“Madam. A pleasure, I assure you. I find it most reprehensible?of Robbie to have such extraordinary luck.”
“Luck, my lord?”
‘To be escorting quite the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen to?London.”
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 was
“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 leav-?ing.”
“Not before we’re introduced, my dear Dickon. You simply can-?not hoard all the beauties to yourself.”
De Grenville shrugged. “Senora Goya del Fuentes, Lord Geoffrey?Southwood. Now, Geoff, let us pass.”
“Senora, 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. Senora 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?Senora Goya del Fuentes was no lightskirt and she had obviously?detested Southwood on sight. It was unlikely that she would suc-?cumb, and besides he wanted that stallion very much.
“Done!” he said decisively. “Your stallion against my barge. The?time period to be six months from this day.” He held out his hand?and Southwood shook it firmly.
“Try not to damage my barge this autumn, Dickon,” Southwood?said mockingly. “Come spring, I shall want to take my new mistress?cruising on the river.”
“I won’t, Geoff. And you see that my stallion is well cared for?and not overbred?”
The two men parted then, each secure in the knowledge that he?would soon possess a coveted new toy.
Geoffrey Southwood did not know what intrigued him the most-?the lovely widow’s beauty, her air of breeding, or her dislike of?him. He would enjoy the challenge of seducing and taming her. And?he would be the envy of London for owning such a fine mistress.?By fair means or foul, Southwood vowed he would have her.
Chapter 14
Skye’s house was located on the Strand on the Green in the?village of Chiswick outside of the city of London. The last?building in the row, it was much less pretentious than its?neighbors. Farther down the line were the palaces of such?great lords as Salisbury and Worcester, and the bishop of Durham.?They had sailed from Plymouth up the coast into the mouth of?the Thames. There the
Skirting.the main portion of the city, they soon arrived at Chis-?wick. It was a small and charming village with an excellent inn, the?Swan, on the far side of its green. Here they stopped to refresh?themselves with cups of freshly pressed cider, warm newly baked?bread covered with pink ham, and a sharp, pale, golden cheese.
Skye was ravenous and ate eagerly, much to the beaming approval?of the fat innkeeper. He poured her another foaming goblet of cider.
“Be you passing through?” he queried.
Skye sent him a blinding smile that quite stunned him. “No,” she?said, “I own a house here, Master Innkeeper, and I’ve come to live?in it.”
“Which ‘ouse is that, madam? I thought I knew all the great lords?and their families. I grew up here, you see. Ever since there’s been?an inn in Chiswick, there ‘ave been Monypennys in Chiswick. In?fact,” and here he chuckled, his fat belly heaving with mirth, “no?one ‘as ever been quite sure which came first, the Swan or the? Monypennys! Aha! Ha! Ha!”
Jean and Captain Small looked askance but Skye giggled, thus?increasing the innkeeper’s approval of her. “I am Senora Goya del?Fuentes, Master Monypenny. The house I own is ‘Greenwood,’ the?last one on the Strand. It belonged to my late husband.”
“You’re Spanish?” his voice was now edged in disapproval.
“My husband was. I am Irish.”
“Almost as bad,” came the reply.
“Mon Dieuf Quel cochon!” muttered Jean.
“Master Monypenny! I will thank you to keep a civil tongue in?your head. Senora Goya del Fuentes is a good and gentle lady, and?not to be abused while under my protection.” Robert Small’s hand?was on his sword.
The big innkeeper looked down at the little sea captain. “Lord?bless me!” he began to chuckle. “She must be a fine lady that the?ant would challenge the sparrow! My apologies, ma’am. It’s just?that the memory of Bloody Mary and her Spanish husband dies?hard.”
