A Woman of Passion (17 page)

“No doubt.” His dark eyes filled with amusement, and her temper flared higher because he looked so devilishly pleased with himself.

“Tell me,
Sir William
, just when was it that you and Lady Frances decided I would become your mistress? I don't recall being consulted in the matter.”

“Damn it, Bess, I'm trying to court you. I couldn't run round to the Zouches' and woo you under Margaret's long, prudish nose.”

“But Frances won't blink an eye at your lechery. How very convenient for you. Perhaps she's always allowed you to bring your whores to Suffolk House?”

“Bess, stop this! You know damned well I don't want you for my whore.”

“That, sir, is a barefaced lie! If I agreed you'd make me your whore this very night. You are not free to make me your wife, so whore it must be!”

“Bess, there's a world of difference between a mistress and a whore, as well you know.”

Bess was on the verge of tears. Never once had he told her he loved her, never once had he told her he wanted her for his wife. She allowed her temper to explode. It was the only thing that kept her tears at bay. “There's no difference! Both accept payment for sexual favors! You have compromised me by bringing me to Suffolk House. Damn you! Damn you! I refuse to stay here under these circumstances!”

“Bess, stop being ridiculous; you know you're better off here at Suffolk House.”

Though Bess knew it very well, she raved on at him, cataloguing all her grievances against him. Rogue masked the amusement in his eyes and allowed her to get it all out of her system. She stormed on, her hands on her hips, tossing her flaming hair.

When she began to pant from her exertions, it aroused a towering lust in him. Truly, she was the most beautiful, passionate creature he had ever seen. He was mesmerized, watching her work herself up to a climax. She didn't know it, but she needed a damned good fucking.

Rogue pulled her gently into his arms and brushed the damp hair from her temples. “Are you finished, sweetheart?”

She was breathless. “I've barely started!”

He tightened his arms so that her breasts were crushed against his hard chest. “I have a present for you.” He reached into his doublet and took out a flat velvet jewel case. Then he heard the crackle of parchment inside her gown. “What's that?”

“It's the last present you gave me, you knave!”

When he quirked an eyebrow, she reached down between her breasts, pulled out the torn letter, and thrust it at him. “Rogue Cavendish, once upon a time I trusted you completely. When the entire world was against me, I wrote to you, begging for your help. I put my entire faith in you, and you let me down. When I got your letter, I couldn't believe it. I wanted to die!” Tears flooded her eyes in spite of her resolve.

He took the letter and read the words he had penned. “What did you do?”

“I coped!”

“How?”

“I got angry!” Suddenly she was laughing through her tears. Anger always seemed to be her most reliable refuge, and she was finding comfort in it once again.

He swept her up into his arms, high against his heart, and carried her to a deep cushioned chair before the fire. “Bess, I adore you. I swear on my life I'll never let you down again. Give me a second chance—give me your love and your trust once more, and in return I will strive to give you everything you've ever wanted.”

She gave him a level look. “Even if I decided to let you court me, I would never commit adultery with you.”

He ground his teeth in frustration. “Why won't you sleep with me?” he demanded.

“Because you'd give me a baby, of course, and I won't be shamed in the eyes of the world!”

His deep laugh rolled over her. “Bess, you are absolutely priceless! I've never seen a woman so ripe for loving, yet your practical, shrewd head rules your heart and your body. Well, at least we are honest with each other, which is more than most couples are. I'll wait until you're
ready to give yourself to me. I let you go once—I'll be damned if I'll do it again!”

“Do you promise that you won't try to seduce me anymore?”

“Of course I'll try to seduce you, but I will stalk you patiently till I have you secure. In any case, we won't have to wait long; my wife is dying—”

Bess quickly put her fingers over his lips to silence him. “Never, never wish for her death, William. Your conscience would plague you forever.”

“I have no conscience,” he said sardonically.

“But I have! I couldn't live with myself if my happiness depended upon another woman's misfortune.”

“I'll never speak of her again. Our time together is too precious to waste on unhappy thoughts. Life is for living, and laughing, and loving. Open your present.”

Bess gasped with appreciation at the sheer beauty of the amethyst necklace. “I can't accept this,” she said, running a finger over the sparkling stones.

“You can and you will. I'm a rich man, Bess. Don't deny me the pleasure of giving you things I know you long for. I enjoy being generous. I want to give you the whole world.” He took the necklace, fastened it about her throat, then kissed her nape, which was usually hidden beneath her glorious hair.

“You are trying to seduce me!” Bess accused. She was no longer blazing mad at him, but she had no intention of giving in to him, or even forgiving him.

“Mea culpa, sweetheart, but I'll allow you to have supper before I demand my reward.”

She saw that his eyes were alight with wicked amusement. “You are a damned rogue!”

“There is almost nothing you can say about me, good or bad, that isn't true. Indeed, I am a rogue and a scoundrel,
but that makes me devilishly attractive, don't you think?”

Bess decided that Cavendish was far too cocksure of himself and resolved to put him firmly in his place. She climbed from his knee and looked him directly in the eyes. “That may be true, Sir William, but you are not the only attractive man at Court. If you wish to become my suitor, you will have to join the line. If I receive an offer of marriage, I intend to consider it seriously.”

Her words inflamed him. He had to crush down the urge to push her back on the rug and ravish her right here upon the floor, marking her as his forever. She was the most infuriating female he had ever encountered, but she was also the most intoxicating, and he was willing to bet that when he did finally make her his, the wait would be passionately rewarded.

T
he night of the dinner party, Bess chose a purple velvet gown with a low décolletage to show off her amethysts. The billowing bishop sleeves were slashed with rose-colored silk, and she knew she had never looked so splendid in her life.

“Undo these bloody corset strings and fasten them up looser, Bess,” Lady Frances begged.

Bess obliged and helped her into a gown of deep crimson. As Frances opened a jewel coffer and selected rubies, Bess looked through the tall windows, excited as a small child who was attending her first party. The river was congested with the grand barges of their guests. She identified the Shrewsbury barge by its device: the great white Talbot hound. She also recognized Thomas Seymour's barge because it flew the flag of admiral of the fleet. Then she gasped as she recognized the royal barge.

“You didn't invite the king, did you?” Bess cried.

“Of course not. All attention must focus on Cavendish tonight.”

“But there is no mistaking the green and white Tudor barge.”

“I invited the Lady Elizabeth, my dearest cousin.”

“Really? I wonder if the princess will remember me.”

“Elizabeth Tudor forgets nothing. I love her dearly, but never slight her, Bess, or she will hold the grudge to her dying day.” Frances applied bright red lip rouge, then stood up and shook out her petticoats. “Now, remember, tonight Sir William and I are the host and hostess, while Henry will be your escort until you are seated at dinner. He's an expert at putting the proper name and title to a face, so be guided by Henry if you are unsure. We'll stand at the doors of the grand salon to greet the first guests, but I have learned it's best not to have a formal receiving line as they do at Court functions. The pecking order changes constantly, and tonight I wish to offend no one.”

Henry Grey strolled in from his dressing room. “Dearest Frances, you cannot resist offending people. It's your only vice.”

Frances rolled her eyes at Bess. “Little he knows!”

Henry smiled good-naturedly at Bess. “See what I mean? She doesn't even know when she's doing it. Are you lovely ladies ready to go down?”

When Cavendish saw Bess, the look of appreciation that warmed his eyes told her not only how beautiful she looked but how special she was to him. Apprehension made her mouth dry. More than anything in the world she wanted to acquit herself well tonight. She longed to be an asset, rather than a liability to him, but she was only a farmer's daughter out of her depth in a room awash with nobility.

She lifted her chin.
You are Bess of Hardwick—just as good, if not better, than any in the land!
She straightened to
her full height of five foot three inches and forced a brilliant smile to her lips. Then Henry Grey was introducing her to people, and she somehow found her tongue and acknowledged them. The names seemed to go in one ear and straight out the other, until Bess took a firm grip on herself and focused her attention.

“I'd like you to meet William Parr, Marquess of Northampton, and his bride-to-be, Lady Elizabeth Brooke.”

Lud, there are so many Williams and Elizabeths that I shall never keep them straight.
Then she realized this was the queen's brother and therefore one of the most important men in the land.

William Parr cocked an eyebrow at his friend Henry Grey. “So this is
she?
Splendor of God, she's spectacular! No wonder Rogue has kept her under wraps until tonight.”

Bess blinked rapidly as she realized the queen's brother was extolling her beauty. That she had no rank mattered little to him. She was a desirable woman; he was a man. His response was immediate, and so was hers: They liked each other on sight.

Behind them came Lord and Lady Cobham. “I have you and Sir William on the guest list for the wedding; do say you'll come,” Lady Cobham urged Bess, who then realized these were the parents of Elizabeth Brooke. She was annoyed that Cavendish's friends thought of them as a couple.
Has the damned rogue told them I'm his mistress?
From the corner of her eye, Bess caught sight of a beautiful dark-haired girl who was kissing Cavendish. She stiffened immediately and stared hard at her rival, preparing to do battle. The young woman laughed up at William with worshipful eyes, and Bess ground her teeth when he laughed back in a most familiar fashion. As the female
made her curtsy to Henry Grey, Bess was shocked at how young she appeared.

“May I present Catherine Cavendish, Sir William's daughter, and her espoused husband, Thomas Brooke?”

“I've been longing to meet you,” the young woman said to Bess. “Father has told me how special you are to him.”

A tender smile suffused Bess's face, and a wave of relief swept over her as she realized that the lovely laughing girl was William's daughter. Catherine was the spitting image of him.

“I'm so nervous,” Cathy confided. “This is my first formal dinner party.”

Bess's heart went out to her. “Don't be nervous, darling. You look so grown up. I know your father is very proud of you. As well he should be.” Bess suddenly felt very mature, and her confidence soared.

There was a flurry of attention as all eyes were drawn to a tall, slim figure gowned in white. The Lady Elizabeth Tudor with two attendants came forward regally. She acknowledged Cavendish with a cool nod but gave Lady Frances a kiss of greeting, and Bess heard the princess say, “Thank you, Frances, for inviting me. I shall not forget your kindness.” Then her eyes were on Bess, eagerly acknowledging their friendship before all those present.

Bess sank into a curtsy, and Elizabeth immediately raised her and swept her aside so they could speak privately. “Is there somewhere we can talk? After dinner?”

“Of course. I have my own suite of rooms, Your Grace.” Bess was amazed at how tall Elizabeth was. Slim as a reed, she still had no breasts to speak of, but she carried herself like a queen, and her mass of fine-spun, red-gold hair was like a cloak of light about her narrow
shoulders. Though Bess knew that the princess was very young, her demeanor and poise were that of a sophisticated court lady, worldly-wise beyond her years. Only the excitement glittering in her amber eyes, which she could not suppress, betrayed her tender years.

The Lady Elizabeth, who was accompanied by a lady-in-waiting and Sir William St. Loe, her own personal captain of the guard, spoke softly to Bess before she rejoined them. “When I give you the signal, we'll give my attendants the slip and go upstairs to your private chambers.” The princess then moved off to greet the Dudleys and the Herberts, who stood high in the Tudor pecking order.

The guests were now arriving en masse, and Frances Grey decided she had stood at the entrance long enough and it was time for everyone to mingle. She took Cavendish by the arm and signaled the liveried footmen to offer the guests wine before they went in to dinner.

As an elderly nobleman approached Bess, Henry Grey bowed formally. “Allow me to present—”

“The lady and I need no introduction, Dorset; we are already acquainted.”

Bess sank down in a graceful curtsy, stunned that the powerful earl had recognized her. “Lord Shrewsbury, I owe you a great debt of gratitude.”

Shrewsbury's shrewd eyes twinkled. “I take it the legal matter was settled in your favor, Mistress Barlow?”

“Indeed it was, my lord, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

The Fifth Earl of Shrewsbury raised Bess up and gallantly kissed her fingers. “It was my pleasure. It's not often a man of my age can
serve
a beautiful young woman and make her happy.”

The double entendre showed a ribald wit, and Bess's
low, sultry laugh told him she appreciated it. “I believe we are dinner partners tonight, my lord, so once again you will make me happy,” Bess said, taking his arm.