Skye flushed. Damn the man! He really was charming. And if
they were neighbors, she could hardly continue to snub him. The
corners of her mouth turned up in a small smile. “Very well, my
lord. I accept your apology.”

“And you will join me for a late supper?”

Skye laughed. “You are really incorrigible, Lord Southwood.”

“Geoffrey,” he corrected.

“You are still incorrigible, Geoffrey,” she sighed, “and my name
is Skye.”

“A most unusual name. How did you come by it?”

“I don’t know. My parents both died when I was young, and the
nuns who raised me could never tell me.” It was said so naturally
that he was thrown. Perhaps she wasn’t the Whoremaster of Algiers’
widow after all. “And was Geoffrey your father’s name?” she was
asking.

“No. He was Robert. Geoffrey was the first of the Southwoods.
He came from Normandy with Duke William almost five hundred
years ago.”

“How wonderful to know the history of one’s family,” she said
wistfully.

“You haven’t yet told me you will dine with me tonight,” he said. Skye bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “I really don’t
think I should.”

“I realize it’s a bit unorthodox, asking you to dine late, but I must
attend the Queen at Greenwich, and she’ll not let me go till late.”

“Then perhaps we should dine on another day when you have
more time,” she replied.

“Have pity on me, fair Skye. I dance constant attendance on Her
Majesty, and it is only rarely that I have any time. My chef is an
artist, but cooking for one is little challenge. Unless I provide him
with a guest soon I shall lose him. And how can I give my famous
Twelfth Night revel without a chef? So you really can’t refuse me,
can you?”

She had to laugh. He seemed so boyish, and so very handsome
in the open-necked cream silk shirt. He was not at all the arrogant
nobleman who had accosted her several weeks before. “I should
not,” she said, “but I will. I would not like to be held responsible
by all of London for the defection of your chef.”

“I will come for you myself,” he replied. Then he caught her
hand to his lips and brushed it lightly. “You’ve made me the happiest
of men tonight!” Grasping at a heavy vine growing against the wall,
he pulled himself up and quickly disappeared over the top.

Shrugging, Skye picked up her flower basket and returned to the
house. If she was to be ready when he came this evening, she had
a great deal to do. She stopped, and told herself that this was just
a simple dinner, not a romantic liaison.

Robert Small emerged just then from the library. “Well, lass,
we’re done now. May I treat you to dinner at the Swan tavern up
the river?”

“Oh, Robbie. I’m having dinner with Lord Southwood. He is,
it seems, my neighbor.”

“That knave! Christ’s toenail, Skye, are you mad?”

“Now, Robbie, he has apologized for his rudeness. I have no
friends here in London, and you’ll soon be off again. I must start
somewhere.”

“He has a wife,” stated Robert Small flatly.

“I suspected so, but I do not seek a romantic entanglement with
Geoffrey.”

Robert Small’s bushy gray-black eyebrows shot up. “Geoffrey,
is it? Well, my lass, so you’ll know a bit about the man, attend me.
His first wife died when she was a child. His second wife is a woman
of no beauty, but much wealth. She’s borne him one son and seven
daughters, and for her perfidy she and her daughters are exiled to
Lynton Court, her childhood home. He sends his steward each Mi-
chaelmas to pay the servants there for the year. Cold bastard, I’d
say. He’s rich, though. At least we don’t have to worry about him
being after your money.”

His dour concern over fortune-hunting men made her laugh. She
ruffled his thinning hair. “Dear Robbie, you’re a good watchdog,
and I thank you. You and Dame Cecily and Willow are my entire
family. I promise to be very careful in my relationship with Lord
Southwood, but it’s only a late supper.”

“I’ll stay the night, Skye. It’s best you have a man in the house.”

“Thank you, Robbie. Now, I’d best prepare myself,” and giving
him a quick kiss on the cheek she ran upstairs to her own apartment.
”Daisy!” she called. “Have a footman set up my bath and lay out
the peacock-blue velvet gown with the gold thread flowered under-
skirt.”

As the footmen lugged the buckets of steaming water up the back
stairs from the kitchen, Skye sat at her dressing table sliding neck-
laces through her slender fingers. She decided upon a double strand
of perfectly matched pale-pink pearls from which hung a teardrop diamond of slightly deeper pink. The necklace had been Khalid’s
gift. It no longer hurt quite so much to think about Khalid.

The footmen departed and she undressed slowly. Daisy took each
garment, and Skye reached for some tortoiseshell hairpins and se-
cured her dark hair. It would not be necessary to wash it tonight,
as she had done so yesterday in a mixture of fresh rainwater and
essence of roses. Now she walked naked across the room and poured
some of the same rose essence into her tub. Daisy averted her brown
eyes. She could simply not get used to her mistress’s habit of bathing
regularly, let alone bathing naked. The young woman liked her
mistress, however, and so she bore with her eccentricities.

Skye chuckled. “You can open your eyes now, Daisy. I’m safely
in the tub.”

“Oh, mum, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

“Haven’t you ever looked at yourself, Daisy? Women have very
lovely bodies, but men are never quite so pretty.”

“Oh, mum! How you talk! Look at myself indeed! If me mother
had ever caught me doing such a thing she’d have beat me black
and blue.”

Skye smiled to herself and wondered why the English-no, she
amended-why the Europeans were so afraid of their bodies. Then
she laughed at herself for, though she could not remember it, she
too was European. But she couldn’t imagine herself bathing only
a few times a year, and then in a cotton shift!

She picked up the damask rose soap, built up a rich lather, and
washed her face. She lathered the rest of her lithe body, slowly and
thoroughly, summoning an almost unbearably sensuous feeling.
Good Lord, she thought, as she watched the nipples of her breasts
harden, I’m alive again, and I want a man to love. She blushed with
the memory of how Geoffrey Southwood had looked at her this
afternoon.

Stepping hastily from the tub, she took the big warmed towel
from Daisy and began to dry herself. “Bring me a light wool caftan,”
she said. “It’s too early to dress yet. I’ll sleep for a bit.”

Slipping on the caftan, she added, “Leave the tub till later, I’ll
rest now, and ring when I want you. Go get your dinner.” The little
maid curtseyed and left the room.

Skye lay upon her bed, drawing a fur robe over herself. Geoffrey
Southwood had a finely turned leg, she thought, and those lime-
green eyes had undoubtedly melted many a heart. She was much
too vulnerable to be having dinner with him. Oh, why had she
accepted the invitation? She was lonely. Perhaps that was why.
Khalid had been dead almost two years, and suddenly she was again
aware of the fact that she was a woman, a woman who, up until her husband’s death, had been well loved. She would have to be very
careful lest she present the Earl of Lynmouth with the wrong impres-
sion of herself. She drifted into a light sleep and awakened at Daisy’s
touch.

“The Earl of Lynmouth’s footman is below, mum. His lordship
will be here in half an hour.”

Skye stretched languidly. “Fetch me a basin of rose water, Daisy.
Is my gown ready?”

“Yes, mum.”

Skye bathed her face, hands, and neck, having shed the caftan.
With averted eyes Daisy handed her mistress her silk undergarments,
lacing the little boned busk up tightly, smoothing down the several
petticoats, the last one threaded through with blue ribbons, as was
her silk underblouse. Skye slipped on her new knitted silk stockings
which were of the palest blue with a tiny silver thread vine pattern.
Her garters were also blue with deep pink rosettes.

Daisy carefully slipped the gold-threaded underskirt over Skye’s
head, and laced it up. Lastly came the beautiful peacock-blue velvet
gown, split to show the embroidered underskirt. The puffed sleeves
were slashed to reveal a soft creamy sheer silk underblouse. Skye
slipped on her blue satin slippers and stood before the pier glass,
a faint smile on her lips. She slid the pearls around her neck, watch-
ing with fascination as the pink diamond nestled in the deep valley
between her breasts. Yes, it was perfect.

Daisy held up a tray of rings, but Skye selected only a large
baroque pearl and placed it on her right hand. She held out her hands
and was pleased with the simple effect the single ring created. Her
hands were especially beautiful, slender with long, well-shaped fin-
gers, the nails delicately rounded and buffed to a healthy pink.

She gazed at her image again. I am beautiful, she thought. Then
she laughed softly.

“His lordship is here, mum,” said Daisy. “The footman has just
come up with word.”

“Have the footman tell his lordship I shall be down directly, and
escort him into the small receiving room. Have Walter pour him
some wine.”

Daisy curtseyed. “Yes, mum.”

Skye moved slowly to her dressing table and reached for her scent
bottle. She daubed the rose fragrance on all the available pulse
points, remembering Yasmin as she did. Dear God, she thought, if
there is a Paradise, please don’t let Yasmin be Khalid’s houri. I
forgave her for the sake of both our immortal souls, but I couldn’t
bear it if she was with him when I can’t be. The tears sprang to her
eyes, and she quickly snatched up a lace-edged handkerchief. Then, fixing a little smile on her lips, she left to join the Earl of Lynmouth.

Geoffrey Southwood had declined both a seat in the receiving room and the wine. With undisguised admiration he now watched as Skye descended the staircase. Reaching the bottom, she swept him an elegant curtsey. “Good evening, my lord Southwood.” He admired her lovely breasts which momentarily swelled over her seemingly modest square neckline.

“And a good even’ to you, Senora Goya del Fuentes. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve arranged for the door in our garden wall to be opened. I assume you won’t object to a stroll in the gardens.”

“No, I don’t mind a stroll.”

He offered her his arm, and they moved through the house and
out into the evening. The air was mild, and the night sky clear. His
slim hand covered hers, and as they walked he said quietly, “Are
you aware of how beautiful you are? There isn’t a woman at Court
who compares with you.”

“Even the Queen?” she teased.

“Her Majesty is in a class by herself, my pet. No one compares
with Elizabeth Tudor.”

“Bravo, my lord Earl! The perfect courtier’s reply,” she mocked
mischievously.

“I am the perfect courtier, Skye, for only by the Queen’s favor
can an ambitious man progress.”

“You are titled, intelligent, and wealthy,” she said. “Why should
it matter to you if the Queen favors you?”

The question pleased him, for it showed she had intelligence.
Oddly enough, he liked intelligent women. “The Southwoods have
never been important in the history of England, Skye. We won our
lands with William the Conqueror and our title with Richard, Coeur
de Lion, in the Holy Land. That particular Southwood, upon re-
turning to England, advised his family to remain in Devon and not
go gadding about. We’ve taken his advice. Nevertheless, probably
thanks to my merchant antecedents, I seem to be an ambitious sort,
and Court is the place for ambitious men. The Queen has need of
them.”

“And what of ambitious women, Geoffrey?”

He smiled as they walked through the wall gate into his garden.
”What are your ambitions, my pet? If you seek a titled lover, then
I’m your man.”

She ignored the remark. “I’ve just formed a trading company with
Robert Small. It would help if I had a royal charter. Help me get
it, and I’ll give you a two-percent interest in it.”

The Earl of Lynmouth was astounded. “By God, sweetheart, you are ambitious!” he laughed. “I’m not sure if I’m shocked or simply
amazed.”

Skye was as surprised at herself as was Southwood. Where in
Heaven’s name had that idea come from, and where had she gotten
the nerve to suggest such a thing? Having ventured it, however, she
decided to follow it through. “Well, my lord,” she said coolly.
”What say you?”

She was serious, thought Southwood, amused. They had reached
Lynmouth House by now, and he escorted her up the steps of the
marble terrace into a small room with a lovely bow window that
overlooked the river and the gardens. A candlelit table had been set
up in the bow.