The last course was offered then, ripe pears covered with meringue and baked to a faint golden brown, thin sugar wafers, and a clear sweet wine. The Earl apologized for the simplicity of the dessert. As there were only two diners, he had suggested to his chef that he limit the sweets.
When she had spooned up the last of her dessert, Skye sat back in her chair, her sapphire eyes half closed, and smiled. Southwood laughed. “You look like a well-fed cat.”
“I am, my lord, and I must have the recipe for the quail stuffing. It was delicious.”
“It’s yours. But come, sweetheart, up with you! We’ll walk in the gardens by the river to settle our meal.”
He escorted her outside after first dropping his black velvet cloak about her. The night had turned chilly. The full moon silvered everything, and a faint mist was beginning to rise from the Thames. They walked in silence, watching as a brightly lit barge went by, hearing laughter drift across the water. A steady measured beat of oars and a single lantern announced the approach of the enterprising waterman who offered taxi service to those who wanted to go up- or downriver. They stood watching the moonlit water, and after a while Geoffrey said softly, “I would not offend you, but I would kiss you.”
“No one but my husband has ever kissed me,” she whispered.
“He’s gone, sweetheart,” was the hoarse reply. And tipping her pale face firmly toward him, he touched his warm mouth to hers. He kissed her gently, but she could sense the desire that he heldfirmly in check. The tip of his tongue licked at the edges of her mouth, sending a shiver through her, awakening the long unsatisfied passions. He held her tightly, his masculine scent assaulting her senses. She began to relax within the circle of his arms. He was as big and tall as Khalid had been, and very male.
Then, gently, as suddenly as he had kissed her, he released her and whispered softly, “I will take you home, sweetheart, lest I do something that would lose me your friendship.” And without another word he took her arm and walked with her, back through the wall gate, across her gardens, and into her house.
In the moonlit library she gazed openly at him and her musical voice said firmly but softly, “Kiss me just once more, Geoffrey.” A quick smile touched his mouth, and then he bent to meet her lips again. This time he allowed his passions a looser rein and the pressure of his mouth forced her lips apart. His tongue ran swiftly along her teeth, pushing through, finding her silken tongue and caressing it with his own.
To Skye’s shock, her own passions rose swiftly, fiercely from deep within her. Her tongue fenced skillfully with his, and she quivered at the fire and ice racing through her veins. His big hands caught her face and he kissed her again, this time very tenderly. Then his smooth fingers trailed down her slender neck to drift along the swelling tops of her breasts, and she moaned softly.
“No, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “There’s no honor in taking a vulnerable woman, and you are very vulnerable right now.” And silently he disappeared through the French doors, and she was alone.
Skye stood very still, rigid with shock. She had nearly thrown herself at him, and had he not been the gentleman he was … Shivering, she made her way upstairs. Once within the safety of her room, she stood for a bit clutching Geoffrey’s cloak about her. It carried the scent of orris root, and she buried her face within the sable collar trying to quiet her pounding heart.
“Are you all right, mum?”
She started. “Daisy? You needn’t have waited up for me.”
“And who would help you with your gown, I should like to know?” Daisy drew the cloak from Skye. “His lordship’s?” Skye nodded. “Ha, ain’t he the gallant one!”
“Yes. He is,” said Skye, a little regretfully.
Daisy prattled on as she helped her mistress disrobe. “They say he’s left a trail of broken hearts from here to Devon. Highborn or low, they all loves the ‘Angel Earl.’ ” She looked slyly at her mistress’sflushed cheeks. “They say he’s a grand lover, and Lord knows you have no husband to answer to, mum.”
“Shame, Daisy!” Skye broke away from her reverie long enough to remember how young her maid was. “You take on London manners and morals too quickly. I think it not wise of you. Beware lest I send you back to Devon!”
“Oh, mum. I meant no harm! But with him so handsome and ye so bonny …” she trailed off, her head hanging lower and lower, with such a woebegone expression that Skye almost laughed. She sent Daisy off to her bed, cautioning her to think on her sins.
Grateful to be alone, Skye slowly washed her face and hands and cleaned her teeth. Sliding a simple mauve silk nightgown over her naked form, she climbed into bed. Dear God, how she had responded to the Earl’s kisses! And he had known it! She trembled. What kind of a woman was she to respond so fervently? She began to weep softly, ashamed of her wantonness, ashamed of her inability to remain faithful to the memory of her beloved husband. When at last she fell asleep, it was an exhausted and restless sleep.
The next day, as Skye sat hollow-eyed, sipping Turkish coffee in the library with Robert Small, there arrived a messenger in the green-and-white livery of the Earl of Lynmouth. He flourished a bow and presented her with an exquisitely carved rectangular ebony box. The captain raised an inquisitive eyebrow as Skye accepted the box and lifted the lid. On the red velvet lining lay one perfect carved ivory rose, its stem and leaves wrought from green gold. Beneath it was a folded sheet of vellum. It read: “In memory of a perfect evening. Geoffrey.” A pink flush rose in her cheeks, but she said merely, “Convey my deepest thanks to Lord Southwood.” The footman bowed himself from the library.
“So,” remarked the captain, when they were alone again, “the evening went well. I would not have believed it, judging by your woebegone expression, Skye. Perhaps the gift is by way of an apology?”
“You needn’t worry, Robbie.” She handed him the Earl’s note.
Perusing it, he looked back up at her. “Then what is it, lass? Why are you so troubled?”
“Oh, Robbie! He asked if he might kiss me, and—I let him!”
“And you found it distasteful?”
“Nooo,” she wailed. “Oh, Robbie! I liked it, that’s what’s wrong. And worse, I wanted him to make love to me! How could I? What kind of wanton am I?”
“Christ’s blessed nightshirt!” roared the little man. He thoughta moment, his head in his hands, and then he began. “Listen to me, Skye. I sometimes forget that damned memory of yours still has gaps in it. Khalid has been dead for two years, and it is time you found yourself another man. You’re not expected to remain true to his memory forever. There is nothing wrong in what you felt. God Almighty, you’re a beautiful young woman, lass, and it’s natural you responded to the Earl. He’s a handsome devil. Try your wings with him if he attracts you. But remember this—he’s a married man. Don’t get hurt.”
“Oh, Robbie, how could you even suggest such a thing? My lord Khalid—”
“Khalid isdead, Skye! He would be the first one to tell you to go on with your life. He wouldn’t want you to bury yourself along with him.”
