Skye O'Malley (54 page)

Her violet eyes wide, she cowered from his brutal appraisal.

“What’s this, Constanzita? Shyness? Why shy with me when you are as familiar with every man in London?”

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked him, finding her voice and unable to bear the strain any longer.

“What the hell can I do with you?” he countered. “You are my wife, may God have mercy on me. I must surely be cursed. My first wife was a religious fanatic who couldn’t bear any man’s touch and my second turns out to be a notorious whore who encourages every man’s touch! The one woman in the world I ever truly wanted loses her memory and marries another!”

Constanza Burke relaxed just a little. For a moment she was free of his searing contempt. “What do you mean the
only woman
you ever really wanted?”

He looked coldly at her. “The Countess of Lynmouth is Skye O’Malley. She did not die, as your father assured me she must have done, but she did lose her memory.” He gave her a brief explanation of what had happened.

“Is that why you’ve been so unhappy and preoccupied these last few months?”

“That is why,” he said, “and how fortuitous for you, my dear. It made it so much easier for you to play the whore.”

She wondered if his own sorrow might make him receptive to her anguish. “Please try and understand. I cannot help this terrible need, Niall. I truly can’t.”

“I know it, Constanza, and that is why I must do what I must do. We are banished from England and we must go home to Ireland. I cannot have you running about the countryside bringing further shame upon my name. You’ll be confined to your apartments in my father’s castle. You’ll never leave them, my dear, and you’ll have a warder of my choosing who will never leave your side except when I bed you. And I’ll do that often, my dear, for since I am forced to remain shackled to you to prevent my name from becoming a joke,
I must therefore breed my legitimate heirs on your well-used body.”

“Especially since you can’t breed them on the fine Lady Southwood!” she snapped back. Realizing her folly too late, she was unable to escape the blow he aimed at her. The sound of it echoed inside the carriage, and her head swam with the force of it. She felt his hand cruelly locking itself into her hair, and her neck snapped back as he yanked her about to face him. His silver eyes were narrowed. His harsh voice ripped into her like shards of ragged glass.

“Listen well, my dear, to what I have to say. I could take you home now and beat you to death. I could strangle you and dump you in the Thames, and no one would care, not even me. Nothing would be said for your actions have merited death.

“But you are my wife. And though I am forced to confine you, as the only way of assuring your faithfulness, I will get my sons on you, and you will live in luxury.
But never
,” and he yanked her hair harshly, “
never
do I want to hear
her
name on your lips! Do you understand me, Constanza?”

“Y-yes!”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Very good, my dear. I am pleased.” Letting her go, he pushed her back into her seat. Lowering the coach window, he called to his driver to stop. “My horse is tied to the back of the coach,” he told Constanza. “I am returning to the palace for the Countess’s tiring woman, and then I am riding to Lynmouth House to warn them that the Countess is in labor with her child. I will see you at home later.”

She nodded dumbly, but he was already gone. A moment later two footmen climbed into the coach, and sat opposite her. “Master says we’re to guard you as you’ve not been yourself,” said the older one dourly. She ignored them, looking after Niall as he galloped off.

Despite the lateness of the hour and the empty streets, the trip to the Strand seemed to take forever. The footmen had been eating onions, and the already fetid air in the closed coach was unbearable quite quickly. Constanza was becoming paler by the moment, her mind bursting with all Niall had said.

In Ireland she would be incarcerated—for the rest of her life. She was to be a brood mare. The thought repelled and excited her at the same time. Shifting nervously in her seat, she boldly eyed the younger of the two footmen whose eyes were glued to her full
breasts. The boy flushed guiltily, turning even redder as Constanza’s pointed little tongue swiftly licked around her pink lips. The familiar longing now began. Imprisoned! Watched over constantly! She would go mad! Somehow Ana would have to help her to escape Niall. But right now, Constanza had to satisfy her hunger. Who knew when she would get another chance?

“Stop the coach!” she commanded imperiously. “You!” Her accusing finger pointed at the older of the two footmen. “You stink of onions! Ride up top. I am close to fainting.”

Accustomed to obeying orders, the man called to the driver to stop and scrambled up the coach’s side to join the driver. As the vehicle began to move again Constanza wordlessly fell to her knees before the remaining footman, fumbled with his livery and, bending her head, took his organ into her mouth. The boy could only gasp with surprise as his mistress’s insistent lips and tongue drove him. When he thought his delight could be no greater, she rose and, lifting her skirts, impaled herself on him. The footman swiftly tore her bodice open and pushed his face into her breasts. He kissed, sucked, and bit on them, prodding her to frenzy as she jogged up and down on him. She spent twice, then, when she was weak and languid, the footman became emboldened. Lifting her up, he turned her over and shoved her face down on the opposite seat. Her skirts pushed above her waist, her little white bottom glowed pale and he entered her from behind. His beefy hands fumbled beneath her, squeezing her breasts rhythmically with each stroke of his rod as he murmured the foulest of obscenities in her ear. A moment before his climax he reached one hand beneath her to tweak at the little button of her sensuality, and they shuddered their satisfaction in unison.

He had barely drained when she bucked him away from her, straightened her skirts, and sat calmly down to lace her bodice. “Fix your livery!” she hissed. “And remember that one word will cost you your position.” She was calmer now than she had been all evening, and now she was able to think.

When they reached the house, she sought Ana. “He knows all,” Constanza announced without preamble. “That fool Basingstoke provoked a duel. Niall killed him, but we’ve been banished from both Court and England.”

“Santa Maria protect us! Ah,
niña
, I warned you! My lord will surely kill you now!”

“I’d rather he did. But he is taking us to Ireland and I am to be forever imprisoned in my apartment there while I breed his heirs!”

“Get down on your knees,
niña
, and thank the Holy Mother! The lord is merciful.”

“No! No, duenna! I will not be locked up! You must help me escape!”

“
Niña, niña!
Be reasonable! My lord is willing to forgive you. Where could you go?”

“Perhaps Harry will help me.”

“No,
niña!
You have been fortunate. Be a good wife now.”

They argued for close to an hour, Ana urging restraint, Constanza becoming more frantic. Then suddenly the door was flung open, and Lord Burke strode in. “Good! You are both here. Ana, I am pensioning you off and sending you back to Mallorca.”

“No!” cried both women in unison. Ana flung herself at Lord Burke’s feet. “Please, my lord, no! Constanza is my baby! I cannot leave her! Do not make me, I beg you!”

Niall Burke lifted up the weeping woman. “Ana, it is precisely because of your love for Constanza that I must send you away. You knew of her perfidy, and yet you protected her. You would do so again. Had you come to me immediately, this scandal might have been avoided.”

“Please, my lord—”

“Ana, no more.” His voice was stern but kindly. “It is because of your love for my wife and the care you have given her that I pension you rather than send you onto the streets. Bid your mistress farewell now. You’ll leave in the morning and carry with you my instructions to my agent in Mallorca.”

Helplessly, Ana hugged Constanza to her, the tears running down her worn old face. “
Niña
, do as I have bid you, for the sake of the love I bore both you, and your poor mother.”

“Do not leave me, duenna! Do not leave me!” Constanza wept. “Niall! Please, I beg you!”

Lord Burke separated the two women. “Neither of you can be trusted,” he said wearily, and firmly escorted Ana from the room, stopping to lock the door behind him before he walked Ana to her room.

“My lord,” she pleaded once more.

“Adios, Ana. God go with you.”

“Be kind to her, my lord.”

“I have let her live to bear my sons, Ana, yet I am not sure I am wise in doing so.”

As Ana departed the next morning she remembered the sadness
in his voice. From an upper floor of the house Constanza waved to her, calling, “Adios, Ana mia. Vaya con Dios!”

Ana was taken by coach to the London docks, and escorted aboard a Mallorca-bound vessel. On her person she carried two letters. One was to the governor, Constanza’s father. It explained that the climate of England had proved detrimental to Ana’s health and, as Ireland was no warmer, Lord Burke was pensioning off his wife’s loyal retainer. She would be given a cottage on Constanza’s dowry lands, and an annual stipend. The second letter directed Lord Burke’s Mallorcan agent to make the proper arrangements for Ana.

The vessel on which Ana traveled was fortunate. As there were few ships in the London Pool, it sailed within two days. Ana’s thoughts, however, remained behind in England, with her mistress.

CHAPTER 20

A
LINE OF BRIGHTLY DECORATED CARRIAGES EXTENDED DOWN
the Strand from the entry of Lynmouth House. Gaily caparisoned horses, their elegant riders bandying the latest gossip, rode past the carriages and up the driveway of the beautiful riverside mansion. Lady Southwood, two weeks past childbirth, was receiving. Everyone sought to congratulate the Queen’s favorite lady on the birth of the Lynmouth heir.

The truth had been broadcast about the lovely Countess of Lynmouth. She had not been raised in a French convent. She was in fact an Irish heiress who had suffered from a complete loss of memory since being kidnaped by pirates! She had been betrothed to the Irish Lord Burke at the time of her disappearance. The same Lord Burke whose wife provoked the terrible duel that killed poor Basingstoke. It was all too delightfully scandalous.

Scandal bred scandal. Some cousins of Geoffrey Southwood’s, the ones who stood to inherit his title and estates if he died without male issue, then petitioned the Archbishop of Canterbury to declare the Earl’s current marriage null and void and his new son, Robert, a bastard. Their justification was Skye’s previous contact with Lord Burke! The uproar that followed was monumental, with Geoffrey Southwood calling his cousin out and badly wounding him in a duel. It was still not certain whether the foolish man would live.

Lord Burke, a gentleman even if he was Irish, had saved the situation
by bringing forth a document signed by the Pope and attested to as genuine by the Spanish ambassador. The document had dissolved Lord Burke’s betrothal contract with Skye O’Malley, who was presumed deceased. Constanza’s father had been a careful man! The Archbishop of Canterbury subsequently declared that no impediment had existed at the time of the marriage between Lord and Lady Southwood. Therefore, their son, Robert, was legal issue. The archbishop had baptized the boy himself, with the Queen and Lord Dudley acting as the child’s godparents.

But there was even more! Lord Burke had invaded the house of the prostitute, Claro, stripped her naked, and whipped her through the streets of London to the edge of the city. He left her there to brave a mob of lustful men and outraged goodwives. Returning to his own home, Burke discovered his wife, her jewels, and his head groom gone. The Queen had lifted his banishment until he could find Constanza. She seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. The Court agreed that the past half-month had been simply exhausting!

The Countess of Lynmouth received her guests in state, propped up in her bedchamber with its gold-embroidered rose velvet hangings. She wore a heavy cream-colored quilted satin bedgown, embroidered with pearls and turquoise in a floral design. Her beautiful dark curls were held back by a matching pearl-and-turquoise ribbon. Her pink cheeks and sparkling blue eyes attested to her good health and quick recovery. Southwood finally had a lucky marriage. The lady was a good breeder who’d probably give him a son every year or two.

Plump goosedown pillows, their lace-edged white linen covers smelling faintly of lavender, propped the Countess up. A pink coverlet that matched the rose velvet hangings was spread over the bed. Next to the canopied bed a carved and gilded walnut cradle displayed the lace-capped heir who slept, oblivious, through the admiring exclamations.

The room was a treasure trove of gifts, all tastefully displayed in honor of their donors. Chief among the gifts was a set of twelve silver cups set with sapphires, the baby’s birthstone. They were from his godmother. Lord Dudley had presented his godson with a leather case containing twelve silver spoons. The child’s crest was on the front, his birthdate on the back.

Everyone who came brought gifts. Young Robin had a dozen silver rattles of various designs and at least that number in teething rings. There were several christening cups, many lengths of excellent
cloth, and a number of well-filled purses. There were gifts for Skye too. Frivolous bits of lace and ribbons, little jewelry, and nosegays of late-September flowers. Through it all, Geoffrey Southwood stood by his wife’s side watching over her with loving pride. She had been most loving since Robin’s birth, and that more than anything else she could have done, reassured Geoffrey.

But Skye did not feel sure of herself. Niall Burke had not yet come to see her, and how could she know what was really in her heart until he did? Why did he not come? And when he finally did, at last, she was totally unprepared.