She was serious, thought Southwood, amused. They had reached Lynmouth House by now, and he escorted her up the steps of the marble terrace into a small room with a lovely bow window that overlooked the river and the gardens. A candlelit table had been set up in the bow.
“Let us have some wine,” he said, pouring a Burgundy and hand- ing her a goblet. “Now, mistress, what guarantee do you give me that I’ll see a return on my investment?”
“Captain Small was my husband’s partner in Algiers. Kha- Diego financed him, and our secretary, Jean Morlaix, kept the rec- ords. It was up to Robert to handle the rest of it, and he did. He was my husband’s partner for ten years. Nothing has changed. The Goya del Fuentes money will finance him. Jean Morlaix remained in my employ after Diego’s death. I do not need a royal charter, but it would help enormously. What do you risk, my lord? Neither gold nor prestige. You waste more money gambling. If you would prefer, set a price upon your aid and I will pay you. Then you risk nothing,” she finished scornfully.
“Ah vixen,” he chuckled, “so you would shame me into it, eh? You’re a damned hard bargainer, but I’ll see what I can do. After all, a two-percent share in a good trading company is not to be overlooked.”
Inwardly she heaved a sigh of relief and, with a casual air, sipped at her wine. His mouth twitched with suppressed amusement, for Geoffrey Southwood could appreciate a jest on himself better than most men. She had outbluffed him, the little devil. What a woman she was, he thought to himself. The thought of her in his bed sent shivers down his spine. For now, however, he would be a gentleman, for to move too quickly with this lady could cost him de Grenville’s barge as well as the beauty herself.
The footmen began serving the meal, which began with a silver bowl of cold, raw oysters. Skye happily cracked open the shells and swallowed half a dozen luscious, icy oysters. Southwood ate two to her every one. The next course was bright yellow mussels in white wine with a Dijon mustard sauce, thin slices of Dover sole on a bed of crisp watercress, accompanied by very thin slices of lemons imported from the south of France, and tiny pink shrimp broiled in herb butter. Skye ate sparingly but tasted of everything. The Earl had been quite right-his chef was a mqwter.
The second course cleared away, the third was set on the side- board. Three ribs of juicy beef with horseradish sauce and a large plump pink ham vied for attention alongside a platter of small quail, roasted golden and stuffed with fruit. Salad of new lettuces, venison slices in red wine, and a rabbit pastry rounded out the third course.
Skye directed a footman to serve her one of the quail, some ham, a slice of rabbit pie, and a dish of salad. The Earl, who sampled everything, looked on approvingly. “I like a woman who enjoys her food,” he grinned, his green eyes bright.
“But keeps her figure,” she shot back.
“Aye. A pretty woman is far more pleasant to gaze upon, sweet- heart.”
“Is your wife a pretty woman?”
“Mary? Not really. She’s too tiny, like a Spanish dwarf. Her hair is no real color, her eyes a pale brown, her complexion, sallow. Was your husband handsome?”
“Aye,” she said softly. “He was very handsome. But more im- portant, he was kind and good.”
“How long have you been widowed?”
“Two years now.”
“You should think of remarrying, Skye. You’re far too lovely to remain alone.”
“I know few people here, my lord. And besides, there is no one who could take my lord’s place.”
“If you don’t have friends in England,” he ventured, “why did you leave Algiers?”
“The Turkish governor decided I should make him an admirable wife. Since I did not choose to marry him, it became necessary to leave. None of my lord’s real friends would have dared to protect me. I was helpless against that powerful beast, but he got nothing of my lord’s, neither his widow nor his wealth! I shall build that wealth and make it even greater. My little Willow will be very wealthy.”
He smiled slowly at her. “You are an ambitious wench, sweet- heart, but damme if I don’t approve! The Queen is ambitious too, and though some men may be fearful of such women, I’m not.”
The last course was offered then, ripe pears covered with me- ringue and baked to a faint golden brown, thin sugar wafers, and a clear sweet wine. The Earl apologized for the simplicity of the dessert. As there were only two diners, he had suggested to his chef that he limit the sweets.
When she had spooned up the last of her dessert, Skye sat back in her chair, her sapphire eyes half closed, and smiled. Southwood laughed. “You look like a well-fed cat.”
“I am, my lord, and I must have the recipe for the quail stuffing. It was delicious.”
“It’s yours. But come, sweetheart, up with you! We’ll walk in the gardens by the river to settle our meal.”
He escorted her outside after first dropping his black velvet cloak about her. The night had turned chilly. The full moon silvered every- thing, and a faint mist was beginning to rise from the Thames. They walked in silence, watching as a brightly lit barge went by, hearing laughter drift across the water. A steady measured beat of oars and a single lantern announced the approach of the enterprising waterman who offered taxi service to those who wanted to go up- or downriver. They stood watching the moonlit water, and after a while Geoffrey said softly, “I would not offend you, but I would kiss you.”
“No one but my husband has ever kissed me,” she whispered.
“He’s gone, sweetheart,” was the hoarse reply. And tipping her pale face firmly toward him, he touched his warm mouth to hers. He kissed her gently, but she could sense the desire that he held firmly in check. The tip of his tongue licked at the edges of her mouth, sending a shiver through her, awakening the long unsatisfied passions. He held her tightly, his masculine scent assaulting her senses. She began to relax within the circle of his arms. He was as big and tall as Khalid had been, and very male.
Then, gently, as suddenly as he had kissed her, he released her and whispered softly, “I will take you home, sweetheart, lest I do something that would lose me your friendship.” And without another word he took her arm and walked with her, back through the wall gate, across her gardens, and into her house.
In the moonlit library she gazed openly at him and her musical voice said firmly but softly, “Kiss me just once more, Geoffrey.” A quick smile touched his mouth, and then he bent to meet her lips again. This time he allowed his passions a looser rein and the pres- sure of his mouth forced her lips apart. His tongue ran swiftly along her teeth, pushing through, finding her silken tongue and caressing it with his own.
To Skye’s shock, her own passions rose swiftly, fiercely from deep within her. Her tongue fenced skillfully with his, and she quivered at the fire and ice racing through her veins. His big hands caught her face and he kissed her again, this time very tenderly. Then his smooth fingers trailed down her slender neck to drift along the swelling tops of her breasts, and she moaned softly.
“No, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “There’s no honor in taking a vulnerable woman, and you are very vulnerable right now.” And silently he disappeared through the French doors, and she was alone.
Skye stood very still, rigid with shock. She had nearly thrown herself at him, and had he not been the gentleman he was…Shivering, she made her way upstairs. Once within the safety of her room, she stood for a bit clutching Geoffrey’s cloak about her. It carried the scent of orris root, and she buried her face within the sable collar trying to quiet her pounding heart.