All the Sweet Tomorrows (15 page)

“You’re too much of a romantic, Adam. You will not have me because I love you as a friend, but you will stand by while I am sent away to marry a virtual stranger who from the looks of him never loved anyone! Somehow your logic escapes me, Adam.”

He chuckled. “If this duc of yours turns out to be the great love of your life, Skye, you will thank me.”

“I think instead I shall make you regret your foolishness,” she said ominously, her slender hands slipping beneath his doublet to rub against his silk-covered chest. “Shall I make you regret your decision, Adam?” He could feel the warmth of her palms through the fabric of his shirt. “Will you be my lover just this once more?” she whispered boldly, standing on her toes so she might kiss him in the sensitive spot just beneath his ear. She could feel his mighty heart pounding beneath her hands.

“You’re a betrothed woman,” he protested faintly, but his hands were already pulling her closer to him.

She nibbled upon his earlobe. “I may never see you again, my darling,” she said low, and then she ran her little pointed tongue around the inner shell of his ear.

“Why are you doing this?” It was his last defense.

“Because in four days I am sailing to a place I don’t know, I will marry a man I don’t know, and then I will get into bed with him and he will mate with me like some animal, for that is all he wants of me, Adam. Heirs! Heirs for his tiny duchy. And for my body, my healthy and proven fertile body, he will give England a safe harbor on the Mediterranean, and a listening post at France’s back door. For my part, I have the Queen of England’s word that she will not allow her Anglo-Irish lords—or anyone else, for that matter—to pillage my Burke son’s lands. This is not a love match, Adam. It is a business arrangement, and so before I leave all that is familiar and dear to me I want a little loving, a little tenderness, a little caring with someone that I care for, Adam de Marisco.”

“Damn you, Skye,” he said softly, then enfolded her back into his arms. She sighed with such obvious relief that he laughed gently, and smoothed her dark hair. “I’ve never known such an honest woman as you are, my darling. Sometimes it can be a little bit frightening.”

Edmond de Beaumont, watching all of this from behind the
bannisters on the second-floor landing of Skye’s house, could not quite make out the words said between the two people below. What was obvious was that the giant of a man was deeply in love with Lady Burke, and she cared for him also. As the young Earl of Lynmouth came abreast of him Edmond asked the boy, “Who is that man with your mama, Robin?”

Robin Southwood looked to the main floor of the house, and a smile lit his beautiful features. Ignoring the Petit Sieur de Beaumont, he ran downstairs, calling, “Uncle Adam! What are you doing in London?” Pure delight was written all over his young face.

Edmond de Beaumont hurried after the boy in time to hear the giant reply in a thunder-deep voice as he swept the lad up into an embrace, “I have come to bid your mother a safe voyage, my lord Earl. Have you come from your duties at court to do the same?”

“We have been here almost a whole month, Uncle Adam. Willow and Murrough and me! We have gone riding with Mother, and we have gone on picnics, and we have shopped and seen the dressmaker. Mother’s having all new gowns made, for the climate in Beaumont de Jaspre is warm almost year round. Edmond says so.”

“And who is Edmond, my lord Earl?”

“I am Edmond de Beaumont,” a voice replied, and Adam de Marisco looked about, puzzled. He could see no one.

“I am down here, m’sieur,” the voice came again, and Adam de Marisco looked down. “I am Edmond de Beaumont, Petit Sieur de Beaumont,” he repeated.

Adam was astounded. “Is this the man you are to marry?” he demanded, his voice tight.

“No, Adam, this is his nephew, sent to escort me to Beaumont de Jaspre.”

“Is the duc as he?” Adam was considering throttling William Cecil.

“I, m’sieur, am an accident of birth,” Edmond said. “My uncle is quite as other people, I assure you.”

“Edmond, this is Adam de Marisco, the lord of Lundy Island. Remember that I told you I had two best friends in this world? Well, this is the other.”

Adam de Marisco looked down at Edmond de Beaumont, and then he bent and lifted the dwarf up, balancing him so that he sat in the curve of his muscled arm so that they were eye to eye. “This is how two men should speak, m’sieur,” he said.

“Agreed, my lord giant!
How tall are you?
”

“I stand six feet, six inches,” replied Adam.

“Then you are nearly twice my size, for I stand but three feet four inches.”

Skye stood amazed as Adam walked calmly off holding Edmond de Beaumont upon his arm, the two men now talking in earnest.

“What an excellent way for them to speak,” Robin observed. “How clever of Uncle Adam to think of it!”

Skye smiled to herself. It was clever of Adam, but then he had always had the knack of putting people at their ease. Elizabeth Tudor’s court had really lost a valuable courtier in him, though he preferred his island home to London, and she could not blame him at all.

When Edmond de Beaumont had returned to Whitehall, Robbie gone off prowling the seamier sections of London, and Dame Cecily and the children settled themselves for the night; then and only then did Skye and Adam come together again. She had ordered her cook to prepare a supper for two, choosing the menu herself, for Adam was somewhat of a gourmet due to his days in France. They would begin with mussels in a white wine broth and thin-sliced Dover sole with carved lemon wedges; followed with a second course that was simplicity itself, boned breast of capon upon a bed of watercress with a delicate gravy of champignons and white wine, a salad of new lettuces and radishes, freshly baked bread and newly churned sweet butter; and, lastly, fresh strawberries with thick, clotted Devon cream. It was a plain meal, but one that Skye knew would delight Adam.

Her mode of dress would also delight him, for she was wearing one of her Algerian caftans; a rose-colored silk garment with wide, long sleeves and an open neckline with tiny pearl buttons that moved downward from just below her breasts. Her slippers were delightful confections of matching silk, heel-less with turned-up toes. Her hair was loose, freshly washed, and sun-dried that afternoon. She wore no jewelry.

“I don’t know why you didn’t marry the lord of Lundy,” Daisy remarked to her mistress.

“Because he wouldn’t have me,” Skye replied.

“Go on with yese, m’lady!” Daisy was astounded. “Ye’re funning with me.”

“No, I’m not, Daisy. He thinks that I should have a great and powerful lord for a husband, not a simple island chieftain.”

“Then he’s a fool,” Daisy said bluntly as a knock sounded at Skye’s bedchamber door.

“Open the door, Daisy,” her mistress commanded, “and then you may retire for the evening. The supper is safe on the sideboard, and I’ll not need you for anything else tonight.”

Daisy curtseyed and opened the door to admit Adam de Marisco. “Good evening, m’lord,” she said brightly, curtseying again, and then she was gone, closing the door behind her.

“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, his smoky blue eyes devouring her with love.

She smiled back at him. “I’ve had my cook prepare you a delicious gourmet meal.”

“You’re the only thing I want tonight, Skye.” He reached out for her, but she easily sidestepped him.

“Would you offend my cook?” Her blue eyes were dancing with merriment. “If you leave this marvelous supper untouched you will cause a scandal, for my household will ask why, when I went to the trouble to have a supper prepared for us, we did not eat it.”

“One kiss, you Irish witch,” he said.

“One kiss and I am lost, you villain! I see I must treat you like my children. You cannot play, Adam, until you have eaten your supper.” She attempted to look stern, and he laughed.

“Very well, I shall eat.”

Settling himself in one of the two chairs that had been placed on either end of the small rectangular oak table, he waited as Skye served him a plate of steaming mussels and poured him a goblet of pale golden wine. She seated herself, and silently they ate the first course. Clearing the table, she offered the second and he hummed his approval.

“Your cook had a French teacher, Skye lass. I’ve not tasted this dish since I was last in Paris. The mushrooms are exquisitely fresh, and the wine sauce as delicate as any I’ve ever tasted. I will tender my compliments in the morning.”

She smiled at his pleasure, but ate little. They were going to make love soon, she knew, despite the fact that he had sworn never again to be her lover. As she absently nibbled on a radish, she wondered why it was she did not love him with the passionate and all-consuming love that she had felt for her last three husbands. They too had been her friends. They too had been as skilled and as tender as Adam was at lovemaking. Geoffrey and Niall and Khalid had all been vital, interesting, ambitious men. Adam was certainly vital and interesting. But he was not ambitious.
He was content to sit upon his island, and that was not enough for her. For all her desire for a quiet life Skye knew that she was never happier than when she was in the midst of things. Adam, however, wanted peace, and if the price of his peace was to sit upon Lundy growing old, never having a true and abiding love, then he would pay that price. She wondered why he had insulated himself so. It was not the decision of an intelligent man, and Adam de Marisco was an extremely intelligent man.

Suddenly she was aware that he was staring at her, and she raised her eyes to his, a guilty blush coloring her cheeks. His smoky blue eyes were very serious, and for a brief moment she wondered if he could have been reading her thoughts. “I was just thinking,” she said lamely.

“About me? About us?”

“Yes.”

“And have you decided that perhaps it is not a good idea that we be lovers again, Skye?”

“No, I have decided that there is a mystery about you, Adam. I know now what it is that keeps me from loving you with all my being. You don’t love me enough to fight for me, Adam.”

He looked stunned. “That’s not so, Skye!”

“Yes, Adam, it is. You say you love me, but that you cannot marry me because I deserve a powerful man for a husband, and you are a simple island chieftain. Well, Adam de Marisco, money buys power, and we both have gold enough to spare. You say that you cannot wed with me because one day I might meet the great love of my life, and stay with you out of misguided loyalty, making myself unhappy, which you could not bear. With the exception of my first husband I have loved completely and well all my other husbands. None was ever slow to take me to wife for fear I might meet someone else later on in my life. They wanted me enough to overcome all obstacles. Yet you will not take such a chance.

“In a few short days I will leave England for what Cecil promised me would be a short-lived marriage to an ill man. The Duc de Beaumont de Jaspre is not, however, either elderly or ill. According to his nephew, he is a healthy man in early middle life. I may never see either you or my own Ireland again, and believe me, Adam, this marriage is not a love match.” She stood up and, moving to the sideboard, opened a drawer and took out a miniature. “Here,” she said, handing him the tiny painting. “Look upon the face of my betrothed, and tell me if that looks like a man who will be a great love to me. It is a cold face,
Adam, and his eyes frighten me. His nephew’s reassurances are not encouraging, although Edmond seems to have a genuine affection for the duc.

“So I must go to the powerful husband you felt best for me, my darling, but before I go we will have a glorious few days. We deserve it, Adam, and perhaps in that time you will tell me why you have not loved me enough to fight for me, which, my dearest, is why I have never been able to love you completely. You lack ambition, Adam, and I wonder why.”

“And do you intend to punish me for it?” he queried her.

“No, Adam. I intend to love you as I have always loved you. Perhaps not enough to satisfy your vanity, but then you have not given completely of yourself, either. One gets out of a relationship what one puts into it.”

“Put this thing away,” he said sharply, handing her the miniature back.

She took it from him and replaced it in the drawer of the sideboard. A tiny smile touched the corners of her mouth. She had at last reached him. True, it was too late now for them to do anything about being married. That opportunity was gone, and she would keep her word to Elizabeth Tudor; but if she had roused Adam enough then perhaps he might find someone to really love. She hated the thought of his being alone, even though she knew it would take a very special girl to love Adam de Marisco, and to live with him on Lundy.

Coming back to the table, Skye brought with her a basket of early strawberries and bowls of clotted cream and sugar set upon a silver tray. Setting them down, she plucked a large berry from the basket, dipped it in the sugar, swirled it in the thick cream, and popped it into her mouth, neatly detaching the stem and leaves. He grinned at her, relieved. Then, standing up, he said, “Later!”

“Lecher,” she purred at him, holding her ground.

His smoky blue eyes narrowed with contemplation, and then, reaching out, he slowly began to unbutton her rose-colored caftan, his big fingers surprisingly nimble with the tiny pearl buttons. Skye started unbuttoning the silver buttons on his padded dark blue velvet doublet. He unbuttoned her to the navel and slid his hands inside the gown to fondle her breasts, delighting in her nipples, which hardened at his gentle touch, thrusting forward like thorns on a rose, to push against his palms. She pushed his doublet off, and loosened his shirt at the neckband. It opened easily beneath her touch, baring him to the waist. Playfully her
slender fingers marched up his chest through the dark mat of hair, to clasp themselves about his neck.

His hands slid upward to work her caftan off her shoulders. It fell with a silken hiss to her ankles, leaving her nude. His hands moved to tangle themselves in the heavy, raven mass of her hair, drawing her head to him so he might kiss her. He hesitated just a second, long enough to see her gorgeous eyes close, the thick dark lashes fluttering like dragonflies upon the soft pink of her cheeks. Only then did his sensuous mouth begin a delicate exploration of hers.