Skye laughed as she blushed. “My lord de Grenville. I fear you’ll quite overwhelm me with your flattery. Please, do sit down and join us.”
“You’re not Spanish,” he observed as he seated himself.
“No, I am Irish.”
De Grenville poured himself a goblet of wine. “I thought so. Most outrageously beautiful women in the world. Tell me, madam, how do you find England? Is this your first trip here?”
“Yes, it is, and I find England a joy, sir. I have been living at Robbie’s home for close to a year now.”
“Skye wasencientewith her husband’s child when we first arrived,” Robbie explained hastily lest de Grenville misunderstand.
“A son or a daughter, madam?”
“A daughter. Her name is Willow. I have left her at Wren Court with Dame Cecily and her wet nurse. I know not in what condition I will find my husband’s house, so until I have time to refurbish it, she is best left in Devon.”
Across the room, where de Grenville’s party of friends were sprawled about a table, one man, lean, blond and arrogantly handsome, stared boldly at Skye. She was incensed when he caught her eye and then raised an elegant eyebrow in a manner that could have but one meaning. It was as plain a request as though he had spoken aloud, and just as insulting. Angrily she turned away, tossing her head, and listened once more to what de Grenville was saying.
“Very wise, madam. London is not a town for tender creatures.”
“So I have heard, my lord,” replied Skye. Then, “Tell me, sir, who is the gentleman in your party who stares at me so rudely? The one with the face of an angel.”
De Grenville didn’t even bother turning around. Her description was enough. “Lord Southwood, madam, the Earl of Lynmouth.”
“Robbie, please escort me to my room and arrange to have a tray sent up. The Earl makes me exceedingly uncomfortable. He gazes at me as he would a tray of sweetmeats.” She stood, casually brushing her long riding skirt free of crumbs. “My lord de Grenville. I bid you good night.” She held out her slim hand and he kissed it. “Madam. I hope we will meet in London. Now, allow me to escort both you and Robbie past your ardent admirer.”
But it wasn’t to be that easy. As they neared the taproom door, the Earl of Lynmouth moved to block their way.
De Grenville grinned. “Give over, Southwood. The lady is leaving.”
“Not before we’re introduced, my dear Dickon. You simply cannot hoard all the beauties to yourself.”
De Grenville shrugged. “Señora Goya del Fuentes, Lord Geoffrey Southwood. Now, Geoff, let us pass.”
“Señora, will you share a goblet of wine with me?”
“No, sir. I will not,” snapped Skye. She pushed past him and left the taproom, Robbie in her wake.
De Grenville laughed softly. “Geoff, you’ve been quite properly bested, I do believe.”
Lord Southwood went white about the corners of his mouth. “Who is she, Dickon?”
“The widow of Captain Small’s business partner.”
“She’s not Spanish.”
“Her husband was. She’s Irish.”
“She’s magnificent. I intend having her,” said Southwood.
“I have heard that your taste runs to women unable to protect themselves, Geoff. Señora Goya del Fuentes is a very wealthy woman. You won’t be able to bully her, and she’ll not be bowled over by a few baubles or a cheap gown. I wager she’ll send you packing.”
“How much will you wager, Richard?”
De Grenville let a slow smile spread over his face. Southwood had a magnificent stud stallion that de Grenville coveted. “One year’s time, Geoff. At the end of that time you’ll turn over your stud, Dragon’s Fire, to me.”
“Six months, Dickon, at which time you’ll turn over to me your magnificently outfitted river barge.”
De Grenville winced. His barge was the most elegant on the river, and even the Queen coveted it. Still, he reasoned, the beautiful Señora Goya del Fuentes was no lightskirt and she had obviously detested Southwood on sight. It was unlikely that she would succumb, and besides he wanted that stallion very much.
