She went white. Recovering quickly, she said, ‘Two percent of the goods taken, and not a penny more.”
“One percent, and this night,” he repeated, a mischievous smile flickering across his handsome face.
“Why?!” she burst out.
“Because you are beautiful and a lady, and I know of no other way for someone like me to possess something so fabulously rare as someone like you.” She seemed genuinely troubled, and he continued, “Come, Skye O’Malley, if you really desire vengeance on your enemy then no price is too high. It’s only one night, sweetheart.” Skye was torn. She knew her plan was flawless, but it could succeed only if she had the use of Lundy. She thought of Elizabeth Tudor calmly admitting to using her. She thought of Robert Dudley and his perverted, degrading possession of her-a possession which had in all likelihood only just begun.
Now Adam de Marisco wished to possess her also, but he at least offered a fair return. She sighed, ruefully recalling Robbie’s warning that unless she married again she would be prey to men. She looked at the huge man, and realized that he was not unattractive. If she were lucky, he was also not as debauched as Dudley. “Until midnight,” she bargained.
He shook his head. “The whole night, and no weeping or lying limp like a dead thing.”
“Dammit, man, I’m no whore to perform for you!” “Precisely, Skye O’Malley. You’re a beautiful and, I suspect, a passionate woman. I want no holding back of those passions because of mistaken virtue. I should be far more shocked by a lack of fire in you than an abundance of it.”
She blushed furiously, and his laughter rumbled about the room like distant thunder. “Is it agreed, then?” He held out his hand. She hesitated, then grasped the great paw with her own elegant hand. She wasn’t protecting any maidenhead, and so much was at stake.
“It’s agreed,” she answered him.
“I should like to hear you say my Christian name, Skye O’Malley.”
“Very well, Adam, I agree.”
“I’m not a bad fellow,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.” That innocent reassurance comforted her. “I’ll have to direct my people first. I’ll need an hour or two, and I’d prefer it if our liaison tonight were kept secret.”
“Of course,” he assured her. “I have no need to brag.” “And then there’s my uncle, the Bishop of Connaught. He travels with me.”
Adam de Marisco had the good grace to look abashed, and a small giggle escaped Skye. He grinned at her. “That’s a nice sound, Skye O’Malley. you should laugh more often. Well, now, and how do we rid ourselves of the bishop?”
“He has a partiality to good French Burgundy. You wouldn’t happen to have any on this rock of yours?”
“I’ll send a small cask out to the ship at once,” promised the lord of the isle.
Skye returned to the Seagull along with the wine. Bonfires were already springing up on the hillsides of Lundy in celebration of the summer solstice, and her crew headed ashore to join in the festivities. Skye went directly to her cabin and put on her dress. It was a pale wisteria-colored silk with a simple scooped neckline, and long tight sleeves-most unfashionable, and she’d worn no farthingale beneath it, but what could Adam de Marisco know of current fashions? It was soft and feminine, and when she loosened her hair and brushed it about her shoulders she knew she created a pleasing picture. Strangely, Skye wanted him to be pleased.
Stopping by her uncle’s cabin, she found Seamus O’Malley already enjoying the wine. “The lord de Marisco has been most hospitable, Uncle. We have almost reached an agreement, and I am going ashore to have supper with the gentleman. Will you join us?” She knew he would refuse.
“Nay, Niece, I am quite comfortable here with my book on the Life of Saint Paul, and the excellent Burgundy sent by our host. It is really quite superior.”
She bent and kissed his dark head. “Good night then, Uncle.
Sleep well.”
“You also, Skye.”
She went ashore again, this time wrapped in the anonymity of a dark cloak. She arrived at Adam de Marisco’s chambers to find the table laid with a cold supper. Adam took her cloak, his hand lingering a moment on her shoulders. When she tensed he said quietly, “I’ve never raped a woman, little girl. Let us go easily, and you’ll not regret your decision, I promise you.”
“I’m not so little, de Marisco,” she retorted. “I’m tall for a woman, and taller than many men.”
He turned her about and lifted her so that she was at eye level with him. “My name is Adam, little girl, and though you are tall for a woman, I top you by a good foot.” Setting her back down, he asked, “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
Then we’ll eat later.” And before she realized what it was he intended, he had her gown unlaced and was pulling it off her. She gasped, clutching at her chemise, but he paid her no mind. Loosening her grip on the fragile silk, he stripped her naked. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her from the room into an adjoining bedchamber. One arm cradled her while the other hand pulled back the bedcovers.
He gently tucked her into the biggest bed Skye had ever seen.
She lay quietly watching as he pulled his own garments off.
Clothed, Adam de Marisco was impressive. Naked, he was magnificent.
Perfectly proportioned, he had thighs like tree trunks, shapely, well-muscled arms, a lean torso, and a great broad chest covered in a thick mat of dark hair. His arms and legs were also liberally furred. He was, in fact, the hairiest man she’d ever seen. He watched her reaction to his nudity, a faintly amused smile upon his sensual lips. Quickly he climbed into bed with her. Skye braced herself for his assault, and when nothing happened she turned slightly to look at him. He was gazing at her, and she blushed, caught in his careful scrutiny. He reached out and drew her close. The arm that held her was strong, the body against which she was pressed was warm and clean-smelling. She was held quietly this way for several silent minutes. Then Adam de Marisco kissed her and, to her immense surprise, the kiss was a firmly tender one. His mouth was fragrant.
“Lovemaking,” he said calmly, “is a great art, Skye O’Malley. I spent four years of my life at the French Court, for my late mother was a Frenchwoman. I have made a rather outrageous bargain with you and you’ve accepted my terms, for you are a rather outrageous woman. We are two healthy, attractive people, and I cannot enjoy making love to you if you are fearful of me. So, little girl, we will just lie here in each other’s arms until you are comfortable.” The silence was deafening. For the first time in her life Skye was at a complete loss. “De Marisco… Adam… I don’t know you. I’ve never made love to a man I didn’t know. To a stranger.” “And how many men have you known, Skye O’Malley?” “I’ve had three husbands,” she said in a small voice. There was no need to explain about Niall Burke.
“You’ve outlived them all?”
“Aye.”
“No lovers?”
“None, except Dudley, of course. But then that’s not my wish.”
“Did you love any of them, little girl?”
“The last two, both very, very much. Losing them was so painful that with both deaths I thought I would die. But of course I didn’t.” “Do you have children?”
‘Two sons by my first husband, a daughter by my second, and one living son by Geoffrey. And, of course, I am stepmother to Geoffrey’s three daughters. My younger son by Geoffrey died in the same epidemic that killed his father.”
Her soft voice caught and Adam pulled her back into his arms. “You’ve learned that love can cause pain as well as pleasure, haven’t you? Let me comfort you, little girl. Let me comfort you.” His mouth was closing over hers again, and Skye felt no resistance in herself at all. His lips were warm and experienced, and she felt a delicious thrill run through her as she realized that he was wooing her, really seeking her favor. He covered her face with little kisses, then took her lips again, this time parting them masterfully, touching only the very tip of her tongue with his. The effect was devastating, and she shivered violently.
One hand traced gently over her jawline, her slim throat, a rounded shoulder, moving downward to cup a small breast already firm with desire. The warm mouth followed the fingers, kissing, tasting, biting playfully. She was turned, her long hair pushed aside, the back of her neck tenderly saluted, the long line of her back lovingly traced in fire. She gasped, then blushed pink as her buttocks were first kissed, then gently nipped.
His kisses branded each long leg at the rounded calves and slim ankles. He sucked on her toes, and Skye came close to fainting, so sensuous was that sensation. She was turned again to lie once more on her back while his lips began an upward sweep of loving. He inhaled the marvelous woman smell of her that was mixed with the scent of wild roses. His tongue reveled in the pure silk of her inner thighs, the moist coral flesh of her womanhood. “Let me comfort you, little girl,” she heard him say again, and her own voice answered, sobbed, “Yes!”
He was unbelievably gentle, raising her just slightly, and slowly, so slowly filling her full of himself until she thought surely she would burst, so big was he. His great body covered her slim one as snow covers the land. She was pressed deeper and deeper down into the mattress as he drove deeper and deeper into her willing flesh. He became more vigorous and she reveled in his passion. This was not Robert Dudley seeking to crush her spirit by degrading her body. This big man sought to give pleasure, a pleasure she had believed possible only with true love.
She could feel her climax rising fast, and she cried out, wanting him to know. “Oh, Adam! It is good!” Then she was lost in a storm of passion as great as any storm she had experienced at sea, and she heard him cry out triumphantly.
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