The footmen departed and she undressed slowly. Daisy took each garment, and Skye reached for some tortoiseshell hairpins and se- cured her dark hair. It would not be necessary to wash it tonight, as she had done so yesterday in a mixture of fresh rainwater and essence of roses. Now she walked naked across the room and poured some of the same rose essence into her tub. Daisy averted her brown eyes. She could simply not get used to her mistress’s habit of bathing regularly, let alone bathing naked. The young woman liked her mistress, however, and so she bore with her eccentricities.
Skye chuckled. “You can open your eyes now, Daisy. I’m safely in the tub.”
“Oh, mum, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”
“Haven’t you ever looked at yourself, Daisy? Women have very lovely bodies, but men are never quite so pretty.”
“Oh, mum! How you talk! Look at myself indeed! If me mother had ever caught me doing such a thing she’d have beat me black and blue.”
Skye smiled to herself and wondered why the English-no, she amended-why the Europeans were so afraid of their bodies. Then she laughed at herself for, though she could not remember it, she too was European. But she couldn’t imagine herself bathing only a few times a year, and then in a cotton shift!
She picked up the damask rose soap, built up a rich lather, and washed her face. She lathered the rest of her lithe body, slowly and thoroughly, summoning an almost unbearably sensuous feeling. Good Lord, she thought, as she watched the nipples of her breasts harden, I’m alive again, and I want a man to love. She blushed with the memory of how Geoffrey Southwood had looked at her this afternoon.
Stepping hastily from the tub, she took the big warmed towel from Daisy and began to dry herself. “Bring me a light wool caftan,” she said. “It’s too early to dress yet. I’ll sleep for a bit.”
Slipping on the caftan, she added, “Leave the tub till later, I’ll rest now, and ring when I want you. Go get your dinner.” The little maid curtseyed and left the room.
Skye lay upon her bed, drawing a fur robe over herself. Geoffrey Southwood had a finely turned leg, she thought, and those lime- green eyes had undoubtedly melted many a heart. She was much too vulnerable to be having dinner with him. Oh, why had she accepted the invitation? She was lonely. Perhaps that was why. Khalid had been dead almost two years, and suddenly she was again aware of the fact that she was a woman, a woman who, up until her husband’s death, had been well loved. She would have to be very careful lest she present the Earl of Lynmouth with the wrong impres- sion of herself. She drifted into a light sleep and awakened at Daisy’s touch.
“The Earl of Lynmouth’s footman is below, mum. His lordship will be here in half an hour.”
Skye stretched languidly. “Fetch me a basin of rose water, Daisy. Is my gown ready?”
“Yes, mum.”
Skye bathed her face, hands, and neck, having shed the caftan. With averted eyes Daisy handed her mistress her silk undergarments, lacing the little boned busk up tightly, smoothing down the several petticoats, the last one threaded through with blue ribbons, as was her silk underblouse. Skye slipped on her new knitted silk stockings which were of the palest blue with a tiny silver thread vine pattern. Her garters were also blue with deep pink rosettes.
Daisy carefully slipped the gold-threaded underskirt over Skye’s head, and laced it up. Lastly came the beautiful peacock-blue velvet gown, split to show the embroidered underskirt. The puffed sleeves were slashed to reveal a soft creamy sheer silk underblouse. Skye slipped on her blue satin slippers and stood before the pier glass, a faint smile on her lips. She slid the pearls around her neck, watch- ing with fascination as the pink diamond nestled in the deep valley between her breasts. Yes, it was perfect.
Daisy held up a tray of rings, but Skye selected only a large baroque pearl and placed it on her right hand. She held out her hands and was pleased with the simple effect the single ring created. Her hands were especially beautiful, slender with long, well-shaped fin- gers, the nails delicately rounded and buffed to a healthy pink.
She gazed at her image again. I am beautiful, she thought. Then she laughed softly.
“His lordship is here, mum,” said Daisy. “The footman has just come up with word.”
“Have the footman tell his lordship I shall be down directly, and escort him into the small receiving room. Have Walter pour him some wine.”
Daisy curtseyed. “Yes, mum.”
Skye moved slowly to her dressing table and reached for her scent bottle. She daubed the rose fragrance on all the available pulse points, remembering Yasmin as she did. Dear God, she thought, if there is a Paradise, please don’t let Yasmin be Khalid’s houri. I forgave her for the sake of both our immortal souls, but I couldn’t bear it if she was with him when I can’t be. The tears sprang to her eyes, and she quickly snatched up a lace-edged handkerchief. Then, fixing a little smile on her lips, she left to join the Earl of Lynmouth.
Geoffrey Southwood had declined both a seat in the receiving room and the wine. With undisguised admiration he now watched as Skye descended the staircase. Reaching the bottom, she swept him an elegant curtsey. “Good evening, my lord Southwood.” He admired her lovely breasts which momentarily swelled over her seemingly modest square neckline.
“And a good even’ to you, Senora Goya del Fuentes. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve arranged for the door in our garden wall to be opened. I assume you won’t object to a stroll in the gardens.”
“No, I don’t mind a stroll.”
He offered her his arm, and they moved through the house and out into the evening. The air was mild, and the night sky clear. His slim hand covered hers, and as they walked he said quietly, “Are you aware of how beautiful you are? There isn’t a woman at Court who compares with you.”
“Even the Queen?” she teased.
“Her Majesty is in a class by herself, my pet. No one compares with Elizabeth Tudor.”
“Bravo, my lord Earl! The perfect courtier’s reply,” she mocked mischievously.
“I am the perfect courtier, Skye, for only by the Queen’s favor can an ambitious man progress.”
“You are titled, intelligent, and wealthy,” she said. “Why should it matter to you if the Queen favors you?”
The question pleased him, for it showed she had intelligence. Oddly enough, he liked intelligent women. “The Southwoods have never been important in the history of England, Skye. We won our lands with William the Conqueror and our title with Richard, Coeur de Lion, in the Holy Land. That particular Southwood, upon re- turning to England, advised his family to remain in Devon and not go gadding about. We’ve taken his advice. Nevertheless, probably thanks to my merchant antecedents, I seem to be an ambitious sort, and Court is the place for ambitious men. The Queen has need of them.”
“And what of ambitious women, Geoffrey?”
He smiled as they walked through the wall gate into his garden. ”What are your ambitions, my pet? If you seek a titled lover, then I’m your man.”
She ignored the remark. “I’ve just formed a trading company with Robert Small. It would help if I had a royal charter. Help me get it, and I’ll give you a two-percent interest in it.”
The Earl of Lynmouth was astounded. “By God, sweetheart, you are ambitious!” he laughed. “I’m not sure if I’m shocked or simply amazed.”
Skye was as surprised at herself as was Southwood. Where in Heaven’s name had that idea come from, and where had she gotten the nerve to suggest such a thing? Having ventured it, however, she decided to follow it through. “Well, my lord,” she said coolly. ”What say you?”