“Of course I will, my child. Lord bless me. I’ve not been to Londontown since I was a girl and that’s thirty years past! I believe I’ve a hankering to go again, and I’ll come when you’ve got your house in order.”
They rode out from Wren Court on a bright, early autumn morning.
Skye had lingered with Willow, loam to leave the baby. Finally Robbie had shouted at her in exasperation, “Dammit, lass! The sooner you get to London, the sooner she can be with you again!” Skye kissed her daughter and, mounting her horse, rode off. The countryside through which they traveled was hilly. They rode by grain fields ready for harvesting, meadows of sheep and Devon cattle, and thriving orchards. Ahead of them the flat granite tableland of Dartmoor thrust up from the rolling hills, and it was there in an inn called The Rose and Anchor that they spent the night.
When they had arrived the inn was empty, so Robbie decided they could eat in the taproom. But as the meal was served, a party of riders arrived and trooped noisily into the inn.
“Damn,” muttered Robbie irritably, “I wish I’d asked for a private room. They’re noblemen, and if they get rowdy we’re in for it.”
Suddenly a voice boomed across the room and a man detached himself from the crowd. “Robert Small! Is that you, you old sea trout?”
Robbie’s eyes lit up, and he quickly stood. “My lord de Grenville! It is good to see you. Join us in a cup of wine.”
De Grenville had reached the table. “Your manners, Robbie,” he chided. “You’ve not introduced the lady to me yet.”
The sea captain flushed. “Your pardon, Skye. May I present Lord Richard de Grenville. My lord, this is Senora Goya del Fuentes. the widow of my late Algerian business associate. I am escorting her, and her secretary, Jean Morlaix, to her house in London.”
Skye slowly extended her hand and de Grenville kissed it. “My lord.”
“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 enciente with her husband’s child when we first ar- rived,” Robbie explained hastily lest de Grenville misunderstand.
“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 Mermaid had anchored in the Pool awaiting her chance to dock in London. Skye, Jean Morlaix, and Robert Small had disembarked and ridden ahead. It would be several weeks before the Mermaid was assigned a wharf space, and Robert Small trusted his reliable first mate to oversee the ship in his absence.