you what the Queen wore tonight, but for now help me get ready for bed.”

Obediently Daisy went to work, unlacing her mistress’s gown, helping her disrobe. The beautiful velvet gown was brushed carefully and hung back in the wardrobe. Silken undergarments were gathered up to be given to the laundress. Skye slipped into a pale-pink silk gown with a deep V neckline secured by tiny pearl buttons. The long full sleeves floated, the skirt clung.

Daisy brought a silver basin of warmed rose water, and Skye washed her face and hands and cleaned her teeth. “Shall I brush your hair, mum?”

“Nay, Daisy, I’ll do it. It’s late. Go to bed.”

Daisy curtseyed. “Good night then, mum.”

“Good night, Daisy.”

The door closed behind the little maid, and Skye sat down at her dressing table. Slowly she removed the diamond and pearl ornaments and drew the gold and tortoiseshell pins from her hair. It tumbled down, a night-dark cloud. Picking up her brush, she vigorously brushed the tangles out, all the while wondering if Geoffrey would come … and if she really wanted him to. What would happen if he did come?

She laughed. What would happen, indeed! She would become his mistress, of course. She frowned. Was that what she wanted? To become some nobleman’s mistress? Oh, damn! She was burning for a man’s caress, the hardness of a man’s body on hers. Might she not have a discreet affair and let it go at that? Surely he would understand her desire for privacy. If he did not, then she would stop the affair.

The sound of something scraping against her window startled her. She ran to the window and looked out, then quickly jumped back. Pebbles were being thrown at the window! She laughed and flung the casements wide. Below stood the Earl of Lynmouth, still in his white and gold costume, grinning impudently up at her. “I’m coming up,” he whispered, loudly enough for her to hear. “Leave the windows open, Skye.”

“But how,” she began, and gasped as he reached out and grasped at a thick vine growing up the bricked side of the house. He swung himself up and began climbing. She watched, holding her breath, until he was safely on the sill.

“Good evening, sweetheart,” he drawled lazily, vaulting lightly into the room. In one fluid motion he drew the casements shut behind him and pulled her into his arms. “Skye!” His voice was husky with emotion. His hands reached up to tangle themselves in her hair. Her deep blue eyes grew wide and her breath caught in her throat. She could not speak. “Sweet, sweet Skye,” he whispered, and then his mouth took full and complete possession of hers. Geoffrey kissed her passionately, deeply, the kiss vibrating through her. Thrill after thrill rippled through her as his lips gently persuaded hers to open, allowing his silken tongue to rove unchecked, to meet and subdue hers. “Skye, sweet, sweet Skye,” he murmured against the softness of her neck, her final defenses weakening. She shivered deliciously.

His fingers undid the little pearl buttons at the deep V of her gown. One arm held tightly about her slender waist. His other hand sought one firm and perfect breast, cupping it, fondling it, his eager
mouth seeking the tightly closed flower of her nipple. The warm mouth closed over its quivering prisoner, his tongue expertly encircling it again and again until she thought she could stand no more and whimpered a small protest. In response he lifted his swooning treasure up and carried her to the bed. There he resumed delightful loveplay concentrating this time on her other breast.

Her body was now helpless to the passion he was igniting in her, yet her mind rebelled at the thought of seduction. Desperate, she tried to stop him, finally finding her voice.

“Geoffrey, no! Oh, please no!” For a moment he didn’t hear her and she cried out softly again, this time twining her slender fingers in his hair and pulling. “Geoffrey! Oh, Geoffrey, please no!”

Slowly, reluctantly, he raised his head from the warm bounty of her breasts. His lime-green eyes were glazed and heavy with passion. “Tell me, Skye,” he said quietly, “tell me.”

She gazed at him helplessly, all the logical reasons for stopping now whirling out of her reach. Their eyes locked, and he said quietly, “You’re shy of this for you’ve always been a virtuous woman. I know that. I cannot wish away my wife. If I could I would do so. I love you, and I sense beneath the respectable widow a naughty little sensualist who hungers for me as much as I hunger for her.” She flushed. “What is so wrong in our pleasuring each other?” She sighed, still trying to find words. He was so damnably persuasive. Then Geoffrey Southwood reached out and, taking her hand, drew it to his codpiece. Beneath her fingers she felt the hard throb of him.

“Oh, Geoffrey!”

“I won’t beg, Skye.” He had the weapon to force her, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to use it. He wanted to win her fairly for the victory would be so much sweeter. I do love her! he thought exultantly. Oh, my love, let me have the precious gift of you! And as if she had heard his silent plea, she sobbed, “Oh, Geoffrey, yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

He pulled her from the bed and gently drew her gown away. To his surprised delight, she reached out and, with trembling fingers, undid his ruffled shirt. Together they drew his breeches and hose off, and then fell back upon the bed. He wanted to take her then and there, but getting a mighty hold on himself, he held back. She was not to be used quickly. Her surrender would be so much better for the waiting.

She lay shyly, half afraid and confused, almost as though she were a maid once more. The Earl moved downward upon the bed and grasping her right foot began kissing it—the top, each toe, the
arch, and the heel. His lips moved oh so slowly to her ankle, and up her leg to the shapely calf, her dimpled knee, her long silken thigh. Moving downward again, he performed his tender ministrations on her left foot and leg.

Returning to her lips, he nibbled at them briefly, leaving her gasping before finding again the sensual warmth of her breasts. Once more he sucked eagerly on the ripe fruit, tempting them to tiny aching peaks, making them tingle with anticipation. Her beautiful body was an unexplored land and he didn’t want to miss a single inch of it.

How firm her waist was. He nuzzled the curves of it, feeling the warm smoothness against his cheek. His hands held her firmly about the hips as his lips slipped across the silken flesh of her belly. His tongue probed teasingly into her little navel, then slid lower, seeking the very core of her. Gently he parted the lips of her vulva. It was already half open, the coral-red flower of womanhood wet and pouting with desire. Bending his head he kissed it, tasting the sweet-salt taste of her. She gasped her shock, her fingers twined tightly in his dark-blond hair, and her body arced to meet his mouth.

Smiling his pleasure, he lifted his head up and said quietly, “Not yet, sweetheart. It’s much too soon yet.”

“Please,” she pleaded. Her excitement was so great that she thought she would die if it weren’t satisfied.

“Not yet, Skye,” he repeated. “I will teach you to enjoy the anticipation, to prolong the pleasures.” He turned her over gently and she felt him licking her back, her shoulders, her buttocks, her legs. Slowly, rhythmically, his knowing tongue stroked her smooth skin, increasing her fever. Her arms lay above her head and she clawed at the sheets, digging fiercely into the mattress. Then, suddenly, he laid his naked body on top of her and rubbed his great organ between the cheeks of her bottom.

Now she fought him, catching him unawares, and throwing him off her, rolling onto her back, hissing angrily, “Bastard! You’re no angel but a devil! No more!”

Laughing, he pinned her down and kissed her until she couldn’t breathe. Then he raised her legs and, drawing them over his shoulders, buried his face between them. His tongue found her honey, and he used her furiously until she came, his mouth forcing her climax.

“Damn you! Damn you!” she cried, weeping in frustration for she still was not satisfied.

“Look at me, my hot little bitch!”

She squeezed her eyes tightly closed. “No!”

“Look at me, Skye!”

At the cruel sharp note in his voice she opened her sapphire eyes and looked into his green ones. “I’ve fallen in love with you, bitch, and I’ll not take you like a whore.” He rubbed his big blue-veined organ against her belly. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes!”

“You’ll have it in good time, Skye. In fact … I’ll give it to you now.” He spread her wide. “All of it, sweetheart!” He drove deeply, enjoying her gasp, the incredulous look on her face.

He was huge and he filled her to overflowing, pushing upward to touch at her very womb as he moved his great shaft skillfully, drawing it nearly all the way out, then thrusting home again. For a moment Skye thought she would be torn asunder, but her body stretched to receive him, almost devouring him in her desperate hunger. She clawed at his back and he caught her arms and pinioned them above her head. She bit into his shoulder, drawing blood, then licked furiously at the wound. He slapped her very lightly, cursing softly at her sharp little teeth.