most assuredly approve.” Warmed by her ripe body, he was beginning to feel expansive. Noting it, Skye smiled. “Daisy, put Robin back to bed. Then you may watch over him the rest of the night please.” “Aye, madam.” Daisy took the child. Her flush went unnoticed as her mistress drew the bed draperies, thus making a private little world for herself and the Earl.
Geoffrey Southwood’s eyes were bright with love and admiration.
“I was so damned lonely for you,” he said.
“And I for you. If you’d not come into my bed I should have called for you.”
“Would you?” He was as pleased as a child, his green eyes lighting up.
“Aye, I would. Now go to sleep, my darling. ‘Twas a brave thing you did delivering Robin. Thank you, my love.” She nestled next to him and, sighing happily, he put a protective arm about her. Within a few minutes he was sleeping soundly, his slow regular breathing a comforting sound.
Now it was Skye who lay awake. How strange it was that this elegant, assured man to whom she was married could suffer such terrible pangs of insecurity. How hard it must have been for him these last few weeks-knowing the truth of her identity, unable to tell her yet fearful she would learn of it. Fearful because of Niall Burke.
For the first time since her memory had returned those few short, yet somehow long hours ago, she thought of him. There were touches of silver at his temples that had not been mere Tour years ago. In the morning Geoffrey would want to know about Niall and what was she to tell him? Should she lie? She knew Niall still loved her. Now she understood those searching looks he had given her, the intense questioning. If she chose to lie she knew she could ask Niall for his help. He’d not like it, but he’d help if she asked him to. She moved restlessly, and Geoffrey’s protective arm slipped loose. He sighed and turned on his other side, away from her. She couldn’t lie to Geoffrey. She couldn’t! The truth might be softened, but an outright lie could bring disaster. She had no wish to hurt Geoffrey. She loved him. But did she not also love Niall? Hadn’t her memory fled because he was the most important being in her life? Her mind had gone blank rather than accept Niall’s death. Four years ago. Four long years. And in that time so much had happened. Khalid el Bey, her beloved second husband. Could she love him any less because her memory of Niall had returned? No. He would always have a place in her secret heart. And their daughter, Willow, with Khalid’s black lashes and golden lion eyes was the living proof of that love.
And Geoffrey. She loved him also as he loved her. Their love had grown into something wonderful. Could she walk away from him now?
And Niall. What of him? Long ago, and far away in what almost seemed another life, they had shared one ecstatic night of blinding passion. They had tried to build a life together based on that night, but fate continued to separate them. He had a wife now, a wife who obviously needed him desperately. As she had a husband. But she loved him still. Yet she loved Geoffrey. It was madness! How could a woman love two men at the same time? “Damn!” she swore softly to herself.
“Tell me,” Geoffrey’s calm voice commanded.
Skye gave up all thought of lying and answered simply, “I was betrothed to him after my first husband died. I thought you were asleep.”
“How can I sleep with you tossing so, my darling? Did you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love him now that your memory has returned?”
“I love you,” she said.
He smiled in the darkness. “But do you love him?” Geoffrey persisted.
“No!” she said quickly.
He frowned slightly at the too-quick denial. Was she lying to protect his feelings or to hide something from him? “Did he ever know you?”
“Geoffrey!” Damn!
“Did he?”
Oh Lord, help her not to rouse his suspicions. “No,” she said with what she hoped was just the right tinge of righteous annoyance. “He never knew me.” She felt him relax, and said a quick prayer of thanks. Now, the tension gone, she was suddenly exhausted. “I am tired,” she yawned.
Once more he enfolded her in his protective clasp. “Go to sleep, my dearest wife,” he said. “Go to sleep.”
In the house to the right of them, however, the master and mistress were far from sleep. In the uproar that had followed the duel the Queen had instructed the Burkes be brought to her. “My lord,” she addressed herself to Niall, her dark eyes very large and angry. “I have already told your wife that she is no longer welcome at this Court. As for you-you deliberately disobeyed my orders and killed Lord Basingstoke. For that I could have you beheaded. Do you realize that?” In her dancing costume of pale green watered silk, ecru lace at the neck and sleeves, Elizabeth ought to have appeared young and mild. But this was Elizabeth at the angriest Niall had ever seen her, and the frivolous dancing gown was obscured by her flaming red-gold hair and snapping dark eyes. In this rage, Elizabeth flamed as hotly as her father, the infamous Henry the Eighth. She continued. “We understand mat you were sorely provoked, Lord Burke. Nonetheless are also banished from Court,
“The woman called Claro?” Niall asked in an unwavering voice.
“I beg Your Majesty’s permission to deal personally with her.” “We do not wish to hear of it, my lord,” said the Queen slowly and with particular meaning, “lest we be forced to review our clemency to you.”
‘That is understood, madam.”
“Farewell, then, my lord Burke,” said Elizabeth, extending him her hand. He kissed it. Elizabeth pointedly ignored the subdued Constanza, as she had ignored her throughout the interview.
Niall Burke slowly released the beautiful, bejeweled hand. “You are ever gracious, Majesty.” Grasping his wife’s arm, he led her through a side door, down a maze of corridors, and out into the courtyard to their carriage. He pushed her up into the coach, and shouted to the liveried servant on the box, “Home!” Then he climbed in and sat opposite her. The vehicle lurched forward. Niall Burke sat back in his seat and looked at his wife. “Amazing,” he said after a long while. “Simply amazing! Despite the fact that you are obviously the biggest whore in Christendom, you look like an angel.” Her violet eyes wide, she cowered from his brutal appraisal. “What’s this, Constanzita? Shyness? Why shy with me when you are as familiar with every man in London?”
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked him, finding her voice and unable to bear the strain any longer.
“What the hell can I do with you?” he countered. “You are my wife, may God have mercy on me. I must surely be cursed. My first wife was a religious fanatic who couldn’t bear any man’s touch and my second turns out to be a notorious whore who encourages every man’s touch! The one woman in the world I ever truly wanted loses her memory and marries another!”
Constanza Burke relaxed just a little. For a moment she was free of his searing contempt. “What do you mean the
He looked coldly at her. “The Countess of Lynmouth is Skye O’Malley. She did not die, as your father assured me she must have done, but she did lose her memory.” He gave her a brief explanation of what had happened.
“Is that why you’ve been so unhappy and preoccupied these last few months?”
“That is why,” he said, “and how fortuitous for you, my dear.
It made it so much easier for you to play the whore.” She wondered if his own sorrow might make him receptive to her anguish. “Please try and understand. I cannot help this terrible need, Niall. I truly can’t.”
“I know it, Constanza, and that is why I must do what I must do.
We are banished from England and we must go home to Ireland. I cannot have you running about the countryside bringing further shame upon my name. You’ll be confined to your apartment in my father’s castle. You’ll never leave them, my dear, and you’ll have a warder of my choosing who will never leave your side except when I bed you. And I’ll do that often, my dear, for since I am forced to remain shackled to you to prevent my name from becoming a joke, I must therefore breed my legitimate heirs on your well-used body.” “Especially since you can’t breed them on the fine Lady Southwood!” she snapped back. Realizing her folly too late, she was unable to escape the blow he aimed at her. The sound of it echoed inside the carriage, and her head swam with the force of it. She felt his hand cruelly locking itself into her hair, and her neck snapped back as he yanked her about to face him. His silver eyes were narrowed. His harsh voice ripped into her like shards of ragged glass.
“Listen well, my dear, to what I have to say. I could take you home now and beat you to death. I could strangle
