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 eagermouth 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.”
