Geoffrey Southwood’s eyes narrowed just slightly at Niall Burke’s familiar use of his wife’s name. “Tell me of my wife’s family,” he said pointedly.
“Both her parents are dead, her father just a year before she was lost. She has a stepmother and uncle of whom she is quite fond, five older sisters, a younger brother, four younger half-brothers, and two sons by her first marriage. He’s dead, my lord,” Niall finished quickly, seeing the Earl go white about the lips.
“Did she love him?”
“Certainly not! He was a bastard who delighted in mistreating her. He was dead before she left Ireland, proving that there is a God in Heaven.”
Geoffrey Southwood’s eyes narrowed further and glittered dangerously at the impassioned tone in Lord Burke’s voice. “And what, my lord, was your connection with my wife?”
“We grew up together,” said Niall. The lie slipped coolly off his tongue. “Her father was the O’Malley of Innisfana, her mother, Margaret McLeod, of the isle of Skye. When Dubhdara O’Malley died he made Skye his heiress until one of her brothers was old enough and showed an aptitude for the family seafaring business. Skye had always been her father’s favorite, and had her father not finally sired some sons it probably would all have gone to her anyway. After the O’Malley died she swore her fealty to my father, as had all the O’Malley chiefs before her.”
“And what was she doing on a ship off the North African coast?” demanded the Earl.
“The O’Malleys have been great sea rovers for centuries. Her trading fleet had made inquiries of the Algerian government with regard to beginning trade. When the Dey of Algiers learned that the O’Malley chief was a woman he insisted on meeting her before he would continue their negotiations. Representing my father, I accompanied her on that voyage. A severe storm tore the Dey’s protective pendant from our mast, and when the storm ended we fought a sea battle with Barbary pirates. They didn’t know that we were under the Dey’s protection. We had almost succeeded in driving them off when one pirate swung across the gap between the ships and carried off the O’Malley. Before we could retrieve her a fog bank separated the ships. I had been severely injured, and was taken to the island of Mallorca. The rest of the O’Malley fleet sought for Skye, with the Dey’s aid, but no trace of her was found.”
“And that,” explained Robert Small, “was because she wasn’t channeled through a regular slave market, but disposed of in a private sale.”
“Her family should be notified, Southwood. With your permission I should like to write to her uncle, who is the Bishop of Connaught. Captain Small and I thought that perhaps, after your child is born, you would tell her.”
“Lord Burke is a gentleman, Geoffrey,” said Robbie apologetically, “but since he was all for rushing to your house and telling Skye of her past, I found it necessary to explain her delicate condition to him.”
“I congratulate you on your good fortune,” said Niall feelingly. “I understand you lost your only son recently.”
“Thank you,” said Geoffrey, softening a little.
Robert Small heaved a sigh of relief. They weren’t going to kill each other. “Well, gentlemen, we all have Skye’s interests at heart,” he said. “We’ve agreed then that Lord Burke will inform the O’Malleys of this happy turn of events, but that Skye will not be told until after the birth of her child.”
The two young men nodded their assent, and Robbie raised his goblet. “To Skye and her happiness!” he declared.
Geoffrey Southwood smiled for the first time since entering the cabin, his green eyes meeting Niall’s silver ones. “That’s an easy toast,” he said, and Niall Burke smiled back, raising his own goblet.
Suddenly, from outside the cabin there arose a small uproar. The piping voice of the little cabin boy was heard protesting in concert with a deep masculine voice. Southwood cocked his head. “Sounds like de Grenville,” he said. The words had hardly left his mouth when the door burst open to admit that gentleman. The little cabin boy was close to tears and clung valiantly to the nobleman’s doublet.
“I told him he couldn’t come in, Captain! I told him!”
“That’s all right, lad,” said Robert Small in a kindly tone. “I can see you’ve done your best, but in this instance you’ve been outgunned. Go back and guard my door again. You did well.”
The boy wiped tears away with his sleeve. Saying “Aye, s-sir,” he took up his post again.
Robert Small turned coolly to de Grenville. “Well, Dickon, what is so important that you forced your way in here?”
De Grenville shook his flowing lace cuffs free of imaginary wrinkles. “A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you, Robbie! Hello, Southwood … Burke. Mayhap you gentlemen will join us.” He turned again to the captain. “Robbie, fate smiled on you when it delayed your sailing. I’ve been sent word that the ‘Book Lady’ is to perform at Claro’s tonight, and I’ve obtained time in her bed for both of us!”
“The ‘Book Lady’?” the Earl interrupted.
“Ah, Geoff, you’ve been so busy in the wooing of your new wife that you’ve missed this delicious phenomenon. She’s just appeared at Claro’s in the last few months. They say she’s a bored noblewoman, but she’s always masked so who’s to know for certain? Her manners are flawless, and she speaks like a noblewoman, so the gossip may be right.”
“Perhaps she’s just a good actress,” suggested the Earl.
“I think she’s well bred. Her bone structure and skin texture are fine,” replied de Grenville.
“Why do they call her the ‘Book Lady’?” asked Niall Burke.
“Ahhh,” breathed de Grenville again, “there’s the fascinating part. Let’s face it, gentlemen, a whore’s a whore, but the Book Lady is an artist. She’s got a naughty book from the Far East, filled with the most gorgeous illustrations of people fucking. If you desire, you pick a page and she’ll duplicate it with you. They say she’s expert in all she does, and she certainly loves her work. There’s been talk of her and Claro having a contest to see who can fuck the most men in a twenty-four-hour period. By God, Robbie! We’ve a good time ahead of us tonight! Southwood! Burke! Will you join us?”
“No, Dickon, not I. What man married to my Skye would seek other entertainment?”
A hot pain pierced Niall.
“What excuse did you use to Skye when you came here?” asked Robert Small.
“That I’d a surprise for her,” answered the Earl, “and I do.” He drew forth from his doublet a large sapphire teardrop on a delicate gold chain. “D’you think she’ll like it?”
“A Ceylon blue! God, what a beauty!” ejaculated de Grenville.
“Aye, Skye will like it,” said Robert Small. “It matches her eyes.”
“That’s just what I thought,” remarked the Earl, grinning, and again Niall winced.
Geoffrey Southwood stood and picked up his cloak. “Thank you, Robbie, and you, too, my lord Burke. Robbie, be sure you come to say good-bye to Skye before you sail.”
“I will,” promised the captain. Then he and the other two walked to the gangplank with the Earl.
At its foot waited a sailor holding Southwood’s chestnut stallion. After mounting, Southwood waved to Robert and rode off in the direction of the Strand. Lord de Grenville turned to his two companions. “Well, gentlemen, are you for Claro’s with me?”
Robert Small nodded. “I could use an entertaining memory to warm me on the long and lonely nights of this voyage. Aye, Dickon, I’m with you. And you, Lord Burke? Claro has some of the loveliest pox-free girls in London.”
Niall considered a moment. “Aye, I’ll join you. I don’t think, however, that I’m up to your Book Lady. I’ll happily settle for a pretty lass who fucks well.”
De Grenville signaled his coach and the three men climbed in and were off. “Claro will fix you up right enough,” prophesied de Grenville.
And Claire O’Flaherty, seeing the three men coming through her front door, panicked until she realized that, although she’d
been a guest in the MacWilliam’s castle, she’d never met Niall Burke. As the daughter of a minor and impoverished vassal, Claire had not been considered important enough to merit the heir’s attention. So he would not know her. But Constanza must be warned.
Claire ran lightly up the stairs to the beautiful room that showcased her star attraction. Constanza, having just arrived, was alone. She was rouging her nipples when Claire burst in.
“Your husband’s here,” announced Claire, “but I don’t believe he’s come for you. He’s not angry or upset at all. He’s with friends.”
“Who?”
“Lord de Grenville and Sir Robert Small.”
Constanza checked a small book open on her bedside table. “De Grenville and one guest are scheduled with me for the entire night,” she said. “Rose took the appointment. De Grenville said something to Rose about his friend going off on a long sea voyage.”
“Then it must be Sir Robert,” said Claire, giddy with relief. “But if Rose got it wrong then I’ll send her up here and you get out fast. I’ll make your excuses. Unless, of course, you’d like your husband to know?” She glanced slyly at Constanza.
“And spoil my fun?” laughed Constanza nervously. “Never!”
Claire slipped from the room and, with much show, descended the staircase. Her blond hair was piled high. Her sky-blue eyes sparked with malice. Her skin was very white except for the cheeks, which had been reddened with pomade. Her nipples were rouged. She wore a deep-blue gown so entirely transparent that her body was plainly visible. She was adorned with ropes of pearls.
“Lord de Grenville,” her feline, husky voice purred. “Welcome! Welcome to you and your guests. I recognize you, Sir Robert, but the other gentleman is a stranger.”
“Niall, Lord Burke, Claro. He’s looking for a bouncing lass and some good bedsport.”
“I shall see to him myself,” smiled Claro broadly. The thought of bedding the man who had loved Skye O’Malley was simply too tempting.
“By God!” muttered de Grenville enviously. “I’ve been trying for months to pry those plump white thighs apart, and she’d have none of me. You merely walk through the door and she’s at your feet!”
Niall eyed Claro dispassionately. Yes, she would do quite nicely. In his depression over Skye he had been disinclined to seek his wife’s bed for several weeks, and yet he needed a woman to vent his frustration upon. This one would do quite nicely. With her big, pillowy, white breasts and avid, wet red mouth, she was totally unlike his dainty, gentle little Constanza. He smiled boldly at her, a smile that did not reach his cold silvery eyes, Claire noticed.
She could feel the suppressed violence in Niall as he slipped a hard arm about her, and she shivered with delight. Maybe this time, for the first time since that last wonderful time with Dom, she would feel something.
She smiled coyly up at him. “Come on, lovey,” she said in that husky voice. Taking him by the hand, she led him up the stairs to her room. The door had barely closed behind them when he was pulling her into his arms and kissing her with a brutality that left her breathless. She heard the sheer gown rip, and felt the cool air on her skin. He picked her up, tossed her on the bed, pulled his own clothes off, and flung himself on her. He plunged into her without ceremony and she gasped with the pain he was inflicting on her in his desperate rutting. He was even bigger than Dom had been. Thrusting her hips to meet him, she felt her climax building. Yes, it was the first time since Dom that she had felt any satisfaction from a coupling. And, to her great surprise, he delayed his own pleasure until she had had hers. No man had ever done that for Claire.
The release was a purely physical one for Niall. The woman beneath him was a coarse creature, but she served her purpose and he had to admit she moved well. He had thought to take her once and leave, but now he decided to spend the night, as she apparently expected him to do. Why not? “You’re a good tumble.” He grinned and laughed when she shot back, “So are you, Niall Burke!” He hoped de Grenville and Robert Small were having as good a time as he was.
They were. The room in which Claro showcased her most famous whore was not used by anyone else. It had been decorated at great expense. In an age when glass was a rare and almost prohibitively expensive thing, the Book Lady’s room had a great mirror built into its ceiling and two large standing mirrors in gilt frames on either side of the bed. The bed was enormous, with ruby velvet hangings, large fat pillows, and a red fox coverlet. Before the great fireplace was an Oriental type of couch, set low to the ground and covered with pillows. Next to the bed was a walnut bookstand upon which rested the famous book. Over the fireplace were hung dainty silver chains with gold wristlets, and next to the fireplace stood a tall white vase with a supply of hazel switches. Heavy red velvet brocade drapes shielded the windows. The floor was covered by a thick blue and red carpet from Turkey.
The three occupants of the room were all naked, poring over the book of love. The woman sat between them on the large bed, each man absently fondling a firm golden breast. “Impossible!” muttered Robert Small, studying the picture. “Not at all, Captain,” came back the breathy answer. “It simply takes a bit of time and some patience. Would you like to try it?”
Robert Small looked at the petite golden-skinned creature and was rather shocked by what he saw. The woman was lust incarnate. Constanza pressed herself against him and, reaching down, fondled his sex. “Such a great weapon for such a little man,” she murmured. “Can you wield your sword well, Captain?”
“Aye,” he growled as he kissed her open mouth. “Come on, de Grenville, let’s teach this hot little minx a good lesson!”
De Grenville’s eyes glittered as he pressed against Constanza from behind. “Damme, Robbie, it’s going to be a good evening! Geoff will be sorry he didn’t join us!”
At that moment the Earl of Lynmouth, having reached his home, entered his bedchamber and found his wife lying on the bed, asleep. His valet entered silently behind him and closed the door. Geoffrey Southwood looked tenderly at the picture she made. She was wearing a demure white silk nightgown. The deeply scooped neckline offered him a generous view of her pretty breasts. Smiling, he drew off his clothes. Geoffrey bathed in the warm water set out by his valet, then waved away the white silk nightshirt offered him. Placing the sapphire on the bedside table, he said pointedly, “Good night, Will.” The valet chuckled as he left the room. Marriage had not paled Lord Southwood’s appetite!
For a few moments Geoffrey watched Skye in sleep. She was so outrageously lovely that his breath caught in his throat. What he had learned tonight was astounding in one sense, yet not truly surprising. It had always been obvious that Skye was a lady as well as an educated woman. Now that he knew her to be the mother of two sons as well as the adorable Willow, Geoffrey was greatly encouraged. Surely the child she now carried beneath her heart was his son and heir, and not another daughter.
Suddenly he became aware of his great need for her and, gently rolling her over on her back, he kissed her mouth. She murmured and stretched. Pulling her gown down over her shoulders, he bared her to the waist. Then, with a shrug, he pulled the gown off entirely. The sight of her slim body, the belly just beginning to round, roused him painfully, the desire slamming into him sharply. He buried his face in the valley between her breasts and murmured her name.
Her arms were quickly about him. “Geoffrey, my love. I fell asleep waiting for you.”
“I’ve been watching you sleep and, God help me, even in sleep you rouse me, my love.” His mouth was closing over hers, his tongue exploring the roof of her mouth, then flicking downward to tease at her sensitive breasts. She caught at one of his hands and pulled it downward to the sweet core of her. She rubbed against him and he felt the wetness of her.
“You see, my darling, what a shameless creature I am. I desire you too!” Then catching his tumescence in her hand, she guided him to her and sighed with pleasure when he thrust deep.
“Witch,” he muttered, “wives are not sup
posed to enjoy their husband’s attentions so much.”
“I shall say my prayers then,” she teased, wriggling provocatively beneath him.
“You must say them to Venus, the goddess of love,” he growled. He redoubled his efforts and soon she was crying out. Satisfied that he had mastered her, he took his own release. Niall Burke might play the old family friend all he wished, but Geoffrey Southwood knew a man in love when he saw one. Skye, however, was his alone, and he would never let her go.
Recovered, she leaned over him and demanded, “Where is my surprise?”
Muttering about greedy women, he reached over to the bedside table and dangled the gift before her.
Skye gasped. “Oh, Geoffrey, it’s magnificent!” She sat cross-legged before him and slipped it over her neck. It dangled provocatively between her small impudent breasts as he had known it would. “And you went out especially tonight to get it for me. Thank you, my darling!”
And looking at her sitting there, the delight of a child on her face, he vowed again that no one would ever take her from him. She might be the head of a large Irish family, but they had managed these last few years and they’d have to continue to manage without her. She was his wife! His!
“Geoffrey, you look so fierce. Have I displeased you somehow?”
“Nay, sweet,” he reassured her smilingly. “I was just thinking how very much I love you.”
She crept into his arms and put her dark head against his shoulder. “And I love you, my darling. Oh, Geoffrey, I am such a terrible woman! I cannot help but think how lucky we are that Mary died.”
“D’you think I would have let you go? Never! From the moment I first saw you in Dartmoor I meant you to be mine. I will never let you go, Skye! You belong to me!” And then his mouth was taking fierce, harsh possession of hers, and she was meeting his passion with her own, matching him kiss for kiss, caress for caress, until they were again joined in the blazing union so familiar by now, yet never the same. It left them both weak and breathing hard.
Skye O'Malley Page 39
