A Woman of Passion (16 page)

His time was no longer his own. Although he now had a secretary and a huge staff of clerks, he spent endless hours at Court and had rooms at Whitehall, where he spent most nights. His only respite was with his friends the Greys at Suffolk House, just a short distance from
Whitehall down the Strand, where he could escape for a few hours. Although it was impossible to see Bess often, since she worked for Lady Zouche and lived in her household, she was never out of his thoughts. Her sparkling vision rose ever before him, always irresistibly radiant. She was easily the most attractive female he'd ever seen. He pictured every detail—her dark eyes flashing and her breasts heaving quickly. Sometimes she became so intense she actually quivered. Bess was a natural coquette without even knowing it. Whenever she gave him that level look without a trace of flirtation, it held him in thrall.

All his life, by hard work, boldness, and ruthless determination, Cavendish had achieved every goal that he desired. And now he desired Bess, for what good was such heady success without someone to share it with? The fact that Bess had refused to become his mistress did not deter him in the least. To William it was quite simple and straightforward. He wanted her. He would have her.

It was close on midnight when he arrived at Suffolk House, but the lights were ablaze and he knew he would find Frances Grey still playing cards or backgammon.

“Rogue! I'm bored to death. Please save my life by throwing me a tidbit of Court gossip.” Frances dismissed her yawning ladies-in-waiting, who were thankful to escape to bed.

“Well, let's see, our good friend William Parr has finally been granted his divorce, and Elizabeth Brooke is up to her pretty eyes in wedding plans.”

“Well, I'll be damned! It seems that nothing is impossible for Parr since his sister became queen! First he's made Marquess of Northampton, and now he's rid himself of an aging wife. Actually, I'll be double damned! How the devil did you learn of it before I did?”

“My daughter, Catherine, is espoused to Elizabeth Brooke's brother, Thomas. It so happens I visited her today at Lord and Lady Cobham's.”

“I had forgot Catherine no longer lives at home. I warrant she's far happier in the Cobham household. Why don't you take a page from Parr's book and divorce that wretched Eliza Parris?”

“When I was in Ireland, I had made up my mind to do just that, but when I returned, Eliza's doctor took me aside and told me she has a malady that is almost always fatal. Divorce seemed a shabby thing to do under the circumstances.”

“And why cover yourself with the scandal of divorce when the angel of death is about to grant your dearest wish?”

Completely used to her cynical irreverence, he rebuked her only lightly. “Frances, my dear, is nothing sacred to you?”

“Very bloody little, I'm afraid.” Her eyes swept over him with speculation.
So the rumor that she is dying is true! He'll have to fight off the women. Heigh-ho, they'll be scratching out each other's eyes to become the next Lady Cavendish. How utterly divine that I'll have a front-row seat!

Cavendish picked up her plump hand and toyed absently with her fingers for a moment. “Darling Frances, I need yet another favor from you. I would like you to make Bess one of your ladies-in-waiting.”

Her eyes widened with comprehension. “Why on earth didn't I think of it before? She's exactly what I need to banish my boredom. My latest ladies have less wit than head lice.”

“How much do you pay your ladies?”

“Five pounds a year, I believe.”

“Offer her ten; I'll give you the money. I want her to be able to dress well.”

“You'll do no such thing! What is money to a Tudor? Whatever gowns she wants will be provided by the Royal Wardrobe. Harry's purse pays for every garment at Suffolk House, from the servants' liveries to the nursemaids' corsets.”

“Mmm, as treasurer I'd better look into such extravagance,” he said with a grin, happy that she was amenable to his suggestion.

“You can look into my underdrawers if it makes you happy, darling, just don't expect me to exercise restraint. Intemperance is my middle name.”

“Nay, Frances, you are not intemperate, you are most generous, and I love you dearly for it,” he said before he kissed her hand.

Bess was ecstatic when Frances Grey offered her the position of lady-in-waiting; she could hardly believe her great good fortune. Margaret Zouche did not stand in Bess's way of advancement and reluctantly let her go to Suffolk House immediately.

Frances took the greatest delight in giving Bess a spacious suite of rooms, complete with bedchamber, sitting room, and its own dressing room. It was in another wing entirely from the chambers of her other ladies, and the sheer luxury of the furnishings momentarily stunned Bess. But within days she adapted to her elegant surroundings as if she had been born at Suffolk House.

New gowns were the first item on the agenda, and Lady Frances decided that she along with Bess would have an entirely new wardrobe. They spent endless hours discussing style, choosing colors, and selecting material.

Bess knew exactly what suited her best and had a flair for the dramatic, which she was free to indulge for the first time in her life. While Frances needed darker shades to minimize her full figure and contrast with her blond hair, Bess chose the bold jewel tones of sapphire, amethyst, turquoise, and emerald. She indulged herself with black taffeta petticoats that rustled deliciously, black lace stockings, and satin high-heeled slippers that made her feel quite wanton.

Bess was so regal that the servants ran to do her bidding and the noble guests who streamed through Suffolk House treated her as an equal, since it was clear to everyone that she and the Marchioness of Dorset had become intimate friends. Bess had no real duties, so she was free to study and learn exactly how Suffolk House was run and to acquire the skills necessary to entertain on a lavish scale. She had boundless energy; all that was expected of her was to help Lady Frances entertain until midnight almost every night of the week, then rouse her in the mornings with a cup of chocolate accompanied by a generous serving of the latest gossip.

Bess entered the luxurious bedchamber of Lady Frances and drew back the heavy brocade drapes. “Good morning.” She set the tray with the porcelain cups and saucers and the jug of steaming chocolate on the bedside table.

“God's balls, surely it's still the middle of the night!” Frances protested. “Go away!”

Bess ignored her protests. “It's almost ten; you'll sleep the day away, and you asked me to remind you that you had a special dinner party to plan this morning.”

“Lud, how do you put up with me?” She picked up a hand mirror and stuck out her tongue. “My mouth tastes like I've been licking the bottom of the parrot cage.”

Bess handed her a cup of chocolate and sat down on the wide bed. “Lady Frances, I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done for me. I am so very grateful—”

“Rubbish, I'm the one who's grateful. Bess, we deal so comfortably together. I'm not the least ashamed of letting you share all my tawdry secrets, because I know I can count on your discretion. I have a new groom I'm absolutely panting for—he's such a big young brute! You will accompany us when we go riding and make sure we are not disturbed. I need absolute privacy while he gives me equestrian lessons.”

Bess laughed, thinking Frances was simply being her outrageous self and trying to shock her.

“And of course I'll make sure you are not disturbed when you entertain a lover. Speaking of Rogue Cavendish brings me to the dinner party we must plan.”

The smile left Bess's face and was replaced by a blush. “Cavendish isn't my lover.”

Frances stared at her in utter amazement. “You clever girl! You've put the ultimate price on your favors as Anne Boleyn did. No bedding without a wedding! How in the name of God have you managed to hold that rampant stallion at bay? Or for that matter, how do you control your own lust, darling? I know I can't!”

It suddenly dawned on Bess that lust was exactly what she felt when Cavendish touched her. “I refuse to play the whore.”

“Darling, we're all whores under the skin, whether we give ourselves by calculation or by desire. It's just that some of us demand a higher price than others. You are quite clever to demand marriage when you know he'll be widowed shortly. Just don't let any other woman steal your candy. While you're pushing him off with one hand,
be sure to keep him hot for you with the other. Remember that the steps to the mating dance are advance as well as retreat. I told you years ago that cockteasing was the surest method of trapping a husband; I'm most flattered you are taking my advice.”

It's not like that! Bess protested silently, then her innate honesty came to the fore. It's exactly like that! she admitted to herself with a blush.

“This dinner for Sir William could be as important for you as it is for him, if you have ambitions to become Lady Cavendish.”

Bess did not deny her ambition. Instead, she stopped protesting and listened carefully.

“To become a privy councillor, Sir William must have the approval and backing of the other privy councillors— hence the dinner party. Since the lord high treasurer, William Paulet, is William's patron, he'll be amenable, as will his friend Parr, and of course William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke.”

It was suddenly brought home to Bess just how important marriage was at the Tudor Court. One of Parr's sisters had become queen by marrying King Henry, while Parr's other sister had long been Countess of Pembroke by marrying William Herbert. Parr himself was about to wed Elizabeth Brooke, daughter of Lord Cobham, while Elizabeth's brother, Thomas, was espoused to Cavendish's daughter.

“Will you invite the wives to the dinner party?”

“Yes, indeed, Bess. The influence of a wife is quite often the driving force behind an important man. Take Privy Councillor Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford. He made Ann Stanhope his countess. I hate her with a passion! She is a rabid bitch—jealous, avaricious, grasping— in short, just the kind of woman an ambitious man needs.
Be extremely wary of her, Bess. On the other hand you need not worry about John Dudley's wife, Lady Warwick, or William Herbert's wife, Lady Pembroke, for they already know you from your visit to Chelsea.”

“It sounds like even a simple dinner party can be filled with intrigue and back-stabbing. Perhaps I shouldn't attend,” Bess said doubtfully.

“If you wish to be a successful player at the Tudor Court, you cannot be fainthearted. A woman with your brains and beauty could be an invaluable aid in Cavendish's climb to the ivory tower. You must partner him if you want the highest in the land to think of you and Cavendish as a couple.”

“That is the last thing I want! My reputation would be ruined, for they all know he's a married man. Besides that, it would drive away any other suitors.”

“Then I shall seat you next to someone else at dinner. Let's see, the Earl of Shrewsbury is a widower and will need a partner.”

“I've met the Earl of Shrewsbury. He was most kind to me when I appealed to him for help.”

“Then we shall seat you next to him so that you can appeal to him again. He's an unknown factor. Since he's one of the few men in England who doesn't need money, he may not back William. Be sure to wear a gown that shows off your lovely breasts. Older men are notoriously ruttish.”

That evening, as Bess walked through the Long Gallery with Frances Grey's brother, Lord Suffolk, who was escorting her to supper, she came face to face with Rogue Cavendish, who had just walked down the Strand from Whitehall.

“Bess, will you take supper with me?”

“Won't you join Lord Suffolk and me?” she invited graciously.

Cavendish fixed young Suffolk with a challenging glance. “Lord Dorset is looking for you.”

Since Suffolk was no match for the masterful Cavendish, the youth excused himself.

“That was rather high-handed,” Bess accused.

“Damned pup, always hanging after you. I want us to be alone.”

“We certainly won't be alone in the dining hall.”

“Dining hall?” he scoffed. “We'll take supper in your rooms, where we won't be disturbed.”

“We could very easily be disturbed. You forget that I am lady-in-waiting to Frances, and she may need me.”

“Hell's teeth, don't be so naive,” he said, thoroughly amused. “When you are with me, Frances wouldn't dream of disturbing us. I'll order us some supper and join you upstairs shortly.”

“You know where my rooms are?” Bess asked, mildly surprised.

“I should; I selected them for you.”

As Bess watched him stride away down the Long Gallery, his words floated about her. Then she remembered Lady Frances's words from this morning:
I'll make sure you are not disturbed when you entertain a lover.
A suspicion came full-blown into her mind. The pair of them were in collusion. She had been brought to Suffolk House at Cavendish's bidding. Purely for the rogue's convenience! Blazing anger almost consumed her.

As Bess paced about her chambers, she practiced the things she would say to him. Tonight would be the showdown. Tonight she would take her revenge for the hurt he had inflicted on her two long years ago. He was nothing
but a rake who was still plotting her seduction. Well, tonight was the night that
Sir Bloody William
would meet his match!

Bess went down on her knees before her trunk and searched its contents until she found the infamous letter he had sent her. She stuffed the two halves into the bosom of her new gown, arming herself for the battle that was to come. When a low knock came, she flew to the door and flung it wide. “You scurvy bastard!”

The tall footman holding the heavy tray begged her pardon. The pageboy carrying the flagon of wine gave her an impish grin. “Put them over there,” she ordered loftily, refusing to show the slightest chagrin. Cavendish arrived before the servants departed, which prevented Bess from hurling a passionate curse at his head.

She watched in utter amazement as he coolly closed the door and turned the key in the lock. “You look magnificent tonight, my beauty.”

“No doubt that's because I'm in a towering rage,” she said silkily.