The Earl of Lynmouth walked next door to his own apartment. Wordlessly he stripped his bloodstained clothing off and climbed into the steaming tub his body servant had prepared. He scrubbed himself down and then, climbing out, dried himself off. His valet then wrapped him in a long, warm gown and, murmuring congratulations, left his master alone.
Geoffrey Southwood poured himself a goblet of pale golden wine and sat before the blazing fire. The child was safely born. He had a healthy, lusty son, an heir. But did he still have a loving wife? She had refused to discuss Niall Burke with him, which led Geoffrey to believe that she had once loved him. Now that her memory had returned, would she love Burke again? “When I am finished with this business of birthing our son I will tell you of Niall Burke,” she had said. “I am yours because I choose to be,” she had also said. Damn her proud and independent Irish spirit! Then he chuckled ruefully. It was this very independence that made her different from other women, that made her Skye.
Draining his goblet, Geoffrey climbed into his chilly, empty bed, then lay tossing restlessly. He dozed, then awoke with a start. This was the first night since their marriage that he’d been without her, for even in these last weeks of her pregnancy he’d slept with her, in her bedchamber, snoring contentedly against her warmth. / must be getting old, he thought with a touch of humor. These sheets were cold and musty with lack of use, and there were lumps in his fine mattress.
“God’s blood!” he said, suddenly leaping up. “I will not sleep here a minute longer!” And padding barefoot across the cold floor to the door that connected his room with hers, he stomped in. Poor Daisy was horrified, having never seen her master in his nightshirt. Skye, sitting propped up with pillows behind her, the child at her breast, bit her lip with suppressed mirth. “My lord, have you come to see our wee Robin?” The baby made a murmur of distinct annoyance as his mother’s voice disturbed his concentration. “I’m cold,” announced the Earl pettishly.
Skye’s eyes twinkled. “I have never seen the sense,” she said, “in a man sleeping apart from his wife simply because she has just borne a child.” With her free hand she flung the bedcovers back in invitation. “Climb in, Geoffrey. I am cold too without you.” Scandalized, Daisy pursed her lips together, but the Earl and Countess of Lynmouth simply giggled like two naughty children, and snuggled close. Then Geoffrey turned his attention to the tiny golden-haired infant who rooted noisily at his mother’s breast, his tiny fingers kneading her.
“He’s working hard enough at it,” observed the Earl. “My milk won’t be in for a day or two. All he’s getting now is a watery liquid,” said Skye.
“Is that natural?” He was instantly concerned. “Should we have a wet nurse for him?”
She laughed. “With all the children you had, you should know more, my love. My present condition is quite natural. I shall get a wet nurse for Robin in about a month, but during the time it takes me to recover from this birth I shall have the pleasure of giving my child suck.”
“So you already decided upon his name, have you? All by yourself?” “I have,” she replied, unconcerned. “He is Robert Geoffrey James Henry Southwood. Robert for my dearest Robbie, Geoffrey for you, James for my uncle Seamus, and Henry in honor of both the late king, and Robin’s dead half-brother. His godparents will be the Queen and Lord Dudley. He will be vain enough to believe I have named the child for him in order to please the Queen. He should therefore prove an excellent godfather to Robin in an effort to impress the Queen.”
Geoffrey Southwood chuckled admiringly. “By God you’re a wickedly clever minx, my dear. The Queen and Lord Dudley! I don’t believe anyone has yet given them a godchild, not both of mem together. What a stroke of genius! I 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?”