“Well done, lass,” he murmured softly, and she winked mis-
chievously at him. They gained the landing and stood in the wide
arch to the ballroom, waiting until the majordomo asked, “Names,
please?”

“Sir Robert Small, and Senora Goya del Fuentes.”

Skye’s dark feathery eyebrows shot up. Sir Robert, indeed. Once
again, Robbie had managed to surprise her.

“Sir Robert Small, and Senora Goya del Fuentes,” called out the
majordomo, and suddenly the room became quiet and they faced a
sea of upturned faces. Slowly, the two black-clad figures descended
the three wide steps. Geoffrey Southwood, resplendent in white and gold, came forward to take Skye’s hands and kiss them. She felt a
delicious tingle race through her.

“Damme, madam, you outshine every woman here! Good evening, Sir Robert, I see you decided to use your title tonight.”

“I would do honor to your revels, m’lord. I thank you for including
me.”

“May I steal Skye from you, sir?”

“But of course, m’lord. I see de Grenville across the room, and
I’ve been wanting to talk to him.” Robbie bowed and walked away
from them, his carriage erect and proud.

“The dancing won’t begin until the Queen arrives,” he said. “Walk
with me now, and I’ll show you some of my house.”

“But your guests-“

“-are far too busy eating, drinking, and gossiping to notice my
absence. Besides, if another man stares at you, I’m apt to find myself
involved in a duel. Come, madam. I want you to myself.” And
allowing her no further protest, he led her from the ballroom and
through a small door. “The picture gallery,” he announced, “com-
plete with a full complement of Southwood portraits.”

“I would have expected them to hang at your seat in Devon,” she
remarked.

“They do when I’m there. These family paintings have traveled
between London and Devon as often as I have. An eccentricity of
mine.” For a moment they walked in silence, and then they stopped.
He said simply, “Skye.” And there was such longing in his voice
that she thrilled.

Looking shyly up at him, she wondered at the intense passion in
his lime-green eyes. Her palms flattened against his broad chest as
though she would hold him off. “Say nothing, my darling,” he
commanded her, and brushed her lips with his.

“Geoffrey!” she whispered frantically.

His mouth moved gently over her face, down the side of her neck,
across the tops of her breasts. He buried his face in the deep scented
valley and felt her heart jumping erratically beneath his mouth. “Let
me love you, Skye. Dear God, how I ache for wanting you, sweet-
heart.” They stood together like that, the black figure and the gold-
and-white one, not moving.

.There was a discreet scratching at the door, and Southwood in-
stantly stepped back. “Enter!”

The door swung open, “My lord, the Queen’s barge has been
sighted but a few minutes from here,” announced the footman.

“Very good.” The footman discreetly withdrew. “I must go to
welcome Her Majesty. I’ll take you back to Robbie, my darling, and
we’ll talk again later.”

With Robbie on one side of her and Richard de Grenville on the
other, Skye joined the other guests in the garden near the dock,
awaiting the arrival of the Queen.

“Damme, if you’re not a succulent sight,” said de Grenville.

“Thank you, m’lord.”

“Getting mighty close with old Geoff, aren’t you?” remarked de
Grenville. “From the way he behaved at the Rose and Anchor I’d
have thought you’d have not spoken to him again.”

“Geoffrey apologized very prettily for his behavior, m’lord de
Grenville.”

“You know, of course, that he’s married,” de Grenville pressed.

“My lord, what exactly is it you seek to tell me?” Skye asked
firmly.

De Grenville was discomfited. It would hardly be gentlemanly
or sporting to tell her of the wager he and Southwood had entered
into. “I simply do not wish you to be hurt, my dear, and Geoff is
known to be a bit of a rake,” he said innocently.

“You’re most kind, m’lord,” she said coolly.

Trying to regain the lost ground, he changed the subject. “Ah,
Young Bess herself! Look, my dear Skye, the Queen comes.”

They stood looking out over the garden, across the colorful sea
of guests. The Queen’s barge had docked and now the Earl of
Lynmouth was handing his royal guest out. For a brief moment
Elizabeth stood viewing her subjects. Then a small cheer rippled
across the garden. The young Queen was just twenty-seven, and
even from a distance Skye could see that she was lovely. Tall for
a woman and with an angular slenderness, she, like Skye, had chosen
to wear her hair differently than current fashion dictated. Parted in
the center, it fell in long, red-gold waves down her back. It was
dressed with many strings of pearls. The Queen had chosen to rep-
resent “Springtime” and was gowned in apple-green brocade, heavily
encrusted with gold embroidery and diamonds. Her beautyful long
aristocratic fingers sparkled with rings. Her almond-shaped eyes
glittered like the finest jet and her smile was merry.

Lord Southwood led his honored guest through the garden,
through the lines of bowing and curtseying courtiers, and into the
ballroom. The ballroom, like the gallery across the hall, extended
the length of the house. The Queen seated herself on a small throne
set upon a raised dais, and one by one the guests approached her
to present themselves. Southwood stood near her throne.

Escorted by both Robbie and de Grenville, Skye was brought
before the Queen.

“De Grenville, you rogue! ‘Tis good to see you,” smiled Eliza-
beth. “I was not aware you were up from Devon.”

“Just today, Majesty,” said de Grenville, kissing her hand.
”Would I miss Southwood’s fete? And a chance to gaze upon En-
gland’s fairest?”

Elizabeth dimpled prettily. “And who would you present to me,
Dickon?”

“First, Majesty, an old friend and Devon neighbor, Sir Robert
Small, captain of the Mermaid.”

Robert Small knelt reverently and kissed the Queen’s hand.
”Madam,” he began, but his eyes filled with tears and he could not
go on.

“Why, sir. what honor you do me,” said Elizabeth kindly.

“All England thanks God for Your Majesty,” said Robert Small,
somewhat recovered.

“All England should thank God for stout seamen like yourself,
Sir Robert,” replied the Queen. “You are our future.” Elizabeth’s
gray-black eyes then flitted over Skye.

“Mistress Goya del Fuentes, Majesty,” said Geoffrey, from the
Queen’s left.

Skye’s curtsey was graceful.

“The lady from Algiers?”

“Yes, Majesty,” answered Skye, her eyes modestly lowered.

“I understand your late husband was a merchant prince there.”

“Yes, Majesty.” Skye looked up, gazing directly at the Queen.

“You and Sir Robert are business partners? A bit unusual for a
woman, is it not?” “As unusual as it is for a woman to be Queen in her own right,
Majesty. But I have never believed that being a woman meant one
lacked intelligence. Certainly Your Majesty has disproven that no-
tion.” The deep-blue eyes held the grayish black ones.

Elizabeth Tudor’s eyes narrowed a moment as she studied Skye.
Then she laughed. “You desire a charter of me,” she said. “We will
talk on it soon.” Turning to Southwood, she said girlishly, “My feet
itch, m’lord. Let us begin dancing.”

Dismissed, Skye swept the Queen another curtsey, and moved
away swiftly on the arms of her two gallants, her black skirts bil-
lowing.

“By God,” said de Grenville admiringly, “the Queen likes you.
She likes damn few women, Skye. What’s this about a charter?”

“Robbie and I have formed our own trading company, m’lord,
and Lord Southwood is aiding us in obtaining a royal charter.”

Damn the man! thought de Grenville. So that’s how he got to
her. I must think hard on this or I may yet lose my barge. He was
about to ask her to dance when Lord Southwood, having opened the
ball with the Queen, approached them and claimed her. Eyes sparkling, Skye gave him her hand, and they moved off into the figure
leaving Robert and de Grenville by the door.

“He seems quite taken with her, Robbie,” de Grenville murmured
pensively.

“Aye,” replied the captain, “and I’m afraid she with him.”

“Lord and Lady Burke,” intoned the majordomo.

“Who are they, Dickon?” asked Robbie.

“Southwood’s neighbors on the other side. He’s some Irish chief-
tain’s heir. I suppose Geoffrey felt bound to ask them.”

The Earl slid an arm tightly about her as they danced the intricate
figure. “If one more of those fops leers at you.” he muttered between
gritted teeth, “I shall resort to my sword.”

Her laughter bubbled up soft, warm, and rich. “La, Geoffrey,”
she teased, “surely you’re not jealous.”

“Yes, I’m jealous, and we’ll discuss it later, sweetheart, rest
assured.” Skye laughed, delighted.

She was having the most wonderful time of her life. The handsome
Earl was outrageously attentive, and there wasn’t a man here who
hadn’t complimented her. She danced every dance, ate supper sur-
rounded by half a dozen gentlemen besides de Grenville and Robbie,
and drank just enough sweet wine to add to her gaiety. At midnight
everyone unmasked to delighted shouts, though most had long ago
identified their friends beneath the ornate masks.

Across the ballroom, Niall Burke stared in rigid shock at the
beautiful woman in the magnificent diamonds and black velvet who
stood directly across the room from him, laughing up at the Earl of
Lynmouth. It couldn’t be! It simply could not be! Skye was dead!
They had all explained that she was dead, told him and told him
until he’d had no choice but to accept it.

“By God,” he heard the man next to him saying. “Southwood
was always a lucky devil. If Senora Goya del Fuentes isn’t already
his mistress then she soon will be, judging by the looks passing
between them.”

“She’s lived in the East,” another man chimed in, “and I imagine
she knows some of the things those harem girls know. God, I
wonder…”

“Don’t be a young fool, Hugh! Southwood has marked her for
himself as plainly as if he’d put a brand on her forehead. If he
catches you sniffing around her he’ll skewer you without a second
thought.”

The two men moved away, leaving Niall Burke to his whirling
thoughts. How could two women look so alike? Somehow he must
meet this Senora Goya del Fuentes, but who did he know who could
introduce mem?

“Will you dance with me, Niall?”

“What? Constanzita, love-what is it?”

Constanza laughed, shaking her dark gold curls. “How can any-
one daydream in the midst of all this revelry?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I was admiring the lady across the room in
the black velvet costume. She looks quite familiar.”

“Senora Goya del Fuentes? Perhaps you do know her. Though
her husband was a Spaniard, she is Irish.”

He thought he might be sick, but he gripped his emotions. “How
do you know that, Constanza?”

“She owns Greenwood, the house on the other side of this one,
the last one in the row. Our bargeman and hers are brothers. The
maids and the bargemen gossip, and I hear things from my tiring
woman. They say the Earl is mad for her.”

“A lady does not listen to servant’s gossip,” he cut her off curtly.
”I wish to go home now.”

She was hurt, and protested, “But it’s just after midnight. Even
the Queen is still here. It would be rude to leave before the Queen
herself leaves.”

“I am not well, Constanza,” he said sharply, “and I wish to leave.”

Instantly contrite, she reached up to feel his forehead. “You do
feel warm, my love. We will make our apologies to Lord South wood,
but say that I am ill. He will understand that better.”

They moved across the room and approached the Earl of Lyn-
mouth, who was gazing down at Skye, his white velvet-clad arm
around her midnight velvet shoulders. They made an extraordinarily
handsome couple. Southwood smiled as they approached.

“My lord Burke, I hope you and your lovely lady are enjoying
yourselves.” Geoffrey smiled graciously. “Allow me to present our
new neighbor, Senora Goya del Fuentes. Skye. Sweetheart, Lord
and Lady Burke own the house on the other side of me.”

“Also built by your grandfather for a belle amie?” she teased
him.

The Earl laughed. He was so intent on Skye that he did not notice
Niall Burke’s stunned look. Her voice! It was her voice! Her name
and her voice.

“Lord and Lady Burke. I am delighted to meet you,” she looked
straight at Niall without a flicker of recognition. Her voice reflected
only politeness. Niall Burke thought he was surely going mad. Mas-
tering his fear and anguish, he said, “You’ll forgive us, my lord,
if we leave early. Constanza complains of one of her violent head-
aches.”