Skye’s heart soared. He would be gone, and Lord Burke would
be here! “Go with God, Dom,” she said sweetly.

For a moment there was an awkward silence, then Dom reached
out and pulled his betrothed into his arms. “No kiss, lovey? You
would send me on my way without the least sign of affection?”

“We’re not wed yet, Dom. I don’t have to kiss you.”

“Don’t have to?” he exploded. “Christ, Skye, don’t be such a
little prude! You’ll have to do more than kiss me in a few days’
time!” Damn, but she was a sweet armful, all perfumed and warm
from the bath. He could feel his desire growing. He sought for her
mouth, but she squirmed away.

“No!”

His blue eyes narrowed in anger, but then he laughed. “All right,
lovey. But in a short time I’ll have you begging for my kisses.” He
mocked her a bow, then turned and left the room. She shuddered.

“Oh!” squealed Molly. “He’s a lusty one to be sure, mistress!
You’ll have good bedsport with him, and that’s lucky in a husband!”

“Be quiet, you little fool!” snapped Skye. “Instead of drooling
over my betrothed, fetch my new burgundy velvet gown. I intend
wearing it tonight with the rubies Da gave me.”

Molly scurried to obey. Skye O’Malley was a better mistress than
most, rarely cruel, but not above administering a slap now and then.
The maid laced her mistress into a little beribboned busk that pushed
her pretty breasts up so that they seemed almost to spill from her
pale-pink underblouse. The nearly transparent sleeves were striped
in gold. Carefully Skye drew her stockings up her shapely legs.
They were pink silk, embroidered with a flowering vine of gold
thread, and had been made in Paris. Several petticoats followed, and
then the dress. A beautiful creation of the finest, softest velvet, it
was a shimmering, jewel-red, with a full, flowing skirt. Slashed
sleeves revealed the pink-and-gold-striped sleeves of the under-
blouse.