A Woman of Passion (36 page)

Bess hoped that humor would divert him. “Harry, you've been in the market for a wife since your brother, Tom, married my husband's daughter, Cathy. Yet still you are unwed.”

“That is because the lady I wanted was unavailable. Now she is free.” He took her hand and pressed a fervent kiss upon it.

Bess firmly withdrew her fingers. “Your sister has just arrived; I must go and speak with her.”

Lord Harry followed Bess as she went to greet his sister, Elizabeth, and her husband, William Parr. As Harry engaged his sister in conversation, Parr gave Bess a kiss upon her cheek and murmured, “There is never any need for you to be lonely, Bess, not while I am at Court.”

Bess couldn't believe her ears. It was a proposition if ever she'd heard one! She did not want to offend him— she still owed him money for land purchases—but she wanted no sexual scandal attached to her name. “How could I possibly be lonely with dear friends like your wife, Elizabeth?” Bess asked sweetly.

The queen, escorted by Robin Dudley, made her entrance into the ballroom. She was gowned in gold tissue, cut exceedingly low in the neckline. The tight bodice of her gown was sewn all over with topaz jewels. All the ladies present sank down before her, and as she passed each one, Elizabeth raised them up.

As Bess came out of her curtsy, Elizabeth's eyes swept over her. “I burned all my gray gowns. I suggest you do the same.”

“I beg to differ, madam,” Robin Dudley said to the queen. “The gown gives Lady Cavendish a most sophisticated allure.”

Elizabeth said to Bess, “Spoken by the man who can get a woman out of her clothes faster than any at Court.”

Robin's bold eyes swept over the queen. “I haven't had much success in that direction lately, madam.”

Elizabeth slapped him playfully with her fan, clearly enjoying the titillating banter. “Virtue is its own reward.”

Robin took the queen's bejeweled fingers to his lips. “Nay, madam, virtue is its own punishment.”

The pair was engaged in open flirtation, and Bess knew that by tomorrow the Court would be abuzz with tales of Dudley's dalliance with the queen. Had Elizabeth
chosen him because he was safely married, or was there an intense sexual attraction between them? Bess remembered what that felt like and was thankful it was something she herself would never experience again. A grand passion was all-consuming and far too emotional. She was a thirty-year-old widow and mother of six children, with a crushing financial burden hanging over her. She had no room in her life for such nonsense.

As Bess moved to the side of the dance floor, carefully observing everyone, she saw that dalliance seemed to preoccupy every man and woman present tonight. She was glad that that part of her life was over. Bess turned as she sensed eyes upon her. She was relieved to see that it was the Earl of Huntingdon from Derbyshire. Bess greeted him warmly, then wished she had not when his glance became speculative.

“I have been frankly worried for your well-being, my dear. A lady with no outlet for her natural needs becomes thin and irritable.” He bent closer to her ear. “Coitus keeps a woman plump and content.”

Bess glanced coldly at his wine cup. “Then I suggest you hurry north to your countess before she fades away —or puts horns on you.” Bess moved away quickly, wishing she could retire, but protocol prevented her from leaving before the queen. She moved down the room toward the doors and found herself beside Sir William St. Loe.

“Lady Cavendish, I am deeply sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, my lord.” He was the only man in the room decent enough to offer her sympathy. Cavendish had once told her St. Loe was a gentleman who would never besmirch a lady's reputation, and Bess was grateful for the respect he showed her. In fact, he was the only man in the room with whom she felt safe.

“Allow me to find you a chair, Lady Cavendish; Her Majesty will be dancing for hours.”

Bess was grateful for his thoughtfulness as they sat down and began an easy conversation.

“Happily, the queen's circumstances have changed dramatically since last we met, Lady Cavendish. You restored her will to live and gave her the courage she needed.” They were both intimates of Elizabeth, who had seen her at her worst.

“You, too, suffered the Tower.”

“I considered it not only my duty, but my privilege.”

Bess wondered if St. Loe was in love with Elizabeth. He had been in her household for many years and remained unmarried. But of course he had been chosen for the post because he was a polished gentleman with impeccable manners. He would never presume, unlike others. Bess's glance traveled down the room to Robin Dudley.

She smiled at St. Loe, curious about his age. He must be in his forties, yet he looked much the same as he always had. His closely clipped beard and mustache were graying, but other than that, he was still whipcord-slim with a proud military bearing.

“I am sorry your own circumstances are not as happy as the queen's tonight, Lady Cavendish. I sincerely hope fortune smiles upon you in the New Year.”

Fortune? Is he alluding to my financial woes?

“Sir William, I almost dread the New Year coming.”

“Ask the queen to help you, my lady. She can be most generous to those she trusts.”

“I could not. There will be too many grasping hands, too many parasites at Court.”

“You are special, my lady. I have no doubt that when
the celebrations and the coronation are behind her, the queen will remember your plight.”

Amen to that! Bess prayed fervently.

It was difficult for her to sleep in the strange bed, and Bess lay for hours thinking of the number of men who had made advances to her that night. Not once had her pulse raced, not one of them had made her heart beat faster. She was completely indifferent to the male sex. She doubted she would ever be attracted to a man again. The part inside a woman that responded to the male of the species was dead in her.

The New Year's masquerade was to be a lavish affair with five times as many guests as the previous night. The Great Hall, the Guard Chamber, and the Presence Chamber would be needed to accommodate the crowds.

Bess mentally reviewed the goddesses of mythology and pulled a face. She thought of Isis, goddess of the moon, but Lettice Knollys told her that was going to be her costume. Finally, Bess decided she would be Undine, the water nymph. Over an aqua-colored underdress, she stitched floating green veils and wore a headdress with trailing iridescent strands of silver and green beads. They looked nothing like real seaweed, but surely goddesses were expected to be fantastical rather than realistic.

The chambers were so crowded with revelers that Bess soon became separated from Mary and Lettice. She declined so many dances, she lost count. Many of the costumes were so good, their owners must have planned them for weeks. Some were extremely clever, like Janus,
the god of two faces, but others had absolutely nothing to do with mythology.

Bess was highly diverted, trying to guess who was behind the masks, which was difficult tonight because the chambers were filled with scores of French, Spanish, and Swedish envoys, all come to woo Queen Elizabeth into alliances of one kind or another.

A tall figure in a crimson silk devil's costume bowed before her and took her hand to lead her into the dance. Bess pulled back and refused, but the man in the satanic mask did not seem to understand the meaning of the word
no.
Bess saw his jet-black hair and assumed he was a Spaniard. It seemed easier to capitulate and dance with him rather than make a scene. Then slowly it dawned on her that a Catholic Spaniard would never dress as the devil.

“Who are you?” Bess puzzled.

“Can you not guess, my little nun?”

Bess remembered her nun's costume from years before and was gripped by a terrible suspicion. She reached up to pull down his mask and found Lord Talbot's glittering blue eyes laughing at her. Refusing to be goaded, she quickly snuffed out the spark she felt before it ignited her anger. “You need no mask to impersonate the devil. Your own face is exactly like Lucifer's,” she said lightly.

“So I've been told,” he drawled. His crimson doublet was in vivid contrast to his dark good looks. White teeth flashed in his swarthy, arrogant face.

As they bantered with each other, it finally dawned on Bess how extremely attractive he was. Talbot was a true aristocrat from an ancient, noble family, and it was evident in every line of his visage and figure. He appeared arrogant because he carried himself with a natural pride.

“I am delighted that Her Majesty chose you as one of
her ladies-of-the-bedchamber. Elizabeth's Court will be unsurpassed if she surrounds herself with ladies of beauty and wit.”

Bess realized he was a polished courtier of thirty, far more charming and subtle than he had been as a youth. Yet he was still dark, dominant, and dangerous, a powerful combination that Bess realized was almost irresistible. “And should the gentlemen of the Court be witty or witless, my lord?”

Talbot laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “I assure you there will be no shortage of either kind of gentleman.” His compelling gaze held hers. “Her Majesty is shrewd enough to surround herself with those who have proved their loyalty, as you have, Lady Cavendish.”

As the music changed, Bess suddenly realized she was in the middle of the dance floor. When she made a move to leave, his hold tightened and she could not easily escape him. “I shouldn't be dancing, my lord, I'm in mourning.”

“Costumed as a nymph of the sea, your siren song is irresistible. You've been widowed more than a year, Bess. Your mourning period is over.”

“I'm not referring to the prescribed mourning period of a year. I'm talking about what is in my heart!”

He stared down at her with disbelief. Her aging husband had brought financial disaster upon her. “Cavendish was twenty years older than you. I always assumed you married him—”

“For his money?” She was suddenly furious. “Then the laugh was on me, wasn't it, milord devil?”

“That isn't what I meant at all. I humbly apologize, Bess. We have known each other so long, I spoke out of turn. Forgive me, I had no idea it was a love match.”

“You've never been humble in your life,” she flared. “Nor do you know what it's like to be in need.”

“That's where you are entirely wrong, Vixen.” My hunger for you is ravenous, he thought silently, hoping to mask the need that threatened to consume him.

Bess wondered if she had mistaken his meaning, but she was so angry she wanted to slap his face. When she realized what she had almost been goaded into doing in the middle of the dance floor, her temper flamed even higher. Suddenly her whole body was roiling with emotion. Her heart was pounding and every pulse was racing madly. Bess felt alive for the first time in fourteen months!

A cold wave of fear washed over her. Lord Talbot was so sexually attractive, she was responding to him against her will. “Peste take you, Talbot!” Bess turned and fled the Presence Chamber. She slowed as she reached the Great Hall, for out here the crowds were shoulder to shoulder. At the door she encountered Sir William St. Loe speaking with the guards he had posted.

“Lady Cavendish, may I join you?” he asked politely.

Bess took his arm as if he were her refuge. “Syntlo.” She murmured the name the queen gave him. “I've been looking for you,” she lied prettily.

O
n New Year's Day George Talbot was ushered from the Privy Chamber into the queen's private rooms the moment he arrived. Elizabeth was sitting at one of her desks. “By God's precious blood, you took your own sweet time getting here, my Lord Talbot!”

He grinned at her. “It's lovely to see you too, madam. You make it sound as if you cannot manage without me.”

“Well, I can! What the devil do I need you for now that I am queen?”

“Apart from my moneybags, I can't think of a thing.” His grin was infuriating.

“Why would I need your moneybags?” she demanded imperiously.

“Because the treasury is bankrupt, because you have to pay for the war with France, the upcoming war with Scotland, and this bloody fancy coronation you are planning.”

Elizabeth began to laugh. “You are an insolent hound, Talbot; you will never make a courtier, but God's death you speak the truth, Old Man. There won't even
be
a
coronation unless we can find a Catholic bishop with enough guts to crown me.”

“They've all refused?”

“Yes, plague take them!”

“I'll send immediately for Oglethorpe, Bishop of Carlisle.”

“You think he'll be willing?”

“He had better be; he owes his living to Shrewsbury.”

“Thank you, my lord, that's a blessed relief. Cecil was at his wit's end. How is Shrewsbury?”

“My father is frail. I'm acting lord lieutenant and acting chief justice, in the north. It's too much for him these days.”

“I'm very sorry, George, but you'll have to take his place on the privy council as well. I have dismissed over forty councillors who served Mary. I need men I can trust.”

“Stick the broom up my arse and I'll sweep the throne room too.”

Elizabeth laughed. She liked a man whose salty vocabulary matched her own. “Oh, I know you are a rarity, George, and the most enterprising industrialist in the realm, but you couldn't run your vast financial empire without a competent staff to conduct business in your absence.”

“That is only because I chose them, I trained them, and I rule them with an iron hand. I advise you to do the same, Your Majesty. Start out as you mean to carry on.”

“At last you give me my due title, you hound. Does that mean you will pay for my coronation?”

“I will speak to Paulet,” he conceded, without committing himself. “The treasury is in chaos, the coffers empty. His staff is completely incompetent, Your Majesty.”

“I am keeping Paulet as lord treasurer only because he has held that post since my father appointed him, but I will take your advice and dismiss everyone else in the treasury. Is there anything else you would advise?”

“Lady Cavendish owes the Crown five thousand pounds. It would be most generous if you reduced her debt.”